ggk.asongforarbonne-第105节

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　　〃I　will　have　you　arrested　and　then　gelded　before　burning；〃　Galbert　de　Garsenc　snarled；　pointing　a　gauntleted　finger　at　his　older　son。
　　Ranald　actually　laughed。　〃More　burning？　Do　what　you　will；〃　he　said。　〃The　king　might　well　be　grateful　for　that　protection。　I　will　not；　however；〃　he　added；　still　with　that　unnatural　calm；　〃speak　further　to　procurers。〃　He　had　not　even　bothered　to　look　away　from　Ademar。　To　the　king　he　said：　〃There　have　been　allegations　of　treason　thrown　about　freely　here。　At　my　brother；　by　my　brother　at　my　father；　at　you。　I　find　it　all　a　game　of　words。　I　prefer　to　name　you　what　you　are；　Ademar：　a　dupe；　and　a　coward　hiding　behind　his　counsellor；　unwilling　to　use　his　own　sword　in　a　matter　of　honour。〃
　　〃Ranald；〃　said　Ademar；　almost　gently；　〃Ranald；　Ranald；　you　know　I　can　kill　you。　You　have　done　nothing　but　drink　for　ten　years…that　is　why　your　wife　fled　south。　I　doubt　you　have　given　her　a　night's　satisfaction　in　years。　Do　not　deceive　yourself　before　you　go　to　the　god。〃
　　〃This　means；　I　take　it；　that　you　will　fight。〃
　　〃He　will　do　no　such　thing！〃　Galbert　snapped。
　　〃Yes；　I　will　fight；〃　said　Ademar　in　the　same　moment。　〃The　sons　of　my　High　Elder　have　finally　grown　too　tiresome　to　endure。　I　would　be　done　with　them。〃
　　And　the　king　of　Gorhaut　drew　his　sword。　There　came　a　sound　from　among　the　armies　north　of　them；　for　the　light　was　brilliantly　clear　and　all　men　there　could　see　that　blade　drawn。　Then　the　sound　changed；　grew　high…pitched　with　surprise；　as　Ranald　de　Garsenc　drew　his　own　blade　in　reply；　and　moved　his　horse　apart　from　the　others　by　the　lake。　Ademar　followed　him。　As　he　lowered　the　visor　of　his　helmet；　they　saw　that　the　king　was　smiling。　To　the　west；　not　far　away；　the　stones　of　the　Arch　of　the　Ancients　gleamed；　honey…coloured　in　the　light。
　　
　　〃Well？〃　Lisseut　heard　Bertran　murmur　under　his　breath。　
　　〃Ten　years　ago；〃　said　Fulk　de　Savaric　softly；　〃it　might　have　been　a　match。　Not　now；　I　am　sorry　to　say。〃
　　Blaise　said　nothing；　though　he　had　to　have　heard　that。　He　was　watching　his　brother　with　something　hurtful　in　his　eyes。　Rosala　was　watching　too；　but　there　was　nothing　to　be　read　in　her　expression　at　all。　Ranald；　Lisseut　noted；　had　not　bothered　to　lower　his　helm。
　　〃It　will　make　no　difference；　you　know　that；〃　said　Galbert　de　Garsenc　heavily；　speaking　to　the　Arbonne　party。　〃Even　if　Ademar　dies　we　will　destroy　you　tomorrow。　And　he　will　not　die。　Ranald　has　been　drinking　all　day。　He　would　never　have　done　this　otherwise。　Look　at　his　face。　He　is　about　to　meet　the　judgment　of　the　god；　sodden　and　disgraced。〃
　　〃Redeemed；　I　should　have　said。〃　Blaise's　voice　was　hollow。　He　did　not　take　his　eyes　from　the　two　men　circling　each　other　now　on　the　roadway　by　the　strand。
　　And　what　they　saw　then；　as　the　long；　bright　swords　touched　for　the　first　time；　delicately；　and　then　again　with　a　sharp；　wrist…grinding　clash；　was　indeed　redemption　of　a　kind。　There　is　a　grace　here；　thought　Lisseut　suddenly；　resisting　the　thought。　She　had　never　seen　Ranald　de　Garsenc　before　and　so　she　had　never　seen　him　fight。　He　had　been　King's　Champion　of　Gorhaut　once；　for　Ademar's　father；　someone　had　told　her。　That　had　been　a　long　time　ago。
