srdonaldson.thepowerthatpreserves-第52部分

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supply　wains　from　the　south　and　east。　From　time　to　time；　an　indefinite　flicker　of　power　ran　among　them…a　halfhearted　whip　keeping　surly　beasts　under　control。　But　none　of　them　approached　within　hailing　distance　of　the　Keep。　Samadhi　Raver　did　not　show　himself。　Only　the　unbroken　girdle　of　the　siege　showed　that　Lord　Foul　had　not　been　defeated。
　　　　For　five　days…ten…fifteen…the　enemy　lay　like　a　dead　thing　around　Revelstone。　At　first；　some　of　the　more　optimistic　inhabitants　of　the　city　argued　that　the　spirit　of　the　attackers　had　been　broken。　But　Warmark　Quaan　did　not　believe　this；　and　after　one　long　look　from　the　watchtower；　Mhoram　agreed　with　his　old　friend。
　　　　Satansfist　was　simply　waiting　for　Revelstone　to　eat　up　its　supplies；　weaken　itself；　before　he　launched　his　next　assault。
　　　　As　the　days　passed；　High　Lord　Mhoram　lost　his　capacity　to　rest。　He　lay　tense　in　his　chambers　and　listened　to　the　mood　of　the　city　turn　sour。
　　　　Slowly；　day　by　day；　Lord's　Keep　came　to　understand　its　predicament。　The　Giants　who　had　delved　Revelstone　out　of　the　mountain　rock　thousands　of　years　ago；　in　the　age　of　Damelon；　had　made　it　to　be　impregnable；　and　all　its　inhabitants　had　lived　from　birth　with　the　belief　that　this　intention　had　succeeded。　The　walls　were　granite；　and　the　gates；　unbreakable。　In　a　crisis　the　fertile　upland　plateau　could　provide　the　Keep　with　food。　But　the　Despiser's　unforeseen；　unforeseeable　winter　had　laid　the　upland　barren；　crops　and　fruit　could　not　grow；　cattle　or　other　animals　could　not　live；　in　the　brazen　wind。　And　the　storerooms　had　already　supplied　the　city　since　the　natural　onset　of　winter。
　　　　For　the　first　time　in　its　long　history；　Revelstone's　people　saw　that　they　might　starve。
　　　　In　the　initial　days　of　waiting；　the　Lords　began　a　stricter　rationing　of　the　supplies。　They　reduced　each　person's　daily　share　of　food　until　everyone　in　Revelstone　felt　hungry　all　the　time。　They　organized　the　refectories　more　stringently；　so　that　food　would　not　be　wasted。　But　these　measures　were　palpably　inadequate。　The　city　had　many　thousand　inhabitants；　even　on　minimal　rations　they　consumed　large　portions　of　the　stores　every　day。
　　　　Their　earlier　elation　ran　out　of　them　like　water　leaking　into　parched　sand。　The　wait　became　first　stupefying；　then　heavy　and　ominous；　like　pent　thunder；　then　maddening。　And　High　Lord　Mhoram　found　himself　yearning　for　the　next　attack。　He　could　fight　back　against　an　attack。
　　　　Gradually；　the　cold　gray　days　of　suspense　began　to　weaken　the　Keep's　discretion；　its　pragmatic　sense。　Some　of　the　farmers…people　whose　lifework　had　been　taken　from　them　by　the　winter…crept　out　to　the　upland　hills　around　Glimmermere；　sneaking　as　if　they　were　ashamed　to　be　caught　planting　futile　rows　of　seeds　in　the　frozen　earth。
