mck.harpistinthewind-第25节

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　　　　　　　The　battle　noises　rolled　over　him　again。　He　heard　his　voice；　dragging　harshly　at　the　air。　He　lifted　his　head；　looking　for　the　sword；　and　saw　Lyra　dodging　between　traders　in　the　doorway。　Something　stung　back　of　his　throat。　He　wanted　to　call　out；　stop　the　battle　until　she　left；　but　he　had　no　strength。　She　worked　her　way　closer　to　him。　Her　face　was　worn；　drawn；　there　were　half…circles　like　bruises　under　her　eyes。　There　was　dried　blood　on　her　tunic；　in　her　hair。　Scanning　the　battlefield；　she　saw　him　suddenly。　The　spear　spun　in　her　hand；　she　flung　it　toward　him。　He　watched　it　e　without　moving；　without　breathing。　It　whistled　past　him；　struck　the　shape…changer　and　dragged　him　away　from　Morgon's　side。　He　grasped　the　sword　and　got　to　his　feet　unsteadily。　Lyra　bent；　swept　up　the　spear　beneath　one　of　the　fallen　guards。　She　balanced　it；　turning　in　a　single　swift；　clean　movement；　and　threw　it。
　　　　　　　It　soared　above　the　struggle；　arched　downward；　ripping　the　air　with　a　silver　wake　in　a　path　to　the　Founder's　heart。　His　eyes；　the　color　of　mist　over　the　sea；　could　not　even　blink　as　he　watched　it　e。　Morgon's　thoughts　flew　faster　than　its　shadow。　He　saw　Lyra's　expression　change　into　a　stunned；　weary　horror　as　she　realized　the　wizard　was　bound；　helpless　against　her；　there　was　no　skill；　no　honor；　not　even　choice　in　her　death…giving。　Morgon　wanted　to　shout；　snapping　the　spear　with　his　voice　to　rescue　a　dream　of　truth　hidden　behind　a　child's　eye；　a　wizard's　eye。　His　hands　moved　instead；　pulling　the　harp　at　his　back　out　of　the　air。　He　played　it　as　he　shaped　it：　the　last　low　string　whose　reverberations　set　his　own　sword　belling　in　anguish　and　shattered　every　other　weapon　inside　and　out　of　the　hall
　　　　　　　Silence　settled　like　old　dust　over　the　room。　Ymris　warriors　were　staring　in　disbelief　at　the　odd　bits　of　metal　in　their　hands。　Lyra　was　still　watching　the　air　where　the　spear　had　splintered　apart；　two　feet　from　Ghisteslwchlohm。　She　turned　slowly；　making　the　only　movement　in　the　hall。　Morgon　met　her　eyes；　she　seemed　suddenly　so　tired　she　could　barely　stand。　The　handful　of　guard　left　alive　were　looking　at　Morgon；　their　faces　haunted；　desperate。　The　shape…changers　were　very　still。　Their　shapes　seemed　uncertain；　suddenly；　as　if　at　his　next　movement　they　would　flow　into　a　tide　of　nothingness。　Even　the　woman　he　knew　as　Eriel　was　still；　watching　him；　waiting。
　　　　　　　He　caught　a　glimpse　then　of　the　fearsome　power　they　saw　in　him；　lying　in　some　misty　region　beyond　his　awareness。　The　depths　of　his　ignorance　appalled　him。　He　turned　the　harp　aimlessly　in　his　hands；　holding　the　shape…changers　trapped　and　having　absolutely　no　idea　what　to　do　with　them。　At　the　slight　uncertain　movement；　the　expression　in　Eriel's　eyes　turned　to　simple　amazement。
　　　　　　　She　moved　forward　quickly；　to　take　the　harp；　to　kill　him　with　his　own　sword；　to　turn　his　mind；　like　Ghisteshvchlohm's；　vague　as　the　sea；　he　could　only　guess。　He　picked　up　the　sword　and　stepped　back。　A　hand　touched　his　shoulder；　stopped　him。
　　　　　　　Raederle　stood　beside　him。　Her　face　was　pure　white　within　her　fiery　hair；　as　if　it　had　been　shaped；　like　the　Earth…Masters'　children；　out　of　stone。　She　held　him　lightly；　but　she　was　not　seeing　him。　She　said　softly　to　Eriel；　〃You　will　not　touch　him。〃
　　　　　　　The　dark　eyes　held　hers　curiously。　〃Ylon's　child。　Have　you　made　your　choice？〃　She　moved　again；　and　Morgon　felt　the　vast；　leashed　power　in　Raederie's　mind　strain　free。　For　one　moment；　he　saw　the　shape　that　Eriel　had　taken　begin　to　fray　away　from　her；　reveal　something　incredibly　ancient；　wild；　like　the　dark　heart　of　earth　or　fire。　He　stood　gripped　in　wonder；　his　face　ashen；　knowing　he　could　not　move　even　if　the　thing　Raederle　was　forcing　into　shape　was　his　own　death。
　　　　　　　Then　a　shout　slapped　across　his　mind；　jarred　him　out　of　his　fascination。　He　stared　dizzily　across　the　room。　The　ancient　wizard　he　had　seen　at　the　gates　of　the　city　caught　his　eyes；　held　them　with　his　own　strange　light…seared　gaze。
　　　　　　　The　silent　shout　snapped　through　him　again：　Run！　He　did　not　move。　He　would　not　leave　Raederle；　but　he　could　not　help　her；　he　felt　incapable　even　of　thought。　Then　a　power　gripped　his　exhausted　mind；　wrenched　him　out　of　shape。　He　cried　out；　a　fierce；　piercing；　hawk's　protest。　The　power　held　him；　flung　him　like　a　dark；　wild　wind　out　of　the　burning　School　of　Wizards；　out　of　the　embattled　city　into　the　vast；　pathless　wasteland　of　the　night。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　XI
