rj.thegreathunt-第2节
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some who would be missed even less than Tinkers。
A chime sounded； a single； shivering note that came from everywhere at once and cut off all other sounds like a knife。
The tall doors at the far end of the chamber swung open； and two Trollocs stepped into the room； spikes decorating the black mail that hung to their knees。 Everyone shied back。 Even the man who called himself Bors。
Head and shoulders taller than the tallest man there； they were a stomach…turning blend of man and animal； human faces twisted and altered。 One had a heavy； pointed beak where his mouth and nose should have been； and feathers covered his head instead of hair。 The other walked on hooves； his face pushed out in a hairy muzzle； and goat horns stuck up above his ears。
Ignoring the humans； the Trollocs turned back toward the door and bowed； servile and cringing。 The feathers on the one lifted in a tight crest。
A Myrddraal stepped between them； and they fell to their knees。 It was garbed in black that made the Trollocs' mail and the humans' masks seem bright； garments that hung still； without a ripple； as it moved with a viper's grace。
The man who called himself Bors felt his lips drawing back over his teeth； half snarl and half； he was shamed to admit even to himself； fear。 It had its face uncovered。 Its pasty pale face； a man's face； but eyeless as an egg； like a maggot in a grave。
The smooth white face swiveled； regarding them all one by one； it seemed。 A visible shiver ran through them under that eyeless look。 Thin； bloodless lips quirked in what might almost have been a smile as； one by one； the masked ones tried to press back into the crowd； milling to avoid that gaze。 The Myrddraal's look shaped them into a semicircle facing the door。
The man who called himself Bors swallowed。 There will e a day； Halfman。 When the Great Lord of the Dark es again； he will choose his new Dreadlords； and you will cower before them。 You will cower before men。 Before me！ Why doesn't it speak？ Stop staring at me； and speak！
〃Your Master es。〃 The Myrddraal's voice rasped like a dry snake skin crumbling。 〃To your bellies； worms！ Grovel； lest his brilliance blind and burn you！〃
Rage filled the man who called himself Bors； at the tone as much as the words； but then the air above the Halfman shimmered； and the import drove home。 It can't be！ It can't。。。！ The Trollocs were already on their bellies； writhing as if they wanted to burrow into the floor。
Without waiting to see if anyone else moved； the man who called himself Bors dropped facedown； grunting as he bruised himself on the stone。 Words sprang to his lips like a charm against danger … they were a charm； though a thin reed against what he feared … and he heard a hundred other voices； breathy with fear； speaking the same against the floor。
〃The Great Lord of the Dark is my Master； and most heartily do I serve him to the last shred of my very soul。〃 In the back of his mind a voice chattered with fear。 The Dark One and all the Forsaken are bound。。。 Shivering； he forced it to silence。 He had abandoned that voice long since。 〃Lo； my Master is death's Master。 Asking nothing do I serve against the Day of his ing； yet do I serve in the sure and certain hope of life everlasting。〃 。。。bound in Shayol Ghul； bound by the Creator at the moment of creation。 No； I serve a different master now。 〃Surely the faithful shall be exalted in the land； exalted above the unbelievers； exalted above thrones； yet do I serve humbly against the Day of his Return。〃 The hand of the Creator shelters us all； and the Light protects us from the Shadow。 No； no！ A different master。 〃Swift e the Day of Return。 Swift e the Great Lord of the Dark to guide us and rule the world forever and ever。〃
The man who called himself Bors finished the creed panting； as if he had run ten miles。 The rasp of breath all around told him he was not the only one。
〃Rise。 All of you； rise。〃
The mellifluous voice took him by surprise。 Surely none of his panions； lying on their bellies with their masked faces pressed to the mosaic tiles； would have spoken； but it was not the voice he expected from。。。 Cautiously； he raised his head enough to see with one eye。
The figure of a man floated in the air above the Myrddraal； the hem of his blood…red robe hanging a span over the Halfman's head。 Masked in blood…red； too。 Would the Great Lord of the Dark appear to them as a man？ And masked； besides？ Yet the Myrddraal； its very gaze fear； trembled and almost cowered where it stood in the figure's shadow。 The man who called himself Bors grasped for an answer his mind could contain without splitting。 One of the Forsaken； perhaps。
