ggk.asongforarbonne-第23节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


by　virtue　of　their　lack　of　land　or　chattels；　forced　to　leave　the　family　dwellings　by　friction　or　pride　or　sheerest　self…protection；　many　entered　the　clergy　of　Corannos　or　attached　themselves　to　the　household　corans　of　another　high　lord。　Some　followed　a　third；　less　predictable　course；　going　out　into　the　world　beyond　the　country　of　their　birth；　alone　on　the　always　dangerous　roads　or　more　often　in　smaller　or　larger　groupings　to　seek　their　fortune。　In　a　season　of　war　they　would　be　found　at　the　battlefields；　in　the　rarer　times　of　tranquility　they　would　be　stirring　up　strife　themselves　with　a　restless　champing　at　the　bit　of　peace；　or　maiming　and　hammering　each　other　in　the　tournament　melees　that　moved　with　the　trade　fairs　from　town　to　town　through　the　known　lands　of　the　world。
　　Nor　was　this　pattern　only　true　in　Gorhaut。　Bertran　de　Talair；　until　his　older　brother　died　childless　and　he　became　the　duke；　had　been　among　this　roving　number　in　his　own　day；　one　of　the　most　celebrated；　bringing　a　sword　and　a　harp；　both；　and　later　a　joglar　expensively　outfitted　in　his　livery；　to　battlefield　and　tournament　in　Gotzland　and　Portezza　and　watery　Valensa　in　the　north。
　　Blaise　of　Gorhaut；　years　later；　and　for　a　variety　of　reasons；　had　bee　another　such　man；　ever　since　he'd　been　anointed　as　a　coran　by　King　Duergar　himself。
　　He'd　left　home　with　his　horse　and　armour　and　weapons　and　his　skills　with　them；　skills　that　had　travelled　well　and　not　without　profit…most　of　it　banked　in　Portezza　now　with　Rudel's　family。　It　was　a　life　that　had　left　him；　riding　alone　under　the　sun　of　summer　in　Arbonne；　untied　and　untrammelled　by　the　bonds　that　seemed　to　ensnare　so　many　of　the　men　he　knew。
　　He　would　have　scorned　the　question　and　the　questioner　both；　but　if　asked　that　day；　Blaise　would　have　said　that　he　was　not　an　unhappy　man；　for　all　the　bitterness　that　lay　behind　him　at　home　and　among　the　dangerous　cities　of　Portezza。　He　would　have　said　he　knew　the　future　he　wanted　for　himself；　and　that　for　the　foreseeable　future　it　was　not　unlike　the　present　through　which　he　rode；　in　whatever　country　it　might　chance　to　fall。　He　wasn't　particular　about　that；　he　would　have　said。　If　you　kept　moving　there　was　less　chance　of　putting　down　roots；　forming　bonds；　caring　for　people　。。。　learning　what　happened　when　those　men　or　women　you　cared　for　proved　other　than　you　had　thought　them。　Though　he　would　never　have　said　that　last　aloud；　however　assiduously　a　questioner　pursued。
　　Cresting　the　last　of　a　series　of　ridges；　Blaise　saw　the　blue　waters　of　Lake　Dierne　clearly　for　the　first　time。　He　could　make　out　a　small　island　in　the　lake　with　three　plumes　of　white　smoke　rising　from　fires　burning　there。　He　paused　a　moment；　taking　in　the　vista　that　spread　before　him；　and　then　rode　on。
　　No　one　had　cautioned　him　otherwise；　or　offered　any　warning　at　all；　nor　had　he　asked　any　questions；　and　so　when　he　went　forward　from　that　ridge　Blaise　took　what　was　clearly　the　more　direct；　less　hilly　road；　riding　straight　north　towards　the　lake　and　the　beginnings　of　what　was　to　be　his　destiny。
　　
　　The　well…worn　path　went　along　the　western　shore　of　Lake　Dierne；　with　faded　milestones　of　the　Ancients　along　the　way；　some　standing；　some　toppled　into　the　grass；　all　testifying　mutely　to　how　long　ago　this　road　had　been　laid　down。　The　island　wasn't　very　far　away…a　good　swimmer　could　cover　the　distance…and　from　the　path　Blaise　could　now　see　that　the　three　white　plumes　of　smoke　were　carefully　spaced　along　the　midline　of　the　isle。　Even　he　was　sufficiently　aware　after　a　season　in　Arbonne　to　realize　that　these　would　be　holy　fires　of　Rian。　Who　else　but　the　clergy　of　the　goddess　would　burn　midday　fires　in　the　heat　of　early　summer？
　　He　narrowed　his　gaze　across　the　dazzling　blue　water。　He　could　make　out　a　handful　of　small　boats　at　anchor　or　pulled　up　on　the　sands　of　the　island's　nearer　shore。　One　boat　with　a　single　white　sail　was　tacking　back　and　forth　across　the　lake　into　the　breeze。　Watching；　Blaise's　thoughts　went　back　to　the　High　Priestess　with　her　owl　in　the　blackness　of　night　on　Rian's　other　island；　in　the　sea。　After　a　moment　he　looked　away　in　the　bright　sunshine　and　rode　on。
　　He　passed　the　small　hut　that　held　and　kept　dry　wood　and　kindling　for　the　signal　fires　that　would　summon　the　priestesses　when　those　on　the　shore　had　need；　whether　for　childbirth　or　healing　or　surrendering　the　dead。　He　resisted　the　impulse　to　make　a　warding　sign。
