mck.harpistinthewind-第18节
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s claws were prickling his shoulder。 He picked his way across the ceiling； which was lying in pieces on the floor； toward a door in the back of the room。 The door； hanging in splinters on its hinges； opened into a vast library。 A priceless treasure of books lay torn and charred on the floor。 Fire had raged across the shelves； leaving little more than the backbones and skeletons of ancient books of wizardry。 The smell of burned leather still hung in the room； as if nothing had moved through the air itself in seven centuries。
He moved through empty room after empty room。 He found in one melted pools of gold and silver； precious metals and shattered jewels the students had worked with； in another； the broken bones of small animals。 In another； he found beds。 The bones of a child were crouched under the covers of one of them。 At that point； he turned and groped through the torn wall back into the evening。 But the air was filled with silent cries； and the earth beneath his feet was dead。
He sat down on a pile of stone blown out of the corner of the building。 Down the barren crest of the hill； the maze of rooftops spilled toward the crumbling walls。 They were all of timber。 He saw vividly a sheet of fire spreading across the entire city； burning crops and orchards； billowing along the hike edge into the forests under the hot summer sky； with no hope of rain for months to quench it。 He dropped his face against his fists； whispered； 〃What in Hel's name do I think I'm doing here？ He destroyed Lungold once； now he and I will destroy it again。 The wizards haven't e back here to challenge him； they've e back to die。〃
The crow murmured something。 He stood up again； gazing at the huge； ruined mass looming darkly against the translucent wake of the sunset。 Scenting with his mind； he touched only memories。 Listening； he heard only the echoes of a name cursed silently for all centuries。 His shoulders slumped。 〃If they're here； they've guarded themselves well。。。 I don't know how to look for them。〃
Raederle's voice broke through the crow…mind with a brief； mental ment。 He turned his head； met the black； probing eye。 〃All right。 I know I can find them。 I can see through their illusions and break their bindings。 But； Raederle。。。 they are great wizards。 They came into their power through curiosity； discipline； integrity。。。 maybe even joy。 They did not get it screaming at the bottom of Erlenstar Mountain。 They never meddled with land…law； or hunted a harpist from one end of the realm to the other to kill him。 They may need me to fight for them here； but I wonder if they will trust me。。。〃 The crow was silent； he brushed a finger down its breast。 〃I know。 There is only one way to find out。〃
He went back into the ruins。 This time； he opened himself pletely to all the torment of the destruction and the lingering memories of a forgotten peace。 His mind； like a faceted jewel； reflected all the shades of lingering power … from cracked stones； from an untouched page out of a spell book； from various ancient instruments he found near the dead： rings； strangely carved staffs； crystals with light frozen in them； skeletons of winged animals he could not name。 He sorted through all the various levels of power； found the source of each。 Once； tracing a smoldering fire to its bed deep in a pool of melted iron； he detonated it accidentally and realized the iron itself had been some crucible of knowledge。 The blast blew the crow six feet in the air and shook stones down from the ceiling。 He had melted into the force automatically； not fighting it； the crow； squawking nervously； watched him shape himself back out of the solid stone he had blown himself into。 He took it into his hands to soothe it； marveling at the intricacies of ancient wizardry。 Everything his mind touched … wood； glass； gold； parchment； bone … held within it an ember of power。 He explored patiently； exhaustingly； lighting a sliver of roof beam when it grew too dark to see。 Finally； near midnight； when the crow was dozing on his shoulder； his mind strayed across the face of a door that did not exist。
It was a powerful illusion； he had looked at the door before and not seen through it； or felt an urge to open it。 It was of thick oak and iron； barred and bolted。 He would have to pick his way over a pile of broken stone and charred timber to open it。 The walls were crumbled almost to the ground around the door； it seemed bolted against nothing but the battle…seared ground between two ruined buildings。 But it had been created out of a living power； for some purpose。 He clambered over the rubble to reach it and laid his hand fiat against it。 Some mind barred his passage； gave him a feel of wood grain under his fingers。 He paused before he broke it； disturbed once more by the ambiguity of his own great power。 Then he walked forward； being； for a breath； worm…eaten oak； rusted locks； and enpassing the power that bound them there。