That thought was only a little less painful。 Even so； it meant the Day of the Dark One's return must be close at hand if one of the Forsaken was free。 The Forsaken； thirteen of the most powerful wielders of the One Power in an Age filled with powerful wielders； had been sealed up in Shayol Ghul along with the Dark One； sealed away from the world of men by the Dragon and the Hundred panions。 And the backblast of that sealing had tainted the male half of the True Source； and all the male Aes Sedai； those cursed wielders of the Power； went mad and broke the world； tore it apart like a pottery bowl smashed on rocks； ending the Age of Legends before they died； rotting while they still lived。 A fitting death for Aes Sedai； to his mind。 Too good for them。 He regretted only that the women had been spared。
Slowly； painfully； he forced the panic to the back of his mind； confined it and held it tight though it screamed to get out。 It was the best he could do。 None of those on their bellies had risen； and only a few had even dared raise their heads。
〃Rise。〃 There was a snap in the red…masked figure's voice this time。 He gestured with both hands。 〃Stand！〃
The man who called himself Bors scrambled up awkwardly； but halfway to his feet； he hesitated。 Those gesturing hands were horribly burned； crisscrossed by black fissures； the raw flesh between as red as the figure's robes。 Would the Dark One appear so？ Or even one of the Forsaken？ The eyeholes of that blood…red mask swept slowly across him； and he straightened hastily。 He thought he could feel the heat of an open furnace in that gaze。
The others obeyed the mand with no more grace and no less fear in their rising。 When all were on their feet； the floating figure spoke。
〃I have been known by many names； but the one by which you shall know me is Ba'alzamon。〃
The man who called himself Bors clamped his teeth to keep them from chattering。 Ba'alzamon。 In the Trolloc tongue； it meant Heart of the Dark； and even unbelievers knew it was the Trolloc name for the Great Lord of the Dark。 He Whose Name Must Not Be Uttered。 Not the True Name； Shai'tan； but still forbidden。 Among those gathered here； and others of their kind； to sully either with a human tongue was blasphemy。 His breath whistled through his nostrils； and all around him he could hear others panting behind their masks。 The servants were gone； and the Trollocs as well； though he had not seen them go。
〃The place where you stand lies in the shadow of Shayol Ghul。〃 More than one voice moaned at that； the man who called himself Bors was not sure his own was not among them。 A touch of what might almost be called mockery entered Ba'alzamon's voice as he spread his arms wide。 〃Fear not； for the Day of your Master's rising upon the world is near at hand。 The Day of Return draws nigh。 Does it not tell you so that I am here； to be seen by you favored few among your brothers and sisters？ Soon the Wheel of Time will be broken。 Soon the Great Serpent will die； and with the power of that death； the death of Time itself； your Master will remake the world in his own image for this Age and for all Ages to e。 And those who serve me； faithful and steadfast； will sit at my feet above the stars in the sky and rule the world of men forever。 So have I promised； and so shall it be； without end。 You shall live and rule forever。〃
A murmur of anticipation ran through the listeners； and some even took a step forward； toward the floating； crimson shape； their eyes lifted； rapturous。 Even the man who called himself Bors felt the pull of that promise； the promise for which he had dealt away his soul a hundred times over。
〃The Day of Return es closer；〃 Ba'alzamon said。 〃But there is much yet to do。 Much to do。〃
The air to Ba'alzamon's left shimmered and thickened； and the figure of a young man hung there； a little lower than Ba'alzamon。 The man who called himself Bors could not decide whether it was a living being or not。 A country lad； by his clothes； with a light of mischief in his brown eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips； as if in memory or anticipation of a prank。 The flesh looked warm； but the chest did not move with breath； the eyes did not blink。
The air to Ba'alzamon's right wavered as if with heat； and a second country…clad figure hung suspended a little below Ba'alzamon。 A curly…haired youth； as heavily muscled as a blacksmith。 And an oddity： a battle axe hung at his side； a great； steel half…m
