ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第101节

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less；　emasculated　captain　on　top　of　him；　as　if　they　had　been　lovers　butchered　in　congress。
　　It　was　all　a　matter　of　sending　a　message。　Making　the　Jaddites　brutally　aware　of　what　they　faced　if　they　remained　in　the　lands　of　Ashar　so　far　from　their　pastures　in　the　north。
　　Aziz　looked　up。　An　outrider　was　racing　towards　them　from　the　eastern　edge　of　the　hamlet。
　　〃More　of　them！〃　he　shouted。　〃Riding　from　Fezana。〃
　　〃How　many？〃
　　〃Fifty。　Maybe　more。〃
　　Aziz　scowled。　He　badly　wanted　to　stay　and　defeat　these　men　as　well；　especially　since　his　own　disgrace；　but　surprise　was　gone　now；　and　the　new　Valledans　would　be　mounted　and　ready。　His　orders　had　been　clear；　and　he　understood　them　too　well　to　disobey；　whatever　pride　might　desire。
　　He　ordered　the　withdrawal。　Dead　Valledans　were　strewn　through　the　camp。　The　food　and　the　supply　wagons　were　burning。　They　rode　out　to　the　north　and　crossed　the　river　by　the　narrow　bridge。　The　last　men　chopped　it　down；　just　to　be　sure。
　　They　raced　back　to　Fezana　without　incident；　were　known　and　admitted　at　the　southern　gate。　Aziz　made　his　report　to　the　governor。　Then　he　and　his　men　were　immediately　detailed　to　join　others　in　fighting　the　fires　that　had　begun　in　their　absence。　It　appeared　that　someone　had　chosen　a　poor　moment　to　perform　an　entirely　proper　act：　dealing　with　the　Kindath　of　the　city。
　　It　was　mid…morning　before　Aziz　ibn　Dabir　fell；　exhausted；　into　bed。　His　shoulder　had　begun　to　hurt　quite　badly　during　the　labors　of　the　long　night。　He　dozed　fitfully；　despite　his　fatigue；　knowing　that　word　would　be　travelling　south　across　Al…Rassan　and　then　the　straits　to　the　desert　all　too　soon。
　　Word　of　how　Aziz　ibn　Dabir　had　been　on　the　very　brink　of　defeat　in　bat　with　a　single　Valledan　and　had　only　been　saved　by　the　intercession　of　men　he　led。　Aziz　was　painfully　aware　that　the　extent　of　his　own　contribution　to　the　ambush　at　Orvilla　had　been　to　kill　a　child　and　then　mutilate　a　man　others　had　slain　for　him…which；　among　the　tribes；　was　woman's　work。　Yazir　might　tolerate　this；　in　a　captain　of　experience；　but　his　brother　Ghalib；　who　manded　the　armies　of　the　Majriti　for　him；　was　less　likely　to　do　so。
　　And　Aziz　happened　to　be　one　of　those　who　knew　the　origins　of　the　extremely　unusual　thong　Ghalib　ibn　Q'arif　wore　about　his　neck。
　　
　　He　could　not　remember　feeling　so　pure　a　terror　in　all　his　life。　His　heart　was　pounding　uncontrollably　as　he　raced　over　the　plain；　he　thought　he　might　actually　lose　control　of　himself；　fall　off　the　horse；　be　trampled　to　death　by　those　who　followed　in　his　wake。
　　That　might　be；　thought　Rodrigo　Belmonte；　a　blessing；　the　way　shooting　a　horse　or　a　hunting　dog　with　a　broken　leg　was　a　gift　of　mercy。
　　He　was　a　horse　or　a　dog　like　that。
　　He　was　a　father　trying　to　outrun　the　arc　of　time　to　his　son。　Terror　was　in　him；　defined　him；　made　his　mind　a　blank　of　dread。