　　　　Lord　Trevor　began　to　neglect　some　of　his　duties。　At　odd　times；　he　forgot　why　he　had　bee　a　Lord；　forgot　the　impulse　which　had　made　him　a　Lord　in　defiance　of　his　lack　of　belief　in　himself；　and　he　shirked　normal　responsibilities　as　if　he　were　inexplicably　afraid　of　failure。　Loerya　his　wife　remained　staunch　in　her　work；　but　she　became　distracted；　almost　furtive；　as　she　moved　through　the　Keep。　She　often　went　hungry　so　that　her　daughters　could　have　more　food。　Whenever　she　saw　the　High　Lord；　she　glared　at　him　with　a　strange　resentment　in　her　eyes。
　　　　Like　Loerya；　Lord　Amatin　grew　slowly　distant。　At　every　free　moment　she　plunged　into　a　feverish　study　of　the　First　and　Second　Wards；　searching　so　hard　for　the　unlocking　of　mysteries　that　when　she　went　back　to　her　public　duties　her　forehead　looked　as　sore　as　if　she　had　been　battering　it　against　her　table。
　　　　Several　Hirebrands　and　Gravelingases　took　to　carrying　fire　with　them　wherever　they　went；　like　men　who　were　going　inprehensibly　blind。　And　on　the　twentieth　day　of　the　waiting；　Warmark　Quaan　abruptly　reversed　all　his　former　decisions；　without　consulting　any　of　the　Lords；　he　sent　a　party　of　scouts　out　of　the　Keep　toward　Satansfist's　camp。　None　of　them　returned。
　　　　Still　the　Raver's　army　lay　like　dormant　chains；　constricting　the　heart　of　Revelstone。
　　　　Quaan　berated　himself　to　the　High　Lord。　〃　I　am　a　fool；〃　he　articulated　severely；　〃an　old　fool。　Replace　me　before　I　am　mad　enough　to　send　the　Warward　itself　out　to　die。〃
　　　　〃Who　can　replace　you？〃　Mhoram　replied　gently。　〃It　is　the　Despiser's　purpose　to　make　mad　all　the　defenders　of　the　Land。〃
　　　　Quaan　looked　around　him　as　if　to　measure　with　his　eyes　the　chill　of　Revelstone's　travail。　〃He　will　succeed。　He　requires　no　weapon　but　patience。〃
　　　　Mhoram　shrugged。　〃Perhaps。　But　I　think　it　is　an　unsure　tactic。　Lord　Foul　cannot　foretell　the　size　of　our　stores…or　the　extent　of　our　determination。〃
　　　　〃Then　why　does　he　wait？〃
　　　　The　High　Lord　did　not　need　to　be　a　seer　to　answer　this　question。　〃Samadhi　Raver　awaits　a　sign…perhaps　from　us…perhaps　from　the　Despiser。〃
　　　　Glowering　at　the　thought；　Quaan　went　back　to　his　duties。　And　Mhoram　returned　to　a　problem　which　had　been　nagging　at　him。　For　the　third　time；　he　went　in　search　of　Trell。
　　　　But　once　again　he　could　not　locate　the　tormented　Gravelingas。　Trell　must　have　secreted　himself　somewhere。　Mhoram　found　no　trace；　felt　no　emanation；　and　none　of　the　other　rhadhamaerl　had　seen　the　big　Stonedownor　recently。　Mhoram　ached　at　the　thought　of　Trell　in　hiding；　gnawing　in　cataleptic　isolation　the　infested　meat　of　his　anguishes。　Yet　the　High　Lord　could　not　afford　either　the　time　or　the　energy　to　dredge　all　Revelstone's　private　places　for　the　sake　of　one　embittered　Gravelingas。　Before　he　had　pleted　even　a　cursory　search；　he　was　distracted　by　a　group　of　Lorewardens　who　had　irrationally　decided　to　go　and　negotiate　a　peace　with　the　Raver。　Once　again；　he　was　pelled　to　put　aside　the　question　of　Trell　Atiaran…mate。
　　　　On　the　twenty…fourth　day；　Lord　Trevor　forsook　his　duties　altogether。
　　　　He　sealed　himself　in　his　study　like　a　penitent；　and　refused　all　food　and　drink。　Loerya　could　get　no　response　from　him；　and　when　the　High　Lord　spoke　to　him；　he　said　nothing　except　that　he　wished　his　wife　and　daughters　to　have　his　ration　of　food。
