rj.theshadowrising-第162节

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ther。〃
　　　　　　　〃Light！〃　he　said　hoarsely。　She　sounded　almost　serious。　No；　she　did　sound　serious。　If　she　was　even　half　serious；　he　was　not　sure　the　Trollocs　might　not　be　better　than　meeting　her　parents。
　　　　　　　〃Here；〃　she　said；　holding　the　mug　of　water　to　his　lips。　〃You　sound　as　though　your　throat　is　dry。〃
　　　　　　　Swallowing；　he　spluttered　at　the　bitter　taste。　She　had　stirred　in　Ila's　powder！　He　tried　to　stop；　but　she　filled　his　mouth；　and　it　was　a　matter　of　swallow　or　choke。　By　the　time　he　could　push　the　mug　away；　she　had　emptied　half　of　it　into　him。　Why　did　medicine　always　taste　so　vile？　He　suspected　women　did　it　on　purpose。　He　would　have　bet　that　whatever　they　took　for　themselves　did　not　taste　that　way。　〃I　told　you　I　did　not　want　any　of　that。　Gaaah！〃
　　　　　　　〃Did　you？　I　must　not　have　heard。　But　whether　you　did　or　not；　you　need　sleep。〃　She　stroked　his　curly　hair。　〃Sleep；　my　Perrin。〃
　　　　　　　He　tried　to　tell　her　he　had　indeed　told　her　so；　and　she　had　heard　it；　but　the　words　seemed　to　tangle　around　his　tongue。　His　eyes　wanted　to　slide　shut。　In　fact；　he　could　not　keep　them　open。　The　last　thing　he　heard　was　her　soft　murmurs。
　　　　　　　〃Sleep；　my　wolf　king。　Sleep。〃


Chapter　42
（Wolf）
A　Missing　Leaf

　　　　　　　Perrin　stood　near　the　Tuatha'an　wagons　under　bright　sunlight；　alone；　and　there　was　no　arrow　in　his　side；　no　pain。　Among　the　wagons　firewood　was　stacked　ready　to　be　lit　beneath　iron　cookpots　hanging　from　tripods；　and　clothes　hung　from　washlines；　there　were　no　people　or　horses。　He　wore　neither　coat　nor　shirt；　but　a　blacksmith's　long　leather　vest　that　left　his　arms　bare。　It　could　have　been　any　dream；　perhaps；　except　that　he　was　aware　it　was　a　dream。　And　he　knew　the　feel　of　the　wolf　dream；　the　reality　and　solidity　of　it；　from　the　long　grass　around　his　boots　to　the　breeze　out　of　the　west　that　ruffled　his　curly　hair；　to　the　scattered　ash　and　hemlock。　The　Tinkers'　gaudy　wagons　did　not　seem　real；　though；　they　had　an　air　of　insubstantiality；　a　feel　that　they　might　shimmer　and　be　gone　any　moment。　They　never　remained　long　in　one　place；　Tinkers。　No　soil　held　them。
　　　　　　　Wondering　how　much　the　land　held　him；　he　rested　a　hand　on　his　axe　…　and　looked　down　in　surprise。　The　heavy　blacksmith's　hammer　hung　in　the　loop　on　his　belt；　not　the　axe。　He　frowned；　once　he　would　have　chosen　that　way；　had　even　thought　he　had；　but　surely　no　more。　The　axe。　He　had　chosen　the　axe。　Hammerhead　suddenly　became　half…moon　blade　and　thick　spike；　flickered　back　to　stout　cylinder　of　cold　steel；　fluttered　between。　Finally　it　stopped；　as　his　axe；　and　he　exhaled　slowly。　That　had　never　happened　before。　Here；　he　could　change　things　as　he　wanted　with　ease；　things　about　himself　at　least。　〃And　I　want　the　axe；〃　he　said　firmly。　〃The　axe。〃
　　　　　　　Looking　around；　he　could　just　see　a　farmhouse　to　the　south；　arid　deer　browsing　the　barley　field；　surrounded　by　a　rough　stone　wall。　There　was　no　feel　of　wolves；　and　he　did　not　call　Hopper。　The　wolf　might　or　might　not　e；　or　even　hear；　but　Slayer　could　well　be　out　there　somewhere。　A　bristling　quiver　abruptly　tugged　at　his　belt　opposite　the　axe；　and　he　had　a　stout　longbow　in　his　hand　with　a　broadhead　arrow　nocked。　A　long　leather　bracer　covered　his　left　forearm。　Nothing　moved　except　those　deer。