　　Nothing　like　this；　ever　before。　Fear；　yes。　No　honest　soldier　could　truly　say　he　had　never　known　fear。　Courage　lay　in　fighting　past　that；　through　it；　rising　above　it　to　do　what　one　had　to　do。　He　had　faced　his　own　death　many　times；　and　feared　it；　and　dealt　with　that　fear。　He　had　never　felt　what　he　was　experiencing　now；　in　this　night　of　Al…Rassan；　hurtling　towards　Orvilla　for　the　second　time　in　less　than　a　year。
　　And　with　that　thought；　Rodrigo　saw　the　fires　burning　ahead　of　him　and　knew…a　soldier；　a　trained　soldier…that　he　was　too　late。
　　He　heard　a　sound　in　the　night。　A　name；　his　own　voice　crying；　over　and　over；　the　one　name。　His　child's。　It　was　dark。　It　was　dark　under　the　stars；　and　there　were　fires　ahead。
　　The　Muwardis…it　would　have　been　Muwardi　warriors；　of　course…had　left　by　the　time　he　came　racing　up　to　the　low　stockade　and　leaped　it　and　flung　himself　from　his　horse　amid　burning　wagons　and　tents　and　slain；　mutilated　men　he　knew。
　　He　found　Ibero　first。　He　had　no　prehension　of　how　the　man　had　e　to　be　here。　The　little　cleric　lay　in　a　pool　of　his　own　blood；　black　in　the　light　of　the　fires。　His　hands　and　feet　had　been　cut　off。　They　lay　a　little　distance　from　his　body；　pieces　of　a　child's　torn　doll。
　　Rodrigo　smelled　burning　flesh。　Some　of　their　people　had　been　thrown　on　the　cooking　fires。　He　stumbled　towards　the　central　green；　remembering　it　from　the　summer　before。　Hope　gone　now；　but　with　no　defenses　in　him　against　this；　he　saw　the　severed　head　of　Gonzalez　de　Rada　and；　beside　it；　the　body　of　the　constable；　leggings　torn　off；　sprawled　obscenely　atop　the　small；　face…down　figure　of　a　boy。
　　Rodrigo　heard　himself　make　a　sound　again。
　　A　wordless　plea。　For　mercy；　for　kindness；　for　time　to　run　backwards　and　let　him　be　here　soon　enough。　In　time　to　save　his　child；　or　die　with　Diego　if　nothing　else　were　allowed。
　　Sounds；　sights；　the　smell　of　flesh　burning　faded　away　into　a　distance。　He　walked　over　to　the　two　bodies　lying　there。
　　As　in　a　dream；　his　movements　impossibly　slow；　he　knelt　down　and　rolled　Gonzalez　de　Rada's　body　off　the　prone　figure　of　his　son。　He　saw　then…dreamlike；　unbelieving…what　else　had　been　done　to　the　constable　of　Valledo。
　　Then；　gently；　gently；　as　in　a　dream；　he　turned　Diego　over　on　the　blood…soaked　ground　and　saw　the　blow　that　had　broken　his　head。　He　began　to　weep　then；　rocking　back　and　forth；　for　the　child　in　his　arms　who　had　gone　away。
　　He　heard；　as　from　a　distance；　others　ing　up　now。　Horses。　Footsteps。　Running；　then　walking。　They　stopped。　Somehow　a　thought　came　to　him。　Not　looking　up；　unable　to　look　up；　he　said；　to　whoever　was　near；　〃Fernan。　Stop　Fernan。　Don't　let　him　see　this。〃
　　〃It　is　me；　Papa。　Oh；　Papa；　is　he　dead？〃
　　He　looked　up　then。　He　forced　himself。　He　had　a　living　child。　Twin　to　this　one。　Bonded　souls。　Different　all　their　lives；　but　one　birth；　one　face。　Together；　always；　against　what　the　world　had　brought　them。　Not　any　more。　Fernan　would　be　feeling　a　nakedness　now；　Rodrigo　thought；　an　icy　wind　blowing　right　through　him　in　the　place　where　his　brother　had　been。
　　By　the　light　of　burning　wagons　he　saw　Fernan's　face。　And　Rodrigo　Belmonte　knew；　in　that　moment；　that　the　boy　would　never　entirely　move　past　this　image　of　seeing　his　dead　brother　in　his　father's　arms。　It　would　shape　him　and　define　his　life　to　e　and　there　was　nothing　Rodrigo　could　do　to　alter　that。
