fs.thefirstbookofswords-第23节
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certainly never heard anything like it before。
Nestor； who had heard it too； called another halt and another conference。 He didn't know； either； what the flying thing might have been； and now he was ready to curse the fog； which earlier he had weled。 〃It's not right for this part of the country； this time of the year。 But we'll e out of it all right if we just keep going。〃
This time Nestor stayed with the wagon and took over the driving himself。 The others remained steadily on lookout； keeping watch in all directions as well as possible in the fog。
The lane on which they were traveling dipped down to a small river； shallow but swiftly flowing； and crossed it in a gravel ford。 Nestor drove across without pausing。 Mark supposed that this was probably another bend of the same stream that they'd just camped beside； and that this crossing might mean a new change of territory。 But no one said anything； and he suspected they were all still confused about whose lands they were in。
Slowly they groped their way ahead； through soupy mists。 The team； and the dragon as well； were nervous now。 As if； thought Mark； something more than mere fog were bothering them。
There was the river again； off to the right。 The road itself moved here in meandering curves； like a flatland stream。
Suddenly； from behind the wagon and to the left； there came the thudding； scraping； distinctive sound of riding…beasts hard footpads on a hard road。 It sounded like at least half a dozen animals； traveling together。 It had to be a cavalry patrol。
The dragon keened loudly。
〃Halt； there； the wagon！〃
From somewhere a whip had e into Nestor's hand； and he cracked it now above the loadbeasts' backs； making a sound like an ice…split tree。 The team started forward with a great leap； and came down from the leap in a full run。 So far today they had not been driven hard； and their panic had plenty of nervous energy for fuel。
〃Halt！〃
The order was ignored。 Only a moment later； the first arrows flew； aimed quite well considering conditions。 One shaft pierced the cloth cover of the wagon above Mark's head； and another split one of the wooden uprights that supported the cloth。
〃Fight 'em！〃 roared Nestor。 He had no more than that to say to his human panions； but turned his energy and his words； in a torrent of exhortation and abuse； toward his team。 The loadbeasts were running already as Mark had never known a team to run before。 Meanwhile inside the wagon a mad scramble was in progress； with Ben going for the crossbow and Mark for his own bow and quiver。 Mark saw Barbara slipping the thong of a leather sling around one finger of her right hand； and taking up an egg…shaped leaden missile。
Looking out from the left front of the wagon with bow in hand； Mark saw a mounted man swiftly materializing out of the mist。 He wore a helmet and a mail shirt； under a jerkin of white and blue； and he rode beside the racing team； raising his sword to strike at its nearest animal。 Mark quickly aimed and loosed an arrow； in the bounding confusion he couldn't be sure of the result of his own shot； but the crossbow thrummed beside him and the rider tumbled from his saddle。
The caged dragon； bounced unmercifully； screamed。 The terrified loadbeasts bounded at top speed through the fog； as if to escape the curses that Nestor volleyed at them from the driver's seat。 It seemed to Mark that missiles were sighing in from every direction； with most of them tearing through the wagon's cloth。 Someone outside the wagon kept shouting for it to halt。 Ben； in the midst of recocking his crossbow； was almost pitched out of the wagon by a horrendous bounce。
Mark saw Barbara leaning out。 Her right arm blurred； releasing a missile from her sling in an underhand arc。 One of the cavalry mounts pursuing stumbled and went down。
The patrol had first sighted the wagon across a bight of the meandering road； and in taking a short cut to head it off had encountered some difficult terrain。 This had provided the wagon with a good flying start on a fairly level stretch of road。 But now the faster riders were catching up。
〃Border's near！〃 yelled Nestor to his crew。 〃Hang on！〃
We know it's near； thought Mark； but which direction is it？ Maybe now Nestor really did know。 Mark loosed another arrow； and again he could not see where it went。 But a moment later one of the pursuing riders pulled up； as if his animal had gone lame。
