df.therunelords-第107节

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　Raj　Ahten　spun；　blocked　Shostag's　blow　with　his　own　battle…axe；　sparks　flew　from　the　weapons。　The　iron　handle　of　Raj　Ahten's　smaller　axe　bent。　Shostag　marveled　that　his　blow　didn't　shatter　Raj　Ahten's　arm。　With　deadly　grace　Raj　Ahten　swung　his　icy　scimitar　beneath　Shostag's　guard；　pierced　Shostag's　belly　with　a　blow　of　cold　horror。
　But　Shostag　was　no　moner；　dismayed　at　the　sight　of　his　own　guts。　He　had　more　stamina　than　most　lords；　the　stamina　of　wolves　who　hunted　the　winter　woods　for　bear　and　boar。
　The　little　prickling　wound　only　angered　him；　so　that　Shostag　whirled　his　mighty　axe　with　both　hands；　spun　and　delivered　a　blow　that　should　have　cleaved　the　Wolf　Lord　in　two。
　But　Raj　Ahten　threw　himself　back；　dropping　his　bent　axe；　dodging　Shostag's　blow；　smashing　the　finely　wrought　cedar　door　of　the　wardrobe；　falling　into　it　himself。
　A　Dedicate　lay　beneath　Raj　Ahten；　half　buried　by　splintered　cedar；　crouching　among　some　maids'　dresses；　a　warhammer　in　one　hand；　shield　in　another。　Sir　Owlsforth；　a　warrior　five　men　down　the　line　of　defenders　from　Shostag　in　the　serpent。
　If　Shostag　didn't　kill　Raj　Ahten　now；　he'd　never　get　another　chance。　He　drew　back　his　great　axe；　preparing　to　cleave　the　Wolf　Lord　in　two。
　At　that　moment；　Raj　Ahten　plunged　two　fingers　through　the　eye　slits　of　Owlsforth's　helm；　into　his　brain。
　Shostag　felt　a　piercing　nausea；　and　watched　in　horror　as　Raj　Ahten　leaned　away　from　the　falling　axe　and　suddenly　became　an　indistinct　blur；　leaping　toward　him。
　Shostag　knew　nothing　more。
　　
　Chapter　55
　THE　CRY
　　
　Raj　Ahten　did　not　trouble　himself　with　finding　the　heads　of　the　serpent。　He　followed　his　keen　nose　through　buildings；　and　in　a　few　moments　found　several　more　men　hiding；　slaughtered　six　more　Dedicates。　As　he　did　so；　he　also　murdered　another　sixty　of　Longmot's　defenders。　He　half…hoped　to　find　Jureem　here。
　The　battle　was　winding　down。　King　Orden　was　dead；　most　of　the　defenders。　Seldom　had　Raj　Ahten　dealt　a　foe　such　a　fell　beating。　Never　had　he　personally　spilled　so　much　good　blood。
　Once；　he　came　upon　a　man　running　from　a　building　with　unmon　speeda　nobleman。　He　recognized　the　Earl　of　Dreis　by　the　gray　horse　and　four　arrows　on　his　shield；　more　than　by　any　finery。　Another　head　to　a　serpent。
　A　fine…looking　warrior；　the　Earl　was。　Spooky　gray　eyes；　tall　and　noble　in　every　mannerism。
　Ahten　slowed　enough　to　hamstring　the　fellow；　then　slashed　the　Earl's　throat　as　he　fell。
　By　now；　Raj　Ahten　had　the　battle　well　in　hand。　He　stood　on　the　rise　below　the　Dedicates'　Keep；　perhaps　fifty　paces　from　the　two　hundred　or　so　knights　who　kept　guard　there。
　He　stopped　for　a　moment　to　survey　the　battlefield。　Down　below；　his　men　had　taken　the　courtyard。　The　walls　were　almost　empty　of　defenders。
　Now　Raj　Ahten's　men　raced　along　the　wall…walks　to　the　east；　while　a　trio　of　salamanders　cleared　the　walls　to　the　west。　Everywhere　the　cries　of　dying　men　arose；　insubstantial　to　his　ears。　The　scents　of　blood　and　smoke　and　sulfurous　powders　carried　on　the　wind。
　Little　remained　for　him　to　do。
