df.therunelords-第13部分

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　The　Days　stared　down　at　his　mug；　knowing　he'd　said　too　much；　needing　to　say　one　thing　more。　〃Your　Lordship；　perhaps　it　is　well　that　you　do　not　value　virtue　in　your　friends。　You　will　know　not　to　trust　them。　And　if　you　are　wise；　you　will　not　trust　yourself。〃
　〃How　so？〃　Gaborn　asked；　wondering。　With　each　Days　twinned　to　another；　they　were　never　alone；　never　had　the　luxury　of　trusting　themselves。　Gaborn　wondered　if　this　pairing　was　really　an　advantage。
　〃Men　who　believe　themselves　to　be　good；　who　do　not　search　their　own　souls；　most　often　mit　the　worst　atrocities。　A　man　who　sees　himself　as　evil　will　restrain　himself。　It　is　only　when　we　do　evil　in　the　belief　that　we　do　good　that　we　pursue　it　wholeheartedly。〃
　Gaborn　grunted；　considering。
　〃If　I　may　be　so　bold；　Your　Lordship；　I'm　glad　you　question　yourself。　Men　don't　bee　good　by　performing　an　occasional　kindly　deed。　You　must　constantly　reexamine　your　thoughts　and　acts；　question　your　virtue。〃
　Gaborn　stared　at　the　thin　scholar。　The　man's　eyes　were　getting　glassy；　and　he　could　barely　hold　his　head　up。　His　thinking　seemed　somewhat　clearer　than　a　mon　drunk's；　and　he　offered　his　advice　in　a　kind　tone。　No　Days　had　ever　offered　Gaborn　advice　before。　It　was　a　singular　experience。
　At　that　moment；　the　inn　door　opened。　Two　more　men　entered；　both　with　dark　plexion；　both　with　brown　eyes。　They　were　dressed　as　merchants　fresh　off　the　road；　but　both　wore　rapiers　at　their　side；　and'　both　had　long　knives　strapped　at　their　knees。
　One　man　smiled；　one　frowned。
　Gaborn　remembered　something　his　father　had　taught　him　as　a　child。　〃In　the　land　of　Muyyatin；　assassins　always　travel　in　pairs。　They　talk　with　gestures。〃　Then　Gaborn's　father　had　taught　him　the　assassins'　codes。　One　man　smiling；　one　man　frowningNo　news；　either　good　or　bad。
　Gaborn's　eyes　flicked　across　the　room；　to　the　two　dark　men　in　the　far　corner。　Like　himself；　they　had　chosen　a　secure　position；　had　put　their　backs　to　the　wall。
　One　man　in　the　corner　scratched　his　left　ear：　We　have　heard　nothing。
　The　newcorners　sat　at　a　table　on　the　far　side　of　the　room　from　their　patriots。　One　man　put　his　hands　on　the　table；　palms　down。　We　wait。
　Yet　this　man　moved　with　a　casual　quickness　that　could　only　be　associated　with　someone　who　had　an　endowment　of　metabolism。　Few　men　had　such　an　endowmentonly　highly　trusted　warriors。
　Gaborn　almost　could　not　believe　what　he　was　seeing。　The　gestures　were　so　mon；　so　casual。　The　speakers　did　not　stare　at　one　another。　Indeed；　what　Gaborn　thought　was　a　discussion　could　have　been　nothing。
　Gaborn　glanced　around　the　room。　No　one　in　the　room　could　be　a　target　for　assassinsno　one　but　him。　Yet　he　felt　certain　he　was　not　their　target。　He'd　traveled　in　disguise　all　day。　Bannisferre　was　full　of　wealthy　merchants　and　petty　lordsthe　assassins　could　be　hunting　one　of　them；　or　could　even　be　tracking　one　of　their　kinsmen　from　the　South。　Gaborn　was　not　properly　armed　to　fight　such　men。　He　rose　without　explanation　and　left　the　inn　to　search　for　Borenson。　Just　as　he　stood；　the　serving　boy　brought　a　passable　dinner　of　roast　pork　and　fresh　bread　with　plums。
