uleg.thefarthestshore-第12节

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eet　and　ran　full…speed　into　the　dark。
　　The　houses　were　black　hulks　against　the　stars。　Starlight　gleamed　faintly　on　the　river　to　his　right；　and　though　he　could　not　see　where　the　streets　led；　he　could　make　out　street…crossings　and　so　turn　and　double　on　his　track。　They　had　followed　him；　he　could　hear　them　behind　him；　not　very　far　behind。　They　were　unshod；　and　their　panting　breathing　was　louder　than　their　footfalls。　He　would　have　laughed　if　he　had　had　time；　he　knew　at　last　what　it　was　like　to　be　the　hunted　instead　of　the　hunter；　the　quarry　instead　of　the　leader　of　the　chase。　It　was　to　be　alone　and　to　be　free。　He　swerved　to　the　right　and　dodged　stooping　across　a　high…parapetted　bridge；　slipped　into　a　side　street；　around　a　corner；　back　to　the　riverside　and　along　it　for　a　way；　across　another　bridge。　His　shoes　were　loud　on　the　cobblestones；　the　only　sound　in　all　the　city；　he　paused　at　the　bridge　abutment　to　unlace　them；　but　the　strings　were　knotted；　and　the　hunt　had　not　lost　him。　The　lantern　glittered　a　second　across　the　river；　the　soft；　heavy；　running　feet　came　on。　He　could　not　get　away　from　them。　He　could　only　outrun　them；　keep　going；　keep　ahead；　and　get　them　away　from　the　dusty　room；　far　away。。。
　　They　had　stripped　his　coat　off　him；　along　with　his　dagger；　and　he　was　in　shirt…sleeves；　light　and　hot；　his　head　swimming；　and　the　pain　in　the　back　of　his　skull　pointing　and　pointing　with　each　stride；　and　he　ran　and　he　ran。。。　The　bag　hindered　him。　He　flung　it　down　suddenly；　a　loose　gold　piece　flying　out　and　striking　the　stones　with　a　clear　ring。　〃Here's　your　money！〃　he　yelled；　his　voice　hoarse　and　gasping。　He　ran　on。　And　all　at　once　the　street　ended。　No　cross…streets；　no　stars　before　him；　a　dead　end。　Without　pausing　he　turned　back　and　ran　at　his　pursuers。　The　lantern　swung　wild　in　his　eyes；　and　he　yelled　defiance　as　he　came　at　them。
　
　　There　was　a　lantern　swinging　back　and　forth　before　him；　a　faint　spot　of　light　in　a　great；　moving　greyness。　He　watched　it　for　a　long　time。　It　grew　fainter；　and　at　last　a　shadow　passed　before　it；　and　when　the　shadow　went　on　the　light　was　gone。　He　grieved　for　it　a　little；　or　perhaps　he　was　grieving　for　himself；　because　he　knew　he　must　wake　up　now。
　　The　lantern；　dead；　still　swung　against　the　mast　to　which　it　was　fixed。　All　around；　the　sea　brightened　with　the　ing　sun。　A　drum　beat。　Oars　creaked　heavily；　regularly；　the　wood　of　the　ship　cried　and　creaked　in　a　hundred　little　voices；　a　man　up　in　the　prow　called　something　to　the　sailors　behind　him。　The　men　chained　with　Arren　in　the　after　hold　were　all　silent。　Each　wore　an　iron　band　around　his　waist　and　manacles　on　his　wrists；　and　both　these　bonds　were　linked　by　a　short；　heavy　chain　to　the　bonds　of　the　next　man；　the　belt　of　iron　was　also　chained　to　a　bolt　in　the　deck；　so　that　the　man　could　sit　or　crouch；　but　could　not　stand。　They　were　too　close　together　to　lie　down；　jammed　together　in　the　small　cargo…hold。　Arren　was　in　the　forward　port　corner。　If　he　lifted　his　head　high；　his　eyes　were　on　a　level　with　the　deck　between　hold　and　rail；　a　couple　of　feet　wide。
