fs.thethirdbookofswords-第22部分

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of　steady　certitude。　The　sheath　seemed　to　fall　free　of　itself；　the　Sword　was　drawn。
　Denis　straightened　up；　intending　to　present　this　Sword　as　well　to　the　goddess。　But　when　his　eyes　fell　on　her　he　was　shocked　to　see　that　she　was　changed。
　Or　was　the　change　in　him　…　and　not　in　her？
　Aphrodite　let　fall　her　arm　that　had　been　extended　to　receive　the　second　Sword。　She　stepped　back；　her　other　hand　still　holding　the　sheathed　Sword　of　Mercy。
　Again　Denis　pondered：　What　does　she　really　look　like？　But　still　the　moonlight　（he　thought　it　was　the　moonlight）　made　it　quite　impossible　to　tell。
　Certainly　more　lovely　than　any　mortal　woman　could　ever　be。　Yet　now；　since　he　had　drawn　the　second　Sword；　he　thought　she　was　in　some　way　inferior　to　even　the　least　of　human　mortals。　In　some　way　she　was　…　unreal。
　He　realized　that　he　did　not　want　her　now。
　Power　was　still　flowing　from　the　Sword…hilt　into　his　hand。　In　sudden　curiosity　he　looked　at　what　his　fingers　gripped。　He　saw　in　moonlight；　without　understanding；　the　simple　hollow　white　circle　that　marked　the　black。
　Wonder　of　wonders；　the　goddess　appeared　to　be　fighting　some　inner　struggle　with　herself。
　〃Give　me。。。〃she　began　to　say；　in　a　voice　that　still　fought　to　be　manding。　But　after　those　first　two　words　her　voice　faltered　and　her　speech　broke　off。
　She　sagged　back　from　the　railing　of　her　barge　（Denis　was　shocked　to　see　how　graceless　the　movement　was）；　and　stopped　half…kneeling　on　her　silken　pillows　once　more。　The　cloud　of　her　moonlit　hair　concealed　her　face。
　〃No；〃　she　contradicted　herself；　speaking　now　in　yet　another　voice；　much　softer。　〃No；　do　not　give　it　to　me　now。　I　am　a　goddess；　and　I　could　take　it　from　you。　But　I　will　not。〃
　Denis's　arm　that　held　the　Sword　of　Justice　faltered；　and　the　blade　sank　down　slowly　at　his　side。　It　hung　in　his　hand　like　a　dead　weight；　though　still　its　power　flowed。　He　felt　an　overwhelming　pity　for　the　goddess；　mixed　with　a　slight　disgust。
　〃Do　not　give　it　to　me；〃　repeated　Aphrodite；　in　her　soft　and　newly　thoughtful　voice。　〃That　would　cause　harm　to　you。〃　After　a　pause　she　went　on；　marveling　to　herself。　〃So；　this　is　love。　I　have　always　wondered；　and　never　known　what　it　was　like。　I　see　it　can　be　terrible。〃
　She　raised　her　head　until　her　wide…spaced　eyes　were　visible　under　the　cloud　of　moonlit　hair。　〃I　see。。。　that　your　name　is　Denis；　my　beloved。　And　you　have　known　a　score　of　women　before　now；　and　dreamed　of　a　thousand　more。　Yet　you　have　never　really　known　any　of　them。　Nor　will　you；　can　you；　ever　really　know　a　goddess；　I　suppose。〃　And　Aphrodite　gave　a　sigh；　her　bosom　heaving。
　Denis　could　only　stand　there　unfortably。　He　felt　more　pity　for　this　lovely　woman　than　he　could　bear；　and　he　wished　that　she　would　go　away。　At　the　same　time　he　wanted　to　let　go　of　the　Sword　in　his　right　hand；　he　wanted　to　throw　it　in　the　river。　It　seemed　to　him　that　his　life　had　been　much　more　intense　and　glorious　just　a　few　moments　ago；　before　he　had　drawn　Doomgiver。　But　the　Sword　would　not　let　him　throw　it　away　just　now；　any　more　than　it　would　allow　the　goddess　to　take　it　from　him。