　　For　a　moment　it　seemed　not　to　have　been；　as　he　pivoted　his　war　horse　using　knees　and　hips　and　rang　a　hard；　quick　downward　blow　against　Ademar's　side。　The　curved　armour　caught　the　blade　and　deflected　it；　but　the　king　of　Gorhaut　swayed　in　his　saddle；　and　there　came　a　rumble　again　from　the　armies。　Lisseut　looked　over　at　Blaise；　she　couldn't　help　herself；　but　then　she　turned　away　from　what　she　saw　in　his　face；　back　to　the　two　men　fighting　in　the　road。
　　Blaise　didn't　even　see　Ranald's　first　blow　land。　He　had　actually　closed　his　eyes　when　the　bat　began。　He　heard　the　clang　of　sword　on　armour；　though；　and　looked　up　in　time　to　see　Ademar　rock　in　his　saddle　before　righting　himself　to　deliver　a　slashing　backhand　of　his　own。　Ranald　blunted　that　with　a　twist　of　his　sword…arm　and　sidled　his　horse　away　from　Ademar's　attempt　at　a　cut　back　the　other　way。
　　It　was　that　horseman's　movement；　the　instinctive；　almost　unconscious　product　of　a　lifetime　in　the　saddle　with　blade　in　hand；　that　took　Blaise　back；　in　a　blur　and　rush　of　time；　to　his　childhood　and　those　first　clandestine　lessons　his　brother　had　given　him；　at　a　time　when　Galbert　had　forbidden　Blaise　to　touch　a　sword。　Both　boys　had　been　whipped　when　the　deception　was　uncovered；　though　Blaise　hadn't　actually　known　about　Ranald's　punishment　until　long　after；　and　then　only　because　one　of　the　corans　had　spoken　of　it。　Ranald　had　never　said　a　word。　There　had　been　no　more　lessons　though。　Galbert　had　had　his　way。　He　almost　always　did。
　　Blaise　looked　over　at　his　father　then；　at　the　smooth…cheeked；　manding　features。　The　furrow　of　concern　on　Galbert's　brow　had　gone；　he　was　actually　smiling　now；　a　smug；　thin…mouthed　expression　Blaise　knew　well。　And　why　should　he　not　smile？　Ranald　was　ten　years　past　his　fighting　days；　and　Ademar　was　very　possibly　the　strongest　warrior　in　Gorhaut。　The　result　of　this　had　been　assured　from　the　moment　the　challenge　was　made；　and　Galbert；　Blaise　understood　in　that　moment；　cared　nothing　at　all　for　the　life　of　his　son。　Ranald's　death　would　even　simplify　matters。　He　had　bee　almost　irrelevant　to　the　High　Elder；　except；　as　here；　when　he　became　a　nuisance　and　a　distraction；　or　even　a　threat　to　Galbert's　power　over　the　king。
　　In　fact；　if　Rosala's　story　was　true…and　of　course　it　would　be　true…the　honour　or　dignity　of　Garsenc　had　ceased　to　be　important　to　Galbert　in　any　way　that　signified。　All　that　seemed　to　matter　to　the　High　Elder　was　his　control　of　Ademar　and　this　great　burning　in　Arbonne　that　was　allowing　him。　Ripened　fruit　of　his　long　dream。　That　was　what　mattered；　and　one　thing　more：　Cadar。　His　grandson　was　also　a　part　of　Galbert's　cold　stalking　of　power　in　Gorhaut　and　Arbonne's　obliteration。
　　He　must　not　have　him；　Blaise　thought。
　　He　wondered…the　terrible　thought　intruding　like　a　spear…if　Rosala　had　given　orders　to　have　the　baby　killed　if　they　lost　the　battle　here。　It　was　probable；　he　realized；　in　fact　it　was　almost　certain。
