rj.theshadowrising-第110部分

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o　were　and　did　not　flee　are　dead。　Slayer　walks　the　dream　there。
　　　　　　　〃I　have　to　go　home；　Hopper。　I　have　to。〃
　　　　　　　Take　care；　Young　Bull。　The　day　of　the　Last　Hunt　draws　near。　We　will　run　together　in　the　Last　Hunt。
　　　　　　　〃We　will；〃　Perrin　said　sadly。　It　would　be　nice　if　he　could　e　here　when　he　died；　he　was　half　wolf　already；　it　seemed　sometimes。　〃I　have　to　go　now；　Hopper。〃
　　　　　　　May　you　know　good　hunting；　Young　Bull；　and　shes　to　give　you　many　cubs。
　　　　　　　〃Goodbye；　Hopper。〃
　
　　　　　　　He　opened　his　eyes　to　the　dim　light　of　dying　coals　on　the　mountainside。　Gaul　was　squatting　just　beyond　the　edge　of　the　light；　watching　the　night。　In　the　other　camp；　Faile　was　up；　taking　her　turn　at　guard。　The　moon　hung　above　the　mountains；　turning　the　clouds　to　pearly　shadows。　Perrin　estimated　he　had　been　asleep　two　hours。
　　　　　　　〃I'll　keep　guard　awhile；〃　he　said；　tossing　off　his　cloak。　Gaul　nodded　and　settled　himself　on　the　ground　where　he　was。　〃Gaul？〃　The　Aiel　raised　his　head。　〃It　may　be　worse　in　the　Two　Rivers　than　I　thought。〃
　　　　　　　〃Things　often　are；〃　Gaul　replied　quietly。　〃It　is　the　way　of　life。〃　The　Aielman　calmly　put　his　head　down　for　sleep。
　　　　　　　Slayer。　Who　was　he？　What　was　he？　Shadowspawn　at　the　Waygate；　ravens　in　the　Mountains　of　Mist；　and　this　man　called　Slayer　in　the　Two　Rivers。　It　could　not　be　coincidence；　however　much　he　wished　it。


Chapter　29
（Dragon's　Fang）
Homeing

　　　　　　　The　journey　into　the　Westwood　that　had　taken　him　perhaps　half　a　dozen　strides　or　so　in　the　wolf　dream；　out　of　the　mountains　and　across　the　Sand　Hills；　lasted　three　long　days　on　horses。　The　Aid　had　no　trouble　keeping　up　afoot；　but　then　the　animals　themselves　could　not　manage　much　speed　with　the　land　mostly　up　and　down　as　it　was。　Perrin's　wounds　itched　fiercely；　healing；　Faile's　ointment　seemed　to　be　working。
　　　　　　　It　was　a　quiet　journey　by　and　large；　broken　more　often　by　the　bark　of　a　hunting　fox　or　the　echoing　cry　of　a　hawk　than　by　anyone　speaking。　At　least　they　saw　no　more　ravens。　More　than　once　he　thought　Faile　was　about　to　bring　her　mare　over　close　to　him；　about　to　say　something；　but　each　time　she　restrained　herself。　He　was　glad　of　it；　he　wanted　to　talk　to　her　more　than　anything；　but　what　if　he　found　himself　making　up　with　her？　He　berated　himself　for　wanting　to。　She　had　tricked　Loial；　tricked　him。　She　was　going　to　make　everything　worse；　make　it　harder。　He　wished　he　could　kiss　her　again。　He　wished　she　would　decide　she　had　had　her　fill　of　him　and　go。　Why　did　she　have　to　be　so　stubborn？
　　　　　　　She　and　the　two　Aiel　women　kept　to　themselves；　Bain　and　Chiad　striding　along　on　either　side　of　Swallow　when　one　or　the　other　was　not　ranging　ahead。　Sometimes　the　three　of　them　murmured　softly　among　themselves；　after　which　they　avoided　looking　at　him　so　pointedly　that　they　might　as　well　have　thrown　rocks。　Loial　rode　with　them　at　Perrin's　request；　though　the　situation　obviously　upset　him　no　end。　Loial's　ears　twitched　as　if　he　wished　he　had　never　heard　of　humans。　Gaul　seemed　to　find　the　entire　thing　vastly　amusing；　whenever　Perrin　looked　at　him；　he　wore　an　inward　grin。
