ggk.asongforarbonne-第76节

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nd　right；　not　hurrying；　a　master　of　moments　such　as　this；　and　then　very　slowly；　facing　Blaise；　he　laid　his　right　hand　on　his　left　shoulder　in　the　coran's　salute。
　　He　had　done　it。　There　had　been　no　way　of　knowing　if　he　would。　It　was　not　quite　the　full　gesture　of　wele　that　Signe　had　offered…Daufridi　had　far　too　plex　a　game　of　his　own　to　play　for　that　to　be　possible…but　he　had　given　more　than　they'd　had　any　right　to　expect：　an　acknowledgement　that　Blaise　was　worthy　of　a　king's　standing　up　to　recognize　him。
　　Blaise　closed　his　eyes　with　relief；　and　then　opened　them　quickly　again。　He　must　not　be　seen　to　have　doubted；　though　of　course　he　had。　There　had　been　no　promises　from　Daufridi　at　all…and　certainly　none　regarding　an　event　so　unexpectedly　swift　to　develop　as　this　one　had　been。　Leaving　that　inn　outside　the　walls　two　nights　ago；　he　had　offered　only　the　unreassuring　remark　that　he　would　think　on　what　Bertran　had　said。　He　had　done　so；　evidently。　He　was　with　them；　at　least　this　far。　Blaise　was　under　no　illusions　though：　if　the　King　of　Valensa　ever　decided　that　they　were　a　greater　danger　than　Ademar　and　Galbert；　he　would　be　swift　in　his　denunciation。　But　for　the　moment；　in　the　midst　of　this　tumultuous　maelstrom　of　sound；　he　had　risen　to　his　feet　to　wele　Blaise　to　the　stage　of　world　affairs。　It　was　something；　it　was；　in　fact；　a　great　deal。　Keeping　his　expression　as　serene　and　unrevealing　as　he　could；　Blaise　turned　away　from　the　pavilions　to　face　his　own　tent；　and　so　looked　up　for　the　first　time　at　what　flew　above　it　now。
　　The　rampant　bear　of　Garsenc；　crimson　on　its　deep　blue　ground；　carried　its　own　full　measure　of　significance　for　those　who　had　not　even　known　who　he　was　until　this　moment。　And　above　it；　in　pride　and　glory　and　most　brazen　declaration；　flew　the　banner　of　the　kings　of　Gorhaut。
　　Standing　at　the　centre　of　a　growing　tidal　wave　of　noise；　Blaise　looked　up　at　that　golden　sun　on　its　white　ground；　with　the　crown　of　kings　above　it　and　the　sword　of　the　god　below；　and　it　seemed　to　him；　oddly；　as　if　he　had　never　really　seen　it　before。　In　a　way；　he　never　had；　not　like　this。　Not　lifted　in　the　breeze　and　the　light　by　his　own　mand。　It　had　begun。　With　this　banner　flying　above　his　head　and　raised　in　his　own　name　before　the　emblem　of　his　country's　kings　as　the　noise　from　all　around　grew　to　a　climax；　louder　than　he　would　ever　have　thought　possible。
　　He　knew　how　to　quell　that　sound。　To　bring　the　pavilions　and　the　standing　grounds　back；　like　hunting　dogs　to　heel；　to　what　lay　ahead　of　them　now　on　this　green　grass　beneath　the　morning　sun。　It　had　begun　here；　and　it　might　end　here；　for　there　was　still　the　affirmation　of　the　god　to　be　sought。　Of　Corannos；　and　of　the　goddess　of　Arbonne。　For　the　first　time　in　his　life　Blaise　of　Gorhaut　offered　a　prayer　to　Rian。　Then　he　turned　to　the　Arimondan　and　he　drew　his　sword。