Another bounce； another tilt of the wagon； bigger than any bounce and tilt before。 This one was too big。 Mark felt the tipping and the spinning； the wagon hitting the earth broadside； with one crash upon another。 He thought he saw the dragon's cage； still intact； fly past above his spinning head； all jumbled' with a stream of bedding； and a frog…crock streaming frogs。 He hit the ground； expecting to be killed or stunned； but soft earth eased the impact。
Aware of no serious injury； he rolled over in grass and sand； the ground beneath him squelching wetly。 Nearby； the wagon was on one side now； with one set of wheels spinning in the air； and the team still struggling hopelessly to pull it。 Meanwhile what was left of the cavalry thundered past； rounding the wagon on both sides； charging on into thickets along the roadside just ahead。 Mark could catch just a glimpse of people there； who looked like Ben and Barbara； fleeing on foot。
The dragon was still keening； inside its upended but unbroken crate beside the wagon。
On all fours； Mark scrambled back into the thick of the spilled contents at the wagon's rear。 He went groping； fumbling； looking for the sword。 He let out a small cry of triumph when he recognized Townsaver's blade； and thrust a hand beneath a pile of spilled potatoes for the hilt。 He had just started to lift the weapon when he heard a multitude of feet e pounding closer just behind him。 Mark turned his head to see men in half…armor； wearing the Duke's colors； leaping from their mounts to surround him。 A spearman held his weapon at Mark's throat。 Mark's hand was still on the sword； but he could feel no power in it。
〃Drop it； varlet！〃 a soldier ordered。
And overhead； out of the mist； great wings were sighing down。 And the caged dragon's continuous keening was answered from up there by a creak that might have issued from a breaking windmill blade。
Another inhuman voice interrupted。 This one was a basso roar； projecting itself at ground level through the mists。 Mark's knees were still on the ground； and through them he could feel the stamp of giant feet； pounding closer。 A shape moving on two treetrunk legs； tall as an elder's house； swayed out of the fog； two forelimbs raised like pitchforks。 Striding forward faster than a riding…beast could run； the dragon closed in on a mounted man。 Flame jetted from a beautiful red cavern of a mouth； the glow of fire reflecting； resonating； through cubic meters of the surrounding fog。 The man atop his steed； five meters from the dragon； exploded like a firework； lance flying from his hand； his armor curling like paper in the blast。 Mark felt the heat at thirty meters' distance。
Without pausing； the dragon altered the direction of its charge。 It snorted； making an odd sound； almost musical； like metal bells。 Once more it projected fire from nose and upper mouth。 This time the target； another man on beastback； somehow dodged the full effect。 The riding…beast screamed at the light brush of fire； and veered the wrong way。 One pitchfork forelimb caught it by one leg； and sent it and its rider twirling through the air to break their bodies against a tree。
All around Mark； men were screaming。 He saw the Duke's men and their riding…beasts in desperate retreat。
The dragon changed the direction of its charge again。 Now it was ing straight at Mark。
Nestor； at the moment when the wagon tipped； had tried to save himself by leaping as far as he could out from the seat； to one side and forward。 He did get clear of the crash； landed on one leg and one arm； and managed to turn the flying fall into an acrobat's tumbling roll； thanking all the gods even as he struck that here the earth was soft。
Soft or not； something struck him on the side of the head； hard enough to daze him for a moment。 He fought grimly to stay free of the descending curtain of internal darkness； and collapsed no farther than his hands and knees。 He was dimly aware of someone； Ben； he thought it was … bounding past him； into nearby thickets promising concealment。 And there went a pair of lighter； swifter feet； Barbara's perhaps。
In the thick fog； cavalry came pounding near。 Beside Nestor in the muck； partially buried in it even as he was； there was a log。 He let himself sink closer to it； trying to blend shapes。
The cavalry swept past with a lot of noise； then was； for the moment； gone。 Nestor scrambled his way back toward the tipped wagon。 He had to have the sword。 Whatever else happened； he wasn't going to leave that for the Duke。
When he reached the spill； he found the sword at once； as if； even half…dazed； he had known where Dragonslicer must be。 With the familiar shape of the hilt tightly in his gr
