df.therunelords-第27部分

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　Gaborn　nodded。　〃Thank　you；　Sir　Ault。〃
　He'd　known　for　hours　that　he'd　have　to　make　his　escape　from　Castle　Sylvarresta；　but　hadn't　believed　it　would　happen　so　soon。　He'd　imagined　that　the　castle's　defenders　would　have　put　up　a　great　battle。　The　castle　walls　were　certainly　thick　enough；　high　enough　to　hold　Raj　Ahten's　army　at　bay。
　He'd　wanted　some　sleep。　He'd　had　almost　none　over　the　past　three　days。　In　truth；　he　needed　almost　no　sleep。　As　an　infant；　he'd　been　given　three　endowments　of　stamina；　and　fortunately　two　of　those　who'd　granted　the　endowments　still　lived。　So；　in　the　way　of　those　who　had　great　stamina；　Gaborn　was　able　to　get　his　rest　on　horseback；　to　let　his　mind　rest；　as　he　moved　about　as　if　through　a　waking　dream。　Still；　he　sometimes　wanted　a　nap。
　Food　was　another　matter。　Even　a　Runelord　with　great　stamina　needed　food。　Right　now　Gaborn's　stomach　was　cramping。　Yet　he　had　almost　no　time　to　eat。
　Worse　than　that；　he'd　taken　a　woundnothing　major；　but　an　arrow　had　pierced　his　right　bicep。　His　sword　arm。　He'd　washed　and　bandaged　it；　but　the　thing　throbbed；　burned。
　And　Gaborn　had　no　time　to　take　care　of　any　of　these　needs。　Right　now；　he　needed　a　disguise。
　He'd　killed　one　of　Raj　Ahten's　outriders；　three　of　his　Frowth　giants。　His　arrows　had　taken　half　a　dozen　war　dogs。
　Raj　Ahten's　outriders　would　want　vengeance　on　Gaborn。　He　was　cornered。　He　didn't　feel　certain　that　he　could　escape；　even　if　he　waited　an　hour　for　full　darkness。　Gaborn　had　two　endowments　of　scent；　but　his　keen　sense　of　smell　was　nothing　pared　to　that　of　some　of　Raj　Ahten's　troops：　men　with　noses　more　keen　than　a　hound's。　They　would　track　him。
　Despite　his　show　of　confidence　to　Iome；　Gaborn　felt　terrified。　Still；　he　took　one　thing　at　a　time。　He　smelled　food　cooking　in　the　Dedicates'　kitchens；　hurried　through　a　broad　plank　door。　Its　brass　handle　felt　loose　in　his　hand。
　He　found　himself　not　in　the　kitchen；　but　in　the　wide　entrance　to　the　dining　chamber。　To　the　right　of　the　door；　he　could　see　past　several　heavy　beams　into　kitchens　where　the　cooking　fires　burned　like　a　blast　furnace。　Several　plucked　geese　hung　from　the　rafters；　along　with　cheeses；　strings　of　garlic；　smoked　eels；　and　sausages。　He　could　hear　a　soup　boiling　in　one　of　the　big　kettles　next　to　the　fire。　The　smell　of　tarragon；　basil；　and　rosemary　lay　heavy　in　the　air。　A　worktable　lay　between　him　and　the　kitchens；　and　a　young　blind　girl　was　there；　stacking　boiled　eggs；　turnips；　and　onions　on　a　huge　metal　tray。
　Down　at　her　feet；　a　tawny　cat　toyed　with　a　chewed　and　frightened　mouse。
　Ahead；　the　room　opened　wide　to　the　thick　plank　dining　tables；　black　from　age　and　grime；　benches　running　down　each　side。　Small　oil　lamps　sat　burning　atop　each　table。
　The　bakers　and　chefs　of　Castle　Sylvarresta　were　hard　at　work；　piling　the　tables　with　loaves　of　bread；　bowls　of　fruit；　filling　plates　with　meat。　While　the　rest　of　Sylvarresta's　followers　had　run　to　the　walls　to　gawk　at　the　battle；　the　cooks　here　knew　where　their　duty　lay：　in　caring　for　the　wretches　who　had　given　up　endowments　to　House　Sylvarresta。