　He　raced　for　the　Dedicates'　Keep；　thinking　to　slaughter　the　two　hundred　warriors　who　stood　guard；　when　a　great　feeling　of　anxiousness　swept　over　him；　that　familiar　twist　of　the　stomach　that　acpanies　the　death　of　a　Dedicate。
　Eremon　Vottania　Solette　throttled　Salim　al　Daub。　It　takes　a　long　time　to　strangle　a　man；　particularly　if　he　has　endowments　of　stamina。　Eremon　found　the　job　immensely　difficult。　Sweat　began　to　bead　on　his　brow；　and　his　fingers　grew　wet；　making　his　fingers　slip。
　Salim　didn't　fight；　remained　unconscious。　Yet　he　turned　his　head　slowly；　unfortably；　tried　even　in　his　stupor　to　escape。　His　legs　began　to　kick　feebly；　rhythmically。　Salim's　lips　went　blue；　and　his　tongue　bulged。　His　eyes　opened　in　blind　panic。
　The　guard　didn't　see；　for　the　man　stood　gazing　out　the　rough　door　of　the　wagon　to　watch　the　storming　of　the　castle。　Among　the　stinking；　ill…kept　Dedicates；　the　silent　struggle　attracted　no　notice。　The　rhythmic　kick　of　Salim's　feet　seemed　but　a　background　noise；　the　shuffle　of　a　sleepy　Dedicate　as　he　sought　fort　among　the　moldy　hay。
　Nearby　a　deaf　Dedicate　watched　Eremon；　eyes　wide　in　fear。　This　was　no　knight　brought　to　embarrass　a　Northern　lord。　This　was　one　of　Raj　Ahten's　own　Dedicates；　a　fellow　who　vectored　hundreds　of　endowments　of　hearing　to　the　Wolf　Lord。　For　his　service；　he　was　treated　worse　than　a　dog。　The　Dedicate　had　reason　to　hate　his　lord；　had　reason　to　wish　him　dead。　Eremon　held　the　deaf　man's　eye　as　he　strangled　Salim；　silently　hoped　the　man　would　not　raise　a　cry。
　Salim　kicked　once；　hard；　made　a　pounding　noise　with　his　boot。
　At　the　wagon　door　the　guard　spun；　saw　Salim's　feet　kicking。　The　guard　lunged　forward；　sliced　Eremon's　arm　with　his　curved　knife；　hacking　it　off。
　Blood　spurted　from　Eremon's　arm；　just　below　the　elbow；　and　the　severed　stump　burned　like　fire。　But　his　hand；　the　hand　that　had　been　robbed　of　grace；　that　could　hardly　unclench　over　these　many　years；　clung　to　Salim's　throat　like　death　itself；　fingers　locked　on　the　big　eunuch's　esophagus。
　The　guard　snatched　at　it；　tried　to　pull　the　severed　hand　from　Salim's　throat。　Eremon　managed　to　kick　the　guard　behind　the　knee；　so　that　he　fell　back　among　the　Dedicates。
　In　that　moment；　Eremon　felt　a　great　easing　in　his　chest　as　grace　flowed　through　him；　felt　his　heart　and　muscles　unclench　pletely　for　the　first　time　in　many　years。　Salim　was　dead。
　Eremon　gasped　a　deep　breath；　tasted　in　one　last　gasp　the　sweet　air　of　freedom。　Then　the　guard　was　on　him。
　In　a　moment　of　vertigo；　the　world　slowed　profoundly　for　Raj　Ahten。　The　deep…toned　clickings　of　the　Earl　of　Dreis'　dying　shout　now　came　as　a　call　for　aid　to　his　ears；　and　Raj　Ahten　found　himself　sliding　on　his　feet　as　he　tried　to　stop　before　the　crowd　of　soldiers　who　guarded　the　Dedicates'　Keep。
　He　realized　he　had　only　his　normal　six　endowments　of　metabolism。　Some　of　these　guards　might　nearly　equal　him。
　He　shouted　a　battle　cry　of　such　incredible　volume　that　no　human　tongue　had　ever　matched　it。　He　had　begun　thinking　only　that　he　might　dishearten　a　few　warriors。
　But　as　he　shouted；　the　effect　astonished　even　him。
