ggk.asongforarbonne-第22节

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gs　of　your　much…travelled　brother…in…law？〃
　　Rosala　stiffens。　A　mistake；　and　she　knows　it　immediately。　She　forces　herself　to　smile　blandly；　but　Adelh　is　a　master　at　catching　one　unawares。
　　〃Nothing　recent；　I　fear；〃　she　answers　calmly。　〃He　was　still　in　Portezza；　the　last　we　heard；　but　that　was　some　months　ago。　He　doesn't　municate　very　much。　If　he　does；　I　shall　be　most　certain　to　convey　your　anxious　interest。〃
　　A　weak　shaft；　that　one；　and　Adelh　only　smiles；　her　dark　eyes　lustrous。　〃Please　do；〃　she　replies。　〃I　would　think　any　woman　would　be　interested　in　that　one。　Such　an　acplished　man；　Blaise；　an　equal；　a　rival　even　to　his　great　father　I　sometimes　think。〃　She　pauses；　precisely　long　enough。　〃Though　hardly　to　your　dear　husband；　of　course。〃　She　says　it　with　the　sweetest　expression　imaginable　on　her　face。
　　Two　other　women　e　up　just　then；　blessedly　freeing　Rosala　from　the　need　to　frame　a　reply。　She　waits　long　enough　for　courtesy　to　be　served　and　then　moves　away　from　the　window。　She　is　cold　suddenly；　and　wants　very　much　to　leave。　She　cannot　do　so　without　Ranald；　though；　and　she　sees；　with　a　brief　inward　yielding　to　despair；　that　he　has　refilled　his　flagon；　and　his　dice　and　purse　are　on　the　table　in　front　of　him　now。
　　She　moves　towards　the　nearest　of　the　fires　and　stands　with　her　back　to　the　blaze。　In　her　mind　she　goes　back　over　that　short；　unsettling　exchange　with　Adelh。　She　cannot　stop　herself　from　wondering　what；　if　anything；　the　woman　could　possibly　know。　It　is　only　malice；　she　finally　decides；　only　the　unthinking；　effortless　malice　that　defined　Adelh　de　Sauvan　even　before　her　husband　died　with　King　Duergar　by　Iersen　Bridge。　An　instinct　for　blood；　something　predatory。
　　Rosala　has　a　sudden　recollection；　involuntary　and　frightening；　of　the　starving　cats　and　the　torn；　dying　hound。　She　shivers。　Unconsciously　her　hands　e　up　to　rest　upon　her　belly；　as　if　to　cradle　and　shelter　from　the　waiting　world　the　life　taking　shape　within　her。
　　
　　The　light　was　the　extraordinary　thing；　the　way　in　which　the　sun　in　a　deep　blue　sky　seemed　to　particularize　everything；　to　render　each　tree；　bird　on　the　wing；　darting　fox；　blade　of　grass；　something　vividly　bright　and　immediate。　Everything　seemed　to　somehow　be　more　of　whatever　it　was　here；　sharper；　more　brilliantly　defined。　The　late…afternoon　breeze　from　the　west　took　the　edge　off　the　heat　of　the　day；　even　the　sound　of　it　in　the　leaves　was　refreshing。　Though　that；　on　reflection；　was　ridiculous：　the　sound　of　the　wind　in　the　trees　was　exactly　the　same　in　Gorhaut　or　Gotzland　as　it　was　here　in　Arbonne；　there　just　seemed　to　be　something　about　this　country　that　steered　the　mind　towards　such　imaginings。
　　A　troubadour；　Blaise　thought；　riding　through　afternoon　sunshine；　would　probably　be　singing　by　now；　or　posing；　or　shaping　some　quite　unintelligible　thought　based　on　the　symbolic　language　of　flowers。　There　were　certainly　enough　flowers。　A　troubadour　would　know　the　names　of　all　of　them；　of　course。　Blaise　didn't；　partly　because　there　were　varieties　of　extravagantly　coloured　wildflowers　here　in　Arbonne　that　he'd　never　seen　before；　even　among　the　celebrated；　rolling　countryside　between　the　cities　of　Portezza。
