ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第45节

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　other　opening　the　doors。
　　He　went　out。　He　had　wrapped　himself　in　a　fur…lined　cloak　over　his　own　clothing。　He　wore　his　rings　again。　No　point　to　the　steward's　disguise　any　more。　That　had　served　its　purpose　on　the　road；　in　the　inns　between　Cartada　and　here。　They　had　been　travelling　with　a　kingdom's　worth　of　gems　in　the　two　coffers　he　had　allowed　Zabira；　over　the　years　Almalik　had　not　been　less　than　generous　with　the　woman　he　loved。　It　had　been　necessary　therefore；　travelling　here；　to　appear　both　unconcerned　and　unimportant。　It　was　not　necessary　any　more。
　　He　wondered　where　Zabira　was　tonight；　then　dismissed　the　thought　as　unworthy。　She　would　captivate　someone　here　soon　enough…the　king；　the　chancellor；　perhaps　both…but　not　yet。　Tonight　she　would　be　with　her　sons。　The　young　princes。　Pieces　on　the　board　in　the　new；　larger　game。　That　much　had　been　decided　at　the　meeting　before　the　challenge　in　the　lists。　He　had　begun；　during　that　crisp　discussion；　to　grasp　precisely　how　shrewd　Mazur　ben　Avren　was。　Why　Badir　had　risked　so　much　to　keep　his　Kindath　chancellor　by　him。　There　had　been　a　reputation；　of　course。　One　formal　encounter。　Letters　exchanged；　over　the　years；　and　clever　poems　read。　Now　he　had　met　the　man。　A　different　sort　of　challenge。　Much　to　think　about。　It　had　been　a　fully　engaged　day；　truly。
　　It　was　cold　after　dark　in　Ragosa；　this　late　in　the　year　with　a　wind　blowing。　He　wanted　that　cold。　He　wanted　solitude　and　starlight；　the　bite　of　that　wind　off　the　lake。　His　footsteps　led　him　that　way；　past　shuttered　shops；　then　the　warehouses；　and　then；　beyond　them；　walking　alone　and　in　silence；　to　a　long　pier　by　the　water's　edge。　He　stopped　there　finally；　breathing　deeply　of　the　night　air。
　　Overhead；　the　stars　were　very　bright；　and　the　moons。　He　saw　how　the　city　walls　reached　out　into　the　water　here　like　two　arms；　almost　meeting；　enclosing　the　harbor。　In　the　moonlight　he　watched　the　single…masted　fishing　boats　and　the　smaller　and　larger　pleasure　craft　tossed　up　and　down　on　the　dark；　choppy　waters　of　the　lake。　The　slap　and　surge　of　waves。　Water。　What　was　it　about　water？
　　He　knew　the　answer　to　that。
　　They　came　from　the　desert；　his　people。　From　shifting；　impermanent　dunes　and　sandstorms　and　harsh；　bleak；　sculpted　mountains；　from　a　place　where　the　wind　could　blow　forever　without　being　checked　or　stayed。　Where　the　sun　killed　and　it　was　the　night　stars　that　offered　promise　of　life；　air　to　breathe；　a　breeze　to　cool　the　blistering　fever　of　the　day。　Where　water　was　。。。　what？　A　dream；　a　prayer；　the　purest　blessing　of　the　god。
　　He　had　no　memory　of　such　places　himself；　unless　it　was　a　memory　that　had　e　with　him　into　the　world。　A　tribal　memory　bred　into　the　Asharites；　defining　them。　Ammuz　and　Soriyya；　the　homelands；　as　a　presence　in　the　soul。　The　deserts　there。　Wider　sands；　even；　than　those　of　the　Majriti。　He　had　never　seen　the　Majriti；　either。　He　had　been　born　in　Aljais；　here　in　Al…Rassan；　in　a　house　with　three　splashing　fountains。　Even　so；　he　was　drawn　to　water　when　distressed；　when　something　within　him　needed　assuaging。　Far　from　the　desert；　the　desert　lay　inside　him　like　a　wound　or　a　weight；　as　it　lay　inside　them　all。