　　A　little　further　along　the　path　he　saw　the　arch。　He　stopped　his　horse　again。　The　pack　pony　trudging　behind　with　his　goods　and　his　armour　bumped　up　against　them　and　then　placidly　lowered　its　head　to　crop　at　the　grass　by　the　road。　Blaise　was　staring　at　that　arrogant；　monumental　assertion　of　stone。　The　soldier　in　him　understood　it　at　once；　and　admiration　vied　with　an　inward　disquiet。
　　There　were　figures　carved　along　the　top　of　the　arch；　and　there　would　be　friezes　along　the　sides　as　well。　He　didn't　need　to　go　nearer　to　study　them；　he　knew　what　the　sculptor's　art　had　rendered　there。　He　had　seen　such　arches　before；　in　northern　Portezza；　in　Gotzland；　two　in　Gorhaut　itself　near　the　mountain　passes；　which　seemed　to　be　as　far　north　as　the　Ancients　had　established　themselves。
　　The　massive　arch　offered　its　own　clear　testimony　as　to　what　those　who　built　it　had　been。　Where　the　milestones　by　the　long；　straight　roads　told　of　continuity　and　the　orderly；　regulated　flow　of　society　in　a　world　now　lost；　the　triumphal　arches　such　as　this　one　spoke　to　nothing　but　domination；　the　brutal　grinding　down　of　whoever　had　been　here　when　the　Ancients　came　to　conquer。
　　Blaise　had　been　to　war　many　times；　both　for　his　country　and　for　his　own　purse　as　a　mercenary；　and　had　known　both　triumph　and　defeat　on　widely　scattered　battlefields。　Once；　by　the　frost…rimed　Iersen　Bridge；　he　had　fought　among　ice　and　blowing　snow　past　the　bitter　death　of　his　king　through　to　a　twilit　winter　victory　that　had　then　been　alchemized　into　defeat　in　the　elegantly　phrased　courtiers'　treaty　of　the　spring　that　followed。　That　one　had　changed　him；　he　thought。　That　one　had　changed　his　life　forever。
　　The　arch　standing　here　at　the　end　of　a　procession　of　planted　trees　told　a　hard　truth　that　Blaise　knew　in　his　soldier's　bones　to　be　as　valid　now　as　it　had　been　centuries　ago：　when　you　have　beaten　someone；　when　you　have　conquered　and　occupied　them；　you　must　never　let　them　forget　the　power　that　you　have　and　the　consequences　of　resistance。
　　What　happened　when　the　arches　remained　but　those　who　had　so　arrogantly　raised　them　were　dust　and　long　departed　was　a　question　for　milk…fed　philosophers　and　troubadours；　Blaise　thought；　not　for　a　fighting　man。
　　He　turned　his　head　away；　unsettled　and　unexpectedly　angered。　And　it　was　only　when　he　did　so；　wrestling　his　attention　from　the　massive　arch；　that　he　became　aware；　belatedly；　that　he　was　no　longer　alone　on　this　shore　of　Lake　Dierne　under　a　westering　sun。
　　There　were　six　of　them；　in　dark　green　hose　and　tunics。　The　livery　meant　they　were　unlikely　to　be　outlaws；　which　was　good。　Rather　less　encouraging　was　the　fact　that　three　of　them　had　bows　out　and　arrows　to　string　already；　levelled　at　him　before　any　words　of　greeting　or　challenge　had　been　spoken。　What　was　even　more　ominous　was　that　the　obvious　leader；　sitting　his　horse　a　few　feet　ahead　and　to　one　side　of　the　others；　was　rangy；　dark…skinned；　moustachioed　Arimondan。　Experience　in　several　countries；　and　one　sword　fight　he　preferred　not　to　remember　except　for　the　lesson　it　had　taught　him；　had　led　Blaise　to　be　exceptionally　wary　of　the　swarthy　warriors　of　that　hot；　dry　land　beyond　the　western　mountains。　Especially　when　they　appeared　at　the　head　of　men　who　were　aiming　arrows　at　his　chest。
　　Blaise　held　out　his　empty　hands　and　lifted　his　voice　into　the　wind。　〃I　give　you　greetings；　corans。　I　am　a　traveller　on　a　high　road　of　Arbonne。　I　mean　no　offence　to　anyone　and　trust　I　have　given　none。〃　He　was　silent；　watching；　and　left　his　hands　out　to　be　seen。　He　had　defeated　four　men　once　at　a　tourney　in　Aulensburg；　but　there　were　six　here；　with　arrows。
　　The　Arimondan　twitched　his　reins　and　his　horse；　a　genuinely　magnificent　black；　moved　forward　a　few　restive　paces。　〃Fighting　corans　carrying　armour　sometimes　give　offense　merely　by　their　existence；〃　the　man　said。　〃Who　is　it　that　you　serve？〃　He　spoke　Arbonnais　flawlessly；　with　scarcely　a　trace　of　an　accent。　He　was　clearly　no　stranger　to　this　land。　He　was　also　observant。　Blaise's　armour　was　well　wrapped　under　cloth　on　the　pack　pony；　the　Arimondan　would　have　deduced　what　it　was　by　shape。
　　But　Blaise；　too；　was　used　to　watching　men　closely；　especially　in　a　situation　such　as　this；　and　out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye　he　saw　one　of　the　archers　lean　forward　with　the　question；　as　if　hanging　upon　the　answer。
　　Blaise　temporized。　He　had　no　real　idea　what　was　happening　here。　Outlaws　on　the　roads　were　one　thing；　but　these　men　were　clearly　trained　and　just　as　clearly　asserting　control　over　this　part　of　the　road。　He　wished　he'd　studied　a　map　more　closely　before　leaving　Baude。　It　would　have　helped　to　know　whose　lands　these　were。　He　ought　to　have　asked　more　questions　at　last　night's　inn。
　　He　said；　〃I　am　traveling　in　peace　on　an　open　road。　I　mean　no　trespass。　If　such　is　your　plaint；　I　will　gladly　pay　a