srdonaldson.thepowerthatpreserves-第74部分

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　　　　Her　achievement　drew　Mhoram　from　his　chambers　to　watch。　When　she　was　done；　she　collapsed　in　his　arms；　but　he　was　so　proud　of　her　that　his　concern　was　dominated　by　relief。　When　the　Healers　assured　him　she　would　soon　recover　if　she　were　allowed　to　rest；　he　left　her　and　went　to　the　stables　to　see　Drinny。
　　　　He　found　a　Ranyhyn　that　hardly　resembled　the　ragged；　worn　horse　he　had　ridden　into　Revelstone。　Good　food　and　treatment　had　rekindled　the　light　in　Drinny's　eyes；　renewed　his　flesh；　restored　elasticity　to　his　muscles。　He　pranced　and　nickered　for　Mhoram　as　if　to　show　the　High　Lord　he　was　ready。
　　　　Such　things　rejuvenated　Mhoram。　Without　further　hesitation；　he　told　Warmark　Quaan　that　he　would　ride　out　against　the　Raver　the　next　morning。
　　　　But　late　that　night；　while　Trevor；　Loerya；　and　Quaan　all　struggled　against　a　particularly　fierce　flurry　of　onslaughts；　Lord　Amatin　came　to　Mhoram's　rooms。　She　did　not　speak；　but　her　wan；　bruised　aspect　caught　at　his　heart。　Her　labors　had　done　something　to　her；　in　straining　herself　so　severely；　she　had　lost　her　defenses；　left　herself　exposed　to　perils　and　perceptions　for　which　she　was　neither　willing　nor　apt。　This　vulnerability　gave　her　a　look　of　abjection；　as　if　she　had　e　to　cast　herself　at　Mhoram's　feet。
　　　　Without　a　word；　she　raised　her　hands　to　the　High　Lord。　In　them　she　held　the　krill　of　Loric。
　　　　He　accepted　it　without　dropping　his　gaze　from　her　face。　〃Ah；　sister　Amatin；〃　he　breathed　gently；　〃you　should　rest。　You　have　earned…〃
　　　　But　a　spasm　of　misery　around　her　eyes　cut　him　off。　He　looked　down；　made　himself　look　at　the　krill。
　　　　Deep　in　its　gem；　he　saw　faint　glimmerings　of　emerald。
　　　　Without　a　word；　Amatin　turned　and　left　him　alone　with　the　knowledge　that　Covenant's　ring　had　fallen　into　the　power　of　the　Despiser。
　　　　When　he　left　his　rooms　the　next　morning；　he　looked　like　a　man　who　had　spent　the　night　wrestling　in　vain　against　his　own　damnation。　His　step　had　lost　its　conviction；　he　moved　as　if　his　very　bones　were　loose　and　bending。　And　the　dangerous　promise　of　his　gaze　had　faded；　leaving　his　eyes　dull；　stricken。　He　bore　the　krill　within　his　robe　and　could　feel　Lord　Foul's　sick　emerald　hold　upon　it　growing。　Soon；　he　knew；　the　cold　of　the　green　would　begin　to　burn　his　flesh。　But　he　was　past　taking　any　account　of　such　risks。　He　dragged　himself　forward　as　if　he　were　on　his　way　to　mit　a　perfidy　which　appalled　him。
　　　　In　the　great　entrance　hall　a　short　distance　within　Revelstone's　still…closed　gates；　he　joined　the　warriors。　They　were　ranked　by　Eoman；　and　he　saw　at　a　glance　that　they　numbered　two　thousand：　one　Howard　on　horseback　and　four　on　foot…a　third　of　the　surviving　Warward。　He　faltered　at　the　sight；　he　had　not　expected　to　be　responsible　for　so　many　deaths。　But　the　warriors　hailed　him　bravely；　and　he　forced　himself　to　respond　as　if　he　trusted　himself　to　lead　them。　Then　he　moved　in　anguish　to　the　forefront；　where　Drinny　awaited　him。
