ggk.asongforarbonne-第16节

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s　strides　away；　with　frozen　bodies　piled　between；　when　Duergar　his　king　had　pitched　from　his　horse；　an　arrow　in　his　eye；　crying　the　god's　name　in　agony；　his　voice　towering　over　the　battlefield　like　the　giant　he　had　been。
　　Five　months　later　Duergar's　son；　Ademar；　now　king　in　Gorhaut；　and　Galbert；　his　Chief　Counsellor；　High　Elder　of　Corannos；　had　negotiated　the　treaty　that；　in　exchange　for　hostages　and　gold　and　King　Daufridi's　daughter　to　wed　when　she　came　of　age；　gave　Valensa　all　of　the　northlands　of　Gorhaut　down　to　the　line　of　the　Iersen　River。　The　very　fields　and　villages　Daufridi　and　his　warriors　had　been　unable　to　take　with　their　swords　in　three　decades　of　war　they　had　won　a　season　later　with　the　smooth　words　and　sly　diplomacy　of　their　hired　Arimondan　negotiators。
　　Not　long　after　that；　Blaise　of　Gorhaut　had　left　home　on　the　circuitous　journey　through　several　countries　that　had　brought　him　to　this　hall　in　Arbonne；　a　year　from　the　season　of　that　treaty。
　　His　reverie　ended　with　the　abrupt；　unsettling　realization　that　Bertran　de　Talair；　who　had　done　no　more　than　nod　when　Blaise　was　first　presented　to　him　in　the　morning；　was　staring　across　the　room　at　him　now　from　the　low　stool　where　he　sat；　one　leg　gracefully　extended。　Blaise　straightened　his　shoulders　and　returned　the　gaze　steadily；　grateful　for　whatever　masking　his　beard　afforded。　He　wouldn't　have　wanted　his　thoughts　read　just　then。
　　En　Bertran　drew　his　fingers　quietly　across　the　harp。　The　notes　hung；　delicate　as　glass；　as　the　table　flowers；　in　the　stillness　of　the　hall。　As　quietly；　though　very　clearly；　the　duke　of　Talair　said；　〃What　do　you　think；　Northerner？　How　long　will　it　hold；　this　peace　of　yours？〃
　　Some　things　grew　clear　to　Blaise　with　those　words；　but　even　as　they　did；　other　mysteries　took　shape。　He　drew　a　careful　breath；　aware　that　everyone　in　the　great　hall　was　looking　at　him。　Bertran's　gaze　in　the　torchlight　was　uncannily　blue；　his　wide　mouth　was　quirked　in　an　ironic　smile。
　　〃It　is　no　peace　of　mine；〃　Blaise　said；　keeping　his　tone　as　casual　as　he　could。
　　〃I　thought　not；〃　said　Bertran　quickly；　a　note　of　satisfaction　in　the　light　voice；　as　if　he'd　heard　more　than　Blaise　had　meant　to　say。　〃I　didn't　think　you　were　down　here　for　love　of　our　music；　or　even　our　ladies；　fair　as　they　are。〃
　　As　he　spoke；　the　blue　eyes　and　the　smile…not　ironic　at　all　suddenly…had　been　briefly　redirected　towards　the　high　table　and　the　lone　woman　sitting　there。　His　long　fingers　were　moving　once　more　across　the　strings　of　the　harp。　A　moment　later；　the　duke　of　Talair　lifted　his　voice　again；　this　time　in　exactly　the　kind　of　song　Blaise　had　expected　before。　But　something…and　not　merely　the　mood　of　a　night…had　been　changed　for　Blaise　by　then；　and　he　didn't　know　how　to　respond　this　time　to　an　Arbonnais　lord　singing　words　of　his　own　devising　about　the　glory　to　be　searched　for　in　a　woman's　dark　eyes。
　　