　　　　　　　〃Not　likely　I'll　wake　soon；〃　he　muttered　to　himself。　Whatever　that　stuff　was　that　Faile　had　fed　him；　it　had　taken　him　right　off；　he　remembered　it　as　clearly　as　if　he　had　watched　over　her　shoulder。　〃Fed　it　to　me　like　I　was　a　babe；〃　he　growled。　Women！
　　　　　　　He　took　one　of　those　long　strides　…　the　land　blurred　around　him…　and　stepped　into　the　farmyard。　Two　or　three　chickens　scattered；　running　as　if　they　had　already　gone　feral。　The　rock…walled　sheepfold　stood　empty；　and　both　thatch…roofed　barns　were　barred　shut。　Despite　curtains　still　at　the　windows；　the　two…story　farmhouse　had　the　look　of　emptiness。　If　this　was　a　true　reflection　of　the　waking　world　…　and　the　wolf　dream　usually　was；　in　an　odd　way　…　the　people　here　had　been　gone　for　days。　Faile　was　right；　his　warning　had　spread　beyond　the　places　he　had　gone。
　　　　　　　〃Faile；〃　he　murmured　wonderingly。　Daughter　of　a　lord。　No；　not　just　a　lord。　Three　times　a　lord；　a　general；　and　uncle　to　a　queen。　〃Light；　that　makes　her　a　queen's　cousin！〃　And　she　loved　a　simple　blacksmith。　Women　were　wondrous　strange。
　　　　　　　Seeking　to　see　how　far　the　word　had　spread；　he　zigzagged　more　than　halfway　to　Deven　Ride；　a　mile　or　more　at　a　stride；　doubling　back　and　crisscrossing　his　own　path。　Most　farms　he　saw　had　that　same　emptiness；　less　than　one　in　five　showed　signs　of　habitation；　doors　open　and　windows　up；　wash　hung　out　on　a　line；　dolls　or　hoops　or　carved　wooden　horses　lying　around　a　doorstep。　The　toys　especially　made　his　stomach　clench。　Even　if　they　had　not　believed　his　warning；　surely　there　were　enough　burned　farms　about　to　tell　them　the　same；　tumbled　heaps　of　charred　timbers；　soot…black　chimneys　like　stark；　dead　fingers。
　　　　　　　Bending　to　replace　a　doll　with　a　smiling　glass　face　and　a　flower…embroidered　dress　…　some　woman　had　loved　her　daughter　to　do　all　that　tiny　needlework　…　he　blinked。　The　same　doll　still　sat　on　the　fieldstone　steps　where　he　had　picked　it　up。　As　he　reached　out；　the　one　in　his　hand　faded　and　vanished。
　　　　　　　Flashes　of　black　in　the　sky　cut　short　his　amazement。　Ravens；　twenty　or　thirty　together；　winging　toward　the　Westwood。　Toward　the　Mountains　of　Mist；　where　he　had　first　seen　Slayer。　He　watched　coldly　while　the　ravens　dwindled　to　black　specks　and　disappeared。　Then　he　set　off　after　them。
　　　　　　　Long；　racing　strides　carried　him　five　miles　each；　the　land　a　blur　except　in　the　moment　between　one　step　and　the　next；　into　the　thick…treed；　rocky　Westwood；　across　the　scrub…covered　Sand　Hills；　into　the　cloud…capped　mountains；　where　fir　and　pine　and　leatherleaf　forested　valleys　and　slopes；　to　the　very　valley　where　he　had　first　seen　the　man　Hopper　called　Slayer；　to　the　mountainside　where　he　had　returned　from　Tear。
　　　　　　　The　Way　gate　stood　there；　closed；　the　Avendesora　leaf　seemingly　just　one　among　a　myriad　of　intricately　carved　leaves　and　vines。　Scattered　trees；　wizened　and　wind…sculpted；　dotted　the　sparse　soil　among　the　glazed　stone　where　Manetheren　had　been　burned　away。　Sunlight　sparkled　on　the　waters　of　the　Manetherendrelle　below。　A　faint　wind　up　the　valley　brought　him　the　scent　of　deer；　rabbits；　foxes。　Nothing　moved　that　he　could　see。