　　Jousts　for　pleasure　and　sport　were　done　on　horseback　in　full　tournament　regalia；　horse　and　rider　armoured　magnificently；　the　display　lying　as　much　in　the　glitter　of　the　coran's　equipment　as　in　anything　else。　No　one　ever　enjoyed　losing…it　could　be　hideously　expensive　for　one　thing…but　the　armour　prevented　all　but　the　rare　serious　injury；　and　in　the　long　run；　save　for　a　handful　of　the　most　celebrated　fighters；　wins　and　losses　tended　to　even　themselves　out。　Tournaments　were　entertainments；　a　parading　of　wealth　and　success；　a　revelation　of　prowess；　diversions　for　the　pavilions　and　the　mons　both；　and　they　were　regarded　as　such。
　　Challenges　to　the　death　were　contested　on　foot。　Only　limited　protection　was　allowed。　There　was　no　glitter　to　them；　no　elaborately　ornate　breastplate　or　decorated　helm。　Death　fights　were　primitive　encounters；　even　holy　ones；　reaching　back　to　far　distant　times　before　the　Ancients　had　e；　most　purely　testing　a　man's　courage　and　will　and　the　power　of　his　goddesses　or　gods。　They　were　an　entertainment　too；　of　course；　as　the　excitement　of　the　assembled　watchers　now　attested；　but　of　a　darker　sort；　with　a　grim；　foreknown　destination：　a　man　broken　and　dying　on　trampled　grass；　mortality　made　harshly　manifest　for　those　gathered　to　bear　witness　and　be　reminded　of　their　own　end。
　　It　was　because　of　this　more　than　anything　else　that　when　Blaise　drew　his　sword　the　screaming　stopped。　In　the　dining　halls　of　the　sanctuary　retreats　of　Corannos；　where　men　and　women　sometimes　withdrew　from　the　world　as　they　felt　their　endings　draw　near；　there　were　always　tapestries　or　paintings　hung　upon　the　walls；　and　in　every　sanctuary　at　least　one　of　these　works　would　show　the　gaunt；　laughing　figure　of　Death；　bearing　the　mace　with　which　he　ground　the　life　from　men；　leading　a　winding　procession　over　a　wintry　hill　to　the　west　where　the　sun　was　going　down。　And　always；　by　long　tradition；　the　first　figure　in　that　procession；　even　before　the　crowned　kings　and　queens　of　earth；　hand　in　hand　with　Death　himself；　would　be　a　tall　coran　in　the　prime　of　his　days；　his　sword　useless　in　its　scabbard　as　Death　led　him　away。
　　Quzman　di　Perano；　with　a　smile；　reached　up　and　pulled　his　curved　blade　from　the　sheath　on　his　back。　He　drew　upon　a　clasp　and　let　the　scabbard　fall　behind　him　on　the　grass。　One　of　his　appointed　squires　from　Miraval　quickly　knelt　and　picked　it　up。　The　Arimondan　moved　forward；　light　on　his　feet　as　a　tumbler　for　all　his　size；　and　Blaise；　watching　closely；　saw　that　his　first　steps　carried　a　little　west。　As　expected。　He　had　seen　this　manoeuvre　before；　the　last　time　he'd　fought　a　challenge　with　a　man　from　Arimonda。　He　had　almost　died　that　day。
　　Moving　to　meet　the　man　whose　brother　he　had　slain；　Blaise　regretted；　not　for　the　first　time；　that　he　knew　so　little　about　his　foe　and　how　he　fought。　For　all　Valery's　words　about　the　propensities　of　those　using　curved　swords…tendencies　Blaise　knew　well…they　had　little　actual　knowledge　of　Quzman　beyond　what　was　obvious。　He　was　a　big　man；　cat…quick；　and　brave；　with　a　longing　for　revenge　and　nothing　at　all　to　lose　today。　I　could；　Blaise　thought；　be　dead　before　the　sun　rises　much　higher。
　　It　had　always　been　possible。　There　was　no　honour　to　be　sought　or　found　in　a　meaningless　challenge；　no　elevation　in　the　eyes　of　the　gathered　world　beneath　the　banner　of　Gorhaut's　kings…which　was；　of　course；　the　point　of　all　of　this。