　　The　white　moon　was　overhead；　the　blue　just　rising；　a　crescent。　With　the　city　lights　behind　him　the　stars　were　fierce　and　cold　above　the　lake。　Clarity；　that　was　what　they　meant　to　him。　That　was　what　he　needed　tonight。
　　He　listened　to　the　waves　striking　against　the　pier　beneath　his　feet。　Once；　a　pause；　again。　The　surging　rhythm　of　the　world。　His　thoughts　were　scattered；　bobbing　like　the　boats；　refusing　to　coalesce。　He　was　in　some　disfort　physically　but　that　wasn't　important。　Weariness　mostly；　some　bruises；　a　gash　on　one　calf　that　he　had　simply　ignored。
　　The　afternoon's　challenge　in　the　lists　had　been　effortless；　in　fact。　One　of　the　things　with　which　he　was　having　trouble。
　　There　had　been　five　against　the　two　of　them；　and　the　Karcher　had　chosen　four　of　the　best　captains　in　Ragosa　to　join　him。　There　was　a　visible　anger　in　those　men；　a　grimness；　the　need　to　prove　a　point　and　not　just　about　wages。　It　had　been　contrived　as　a　display；　an　entertainment　for　court　and　city；　not　to…the…death。　But　even　so；　eyes　beneath　helms　had　been　hard　and　cold。
　　It　ought　never　to　have　been　so　swift；　so　much　like　a　dance　or　a　dream。　It　was　as　if　there　had　been　music　playing　somewhere；　almost　but　not　quite　heard。　He　had　fought　those　five　men　side…by…side　and　then　back…to…back　with　Rodrigo　Belmonte　of　Valledo；　whom　he　had　never　seen　in　his　life；　and　it　had　been　as　nothing　had　ever　been　before；　on　a　battlefield　or　anywhere　else。　It　had　felt　weirdly　akin　to　having　doubled　himself。　To　fighting　as　if　there　were　two　hard…trained　bodies　with　the　one　controlling　mind。　They　hadn't　spoken　during　the　fight。　No　warnings；　tactics。　It　hadn't　even　lasted　long　enough　for　that。
　　On　the　pier　above　the　cold；　choppy　waters　of　Lake　Serrana；　ibn　Khairan　shook　his　head；　remembering。
　　He　ought　to　have　been　elated　after　such　a　triumph；　perhaps　curious；　intrigued。　He　was　deeply　unsettled　instead。　Restless。　Even　a　little　afraid；　if　he　was　honest　with　himself。
　　The　wind　blew。　He　stood　facing　into　it；　looking　north　across　the　lake。　On　the　farther　shore　lay　the　tagra　lands　where　no　one　lived；　with　Jalona　and　Valledo　beyond。　Where　the　Horsemen　of　Jad　worshipped　the　golden　sun　the　Asharites　feared　in　their　burning　deserts。　Jad。　Ashar。　Banners　for　men　to　gather　beneath。
　　He　had　spent　his　life　alone；　whether　in　play　or　at　war。　Had　never　sought　a　pany　to　mand；　a　coterie　of　sub…manders；　or　even；　truthfully；　a　friend。　panions；　hangers…on；　acolytes；　lovers；　these　had　always　been　a　part　of　his　life；　but　not　real　friendship…unless　one　named　the　man　he　had　poisoned　in　Cartada。
　　Ibn　Khairan　had　e　over　the　years　to　see　the　world　as　a　place　in　which　he　moved　by　himself；　leading　men　into　battle　when　necessary；　evolving　plans　and　courses　for　his　monarch　when　asked；　crafting　his　verses　and　songs　whenever　the　patterns　of　life　allowed　space　for　that；　linking　and　unlinking　with　a　succession　of　women…and　some　men。