　As　in　most　Dedicates'　kitchens；　the　staff　was　posed　mostly　of　those　who　had　given　up　endowments　themselves：　the　ugly　people　who　had　given　up　glamour　served　the　tables　and　ruled　the　kitchens。　The　mutes　and　the　deaf　worked　the　bakery。　The　blind　and　those　who　had　no　sense　of　smell　or　touch　swept　the　plank　floors　and　scoured　the　burnt　kettles。
　Gaborn　immediately　noticed　the　silence　here　in　the　kitchens。　Though　a　dozen　people　bustled　about；　no　one　spoke；　aside　from　a　curt　order　here　and　there。　These　people　were　terrified。
　The　kitchens　offered　a　mixed　palate　of　smells：　the　scents　of　butchered　animals　and　baked　bread　struggled　to　overpower　the　odors　of　moldering　cheese；　spilled　wine；　rancid　grease。　It　was　a　ghastly　bination；　yet　Gaborn　found　himself　salivating。
　He　hurried　into　the　dining　hall。　A　narrow　corridor　behind　it　led　to　the　bakers'　ovens。　Gaborn　smelled　fresh；　yeasty　bread　still　steaming。
　He　grabbed　a　hot　loaf　from　the　table；　earning　a　scowl　from　a　pretty　serving　girl。　Yet　he　took　the　food　as　if　it　were　his；　and　gave　her　a　glance　that　said；　I　own　this。
　The　wench　could　not　withstand　the　unspoken　rebuke；　hurried　away。　She　held　her　arms　in　close；　in　the　careful　way　of　those　who've　given　up　an　endowment　of　touch。　Gaborn　took　a　good　knife；　cut　a　thigh　off　a　goose　that　lay　on　another　plate。　He　thrust　the　dagger　into　the　belt　of　his　tunic；　and　stuffed　as　much　meat　as　he　could　in　his　mouth；　he　uncorked　a　bottle　of　wine　from　the　table；　washed　down　the　goose　meat　as　fast　as　he　could；　surprised　at　the　quality　of　the　wine。
　One　of　the　King's　own　red　hunting　hounds　had　been　lounging　under　the　table。　It　saw　Gaborn　eating；　came　up　and　sat　at　Gaborn's　feet；　eyes　expectant；　casually　sweeping　the　floor　with　its　tail。
　Gaborn　tossed　it　the　meaty　goose　bone；　then　grabbed　another　loaf　of　bread；　began　eating。
　All　this　time；　his　mind　raced。　Though　someone　would　e　to　help　guide　him　from　the　castle；　he　knew　that　it　would　not　be　easy；　and　he　could　not　safely　rely　on　others。　He　considered　various　plans。　Castle　Sylvarresta　had　a　moat；　a　river　flowing　along　its　eastern　wall；　with　a　water　wheel　for　the　grain　mill。
　There　would　be　a　boathouse　by　the　mill；　where　the　royals　could　go　out　for　a　casual　row。　Often；　an　underground　passage　led　down　to　the　boathouse　from　the　castle。
　But　the　boathouse　would　be　well　watched　by　Raj　Ahten's　troops。　The　Wolf　Lord　had　nomen　with　him；　nomen　who　could　see　in　the　dark。　It　wasn't　likely　that　Gaborn　could　make　it　out　of　the　boathouse。
　The　kitchen　staff　might　have　some　sort　of　a　sewer　that　would　connect　to　the　river。　But　that　was　unlikely。　Nothing　ever　went　to　waste　in　the　kitchens。　Bones　were　fed　to　the　King's　dogs。　Vegetable　peels　and　animal　guts　went　to　the　swine。　Hides　went　to　tanners。　Anything　that　was　left　went　to　the　gardens。
　Gaborn　had　to　escape　through　the　river。　He　couldn't　risk　trying　to　go　out　by　land。　The　war　dogs　would　find　him。
　And　he　couldn't　stay；　couldn't　hide　in　the　castle　for　the　night。　He　had　to　leave　before　nightfall。　Once　darkness　fell；　and　the　city　quieted；　Raj　Ahten's　hunters　would　begin　searching　for　him；　out　for　vengeance。