　　The　next　day　the　corans　of　Baude　put　on　a　display　in　the　fields　below　the　castle　village；　charging　with　lances　against　a　bobbing　wooden　contraption　got　up…as　it　was　everywhere…to　look　like　a　racoux　from　the　ghost　tales　of　childhood；　plete　with　whitened　face　and　jet…black　hair。　Mallin　had　declared　a　holiday　so　the　villagers　and　workers　in　the　fields　could　join　the　castle　household　in　cheering　on　the　warriors。　Blaise；　cautiously　pleased　with　the　men　he'd　been　training；　was　careful　to　seem　petent　himself　but　not　flamboyantly　so。　In　three　of　the　four　runs　he　made；　he　sent　the　racoux　rocking　properly　backwards　on　its　stand　with　a　spear　thrust　dead　on　the　target　of　its　small　shield。　The　fourth　time　he　contrived　to　miss；　but　only　by　a　little；　so　the　cleverly　constructed　adversary　didn't　spin　round…as　it　was　balanced　to　do…and　fetch　him　a　blow　with　its　wooden　sword　on　the　back　of　the　head　as　he　thundered　past。　It　was　one　thing　not　to　look　ostentatious　in　a　setting　such　as　this；　it　was　another　to　be　knocked　from　one's　horse　onto　the　dusty　ground。　In　Gorhaut；　Blaise　remembered；　some　of　the　racoux　wielded　actual　swords；　of　iron　not　wood。　Some　of　Blaise's　fellow　trainees　in　those　days　had　been　badly　cut；　which　of　course　increased　the　concentration　young　men　placed　on　their　mastering　of　the　skills　of　war。　There　were　simply　too　many　distractions　here　in　Arbonne；　too　many　other；　softer　things　a　man　was　expected　to　think　about　or　know。
　　When　it　came　time　for　the　archery　tests；　though；　and　Bertran's　cousin　Valery　joined　them　at　the　butts；　Blaise　was　grimly　forced　to　concede　that　he　hadn't　met　an　archer　in　the　north；　or　even　his　friend　Rudel　in　Portezza；　who　could　shoot　with　this　man；　whatever　distractions　to　training　and　the　arts　of　war　Arbonne　might　offer。　Blaise　was　able　to　vie　with　Valery　of　Talair　at　forty　paces；　and　Hirnan　was　equal　with　both　of　them。　The　two　of　them　were　level　with　their　guest　at　sixty　paces　as　well；　to　Mallin's　evident　pleasure；　but　when　the　marks　were　moved　back…amid　the　loud　shouts　of　the　festive　crowd…to　eighty　paces；　Valery；　not　a　young　man　by　any　means；　seemed　unaffected　by　the　new　distance；　still　finding　the　crimson　with　each　soberly　judged　and　smoothly　loosed　arrow。　Blaise　felt　pleased　to　keep　all　his　own　flights　anywhere　on　the　distant　targets；　and　Hirnan；　scowling　ferociously；　couldn't　even　manage　that。　Blaise　had　a　suspicion　that　Bertran's　cousin　would　have　fared　as　well　at　a　hundred　paces　if　he　had　chosen　to；　but　Valery　was　too　polite　to　suggest　such　a　distance　and　the　exhibition　ended　there；　with　applause　for　all　three　of　them。
　　They　hunted　the　next　day。　Soresina；　clad　in　green　and　brown　like　a　forest　creature　of　legend；　flew　a　new　falcon　for　the　first　time　and；　to　her　prettily　expressed　delight；　the　bird　brought　down　a　plump　hare　in　the　high　fields　north　of　the　castle。　Later；　beaters　in　the　fields　stirred　up　a　loud…winged　plenitude　of　corfe　and　quail　for　their　party。　Blaise；　familiar　with　the　unwritten　rules　of　hunting　in　this　sort　of　pany；　was　careful　not　to　shoot　at　anything　until　he　was　certain　neither　Mallin　nor　the　duke　had　a　line　on　the　same　prey。　He　waited　until　the　two　nobles　had　each　killed　several　birds　and　then　allowed　himself　two　at　the　very　end　with　a　pair　of　swift　arrows　fired　into　the　line　of　the　sun。