　　Grief；　from　all　directions　it　seemed；　closed　in　upon　him　as　he　turned　from　his　father　to　look　at　his　brother　again；　seeing　Ranald　strangely　now；　as　if　from　a　distance；　as　if　he　were　fading　already　into　the　past；　into　mist；　on　a　day　in　Arbonne　brilliant　with　light。
　　
　　Ranald　de　Garsenc　is　also　thinking　of　the　past　as　he　lets　his　body　respond　intuitively　to　the　demands　of　bat。　For　the　moment；　as　the　overwhelming　familiar　first　steps　of　the　dance　begin；　he　is　all　right；　he　is　even；　in　some　unexpected　fashion；　nearly　happy。　He　knows；　absorbing　a　sequence　of　blows　on　shield　and　sword；　slashing　in　response；　that　this　cannot　be　sustained。　He　is　not　that　much　older　than　the　king　but　he　is　far　past　his　best　years；　while　Ademar；　strong　as　a　tree；　is　as　close　to　his　peak　as　he　will　ever　be。
　　As　if　to　make　explicit　what　both　of　them　know；　the　sheer　strength　of　the　king　drives　his　blade　through　a　tardy　attempt　at　warding　and　the　sword　hammers　into　the　light　armour　Ranald　wears。　He　has　always　preferred　to　be　lighter　in　the　saddle；　relying　on　quickness。　Now；　wincing　at　a　hard　lance　of　pain　in　his　ribs；　pulling　his　horse　back　out　of　range；　he　realizes　that　most　of　that　quickness　is　gone。
　　Ten　years　ago；　Ranald　thinks；　though　without　bitterness；　I　would　have　had　him　on　the　ground　by　now。　There　is　no　false　pride　in　the　thought　either：　ten　years　ago　he　had　been　named　by　King　Duergar　as　his　court　champion；　and　for　two　full　years；　fighting　in　the　king's　name；　he　did　not　lose　a　single　bat　in　any　tournament　from　Gotzland　to　southern　Portezza　to　the　Arimondan　court。　Then；　on　a　night　in　the　dead　of　winter；　Ereibert　de　Garsenc　had　died　and　Ranald　became　duke　after　the　obligatory　candlelit　vigil　in　the　chapel　of　Corannos。　The　tournaments　and　banquets　and　the　celebrations　of　his　prowess　among　women　and　men　gave　way　to　estate　administration　at　Garsenc　and　an　inexorable；　trammelling　immersion　into　his　father's　designs。　Not　as　a　confidant　of　course：　Galbert　trusted　in　Ranald　no　more　than　his　son　shared　thoughts　with　him。　Ranald；　as　duke　of　Garsenc；　became　a　tool　for　Galbert's　schemes；　no　more；　and　at　times　rather　less。　It　was　all　a　long　time　ago。　Those　were　the　days　when　ale　and　wine　first　became　his　forts；　avenues　to　oblivion。
　　But　his　thoughts　do　not　linger　among　those　memories。　Even　as　he　parries　another　barrage　of　blows；　feeling　the　weight　of　the　king's　assault　jarring　his　arm　and　shoulder　almost　numb；　he　finds　his　mind　going　even　further　back；　much　further　actually。
　　Unlike　Blaise；　who　never　saw　her；　Ranald　has　a　memory　of　his　mother。
　　Two　or　three　images；　in　fact；　though　when　he　first　spoke　of　them　as　a　child　he　was　sternly　told　by　his　tutor　that　these　were　false　recollections；　unworthy　fantasies　for　a　warrior…to…be。　Ranald　was　two　years　old　when　his　mother　died。　Boys　that　age　could　not　remember　things；　the　tutor　decreed。　When　Ranald　tried；　not　long　after；　to　ask　his　father　about　the　recurring　image　he　had　of　a　red…haired　woman　singing　to　him　by　candlelight；　Galbert　flatly　forbade　him；　on　pain　of　a　whipping；　to　mention　it　again。　Ranald　was　six　years　old。　It　was　the　last　time　he'd　attempted