rj.acrownofswords-第172节

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ing's　Palace　and　the　slightly　smaller　Great　Hall　of　the　Council；　and　this　was　the　Square　of　Tammuz；　in　the　heart　of　Illian。
　　　A　skinny　man　in　a　blue　coat；　with　a　beard　that　left　his　upper　lip　bare；　stood　gaping　at　the　sight　of　Rand　and　the　black　coated　Asha'man　leaping　out　of　a　hole　in　midair；　and　a　stout　woman；　in　a　green　dress　cut　high　enough　to　show　green　slippers　and　her　ankles　in　green　stockings；　pressed　both　hands　to　her　face　and　stood　rooted　right　in　front　of　them；　her　dark　eyes　popping。　All　the　people　were　stopping　to　stare；　hawkers　with　their　trays；　carters　halting　their　oxen；　men　and　women　and　children　with　their　mouths　hanging　open。
　　　Rand　thrust　his　hands　high　and　channeled。　〃I　am　the　Dragon　Reborn！〃　The　words　boomed　across　the　square；　amplified　by　Air　and　Fire；　and　flames　shot　up　from　his　hands　a　hundred　feet。　Behind　him；　the　Asha'man　filled　the　sky　with　balls　of　fire　streaking　in　every　direction。　All　save　Dashiva；　who　made　blue　lightnings　crackle　in　a　jagged　web　above　the　square。
　　　No　more　was　needed。　A　shrieking　flood　of　humanity　fled　in　all　directions；　away　from　the　Square　of　Tammuz。　They　fled　just　in　time。　Rand　and　the　Asha'man　darted　aside　from　the　gateway；　and　Davram　Bashere　led　his　wildly　screaming　Saldaeans　into　Illian；　a　flood　of　horsemen　waving　their　swords　as　they　poured　out。　Straight　ahead　Bashere　led　the　center　line　of　the　column；　just　as　they　had　planned　what　seemed　so　long　ago；　while　the　other　two　lines　peeled　off　to　either　side。　They　streamed　away　from　the　gateway；　breaking　apart　into　smaller　groups；　galloping　into　the　streets　leading　out　of　the　square。
　　　Rand　did　not　wait　to　see　the　last　of　the　horsemen　exit。　With　well　under　a　third　out　of　the　gateway；　he　immediately　wove　another；　smaller　opening。　You　did　not　need　to　know　a　place　at　all　to　Travel　if　you　only　intended　to　go　a　very　short　distance。　Around　him　he　felt　Dashiva　and　the　rest　weaving　their　gateways；　but　he　was　already　stepping　through　his　own；　letting　it　close　behind　him　atop　one　of　the　slender　towers　of　the　King's　Palace。　Absently　he　wondered　whether　Mattin　Stepaneos　den　Balgar；　the　King　of　Illian；　was　somewhere　below　him　at　that　moment。
　　　The　top　of　the　spire　stretched　no　more　than　five　paces　across；　surrounded　by　a　wall　of　red　stone　not　quite　chest…high　on　him。　At　fifty　paces；　it　was　the　highest　point　in　all　of　the　city。　From　there　he　could　see　across　rooftops　glittering　beneath　the　afternoon　sun；　red　and　green　and　every　color；　to　the　long　earthen　causeways　that　cut　through　the　vast　tall…grass　marsh　surrounding　city　and　harbor。　A　sharp　tang　of　salt　hung　in　the　air。　Illian　had　no　need　of　walls；　with　that　all…enveloping　marsh　to　stop　an　attacker。　Any　attacker　who　could　not　make　holes　in　the　air。　But　then；　walls　would　have　done　no　good　either。