　　　　The　Lords　and　Warmark　Quaan　were　there　with　the　Ranyhyn；　but　he　passed　by　them　because　he　could　not　meet　their　eyes；　and　tried　to　mount。　His　muscles　failed　him；　he　was　half　paralyzed　by　dread　and　could　not　leap　high　enough　to　gain　Drinny's　back。　Shaking　on　the　verge　of　an　outcry；　he　clung　to　the　horse　for　support；　and　beseeched　himself　for　the　serenity　which　had　been　his　greatest　resource。
　　　　Yet　he　could　not　make　the　leap；　Drinny's　back　was　too　high　for　him。　He　ached　to　ask　for　help。　But　before　he　could　force　words　through　his　locked　throat；　he　felt　Quaan　behind　him；　felt　Quaan's　hand　on　his　shoulder。　The　old　Warmark's　voice　was　gruff　with　urgency　as　he　said；　〃High　Lord；　this　risk　will　weaken　Revelstone。　A　third　of　the　Warward…two　thousand　lives　wasted。　High　Lord…why？　Have　you　bee　like　Kevin　Land…waster？　Do　you　wish　to　destroy　that　which　you　love？〃
　　　　〃No！''　Mhoram　whispered　because　the　tightness　of　his　throat　blocked　any　other　sound。　With　his　hands；　he　begged　Drinny　for　strength。　〃I　do　not…I　do　not　forget…　I　am　the　High　Lord。　The　path　of　faith　is　clear。　I　must　follow　it…because　it　is　not　despair。〃
　　　　〃You　will　teach　us　despair…if　you　fail。〃
　　　　Mhoram　heard　the　pain　in　Quaan's　voice；　and　he　pelled　himself　to　answer。　He　could　not　refuse　Quaan's　need；　he　was　too　weak；　but　he　could　not　refuse。　〃No。　Lord　Foul　teaches　despair。　It　is　an　easier　lesson　than　courage。〃　Slowly；　he　turned　around；　met　first　Quaan's　gaze；　then　the　eyes　of　the　Lords。　〃An　easier　lesson；〃　he　repeated。　〃Therefore　the　counsels　of　despair　and　hate　can　never　triumph　over　Despite。〃
　　　　But　his　reply　only　increased　Quaan's　pain。　While　knuckles　of　distress　clenched　Quaan's　open　face；　he　moaned　brokenly；　〃Ah；　my　Lord。　Then　why　do　you　delay？　Why　do　you　fear？〃
　　　　〃Because　I　am　mortal；　weak。　The　way　is　only　clear…not　sure。　In　my　time；　I　have　been　a　seer　and　oracle。　Now　I…I　desire　a　sign。　I　require　to　see。〃
　　　　He　spoke　simply；　but　almost　at　once　his　mortality；　his　weakness；　became　too　much　for　him。　Tears　blurred　his　vision。　The　burden　was　not　one　that　he　could　bear　alone。　He　opened　his　arms　and　was　swept　into　the　embrace　of　the　Lords。
　　　　The　melding　of　their　minds　reached　him；　poured　into　him　on　the　surge　of　their　united　concern。　Folded　within　their　arms　and　their　thoughts；　he　felt　their　love　soothe　him；　fill　him　like　water　after　a　long　thirst；　feed　his　hunger。　Throughout　the　siege；　he　had　given　them　his　strength；　and　now　they　returned　strength　to　him。　With　quiet　diffidence；　Lord　Trevor　restored　his　crippled　sense　of　endurance　in　service…a　fortitude　which　came；　not　from　the　server；　but　from　the　preciousness　of　the　thing　served。　Lord　Loerya　shared　with　him　her　intense　instinct　for　protection；　her　capacity　for　battle　on　behalf　of　children…loved　ones　who　could　not　defend　themselves。　And　Lord　Amatin；　though　she　was　still　frail　herself；　gave　him　the　clear；　uncluttered　concentration　of　her　study；　her　lore…wisdom…a　rare　gift　which　for　his　sake　she　proffered　separate　from　her　distrust　of　emotion。
　　　　In　such　melding；　he　began　to　recover　himself。　Blood　seemed　to　return　to　his　veins；　his　muscles　uncramped；　his　bones　remembered　their　rigor。　He　accepted　the　Lords　deep　into　himself；　and　in　response　he　shared　with　them　all　the　perceptions　which　made　his　decision　necessary。　Then　he　rested　on　their　love　and　let　it　assuage　him。