　　The　land　here　was　beautiful；　he　conceded；　without　grudging　the　thought　this　time。　He　wasn't　in　a　grudging　mood　this　afternoon；　the　light　was　too　benevolent；　the　country　through　which　he　rode　too　genuinely　resplendent　at　the　beginning　of　summer。　There　were　vineyards　to　the　west　and　the　dense　trees　of　a　forest　beyond　them。　The　only　sounds　were　the　wind　and　the　chatter　of　birds　and　the　steady　jingle　of　harness　on　his　horse　and　the　pack　pony　behind。　In　the　distance　ahead　Blaise　could　see　at　intervals　the　blue　sparkle　of　water　on　a　lake。　If　the　directions　he'd　been　given　at　last　night's　inn　were　correct；　the　lake　would　be　Dierne　and　Castle　Talair　would　be　visible　soon；　nestled　against　the　northern　shore。　He　should　be　able　to　make　it　by　day's　end　at　a　fortable　pace。
　　It　was　hard　not　to　be　in　a　good　humour　today；　whatever　one's　thoughts　might　be　about　country　and　family　and　the　slowly　darkening　tenor　of　events　in　the　world。　For　one　thing；　Blaise's　leave…taking　at　Baude　four　days　ago　had　been　a　genuinely　cordial　parting。　He'd　worried　for　a　time　about　how　Mallin　would　receive　his　defection　to　the　ranks　of　the　corans　of　Bertran　de　Talair；　but　the　young　lord　of　Castle　Baude　seemed　to　have　almost　expected　Blaise's　announcement　when　it　came；　two　days　after　En　Bertran　rode　off；　and　even…or　so　it　seemed　to　Blaise…to　almost　wele　it。
　　There　might；　in　fact；　have　been　pragmatic　reasons　for　that。　Mallin　was　a　fortable　but　not　a　wealthy　man；　and　the　expenses　of　aspiring　towards　a　place　of　honour　on　the　higher　ramparts　of　the　world　might　have　begun　to　give　him　pause。　After　a　fortnight's　extravagant　entertainment　of　the　troubadour　lord　of　Talair；　it　was　possible　that　Mallin　de　Baude　was　not　averse　to　some　measures　of　economizing；　and　seasoned　mercenary　captains　such　as　Blaise　of　Gorhaut　were　not　inexpensive。
　　On　the　morning　of　Blaise's　departure；　Mallin　had　wished　him　the　blessing　of　the　god　and　of　Rian　the　goddess　as　well；　this　was　Arbonne；　after　all。　Blaise　accepted　the　one　with　gratitude　and　the　other　with　good　grace。　He'd　surprised　himself　with　the　degree　of　regret　he　felt　bidding　farewell　to　the　baron　and　to　the　corans　he'd　trained：　Hirnan；　Maffour　and　the　others。　He　hadn't　expected　to　miss　these　men；　it　seemed　as　if　he　was　going　to；　for　a　little　while　at　least。
　　Soresina；　in　the　last　days　before　he　went；　was　a　different；　more　unsettling　sort　of　surprise。　The　simple　truth　was；　however　much　Blaise　might　want　to　deny　it；　that　the　lady　of　Castle　Baude；　always　an　attractive　woman　and　aware　of　it；　seemed　to　have　grown　in　both　dignity　and　grace　in　a　very　short　period。　Specifically；　the　short　period　since　Bertran　de　Talair's　visit　to　the　highlands。　Was　it　possible　that　a　single　furtive　night　with　the　duke　could　have　effected　such　a　change？　Blaise　hated　the　very　notion；　but　could　not　deny　the　poised　courtesy　of　Soresina's　subsequent　treatment　of　him；　or　the　elegance　of　her　appearance　at　her　husband's　side　in　the　days　that　passed　between　Bertran's　departure　and　Blaise's　own。　There　was　not　even　the　shadow　of　a　hint　in　her　expression　or　manner　of　what　had　taken　place　on　the　stairway　below　her　chambers　so　little　time　ago。　She　did　seem　pensive　at　times；　almost　grave；　as　if　inwardly　ing　to　terms　with　some　shift　in　her　relations　with　the　world。