　〃I　love　you；　Denis；〃　the　goddess　Aphrodite　said。
　He　made　an　incoherent　noise　of　embarrassment；　low　down　in　his　throat。　As　speech；　he　thought；　it　was　inadequate；　clumsy；　mundane；　and　mean；　like　everything　else　he　did。　He　did　not　love　her；　or　even　want　her。　He　could　not；　and　he　wished　that　she　would　leave。
　She　said　to　him　softly；　〃And　the　blade　that　you　hold　there；　my　love；　is　truly　called　Doomgiver；　for　I　see　now　that　it　truly　giveth　me　my　doom。〃
　〃No！〃　Denis　protested；　feeling　so　sorry　for　her　already；　not　knowing　just　what　it　was　he　feared。
　〃Ah　yes。　I；　who　have　for　ages　amused　myself　with　the　love　of　men；　must　now　feel　what　they　have　felt。　And；　as　I　love　you　now；　I　cannot　take　Doomgiver　from　you。　To　rob　you　of　the　Sword　of　Justice　now；　my　little　mortal　darling；　would　do　you　much　harm。　As　a　goddess　I　can　foresee　that。　But　Woundhealer　…　it　will　be　better　if　I　take　that　with　me　now。〃
　Denis　wanted　to　tell　her　that　he　was　sorry。　The　words　stuck　in　his　throat。
　〃How　sweet　it　would　be　if　you　could　tell　me　that　you　loved　me　too。　But　do　not　lie。〃　And　here　the　goddess　extended　her　arm　that　still　held　the　Sword　of　Love；　across　the　narrow　strip　of　water　that　still　separated　her　from　the　island；　and　with　the　sheathed　tip　of　Woundhealer　touched　Denis　over　his　heart。　〃I　could。。。　but　I　will　not。　My　full　embrace　would　not　be　good　for　you　…　not　now；　not　yet。　Someday；　perhaps。　I　love　you；　Denis；　and　for　your　sake　I　must　now　say　farewell。〃
　And　the　goddess　leaned　forward　suddenly；　and　kissed　him　on　the　cheek。
　〃No。。。　no。〃　He　stumbled　forward；　into　mud。　Was　it　only　pity　that　he　felt　now？
　But　the　marvelous　barge　was　already　shimmering　away　into　the　moonlight。
　Chapter　7
　The　two　riding　beasts　must　have　been　well　rested　when　Mark　seized　them；　for　they　bore　their　riders　willingly　and　swiftly　on　the　first　long　stage　of　the　flight　from　Vilkata's　encampment。　The　young　woman　stayed　in　her　saddle　firmly；　like　an　experienced　rider；　but　instinctively；　passively；　and　with　no　apparent　understanding　of　what　was　happening　to　her　now。　Her　blue…green　eyes　stared　steadily　out　at　horror；　some　horror　that　was　no　longer　visible　to　Mark。　Her　body　was　thin；　almost　emaciated。　Her　face　was　pale　under　its　mask　of　grime；　her　hair；　colorless　with　filth；　hung　long　and　matted　over　the　captured　cloak　that　she　clutched　about　her　with　one　hand。　Since　Mark　had　pulled　her　from　the　cage　she　had　not　spoken　a　single　word。
　The　two　of　them　rode　for　a　long　time；　side　by　side；　over　roadless　and　gradually　rising　ground；　before　Mark　stopped　the　animals　for　a　rest。　He　had　at　last　been　able　to　convince　himself　that　there　was　no　pursuit。　Phantom　echoes　of　Vilkata's　demonic　celebration　had　persisted　in　his　exhausted　mind　and　senses　long　after　the　real　sounds　had　faded。
　He　was　living　now　with　ceaseless　pain；　and　with　the　taste　and　sight　and　smell　of　his　own　blood；　for　the　oozing　from　his　forehead　wound　would　not　diminish。　And　Mark　could　not　shake　the　feeling　that　there　was　something　wrong　now　with　his　own　blood；　with　the　way　it　smelled　and　tasted；　as　if　the　Mindsword　had　left　a　shard　of　poisoned　sunlight　embedded　in　his　brain。