　　　　　　　For　himself；　Perrin　traveled　wrapped　in　worry；　and　kept　his　strung　bow　across　the　tall　pommel　of　his　saddle。　Did　this　man　called　Slayer　rove　the　Two　Rivers　only　in　the　wolf　dream；　or　was　he　in　the　waking　world；　too？　Perrin　suspected　the　latter；　and　that　Slayer　was　the　one　who　had　shot　the　hawk　for　no　reason。　It　was　another　plication　he　could　do　without；　on　top　of　the　Children　of　the　Light。
　　　　　　　His　family　lived　on　a　sprawling　farm　more　than　half　a　day　beyond　Emond's　Field；　almost　to　the　Waterwood。　His　father　and　mother；　his　sisters；　his　baby　brother。　Paetram　would　be　nine　now；　no　doubt　objecting　more　strenuously　than　ever　to　being　called　the　baby；　Deselle　a　plump　twelve；　and　Adora　sixteen；　probably　ready　to　braid　her　hair。　Uncle　Eward；　his　da's　brother；　and　Aunt　Magde；　stout　and　looking　nearly　alike；　and　their　children。　Aunt　Neain；　who　visited　Uncle　Carlin's　grave　every　morning；　and　their　children；　and　Great　Aunt　Ealsin；　who　had　never　married；　with　her　sharp　nose　and　sharper　eye　for　discovering　what　everyone　for　miles　around　was　up　to。　Once　apprenticed　to　Master　Luhhan；　he　had　seen　them　only　on　feastdays；　the　distance　was　too　great　for　casual　travel；　and　there　had　always　been　work　to　do。　If　the　Whitecloaks　hunted　for　Aybaras；　they　were　easy　to　find。　They　were　his　responsibility；　not　this　Slayer。　He　could　only　do　so　much。　Protect　his　family；　and　Faile。　That　was　first。　Then　came　the　village；　and　the　wolves；　and　this　Slayer　last。　One　man　could　not　manage　everything。
　　　　　　　The　Westwood　grew　on　stony　soil　broken　by　bramble　covered　outcrops；　a　hard；　thickly　treed　land　with　few　farms　or　paths。　He　had　wandered　these　heavy　woods　as　a　boy；　alone　or　with　Rand　and　Mat；　hunting　with　bow　or　sling；　setting　snares　for　rabbits　or　simply　roaming　for　the　sake　of　roaming。　Bushy…tailed　squirrels　chittering　in　the　trees；　speckled　thrushes　warbling　on　branches　imitated　by　black…winged　mockers；　bluebacked　quail　bursting　up　out　of　the　brush　in　front　of　the　travelers　…　all　spoke　to　him　of　home。　The　very　smell　of　the　dirt　the　horses'　hooves　turned　was　a　recognition。
　　　　　　　He　could　have　headed　straight　for　Emond's　Field；　but　instead　he　angled　more　northward　through　the　forest；　finally　crossing　the　wide；　rough　track　called　the　Quarry　Road　as　the　sun　slanted　down　toward　the　treetops。　Why　〃quarry〃　no　one　in　the　Two　Rivers　knew；　and　it　scarcely　looked　a　road　at　all；　only　a　weedy　stretch　that　you　did　not　even　notice　was　bare　of　trees　until　you　saw　the　overgrown　ruts　from　generations　of　wagons　and　carts。　Sometimes　shards　of　old　pavement　worked　their　way　to　the　surface。　Perhaps　it　had　led　to　a　quarry　for　Manetheren。
　　　　　　　The　farm　Perrin　sought　lay　not　far　from　the　road；　beyond　rows　of　apple　and　pear　trees　where　fruit　was　setting。　He　smelled　the　farm　before　he　saw　it。　The　smell　of　char；　not　new；　yet　a　full　year　would　not　soften　that　smell。