　Gaborn　left　it；　made　his　way　into　the　streets；　his　Days　rising　drunkenly　to　follow　after。
　Whereas　in　the　morning　the　city　had　seemed　cool；　invigorating；　alive；　now　the　heat　of　the　day　had　intensified　the　odor。　The　smell　of　evaporating　urine　from　pack　animals　filled　the　market；　along　with　the　scents　of　dirt　and　human　sweat。　The　closeness　of　the　buildings　in　the　market　held　the　stench　in。
　Gaborn　hurried　down　the　street　to　the　stables；　where　an　old　horseman　from　Fleeds　brought　Gaborn　his　dun…colored　stallion。　The　horse　neighed　on　seeing　Gaborn；　held　its　head　high；　and　raised　its　blond　tail。　It　seemed　as　eager　to　be　off　as　Gaborn　did。
　Reaching　out　a　hand　to　stroke　his　horse's　muzzle；　Gaborn　inspected　the　stallion。　It　had　been　well　tended。　Its　coat　was　brushed；　tail　and　mane　plaited。　Even　the　teeth　were　clean。　Its　belly　was　fat；　and　it　was　still　chewing　hay。
　A　few　moments　later；　the　stablemaster　brought　out　the　Days'　white　mule。　Though　it　was　no　force　stallion　with　runes　of　power　branded　into　its　neck；　the　mule　looked　as　if　it　had　been　well　groomed；　too。
　Gaborn　kept　glancing　over　his　shoulder；　looking　for　signs　of　more　assassins；　but　spotted　nothing　out　of　the　ordinary　here　by　the　stables。
　Gaborn　asked　the　stablemaster；　〃Have　you　noticed　any　men　ride　into　townmen　of　dark　plexion；　traveling　in　pairs？〃
　The　stablemaster　nodded　thoughtfully；　as　if　just　struck　by　the　answer；　〃Aye；　now　that　you　mention　it；　four　like　men　'ave　their　horses　stabled　wit'　me；　and　I　seen　four　more　ride　nor'；　through　Hay　Row。〃
　〃Is　this　mon；　to　see　such　men？〃　Gaborn　asked。　
　The　stablemaster　raised　a　brow。　〃To　tell　ye　true；　I　would　not　'ave　noticed　them；　'adn't　you　mentioned　it。　But　two　like　gentlemen　galloped　through　town　late　last　night；　too。〃
　Gaborn　frowned。　Assassins　all　along　the　road；　heading　north。　To　where？　Castle　Sylvarresta；　a　hundred　miles　away？
　As　he　left　town；　Gaborn　became　more　concerned。　He　took　his　dun　stallion　over　the　Himmeroft　Bridge；　a　picturesque　bridge　of　stone　that　spanned　the　broad　river。　From　its　top；　Gaborn　could　see　large　brown　trout　sunning　in　the　deeper　pools；　rising　up　to　leap　at　flies　in　the　shallows；　in　the　shade　of　the　willows。　The　river　here　was　deep；　with　cold　pools。　Peaceful。
　He　saw　no　sign　of　assassins　here　at　the　bridge。
　On　the　far　side　of　the　river；　the　cobbles　gave　way　to　a　dirt　road　that　wound　off　through　the　country　west；　A　side　road　went　north。　The　roads　met　in　the　woods；　and　bluebells　grew　in　the　woods　to　the　north。　So　late　in　the　season；　none　were　in　bloom。　Only　a　couple　of　dead　flowers　stood；　ragged　and　faded　to　violet。　Gaborn　turned　onto　Bluebell　Way；　let　the　horse　run。　It　was　a　force　stallion；　and　had　runes　of　metabolism；　brawn；　grace；　and　wit　branded　on　its　neck；　giving　it　the　speed　of　three；　the　strength　and　grace　of　two；　the　wit　of　four。　The　stallion　was　a　field　hunter　by　body　typea　spirited　animal　bred　for　running　and　jumping　through　woodland　trails。　Such　a　beast　was　not　made　to　rest　in　Bannisferre's　stables；　growing　fat　on　grain。