　The　pretty　serving　wench　returned　with　another　bottle　of　wine；　more　bread　and　meat　to　replace　what　Gaborn　had　taken。
　Gaborn　spoke　to　the　back　of　her　neck。　〃Pardon　me。　I　am　Prince　Orden。　I　need　to　reach　the　river。　Do　you　know　of　a　passage　I　can　take？〃　Almost　immediately　he　felt　stupid。　I　should　not　have　given　my　name；　he　thought。　Yet　he'd　felt　the　need　to　impress　upon　her　the　nature　of　his　predicament；　and　revealing　his　name　was　the　swiftest　way　to　do　so。
　The　girl　looked　at　him；　lamplight　reflecting　in　her　brown　eyes。　Gaborn　wondered　why　she'd　divested　herself　of　feeling。　A　love　affair　gone　awry；　the　desire　to　never　touch　or　be　touched　again？　Life　could　not　he　easy　for　her。　Those　who　gave　endowments　of　touch　could　not　feel　heat　or　cold；　pain　or　pleasure。　All　their　senses　dulled　somewhathearing；　sight；　and　smell。
　Because　of　this；　life　for　them　was　as　empty　as　if　they　were　opium　addicts。　They　would　often　burn　or　cut　themselves；　never　knowing。　In　the　cold　of　winter；　they　could　get　frostbite　and　bear　it　without　tears。
　Gaborn　didn't　know　who　she'd　given　her　endowment　of　touch　towhether　it　had　gone　to　the　King；　to　the　Queen；　or　to　Iome。　Yet　he　felt　certain　that　King　Sylvarresta　would　be　put　to　death。　Possibly　within　hours；　before　dawn。　Unless　Raj　Ahten　wanted　to　torture　the　man　first。
　Would　this　wench　sit　before　a　fire　tonight；　waiting　for　the　first　touch　of　warmth　to　her　skin？　Or　would　she　stand　out　in　the　cold　mists；　feeling　the　play　of　it　over　her　face　？　Certainly　life　could　not　be　easy　for　her。
　〃There's　a　trail　out　back；〃　she　said；　her　voice　surprisingly　husky；　sweet。　〃The　baker's　path　leads　down　to　the　mill。　There　are　some　low　birches　that　sweep　out　over　the　water。　You　might　make　it。〃
　〃Thank　you；〃　Gaborn　said。
　He　turned；　thinking　to　go　out　to　the　courtyard。　He　wanted　to　leave　Castle　Sylvarresta；　but　he　needed　to　strike　a　blow　against　Raj　Ahten。　He'd　seen　dozens　of　forcibles　lying　on　the　green；　where　the　facilitators　had　recently　worked。
　The　forcibles；　forged　from　valuable　blood　metal　from　the　hills　of　Kartish；　were　a　mixture　of　metals　believed　to　be　derived　from　human　blood。　Only　blood　metal　could　be　used　to　make　forcibles。　Gaborn　couldn't　let　Raj　Ahten　have　them。
　But　as　he　turned　to　go；　the　maid　tapped　Gaborn's　shoulder　and　asked；　〃Will　you　take　me　with　you？〃
　Gaborn　saw　fear　in　her　eyes。　〃I　would；〃　he　answered　softly；　〃if　I　thought　it　could　help。　But　you　may　be　safer　here。〃　In　Gaborn's　experience；　Dedicates　were　seldom　very　courageous。　They　were　not　the　type　of　people　to　seize　life；　to　grasp。　They　served　their　lords；　but　served　passively。　He　did　not　know　if　this　girl　would　have　the　emotional　fortitude　necessary　to　make　her　escape。
　〃If　they　kill　the　Queen。。。〃　she　said。　〃The　soldiersthey'll　use　me。　You　know　how　they　take　vengeance　on　captured　Dedicates。〃
　Then　Gaborn　understood　why　she　had　given　up　feeling；　why　she　feared　to　be　touched；　to　be　hurt　again。　She　feared　rape。
　She　was　right。　Raj　Ahten's　soldiers　might　hurt　her。　These　people　who　were　too　weak　to　stand；　or　whose　metabolisms