　　　It　was　a　pretty　city；　the　buildings　mainly　of　pale　dressed　stone；　a　city　crisscrossed　by　as　many　canals　as　streets；　like　traceries　of　blue…green　from　this　height；　but　he　did　not　stop　to　admire　it。　Low　across　the　roofs　of　taverns　and　shops　and　spired　palaces　he　directed　flows　of　Air　and　Water；　Fire　and　Earth　and　Spirit；　turning　as　he　did　so。　He　did　not　try　to　weave　the　flows；　simply　swept　them　out　over　the　city　and　a　good　mile　out　over　the　marsh。　From　five　other　towers　came　flows　sweeping　low；　and　where　they　touched　one　another　uncontrolled；　light　flashed　and　sparks　flared　and　clouds　of　colored　steam　burst；　a　display　any　Illuminator　might　have　envied。　A　better　way　to　frighten　people　under　their　beds　and　out　of　the　way　of　Bashere's　soldiers；　he　could　not　imagine；　though　that　was　not　the　reason　for　it。
　　　Long　ago　he　had　decided　that　Sammael　must　have　wards　woven　throughout　the　city；　set　to　give　an　alarm　should　anyone　channel　saidin。　Wards　inverted　so　no　one　except　Sammael　himself　could　find　them；　wards　that　would　tell　Sammael　exactly　where　that　man　was　channeling　so　he　could　be　destroyed　on　the　instant。　With　luck；　every　one　of　those　wards　was　being　triggered　now。　Lews　Therin　had　been　sure　Sammael　would　sense　them　wherever　he　was；　even　at　a　distance。　That　was　why　the　wardings　should　be　useless　now；　that　sort　had　to　be　remade　once　triggered。　Sammael　would　e。　Never　in　his　life　had　he　relinquished　anything　he　considered　his；　however　shaky　his　claim；　not　without　a　fight。　All　that　from　Lews　Therin。　If　he　was　real。　He　had　to　be。　Those　memories　had　too　much　detail。　But　could　not　a　madman　dream　his　fancies　in　detail；　too？
　　　Lews　Therin！　he　called　silently。　The　wind　blowing　across　Illian　answered。
　　　Below；　the　Square　of　Tammuz　stood　deserted　and　silent；　empty　except　for　a　few　abandoned　carts。　Edge…on；　the　gateway　was　invisible　except　for　the　weaves。
　　　Reaching　down　to　those　weaves；　Rand　untied　the　knot　and；　as　the　gateway　winked　from　existence；　reluctantly　released　saidin。　All　the　flows　vanished　from　the　sky。　Maybe　some　of　the　Asha'man　still　held　on　to　the　Source；　but　he　had　told　them　not　to。　He　had　told　them　that　any　man　he　felt　channeling　in　Illian　once　he　himself　stopped；　he　intended　to　kill　without　warning。　He　did　not　want　to　find　out　afterward　that　the　channeler　had　been　one　of　them。　He　leaned　on　the　wall；　waiting；　wishing　he　could　sit。　His　legs　ached　and　his　side　burned　however　he　stood；　yet　he　might　need　to　see　as　well　as　feel　a　weave。
　　　The　city　was　not　entirely　quiet。　From　several　directions　he　could　hear　distant　shouts；　the　faint　clash　of　metal。　Even　moving　so　many　men　to　the　border；　Sammael　had　not　left　Illian　entirely　unprotected。　Rand　turned；　trying　to　watch　in　every　direction。　He　thought　Sammael　would　e　to　the　King's　Palace　or　that　other　at　the　far　end　of　the　square；　but　he　could　not　be　certain。　Down　one　street　he　saw　a　band　of　Saldaeans　clashing　with　an　equal　number　of　mounted　men　in　shining　breastplates；　more　Saldaeans　suddenly　galloped　in　from　one　side；　and　the　fight　vanished　from　his　sight　behind　buildings。　In　another　direction　he　spotted　some　of　the　Legion　of　the　Dragon；　marching　across　a　canal's　low　bridge。　An　officer　marked　by　a　tall　red　plume　on　his　helmet　strode　ahead　of　some　twenty　men　carrying　wide　shields　as　tall　as　their　shoulders；　followed　by　perhaps　two　hundred　more　with　heavy　crossbows。　How　would　they　fight？　Shouts　and　steel　ringing　on　steel　in　the　distance；　the　faint　screams　of　dying　men。