　　　　His　appetite　for　the　meld　seemed　to　have　no　bottom；　but　after　a　time　the　contact　was　interrupted　by　a　strident　voice　so　full　of　strange　thrills　that　none　of　the　Lords　could　refuse　to　hear　it。　A　sentry　raced　into　the　hall　clamoring　for　their　attention；　and　when　they　looked　at　her　she　shouted；　〃The　Raver　is　attacked！　His　army…the　encampment…！　It　is　under　attack。　By　Waynhim！　They　are　few…few…but　the　Raver　had　no　defenses　on　that　side；　and　they　have　already　done　great　damage。　He　has　called　his　army　back　from　Revelstone　to　fight　them！〃
　　　　High　Lord　Mhoram　whirled　away；　ordering　the　Warward　to　readiness　as　he　moved。　He　heard　Warmark　Quaan　echo　his　mands。　A　look　full　of　dire　consequences　for　the　Raver　passed　between　them；　then　Quaan　leaped　onto　his　own　horse；　a　tough；　mountain…bred　mustang。　To　one　side　among　the　warriors；　Mhoram　saw　Hearthrall　Borillar　mounting。　He　started　to　order　Borillar　down；　Hirebrands　were　not　fighters。　But　then　he　remembered　how　much　hope　Borillar　had　placed　in　Thomas　Covenant；　and　left　the　Hearthrall　alone。
　　　　Loerya　was　already　on　her　way　to　aid　the　defenses　of　the　tower；　keep　it　secure　so　that　the　Warward　would　be　able　to　reenter　Revelstone。　Trevor　had　gone　to　the　gates。　Only　Amatin　remained　to　see　the　danger　shining　in　Mhoram's　eyes。　She　held　him　briefly；　then　released　him；　muttering；　〃It　would　appear　that　the…Waynhim　have　made　the　same　decision。〃
　　　　Mhoram　spun　and　leaped　lightly　onto　Drinny's　back。　The　Ranyhyn　whinnied；　peals　of　pride　and　defiance　resounded　through　the　hall。　As　the　huge　gates　opened　outward　on　the　courtyard；　Mhoram　sent　Drinny　forward　at　a　canter。
　　　　The　Warward　started　into　motion　behind　him；　and　at　its　head　High　Lord　Mhoram　rode　out　to　war。
　　　　In　a　moment；　he　flashed　through　the　gates；　across　the　courtyard　between　steep　banks　of　sand　and　earth；　into　the　straight　tunnel　under　the　tower。　Drinny　stretched　jubilantly　under　him；　exalted　by　health　and　running　and　the　scent　of　battle。　As　Mhoram　passed　through　the　splintered　remains　of　the　outer　gates；　he　had　already　begun　to　outdistance　the　Warward。
　　　　Beyond　the　gates；　he　wheeled　Drinny　once；　gave　himself　an　instant　in　which　to　look　back　up　at　the　lofty　Keep。　He　saw　no　warriors　in　the　tower；　but　he　sensed　them　bristling　behind　the　fortifications　and　windows。　The　bluff　stone　of　the　tower；　with　Revelstone　rising　behind　it　like　the　prow　of　a　great　ship；　answered　his　gaze　in　granite　permanence　as　if　it　were　a　prophecy　by　the　old　Giants…a　cryptic　perception　that　victory　and　defeat　were　human　terms　which　had　no　meaning　in　the　language　of　mountains。
　　　　Then　the　riders　came　cantering　through　the　throat　of　the　tower；　and　Mhoram　turned　to　look　at　the　enemy。　For　the　first　time；　he　saw　samadhi's　army　from　ground　level。　It　stood　blackly　in　the　bleak　winterscape　around　him　like　a　garrote　into　which　he　had　prematurely　thrust　his　neck。　Briefly；　he　remembered　other　battles…Kiril　Threndor；　Doom's　Retreat；　Doriendor　Corishev…as　if　they　had　been　child's　pl