　　He　had　to　stop　weeping；　though。　He　had　to　try。
　　Ammar　ibn　Khairan　was　here；　just　behind　Fernan。　His　had　been　the　warning；　immediate　but　too　late。　He；　too；　would　have　seen　slaughters　like　this　in　his　time。　Killings　and　desecrations　meant　to　convey　a　message；　a　warning。　Rodrigo　remembered；　suddenly；　the　Day　of　the　Moat　and　what　ibn　Khairan　had　done　to　the　king　of　Cartada　in　the　aftermath　of　that。　Killing。　An　answer；　of　a　kind。
　　He　realized　that　he　was　close　to　losing　all　control。　〃Ammar；　please　take　him　away；〃　he　whispered。　〃He　ought　not　to　be　seeing　this。　Go　with　this　man；　Fernan。　Please。〃
　　〃Is　he　dead？〃　Fernan　asked　again；　ignoring　or　unable　to　register　the　mute；　terrible　evidence　of　the　shattered　and　bleeding　skull。
　　〃e；　Fernan；〃　said　ibn　Khairan　gently；　a　poet's　voice。　〃Let　us　walk　over　to　the　river　and　sit　a　moment。　Perhaps　we　can　each　pray；　after　our　own　fashion。　Will　you　do　that　with　me？〃
　　In　the　distant；　muffled　place　to　which　he　seemed　to　have　e；　Rodrigo　watched　his　son　walk　away　with　Ammar　ibn　Khairan　of　Aljais。　An　Asharite。　An　enemy。　Guard　him；　he　wanted　to　say　to　Ammar；　but　there　was　no　need　now；　and　it　was　too　late。　The　damage　had　been　done。
　　He　looked　down　again　at　the　child　he　was　holding。　Diego。　Little　one。　Poets　everywhere　wrote　about　hearts　breaking　for　love。　He　wondered　if　they　really　knew。　He　felt；　absurdly；　as　if　there　was　an　actual　crack　running　straight　down　through　his　own　heart　and　that　crack　would　never　be　mended；　never　bee　healed　and　whole。　The　world　had　entered　in　and　broken　him　past　repair。
　　There　was　an　army　here；　with　the　king。　An　army　in　Al…Rassan。　He　wondered；　vaguely；　how　much　killing　he　was　about　to　undertake；　in　an　effort…hopeless　before　it　ever　began…to　avenge　and　assuage　this　moment。　This　small；　limp　figure　in　his　arms。　Diego。
　　He　wondered　if　anything　would　ever　reach　through　to　him　again。
　　〃Oh；　dear　Jad；〃　he　heard　someone　say　sharply。　Ramiro；　the　king　of　Valledo。　〃Oh；　not　this；　in　the　name　of　what　is　holy！〃
　　Rodrigo　looked　over。　Something　in　the　king's　voice。
　　New　torches；　more　riders　approaching。　From　the　north。　Not　the　king's　party　that　had　met　them　by　the　river　and　the　walls。　The　other　direction。　Valledan　banners；　lit　by　flames。
　　They　came　nearer　and　stopped。　He　saw　the　queen　of　Valledo；　Ines。
　　He　saw　his　wife　dismount　to　stand　there；　looking　straight　towards　him；　motionless。　Without　defense。
　　He　had　no　idea　why　Miranda　was　here。　Why　any　of　them　were　here。　He　had　to　move；　though；　to　try　to　spare　her　a　small　part　of　this；　at　least。　If　he　could。
　　Gently；　gently；　he　laid　Diego　down　again　on　the　cold　ground　and　rose；　stumbling；　blood　soaking　his　clothing；　and　went　towards　Miranda　between　the　fires　and　slain　men。
　　He　rubbed　at　his　eyes；　his　face。　His　hands　seemed　to　belong　to　someone　else。　There　were　words　needed　now；　but　he　didn't　have　them。　It　was　a　dream。　He　would　never　wake　from　this。
　　〃Please　tell　me　he　is　only　hurt；〃　his　wife　said　very　quietly。　〃Rodrigo；　please　say