　　Nothing　for　very　long；　nothing　that　went　too　deep。　He　had　never　married。　Had　never　wanted　to；　or　been　pressured　to　do　so。　His　brothers　had　children。　Their　line　would　continue。
　　If　pressed；　he　would　probably　have　said　that　this　cast　of　mind；　this　steady；　ongoing　need　for　distance；　had　its　origin　on　a　summer's　day　when　he　had　walked　into　the　Al…Fontina　in　Silvenes　and　killed　the　last　khalif　on　a　fountain　rim　for　Almalik　of　Cartada。
　　The　old；　blind　man　had　praised　his　youthful　verses。　Had　invited　him　to　visit　Silvenes。　An　aged　man　who　had　never　wanted　to　ascend　the　khalif's　dais。　Everyone　knew　that。　How　should　a　blind　poet　rule　Al…Rassan？　Muzafar　had　been　only　another　piece　on　the　board；　a　tool　of　the　court　powers　in　corrupt；　terrified　Silvenes。　Dark　days　those　had　been　in　Al…Rassan；　when　the　young　ibn　Khairan　had　walked　past　bribed　eunuchs　and　into　the　Garden　of　Desire　bearing　a　forbidden　blade。
　　It　was　not　hard；　even　now；　to　make　a　case　for　what　he　had　done；　for　what　Almalik　of　Cartada　had　ordered　done。　Even　so。　That　day　in　the　innermost　garden　of　the　Al…Fontina　had　marked　ibn　Khairan。　In　the　eyes　of　others；　in　his　own　eyes。　The　man　who　killed　the　last　khalif　of　Al…Rassan。
　　He　had　been　young　then；　rich　with　a　sense　of　his　own　invulnerability　and　a　dazzled　awareness　of　all　the　shimmering　possibilities　the　world　held　in　store。
　　He　wasn't　young　any　more。　Even　the　cold；　this　keen　wind　off　the　water；　knifed　into　him　more　sharply　than　it　would　have　fifteen　years　ago。　He　smiled　at　that；　for　the　first　time　that　night；　and　shook　his　head　ruefully。　Maudlin；　unworthy　thoughts。　An　old　man　in　a　blanket　before　the　fire？　Soon　enough；　soon　enough。　If　he　lived。　The　patterns　of　life。　What　was　allowed。
　　e；　brother；　Rodrigo　Belmonte　of　Valledo　had　said　today　as　five　hard　men　with　swords　had　walked　forward　to　encircle　the　two　of　them。　Shall　we　show　them　how　this　is　done？
　　They　had　shown　them。
　　Brother。　A　golden　disk　of　Jad　on　a　chain　about　his　throat。　Leader　of　the　most　dangerous　pany　in　the　peninsula。　One　hundred　and　fifty　horsemen　of　the　god。　A　beautiful　wife；　two　sons。　Heirs　to　be　taught；　even　loved　perhaps。　Pious　and　loyal；　and　deadly。
　　Ibn　Khairan　knew　about　that　last；　now。　Only　stories　before。　Nothing　like　it；　ever；　in　a　lifetime　of　bat。　Five　men　against　them。　Trained；　magnificent　fighters；　the　best　mercenaries　in　Ragosa。　And　in　no　time　at　all；　really；　they　were　down；　it　was　over。　A　dance。
　　Usually　he　could　remember　each　individual　movement；　every　feint　and　parry　and　thrust　of　a　battle　for　a　long　time　afterwards。　His　mind　worked　that　way；　breaking　down　a　larger　event　into　its　smaller　parts。　But　this　afternoon　was　already　a　blur。　Which　was　a　part　of　why　he　was　so　unsettled　now。
　　He　had　looked　at　Belmonte　after；　and　had　seen…with　relief　and　apprehension；　both…a　mirror　image　of　that　same　strangeness。　As　if　something　had　gone　flying　away　from　each　of　them　and　was　only　just　ing　back。　The　Valledan　had　looked　glazed；　unfocused。
　　At　least；　Ammar　had　thought；　it　isn't　only　me。
　　There　had　been　uncontrolled　noise　by　then；　delirious；　deafeningly　loud。　Screaming　from　up　on　the　walls　and　from　the　royal　stand　by　the　lists。