　Mark　dismounted　the　first　time　he　stopped　the　animals。　He　spoke　gently　to　the　young　woman；　but　she　only　continued　to　sit　her　mount　in　silence；　staring　straight　ahead；　not　responding　to　him　at　all。　He　decided　not　to　press　the　matter　of　munication；　as　long　as　she　remained　docile。　The　all…important　thing　was　to　get　farther　from　Vilkata。
　Presently　they　were　under　way　again。　Now　their　course；　aimed　directly　away　from　Vilkata's　camp；　took　them　into　a　range　of　low　hills。　Now　the　encampment；　which　had　still　been　intermittently　visible　in　the　distance；　dropped　permanently　from　sight。　Here　in　the　hills　the　land　still　showed　devastation　wrought　by　the　Dark　King's　foragers。　Soon　the　fugitives　came　to　a　stream；　and　a　thicket　that　offered　shelter　of　a　kind。　Mark　stopped　again。
　This　time　he　employed　gentle　force　to　pry　the　young　woman's　hands　from　the　reins；　and　to　get　her　down　from　the　saddle。　Still　half…supported　by　Mark's　arm；　she　stood　beside　the　animal　waiting　for　whatever　might　happen　to　her　next。　Her　lips　were　cracked；　hideously　dry。　Mark　had　to　lead　her　to　the　stream；　and　get　her　to　kneel　beside　it。　Still　she　did　not　appear　to　realize　what　was　in　front　of　her。　Only　after　he　had　given　her　the　first　drink　from　his　own　cupped　hands　did　she　rouse　from　her　trance　enough　to　bend　to　the　water　for　herself。
　〃I　can　stand；〃　she　announced　suddenly；　in　a　disused　croak　of　a　voice。　And　stand　she　did；　unaided；　a　little　taller　than　before。　A　moment　later；　her　eyes　for　the　first　time　fastened　on　Mark　with　full　attention。
　In　the　next　instant　he　was　startled　to　see　joyous　recognition　surge　up　in　her　face。　In　a　much　clearer　voice；　she　murmured；　〃Rostov。。。　how　did　you　ever　manage。。？〃
　The　instant　after　that；　she　fell　unconscious　in　Mark's　arms。
　He　caught　her　as　well　as　he　could；　and　stretched　her　out　on　the　grass。　Then　he　sat　down；　and；　holding　his　own　head；　tried　to　think　through　his　pain。　Rostov　was　a　Tasavaltan　name；　borne　by　the　famed　general；　and；　Mark　supposed；　by　many　others　as　well。　He　was　still　wearing　Sightblinder；　and　the　young　woman　had　seen　him　as　someone　she　knew　and　trusted。
　Mark　lay　down　and　tried　to　rest；　but　his　wound　made　that　practically　impossible。　Presently　he　decided　that　they　might　as　well　go　on；　if　he　could　get　his　panion　back　into　the　saddle。　She　roused　herself　when　he　tugged　at　her；　and　with　his　help　she　got　mounted　again。　Though　she　appeared　now　to　be　asleep；　with　closed　eyes；　she　sat　steadily　astride　the　riding　beast；　wrapped　in　the　cloak　of　gold　and　black。　That　hateful　cloak　might　be　a　help；　thought　Mark；　if　any　of　the　enemy　should　see　her　from　a　distance。　He　himself　was　still　protected　by　Sightblinder；　but　his　panion　would　not　be。
　Still　his　wound　throbbed　mercilessly。　He　was　sure　now　that　the　Mindsword　must　have　had　some　poisonous　effect；　but　unless　he　could　find　help　somewhere　there　was　nothing　he　could　do　about　it。　He　rode　on；　side　by　side　with　his　panion；　Mark　now　and　then　rousing　himself　enough　to　realize　that　neither　of　them　was　more　than　half　conscious。　Grimly　he　concentrated　…