　　On　the　third　night　there　was　a　storm。　The　sort　of　cataclysm　the　mountain　highlands　often　knew　in　summer。　Lightning　streaked　the　sky　like　the　white　spears　of　Corannos；　and　after　the　spears　came　the　god's　thunder　voice　and　the　driving　rain。　The　wind　was　wild；　howling　like　a　haunted　spirit　about　the　stone　walls　of　the　castle；　lashing　the　panes　of　the　windows　as　if　to　force　its　way　in。　They　had　firelight　and　torches；　though；　in　the　great　hall　of　Baude；　and　the　walls　and　windows　were　stronger　than　wind　or　rain。　Ramir　the　joglar　sang　for　them　again；　pitching　his　voice　over　the　noises　outside；　shaping　a　mood　of　warmth　and　close…gathered　intimacy。　Even　Blaise　had　to　concede　that　there　were　occasional　times；　such　as　this；　when　music　and　the　attention　to　physical　forts　here　in　the　south　were　indeed　of　value。　He　thought　about　the　people　in　the　hamlets　around　the　castle　though；　in　their　small；　ramshackle　wooden　homes；　and　then　about　the　shepherds　up　on　the　mountains　with　their　flocks；　lashed　by　the　driving　rain。　Early　to　bed　in　the　wild　night　he　pulled　the　quilted　coverlet　up　to　his　chin　and　gave　thanks　to　Corannos　for　the　small　blessings　of　life。
　　The　morning　after　the　storm　dawned　cool　and　still　windy；　as　if　the　onset　of　summer　had　been　driven　back　by　the　violence　of　the　night。　Bertran　and　Valery　insisted　on　joining　with　the　men　of　Castle　Baude　in　riding　up　into　the　hills　in　the　thankless；　wet；　necessary　task　of　helping　the　shepherds　locate　and　retrieve　any　of　the　baron's　sheep　scattered　by　the　storm。　The　sheep　and　their　wool　were　the　economic　foundation　of　whatever　aspirations　Mallin　de　Baude　had；　and　his　corans　were　never　allowed　to　nurture　the　illusion　that　they　were　above　performing　any　labours　associated　with　that。
　　It　was　two　hours'　steep　ride　up　to　the　high　pastures；　and　the　better　part　of　a　day's　hard；　sometimes　dangerous　work　at　the　task。　Late　in　the　afternoon；　Blaise；　swearing　for　what　seemed　to　him　entirely　sufficient　reasons；　clambered　awkwardly　up　out　of　a　slippery　defile　with　a　wet；　shivering　lamb　in　his　arms　to　see　Bertran　de　Talair　lounging　on　the　grass　in　front　of　him；　leaning　fortably　back　against　the　trunk　of　an　olive　tree。　There　was　no　one　else　in　sight。
　　〃You'd　best　put　that　little　one　down　before　she　pisses　all　over　you；〃　the　duke　said　cheerfully。　〃I've　a　flask　of　Arimondan　brandy　if　it　suits　you。〃
　　〃She　already　has；〃　Blaise　said　sourly；　setting　the　bleating　lamb　free　on　the　level　ground。　〃And　thank　you；　but　no；　I　work　better　with　a　clear　head。〃
　　〃Work's　done。　According　to　your　red…headed　coran…Hirnan；　is　it？…there's　three　or　four　sheep　who　somehow　got　up　to　the　top　of　this　range　and　then　down　towards　the　valley　south　of　us；　but　the　shepherds　can　manage　them　alone。〃　He　held　out　the　flask。
　　With　a　sigh；　Blaise　sank　down　on　his　haunches　beside　the　tree　and　accepted　the　drink。　It　was　more　than　merely　Arimondan　brandy；　one　sip　was　enough　to　tell　him　as　much。　He　licked　his　lips　and　then　arched　his　eyebrows　questioningly。　〃You　carry　seguignac　in　a　flask　to　chase　sheep　on　a　hill？〃
　　Bertran　de　Talair's