　　He　did　not　remember　much　of　last　night　past　the　chase　and　the　dead…end　street。　He　had　fought　and　been　knocked　down　and　trussed　up　and　carried　somewhere。　A　man　with　a　strange；　whispering　voice　had　spoken；　there　had　been　a　place　like　a　smithy；　a　forge…fire　leaping　red。。。　He　could　not　recall　it。　He　knew；　though；　that　this　was　a　slave…ship；　and　that　he　had　been　taken　to　be　sold。
　　It　did　not　mean　much　to　him。　He　was　too　thirsty。　His　body　ached　and　his　head　hurt。　When　the　sun　rose　the　light　sent　lances　of　pain　into　his　eyes。
　　Along　in　midmorning　they　were　given　a　quarter…loaf　of　bread　each　and　a　long　drink　from　a　leather　flask；　held　to　their　lips　by　a　man　with　a　sharp；　hard　face。　His　neck　was　clasped　by　a　broad；　gold…studded　leather　band　like　a　dog's　collar；　and　when　Arren　heard　him　speak　he　recognized　the　weak；　strange；　whistling　voice。
　　Drink　and　food　eased　his　bodily　wretchedness　for　a　while　and　cleared　his　head。　He　looked　for　the　first　time　at　the　faces　of　his　fellow　slaves；　three　in　his　row　and　four　close　behind。　Some　sat　with　tbeir　heads　on　their　raised　knees；　one　was　slumped　over；　sick　or　drugged。　The　one　next　to　Arren　was　a　fellow　of　twenty　or　so　with　a　broad；　flat　face。　〃Where　are　they　taking　us？〃　Arren　said　to　him。
　　The　fellow　looked　at　him　…their　faces　were　not　a　foot　apart…　and　grinned；　shrugging；　and　Arren　thought　he　meant　he　did　not　know；　but　then　he　jerked　his　manacled　arms　as　if　to　gesture　and　opened　his　still…grinning　mouth　wide　to　show；　where　the　tongue　should　be；　only　a　black　root。
　　〃It'll　be　Showl；〃　said　one　behind　Arren；　and　another；　〃Or　the　Market　at　Amrun；〃　and　then　the　man　with　the　collar；　who　seemed　to　be　everywhere　on　the　ship；　was　bending　above　the　hold；　hissing；　〃Be　still　if　you　don't　want　to　be　shark　bait；〃　and　all　of　them　were　still。
　　Arren　tried　to　imagine　these　places；　Showl；　the　Market　of　Amrun。　They　sold　slaves　there。　They　stood　them　out　in　front　of　the　buyers；　no　doubt；　like　oxen　or　rams　for　sale　in　Berila　Marketplace。　He　would　stand　there　wearing　chains。　Somebody　would　buy　him　and　lead　him　home　and　they　would　give　him　an　order；　and　he　would　refuse　to　obey。　Or　obey　and　try　to　escape。　And　he　would　be　killed；　one　way　or　the　other。　It　was　not　that　his　soul　rebelled　at　the　thought　of　slavery；　he　was　much　too　sick　and　bewildered　for　that。　It　was　simply　that　he　knew　he　could　not　do　it；　that　within　a　week　or　two　he　would　die　or　be　killed。　Though　he　saw　and　accepted　this　as　a　fact；　it　frightened　him；　so　that　he　stopped　trying　to　think　ahead。　He　stared　down　at　the　foul；　black　planking　of　the　hold　between　his　feet　and　felt　the　heat　of　the　sun　on　his　naked　shoulders　and　felt　the　thirst　drying　out　his　mouth　and　narrowing　his　throat　again。