　　Moving　forward；　Blaise　found　what　he　was　looking　for。　His　small　round　shield　rested　on　his　left　forearm；　leaving　his　fingers　free。　He　transferred　his　sword　to　that　hand　and　stooped　quickly。　In　the　same　motion；　as　Quzman　came　straight　towards　him；　he　seized　and　hurled　a　clump　of　earth　squarely　at　the　Arimondan's　gleaming　shield。　Quzman　stopped；　surprised；　and　Blaise　had　time　to　rattle　another　dulling　handful　of　mud　against　the　shield　before　straightening　and　reclaiming　his　sword　in　his　fighting　hand。
　　Quzman　was　no　longer　smiling。　It　was　Blaise　who　grinned　now；　with　deliberate　mockery。　〃Too　pretty　a　toy；〃　he　said。　It　was　quiet　now；　he　did　not　have　to　raise　his　voice。　〃I'll　have　it　cleaned　when　you　are　dead。　How　many　men　have　you　killed　by　blinding　them　first　like　a　coward？〃
　　〃I　wonder；〃　said　Quzman　after　a　short　silence；　his　beautiful　voice　thickened　by　passion；　〃if　you　have　any　idea　how　much　pleasure　your　death　will　bring　me？〃
　　〃I　probably　do。　Blood　ants　on　the　plain。　You　told　me　already。　By　contrast；　though；〃　Blaise　replied；　〃your　life　or　death　mean　almost　nothing　to　me　at　all。　Wele　to　the　dance。　Do　you　want　to　talk　all　morning　or　are　you　actually　able　to　use　that　blade　you　carry？〃
　　He　was。　He　was　more　than　able；　and　sorely　provoked。　The　first　stroke；　exactly　as　Valery　had　predicted；　was　a　downward　angled　slash　on　his　backhand。　Blaise　parried　smoothly；　guiding　it　short　of　his　body…but　then　was　only　barely　quick　enough；　even　with　the　anticipation；　to　block　the　vicious　return　sweep　of　the　curved　blade　along　the　level　of　his　knees。　The　impact；　a　grinding　collision　of　weapons；　was　almost　enough　to　numb　his　wrist。　The　man　was　strong；　enormously　so；　and　his　reactions　were　even　quicker　than　Blaise　had　guessed　they　would　be。
　　Even　as　he　thought　this；　Blaise　was　twisting　desperately　and　dropping；　guided　only　by　reflexes　of　his　own；　an　utterly　instinctive　movement　shaped　by　years　of　bat　in　tournament　and　war；　the　primitive　drive　for　survival　letting　him　react　to　the　curved　sword　abruptly　planted；　quivering；　in　the　earth；　to　Quzman's　gloved　hand　reaching　for　the　back　of　his　calf　and　the　knife　blade　flung　in　a　blurred　motion　for　his　throat。　It　went　by；　almost。　Blaise　felt　a　searing　pain　at　the　side　of　his　head。　He　brought　his　sword　hand　quickly　up　to　his　ear　and　it　came　away　soaked　with　blood。　He　heard　a　sound　from　the　pavilions　then；　deep　and　low；　like　wind　on　a　moor。
　　Quzman；　his　sword　recaptured　before　it　had　even　stopped　vibrating　in　the　ground；　was　smiling　again；　the　white　teeth　gleaming。　〃Now　that；〃　he　said；　〃is　pretty。　Why　don't　you　throw　some　mud　on　it　like　a　peasant？　You　do　seem　to　enjoy　scrabbling　in　the　earth。〃
　　The　pain　was　bad　and　would　probably　get　worse；　but　Blaise　didn't　think　his　ear　was　gone。　Not　entirely；　at　any　rate。　He　seemed　to　still　be　hearing　sounds　from　that　side。　He　thought　of　Bertran　suddenly；　with　his　own　missing　ear　lobe。　He　thought　of　how　much　depended　on　his　walking　alive　from　this　field。　And　with　that　his　anger　was　upon　him　fully；