　　　The　sun　slid　downward；　and　shadows　lengthened　across　the　city。　Twilight；　and　the　sun　a　low　crimson　dome　in　the　west。　A　few　stars　appeared。　Had　he　been　wrong？　Would　Sammael　simply　go　elsewhere；　find　another　land　to　master？　Had　he　been　listening　to　anything　other　than　his　own　mad　ramblings？
　　　A　man　channeled。　For　a　moment；　Rand　froze；　staring　at　the　Great　Hall　of　the　Council。　That　had　been　enough　of　saidin　for　a　gateway；　he　might　not　have　felt　a　much　smaller　channeling；　the　length　of　the　square。　It　had　to　be　Sammael。
　　　In　an　instant　he　had　seized　the　Source；　woven　a　gateway　and　leaped　through　with　lightning　ready　to　fly　from　his　hands。　It　was　a　large　room；　lit　by　huge　mirrored　golden　stand…lamps　and　others　hanging　on　chains　from　the　ceiling；　with　snowy　marble　walls　carved　in　friezes　showing　battles；　and　ships　crowding　the　marsh…bordered　harbor　of　Illian　itself。　At　the　far　end　of　the　room；　nine　heavily　carved　and　gilded　armchairs　stood　like　thrones　atop　a　high　stair…fronted　white　dais；　the　center　chair　with　a　back　higher　than　any　other。　Before　he　could　release　the　gateway　behind　him；　the　tower　top　where　he　had　stood　exploded。　He　felt　the　wash　of　Fire　and　Earth　even　as　a　storm　of　stone　fragments　and　dust　struck　through　the　gateway；　knocking　him　down　on　his　face。　Pain　stabbed　his　side　as　he　landed；　a　sharp　red　lance　digging　into　the　Void　where　he　floated；　and　that　as　much　as　anything　else　made　him　release　the　gateway。　Someone　else's　pain；　someone　else's　weakness。　He　could　ignore　them；　in　the　Void。
　　　He　moved；　forcing　another　man's　muscles　to　work；　pushed　himself　up　and　scrambled　away　in　a　lurching　run　toward　the　dais　just　as　hundreds　of　red　filaments　burned　down　through　the　ceiling；　burned　through　the　sea…blue　marble　floor　in　a　wide　circle　all　around　where　the　residue　of　his　gateway　was　still　fading。　One　stabbed　through　the　heel　of　his　boot；　through　his　heel；　and　he　heard　himself　cry　out　as　he　fell。　Not　his　pain；　in　side　or　foot。　Not　his。
　　　Rolling　onto　his　back；　he　could　see　the　remnants　of　those　burning　red　wires　still；　fresh　enough　to　make　out　Fire　and　Air　woven　in　a　way　he　had　not　known。　Enough　to　make　out　exactly　the　direction　they　had　e　from。　Black　holes　in　the　floor　and　ornately　worked　white　plaster　ceiling　high　overhead　hissed　and　crackled　loudly　at　the　touch　of　the　air。
　　　His　hands　rose；　and　he　wove　balefire。　Began　to　weave　it。　Someone　else's　cheek　stung　from　a　remembered　slap；　and　Cadsuane's　voice　hissed　and　crackled　in　his　head　like　the　holes　the　red　filaments　had　made。　Never　again；　boy；　you　will　never　do　that　again。　It　seemed　that　he　heard　Lews　Therin　whimpering　in　distant　fear　of　what　he　was　about　to　loose；　what　had　almost　destroyed　the　world　once。　Every　flow　but　Fire　and　Air　fell　away；　and　he　wove　as　he　had　seen。　A　thousand　fine　hairs　of　red　blossomed　between　his　hands；　fanning　out　slightly　they　shot　upward。　A　circle　of　the　ceiling　two　feet　across　fell　in　stone　chips　and　plaster　dust。
　　　Only　after　he　had　don