　　Soresina　was　with　Mallin　when　the　baron　and　his　corans　rode　part　of　the　way　with　Blaise　on　the　morning　he　took　leave　of　the　western　highlands。　She'd　offered　him　her　cheek　to　kiss；　not　merely　her　hand。　After　the　briefest　hesitation　Blaise　had　leaned　sideways　in　his　saddle　and　plied。
　　Soresina　had　glanced　up　at　him　as　he　straightened。　He　remembered　a　glance　she'd　offered　him　shortly　after　he'd　arrived；　when　she'd　told　him　how　she　liked　men　after　the　older　fashion；　warlike　and　hard。　There　was　an　echo　of　that　now；　she　was　still　the　same　woman　after　all；　but　there　was　also　something　else　that　was　new。
　　〃I　hope　some　woman　elsewhere　in　your　travels　through　Arbonne　persuades　you　to　remove　that　beard；〃　she　said。　〃It　scratches；　Blaise。　Grow　it　back；　if　you　must；　when　you　return　to　Gorhaut。〃
　　She　was　smiling　at　him　as　she　spoke；　entirely　at　ease；　and　Mallin　de　Baude；　visibly　proud　of　her；　laughed　and　gripped　Blaise's　arm　a　last　time　in　farewell。
　　
　　There　had　been　a　number　of　farewells　in　his　life　during　the　past　few　years；　Blaise　thought　now；　three　days　after　that　morning　departure；　riding　amid　the　scent　and　colours　of　wildflowers；　past　the　green　and　purple　beginnings　of　grapes　on　the　vines；　with　blue　water　in　the　distance　beckoning　him　with　flashes　of　mirrored　sunlight。　Too　many　goodbyes；　perhaps；　but　they　were　a　part　of　the　life　he'd　chosen　for　himself；　or　had　had　chosen　for　him　by　his　birth　and　his　family's　rank；　and　the　laws；　written　or　unwritten；　that　guided　the　country　of　Gorhaut　through　the　shoals　of　a　rocky　world。
　　There　had　been　regret；　anger　at　twists　of　fate；　real　pain　in　Portezza　the　last　time　he　was　there；　but　it　seemed　that　in　the　end　he　truly　was　most　content　as　he　was　now；　on　his　own；　answerable　to　no　man…and　certainly　no　woman…save　for　service　honourably　owed　by　contract　freely　entered　into。　There　was　little　that　was　greatly　unusual　about　any　of　the　patterns　of　his　life。　It　was　a　well…enough　trodden　path　in　the　lives　of　younger　sons　of　noble　families　in　the　world　as　they　knew　it。　The　eldest　son　married；　fathered　other　children；　inherited　all：　the　lands…fiercely　guarded；　scrupulously　undivided…the　family　goods；　and　whatever　titles　had　been　earned　and　not　lost　as　one　monarch　succeeded　another　in　Gorhaut。　The　daughters　of　such　houses　were　expensively　dowried　pawns；　though　often　vital　ones；　married　off　to　consolidate　alliances；　expand　holdings；　lay　claim　or　siege　to　even　higher　rank　for　the　family。
　　Which　left　little　enough　for　the　other　sons。　Younger　sons　were　a　problem；　and　had　been　so　for　a　long　time；　ever　since　the　dwindling　sizes　of　partitioned　estates　had　changed　the　system　of　inheritance。　All　but　barred　from　a　useful　marriage　by　virtue　of　their　lack　of　land　or　chattels；　forced　to　leave　the　family　dwellings　by　friction　or　pri