　　The　sun　sank。　Night　came　on　clear　and　cold。　The　sharp　stars　came　out。　The　drum　beat　like　a　slow　heart；　keeping　the　oar…stroke；　for　there　was　no　breath　of　wind。　Now　the　cold　became　the　greatest　misery。　Arren's　back　gained　a　little　warmth　from　the　cramped　legs　of　the　man　behind　him　and　his　left　side　from　the　mute　beside　him；　who　sat　hunched　up；　humming　a　grunting　rhythm　all　on　one　note。　The　rowers　changed　shift；　the　drum　beat　again。　Arren　had　longed　for　the　darkness；　but　he　could　not　sleep。　His　bones　ached；　and　he　could　not　change　position。　He　sat　aching；　shivering；　parched；　staring　up　at　the　stars；　which　jerked　across　the　sky　with　every　stroke　the　oarsmen　took；　slid　to　their　places；　and　were　still；　jerked　again；　slid；　paused。。。
　　The　man　with　the　collar　and　another　man　stood　between　the　after　hold　and　the　mast；　the　little　swinging　lantern　on　the　mast　sent　gleams　between　them　and　silhouetted　their　heads　and　shoulders。　〃Fog；　you　pig's　bladder；〃　said　the　weak；　hateful　voice　of　the　man　with　the　collar；　〃what's　a　fog　doing　in　the　Southing　Straits　this　time　of　year？　Curse　the　luck！〃
　　The　drum　beat。　The　stars　jerked；　slid；　paused。　Beside　Arren　the　tongueless　man　shuddered　all　at　once　and；　raising　his　head；　let　out　a　nightmare　scream；　a　terrible；　formless　noise。　〃Quiet　there！〃　roared　the　second　man　by　the　mast。　The　mute　shuddered　again　and　was　silent；　munching　with　his　jaws。
　　Stealthily　the　stars　slid　forward　into　nothingness。
　　The　mast　wavered　and　vanished。　A　cold；　grey　blanket　seemed　to　drop　over　Arren's　back。　The　drum　faltered　and　then　resumed　its　beat；　but　slower。
　　〃Thick　as　curdled　milk；〃　said　the　hoarse　voice　somewhere　above　Arren。　〃Keep　up　the　stroke　there！　There's　no　shoals　for　twenty　miles！〃　A　horny；　scarred　foot　appeared　out　of　the　fog；　paused　an　instant　close　to　Arren's　face；　then　with　one　step　vanished。
　　In　the　fog　there　was　no　sense　of　forward　motion；　only　of　swaying　and　the　tug　of　the　oars。　The　throb　of　the　stroke…drum　was　muffled。　It　was　clammy　cold。　The　mist　condensing　in　Arren's　hair　ran　down　into　his　eyes；　he　tried　to　catch　the　drops　with　his　tongue　and　breathed　the　damp　air　with　open　mouth；　trying　to　assuage　his　thirst。　But　his　teeth　chattered。　The　cold　metal　of　a　chain　swung　against　his　thigh　and　burnt　like　fire　where　it　touched。　The　drum　beat；　and　beat；　and　ceased。
　　It　was　silent。
　　〃Keep　the　beat！　What's　amiss？〃　roared　the　hoarse；　whistling　voice　from　the　prow。　No　answer　came。
　　The　ship　rolled　a　little　on　the　quiet　sea。　Beyond　the　dim　rails　was　nothing：　blank。　Something　grated　against　the　ship's　side。　The　noise　was　loud　in　that　dead；　weird　silence　and　darkness。　〃We're　aground；〃　one　of　the　prisoners　whispered；　but　the　silence　closed　in　on　his　voice。
　　The　fog　grew　bright；　as　if　a　light　were　blooming　in　it。　Arren　saw　the　heads　of　the　men　chained　by　him　clearly；　the　tiny　moisture…drops　shining　in　their　hair。　Again　the　ship　swayed；　and　he　strained　as　far　up　as　his　chains　would　let　him；　stretching　his　neck；　to　see　forward　in　the　ship。　The　fog　glowed　over　the　deck　like　the　moon　behind　thin　clouds；　cold　and　radiant。　The　oarsmen　sat　like　carved　statues。　Crewmen　stood　in　the　waist　of　the　ship；　their　eyes　shining　a　little。　Alone　on　the　port　side　stood　a　man；　and　it　was　from　him　that　the　light　came；　from　the　face　and　hands　and　staff　that　burned　like　molten　silver。
　　At　the　feet　of　the　radiant　man　a　dark　shape　was　crouched。
　　Arren　tried　to　speak　and　could　not。　Clothed　in　that　majesty　of　light；　the　Archmage　cam