　　　　　　　He　reined　in　at　the　edge　of　the　trees　and　sat　staring　before　he　made　himself　ride　into　what　had　been　the　al'Thor　farm；　the　packhorse　trailing　behind　his　dun。　Only　the　stone　walled　sheep　pen　still　stood；　railed　gate　open　and　hanging　by　one　hinge。　The　soot…blackened　chimney　cast　a　slanting　shadow　across　the　tumbled　burned　beams　of　the　farmhouse。　The　barn　and　the　tabac…curing　shed　were　only　ashes。　Weeds　choked　the　tabac　field　and　the　vegetable　garden；　and　the　garden　had　a　trampled　look；　most　of　what　was　not　sawleaf　or　feathertop　lay　broken　and　brown。
　　　　　　　He　did　not　even　think　of　nocking　an　arrow。　The　fire　was　weeks　old；　the　burned　wood　slicked　and　dulled　by　past　rains。　Chokevine　needed　nearly　a　month　to　grow　that　tall。　It　had　even　enveloped　the　plow　and　harrow　lying　beside　the　field；　rust　showed　under　the　pale；　narrow　leaves。
　　　　　　　The　Aiel　searched　carefully；　though；　spears　ready　and　eyes　wary；　quartering　the　ground　and　poking　through　the　ashes。　When　Bain　clambered　out　of　the　ruins　of　the　house；　she　looked　at　Perrin　and　shook　her　head。　At　least　Tam　al'Thor　had　not　died　in　there。
　　　　　　　They　know。　They　know；　Rand。　You　should　have　e。　It　was　very　nearly　more　than　he　could　do　to　stop　from　putting　Stepper　to　a　gallop；　keeping　him　there　all　the　way　to　his　family's　farm。　Trying　to；　at　least；　even　Stepper　would　fall　dead　before　he　ran　that　far。　Maybe　this　was　Trolloc　work。　If　it　was　Trollocs；　maybe　his　family　was　still　working　their　farm；　still　safe。　He　drew　a　deep　breath；　but　the　char　obliterated　any　other　smell。
　　　　　　　Gaul　stopped　beside　him。　〃Whoever　did　this　is　long　gone。　They　killed　some　of　the　sheep　and　scattered　the　rest。　Someone　came　later　to　gather　the　flock　and　drive　it　off　north。　Two　men；　I　think；　but　the　tracks　are　too　old　to　be　sure。〃
　　　　　　　〃Is　there　any　clue　to　who　did　it？〃　Gaul　shook　his　head。　It　could　have　been　Trollocs。　Strange；　to　wish　for　a　thing　like　that。　And　foolish。　The　Whitecloaks　knew　his　name；　and　they　knew　Rand's　as　well；　it　seemed。　They　know　my　name。　He　looked　at　the　ashes　of　the　al'Thor　farmhouse；　and　Stepper　moved　as　the　reins　trembled　in　his　hands。
　　　　　　　Loial　had　dismounted　at　the　edge　of　the　fruit　trees；　but　his　head　was　still　in　the　branches。　Faile　rode　toward　Perrin；　studying　his　face；　her　mare　stepping　delicately。　〃Is　this。。。　？　Do　you　know　the　people　who　lived　here？〃
　　　　　　　〃Rand　and　his　father。〃
　　　　　　　〃Oh。　I　thought　it　might　be。。。〃　The　relief　and　sympathy　in　her　voice　were　enough　to　finish　the　sentence。　〃Does　your　family　live　near？〃
　　　　　　　〃No；〃　he　said　curtly；　and　she　recoiled　as　if　slapped。　But　she　still　watched　him；　waiting。　What　did　he　have　to　do　to　drive　her　away？　More　than　he　could　bring　himself　to；　if　he　had　not　managed　it　already。
　　　　　　　The　shadows　were　growing　longer；　the　sun　sitting　on　the　treetops。　He　reined　Stepper　around；　rudely　turning　his　back　on　her。　〃Gaul；　we　will　have　to　camp　close　by　tonight。　I　want　to　start　early　in　the　morning。〃　He　sneaked　a　glance　over　his　shoulder；　Faile　was　riding　back　to　Loial；　sitting　stiff　in　her　saddle。　〃In　Emond's　Field；　they　will　know。。。〃　Where　the　Whitecloaks　were；　so　he　could　turn　himself　in　before　they　hurt　his　family。　If　his　family　was　all　right。　If　the　farm　where　he　had　been　born　was　not　already　like　this。　No。　He　had　to　be　in　time　to　stop　that。　〃They'll　know　how　things　are。〃