He stepped downward abruptly into darkness。 Steps that lay hidden under an illusion of parched ground led down under the earth。 His fire wavered； grew smaller and smaller until he realized what force was working against it。 He held the flame clear； steady； burning out of fire deep in his mind。
The worn stone steps sloped sharply down a narrow passageway。 Gradually they levelled； and a blank； empty face of darkness loomed beyond Morgon's shadow； smelling of rotting timbers and damp stone。 He let his brand burn brighter； it probed feebly at the vastness。 A chill； like a mountain chill； shivered through him。 The crow made a harsh noise。 He felt it begin to change shape； and he shook his head quickly。 It subsided under his hand。 As he drew the fire brighter and brighter； searching for some limit to the darkness； something began to seep into his thoughts。 He sensed a power very near him that had nothing to do with a vast； underground chasm。 Puzzling over it； he wondered if the chasm itself were an illusion。
He drew breath softly and held it。 Only one possibility suggested itself to him： a paradox of wizardry。 He had no other choice； except to turn and leave。 He dropped his torch on the ground； let it dwindle into blackness。 How long he stood wrestling with the dark； he did not know。 The more he strained to see； the more he realized his blindness。 He lifted his hands finally； linked them across his eyes。 He was shivering again； the darkness seemed to squat over his head like some immense； bulky creature。 But he could not leave； he stood silently； stubbornly； hoping for help。
A voice said； almost next to him； 〃Night is not something to endure until dawn。 It is an element； like wind or fire。 Darkness is its own kingdom； it moves to its own laws and many living things dwell in it。 You are trying to separate your mind from it。 That is futile。 Accept the strictures of darkness。〃
〃I can't。〃 His hands had dropped； clenched； he waited； very still。
〃Try。〃
His hands tightened； sweat stung his eyes。 〃I can fight the Founder； but I never learned from him how to fight this。〃
〃You broke through my illusion as if it scarcely existed。〃 The voice was tranquil； yet sinewy。 〃I held it with all the power that I still possess。 There are only two others who could have broken it。 And you are more powerful than either。 Star…Bearer； I am Iff。〃 He pronounced his full name then； a series of harsh syllables with a flowing； musical inflection。 〃You freed me from the Founder's power； and I place myself in your service； to my life's end。 Can you see me？〃
〃No；〃 Morgon whispered。 〃I want to。〃
Stars of torch fire ringed him； upholding an arch of light。 The sense of vastness melted away。 The gentle； wordless awareness of something not quite real； like a memory haunting the edge of his mind； was very strong。 Then he saw a death's head gazing at him quizzically； and another； amid a tangle of assorted bones。 The chamber he stood in was circular； the damp walls of living earth were full of deep slits。 The hair prickled on the nape of his neck。 He was standing in a tomb； hidden beneath the great school。
He had interrupted the last living wizards of burying their dead。
IX
HE RECOGNIZED NUN IMMEDIATELY： A TALL； THIN woman with long grey hair and a shrewd； angular face。 She was smoking a little jewelled pipe； her eyes； studying him with an odd mixture of wonder and worry； were a shade darker than her smoke。 Behind her； in the torchlight； stood a big； spare wizard whose broad； fine…boned face was carved and battered with battle like a king's。 His dead hair was flecked with silver and gold； his eyes were vivid； smoldering with blue flame。 He was gazing at Morgon out of the past； as if three stars had burned for a moment across his vision sometime in the darkness of forgotten centuries。 Kneeling next to one of the crevices in the wall was a dark…eyed wizard with a spare face like a bird of prey。 He seemed fierce； humorless； until Morgon met his eyes and saw a faint smile； as at some incongruity。 Morgon turned a little to the tall； frail wizard beside him； with the voice of a Caithnard Master。 His face was worn； ascetic； but Morgon； watching him step forward； sensed the unexpec