　The　Days　struggled　to　keep　up　on　his　own　white　mule；　a　vile　creature　that　bit　at　Gaborn's　stallion　at　every　opportunity。　It　soon　fell　far　behind。
　Then　a　bizarre　thing　happened：　Gaborn　had　been　riding　through　fields；　where　the　newly　stacked　haycocks　hunched　beside　the　river。　And　the　fields　were　fairly　empty；　now　that　the　heat　of　the　day　was　on。
　But　as　Gaborn　topped　one　small　hill；　three　miles　out　of　Bannisferre；　he　suddenly　found　himself　confronted　by　a　low　wispy　fog　that　clung　to　the　ground；　shrouding　the　haycocks　ahead　in　mist。
　It　was　a　strange　sight；　fog　rolling　in　on　a　sunny　day；　in　the　early　afternoon。　Oak　trees　and　haycocks　rose　from　the　mist。　The　fog　seemed　off　in　color；　too　blue。　He'd　never　seen　the　like。
　Gaborn　halted。　His　horse　whinnied；　nervous　at　the　sight。　Gaborn　entered　the　wall　of　fog　slowly；　sniffing。
　There　was　an　odd　scent　in　the　air；　something　hard　to　define。　Gaborn　had　but　two　endowments　of　smell；　wished　he　had　more。　Sulfur；　he　thought。　Perhaps　there　were　hot　pools　around；　and　the　fog　rose　from　those。
　Gaborn　spurred　his　horse　forward；　along　the　fields　for　another　half…mile；　and　the　fog　grew　steadily　thicker；　until　the　sun　in　the　sky　was　only　a　single　yellow　eye　peering　through　the　haze。　Crows　cawed　in　the　lonely　oak　trees。
　A　mile　farther；　Gaborn　saw　a　gray　house　through　the　mist。　A　young　woman　with　hair　that　hung　out　like　straw　was　chopping　wood　in　front　of　it。　She　looked　up。　From　a　distance　her　skin　looked　as　rough　as　burlap；　her　features　plain　and　skeletal；　her　eyes　yellow　and　sickly。　This　was　one　of　the　sisters　who　had　given　Myrrima　her　beauty。
　He　spurred　his　stallion；　called　out　to　the　young　woman。
　She　gasped；　put　one　arm　up　to　hide　her　face。
　Gaborn　rode　to　her；　looked　down　with　pity。　〃No　need　to　hide。　One　who　diminishes　herself　to　enlarge　another　is　worthy　of　honor。　A　foul　face　often　hides　a　fair　heart。〃
　〃Myrrima　is　inside；〃　the　girl　mumbled。　She　fled　into　the　house。　Borenson　quickly　came　out；　Myrrima　on　his　arm。
　〃It　is　a　beautiful　autumn　day。〃　Gaborn　smiled　at　Borenson。　〃I　smell　sunbaked　wheat　fields　on　the　wind；　and　autumn　leaves；　and。。。treachery。〃
　Borenson　gaped　at　the　fog；　perplexed。　〃I　thought　it　was　getting　cloudy；〃　he　said；　〃I　had　no　idea。。。〃　He　would　not　have　been　able　to　see　the　fog　through　the　house's　parchment　windows。　He　sniffed。　Borenson　had　four　endowments　of　scent。　His　nose　was　far　keener　than　Gaborn's。　〃Giants。　Frowth　giants。〃　He　asked　Myrrima；　〃Do　you　have　many　giants　around　here？〃
　〃No；〃　she　said；　surprised。　〃I've　never　seen　one。〃
　〃Well；　I　smell　them。　A　lot　of　them；〃　Borenson　said。
　He　looked　into　Gaborn's　eyes。　They　both　knew　something　odd　was　afoot。　Gaborn　had　e　hours　ahead　of　schedule。
　Gaborn　whispered；　〃Assassins　rode　into　town。　Muyyatin。　At　least　ten　are　on　the　road　north　to　Castle　Sylvarresta；　but　I　saw　none　on　my　way　here。〃
　〃I'll　scout　this　out；〃　Borenson　said。　〃It　could　well　be　that　someone　is　laying　a　trap　for　your　father。　His　retinue　will　pass　through　town　tomorrow。〃
　〃Wouldn't　I　be　safer　with　you？〃　Gaborn　asked。
　Borenson　considered；　nodded。　He　retrieved　his　own　horse　from　behind