　The　men　began　to　drop　to　their　knees；　grasping　in　pain　at　their　helmets。　The　walls　of　the　keep　behind　them　shuddered　and　vibrated；　dust　cascading　from　cracks　in　the　stone　as　if　the　walls　were　a　rug；　and　his　Voice　a　stick　that　beat　it。
　The　Wolf　Lord　had　endowments　of　Voice　from　thousands；　and　brawn　that　let　him　expel　air　with　incredible　force。　Yet　even　he　had　never　guessed　that　his　cry　might　carry　such　power。
　So　astonished　was　he　that　as　Raj　Ahten　shouted；　he　shaped　his　call；　lowering　the　tone　several　octaves　until　stone　and　gravel　chipped　away　from　the　wall。
　Then　he　shouted　anew；　increased　his　volume；　chipping　deeper　at　the　stone；　turning　his　voice　into　a　fey　weapon。
　It　was　written　in　Taif　that　the　Emir　Moussat　ibn　Hafir　once　had　his　warriors　raise　such　a　cry。　In　the　deserts　of　Dharmad；　the　brick　walls　of　the　city　of　Abanis　had　crumbled　under　such　a　sound；　letting　the　Emir　send　his　cavalry　through　the　rubble。
　But　then　the　sound　had　e　from　the　voices　of　a　thousand　trained　warriors；　crying　as　one；　and　the　city　walls　had　been　made　of　weak　adobe　brick。
　It　was　called　the　Death　Cry　of　Abanis；　a　sound　legend　said　could　rend　stone　much　as　certain　singers　could　train　themselves　to　shatter　crystal。
　Now；　Raj　Ahten　raised　such　a　shout　alone。
　The　effect　felt　gratifying。　Before　him；　warriors　dropped　as　if　clubbed；　many　falling　in　shock；　some　dropping　in　death。　Blood　poured　from　men's　ears　and　from　their　noses。
　Behind　them；　as　Raj　Ahten　reached　his　crescendo；　the　huge　stone　tower　of　the　Dedicates'　Keep　suddenly　cracked；　rending　nearly　from　top　to　bottom。
　Yet　the　tower　did　not　quite　crumble　or　fall。
　Raj　Ahten　raised　the　shout　again；　playing　his　voice　back　and　forth　over　the　stone；　experimenting　with　various　harmonic　frequencies；　until　he　struck　just　the　right　chord。
　This　time　the　tower　crumbled　like　magic；　falling　in　a　mighty　crash　that　pummeled　the　earth；　raising　a　cloud　of　dust。　Great　stones　dropped；　slamming　into　prostrate　defenders　who　had　guarded　the　tower's　steps。
　Raj　Ahten　turned；　looked　on　the　walls　of　Castle　Longmont。　In　places；　the　walls　of　the　castle　had　cracked。　The　Duke's　Keep　looked　as　if　artillery　had　struck　it；　blasting　off　huge　chunks　of　stone；　crumbling　a　windowsill；　toppling　gargoyles。
　Those　men　who　still　could　gazed　at　Raj　Ahten　in　horror。
　Defeated。　Longmont　lay　defeated。
　Raj　Ahten　stood；　gloating　in　his　power。　The　King　of　the　Earth　may　e；　he　thought；　but　I　am　mightier　than　the　earth。
　Everyone；　even　Raj　Ahten's　own　men；　watched　him　in　terror。　Among　his　Invincibles；　few　had　been　damaged　by　the　Death　Cry。　Raj　Ahten's　Invincibles　each　had　a　minimum　of　five　endowments　of　staminaand；　apparently；　that　was　enough　for　them　to　withstand　the　destructive　power　of　his　Voice。
　But　many　moners　who　had　defended　the　walls　had　punctured　eardrums　or　had　lost　consciousness。
　In　the　moment　that　followed；　Raj　Ahten's　Invincibles　finished　their　swordplay；　slaughtering　those　who　resisted；　dragging　those　who　surrendered　down　into　the　courtyard。
　When　the　defenders　of　Longmont　were　disarmed；　their　armor　taken；　fewer　tha