　　　　　　　On　the　point　of　leaving；　he　stopped。　The　Avendesora　leaf。　One　leaf。　Loial　had　locked　the　Waygate　by　placing　both　leaves　on　this　side。　He　turned；　and　his　hackles　rose。　The　Waygate　stood　open；　twin　masses　of　living　greenery　stirring　in　the　breeze；　exposing　that　dull　silvery　surface；　his　reflection　shimmered　in　it。　How？　he　wondered。　Loial　locked　the　bloody　thing。
　　　　　　　Unaware　of　crossing　the　distance；　suddenly　he　was　right　at　the　Waygate。　There　was　no　trefoil　leaf　among　the　verdant　tangle　on　the　inside　of　the　two　gates。　Strange　to　think　that　at　that　moment；　in　the　waking　world；　someone　…　or　something　…　was　passing　through　where　he　stood。　Touching　the　dull　surface；　he　grunted。　It　might　as　well　have　been　a　mirror；　his　hand　slid　across　it　as　across　the　smoothest　glass。
　　　　　　　From　the　corner　of　his　eye　he　caught　the　Avendesora　leaf　suddenly　in　its　place　on　the　inside；　and　leaped　back　just　as　the　Waygate　began　swinging　shut。　Someone　…　or　something　…　had　e　out；　or　gone　in。　Out。　It　has　to　be　out。　He　wanted　to　doubt　that　it　was　more　Trollocs；　and　Fades；　ing　into　the　Two　Rivers。　The　gates　merged；　became　stone　carvings　again。
　　　　　　　A　sense　of　being　watched　was　all　the　warning　he　had。　He　jumped…　a　half…seen　image　of　black　streaking　through　where　his　chest　had　been；　an　arrow　…　jumped　in　one　of　those　world…blurring　stretches；　landed　on　a　far　slope　and　jumped　again；　out　of　the　valley　of　Manetheren　into　a　stand　of　towering　fir；　and　again。　Running；　he　thought　furiously；　picturing　the　valley　in　his　mind；　and　that　brief　glimpse　of　the　arrow。　It　had　e　from　that　direction；　at　that　angle　when　it　reached　him；　so　it　had　to　have　e　from。。。
　　　　　　　A　final　bound　took　him　back　onto　a　slope　above　Manetheren's　grave；　crouching　among　meager；　wind…slanted　pines　with　bow　ready　to　draw。　Below　him；　among　the　stunted　trees　and　boulders；　the　arrow　had　been　fired。　Slayer　had　to　be　down　there　somewhere。　He　had　to　be　down。。。
　　　　　　　Without　thinking；　Perrin　leaped　away；　the　mountains　a　smear　of　gray　and　brown　and　green。
　　　　　　　〃Almost；〃　he　growled。　Almost；　he　had　duplicated　his　mistake　in　the　Waterwood；　thinking　again　an　enemy　would　move　to　suit　him；　wait　where　he　wanted。
　　　　　　　This　time　he　ran　as　hard　as　he　could；　only　three　flashing　strides　to　the　edge　of　the　Sand　Hills；　hoping　he　had　not　been　seen。　This　time　he　circled　wide；　ing　back　higher　on　that　same　mountainside；　up　where　the　air　felt　thin　and　cold　and　the　few　trees　were　thick…trunked　bushes　fifty　paces　or　more　apart；　up　above　where　a　man　might　set　himself　to　watch　for　another　who　meant　to　sneak　up　on　the　place　that　arrow　had　fired。
　　　　　　　And　there　his　quarry　was；　a　hundred　paces　below；　dark…haired　and　dark…coated；　a　tall　man　crouched　beside　a　table…sized　granite　outcrop；　his　own　half…drawn　bow　in　hand；　studying　the　slope　farther　down　with　eager　patience。　This　was　the　first　time　Perrin　had　gotten　a　good　look　at　him；　a　hundred　paces　was　littl