　　　　〃Now　even　I　am　a　cause　of　pain　to　him；''　Loerya　murmured　with　hot　tears　in　her　eyes。　〃Because　I　have　given　some　of　my　food　to　my　daughters；　he　believes　that　he　is　an　insufficient　husband　and　father；　and　must　sacrifice　himself。''　She　gave　Mhoram　one　desperate　glance；　like　a　woman　trying　to　judge　the　cost　of　abdication；　then　hurried　away　before　he　could　reply。
　　　　On　the　twenty…fifth　day；　Lord　Amatin　strode　up　to　Mhoram　and　demanded　without　preface　or　explanation　that　he　reveal　to　her　his　secret　knowledge。
　　　　〃Ah；　Amatin；〃　he　sighed；　〃are　you　so　eager　for　burdens？〃
　　　　She　turned　at　once　and　walked　fragilely　away　as　if　he　had　betrayed　her。
　　　　When　he　went　to　stand　his　solitary　watch　on　the　tower；　a　dull　vermeil　mood　was　on　him；　and　he　felt　that　he　had　in　fact　betrayed　her；　he　had　withheld　dangerous　knowledge　from　her　as　if　he　judged　her　unable　to　bear　it。　Yet　nowhere　in　his　heart　could　he　find　the　courage　to　give　his　fellow　Lords　the　key　to　the　Ritual　of　Desecration。　That　key　had　a　lurid；　entrancing　weight。　It　urged　him　to　rage　at　Trevor；　pummel　the　pain　from　Loerya's　face；　shake　Amatin's　frail　shoulders　until　she　understood；　call　down　fire　from　the　hidden　puissance　of　the　skies　on　Satansfist's　head…and　refused　to　let　him　speak。
　　　　On　the　twenty…seventh　day；　the　first　of　the　storerooms　was　emptied。　Together；　the　chief　cook　and　the　most　experienced　Healer　reported　to　Mhoram　that　the　cold　and　infirm　would　begin　to　die　of　hunger　in　a　few　days。
　　　　When　he　went　to　his　chambers　to　rest；　he　felt　too　cold　to　sleep。　Despite　the　warm　graveling；　Lord　Foul's　winter　reached　through　the　stone　walls　at　him　as　if　the　gray；　unfaltering　wind　were　tuned　to　his　most　vulnerable　resonances。　He　lay　wide…eyed　on　his　pallet　like　a　man　in　a　fever　of　helplessness　and　imminent　despair。
　　　　The　next　night　he　was　snatched　off　his　bed　shortly　after　midnight　by　the　sudden　thrill　of　trepidation　which　raced　through　the　walls　like　a　flame　in　the　extreme　tinder　of　the　Keep'　s　anticipation。　He　was　on　his　way　before　any　summons　could　reach　him；　with　his　staff　clenched　whitely　in　his　hand；　he　hastened　toward　the　highest　eastward　battlements　of　the　main　Keep。　He　focused　on　Quaan's　dour　presence；　found　the　Warmark　on　a　balcony　overlooking　the　watchtower　and　the　night　soot　of　Satansfist's　army。
　　　　As　Mhoram　joined　him；　Quaan　pointed　one　rigid　arm　like　an　indictment　away　toward　the　east。　But　the　High　Lord　did　not　need　Quaan's　gesture；　the　sight　seemed　to　spring　at　him　out　of　the　darkness　like　a　bright　abomination　on　the　wind。
　　　　Running　from　the　east　toward　Revelstone　was　a　rift　in　the　clouds；　a　break　that　stretched　out　to　the　north　and　south　as　far　as　Mhoram　could　see。　The　rift　appeared　wide；　assertive；　but　the　clouds　behind　it　were　as　impenetrable　as　ever。
　　　　It　was　so　clearly　visible　because　through　it　streamed　light　as　green　as　the　frozen　essence　of　emerald。
　　　　Its　brightness　made　it　seem　swift；　but　it　moved　like　a　slow；　ineluctable　tide　across　the　ice…blasted　fields　beyond　the　foothills。　Its　green；　radiant　swath　swept　like　a　blaze　of　wrong　over　the　ground；　igniting　invisible　contours　into　brilliance　and　then　quenching　them　again。　Mhoram　watched　it