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　THE　SHAPE…CHANGERS　PURSUED　HIM　ACROSS　THE　backlands。　The　first　night；　he　bolted　across　the　sky　in　hawk…shape；　the　fiery　city　behind　him　growing　smaller　and　smaller　in　the　darkness。　He　flew　northward　instinctively；　away　from　the　kingdoms；　marking　his　path　by　the　smell　of　water　beneath　him。　By　dawn　he　felt　safe。　He　dropped　downward　toward　the　lake　shore。　Birds　drifting　to　the　gentle　morning　tide　swarmed　up　at　his　approach。　He　felt　strands　of　their　minds　like　a　network。　He　broke　through　it；　arching　back　up　in　midair。　They　drove　him　across　the　lake　into　the　trees；　where　he　dropped　again　suddenly；　plummeting　through　air　and　light　tike　a　dark　fist；　until　he　touched　the　ground　and　vanished。　Miles　away　to　the　north；　he　appeared　again；　kneeling　beside　the　channel　of　water　between　two　lakes；　retching　with　exhaustion。　He　sagged　down　on　the　bank　beside　the　water。　After　a　while　he　moved　again；　dropped　his　face　in　the　current　and　drank。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　They　found　him　again　at　dusk。　He　had　caught　fish　and　eaten　for　the　first　time　in　two　days。　The　changeless　afternoon　light；　the　river's　monotonous　voice　had　lulled　him　to　sleep。　He　woke　abruptly　at　a　squirrel's　chattering；　and　saw　high　in　the　blue…grey　air　a　great　flock　of　wheeling　birds。　Rolling　into　the　water；　he　changed　shape。　The　current　flung　him　from　one　relentless　sluice　of　water　to　another；　spun　him　back　downstream　into　still　pools；　where　hungry　water　birds　dove　at　him。　He　fought　his　way　upstream；　seeing　nothing　but　a　constant；　darkening　blur　that　shrugged　him　from　side　to　side　and　roared　whenever　he　broke　the　surface。　Finally　he　foundered　into　still　water。　It　deepened　as　he　swam。　He　dove　toward　the　bottom　to　rest；　but　the　water　grew　dark　and　still；　so　deep　he　had　to　e　up　to　breathe　before　he　found　the　bottom。　He　swam　slowly　near　the　surface；　watching　moths　flutter　in　the　moonlight。　He　drifted　until　the　lake　bottom　angled　upward；　and　he　found　weeds　to　hide　in。　He　did　not　move　until　morning。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　Then　a　tiny　fish　dove　into　the　sunlight　near　him；　snapped　at　an　insect。　Rings　of　water　broke　above　him。　He　rose　out　of　the　weeds；　the　water　burned　around　him　with　the　morning　sun　as　he　changed　shape。　He　waded　out　of　the　lake；　stood　listening　to　the　silence。　It　seemed　to　roar　soundlessly　out　of　lands　beyond　the　known　world。　The　soft　morning　wind　seemed　alien；　speaking　a　language　he　had　never　learned。　He　remembered　the　wild；　ancient　voices　of　Wind　Plain　that　had　echoed　across　Ymris　with　a　thousand　names　and　memories。　But　the　voices　of　the　backlands　seemed　even　older；　a　rootwork　of　winds　that　held　nothing　he　could　prehend　except　their　emptiness。　He　stood　for　a　long　time；　breathing　their　loneliness　until　he　felt　them　begin　to　hollow　him　into　something　as　nameless　as　themselves。
　　　　　　　He　whispered　Raederle's　name　then。　He　turned　blindly；　his　thoughts　tangling　into　a　hard　knot　of　fear。　He　wondered　if　she　were　still　alive；　if　anyone　were　left　alive　in　Lungold。　He　wondered　if　he　should　return　to　the　city。　His　fists　pounded　rhythmically　agaist　tree　bark　as　he　thought　of　her。　The　tree　shivered　with　his　uncertainty；　a　crow　startled　out　of　it；　squawking。　He　raised　his　head　suddenly；　stood　still　as　an　animal；　scenting。　The　placid　lake　waters　began　to　stir；　boil　shapes　out　of　their　depths。　The　blood　hammered　through　him。　He　opened　his　mind　to　the　minds　of　the　backland。　Several　miles　away　he　joined　a　vast　herd　of　elk　moving　northward　toward　the　Thul。
　　　　　　　He　stayed　with　them　as　they　grazed。　He　decided　to　break　away　at　the　Thul；　follow　it　eastward　until　the　shape…changers　lost　him；　and　then　double　back　to　Lungold。　Two　days　later；　when　the　slow　herd　began　gathering　at　the　river；　he　roamed　away　from　it；　eastward　along　the　banks。　But　part　of　the　herd　followed　him。　He　changed　shape　again；　desperately；　began　flying　south　in　the　night。　But　shapes　rose；　swirling　out　of　the　darkness；　beat　him　northward　across　the　Thul；　northward　toward　White　Lady　Lake；　northward；　he　began　to　realize；　toward　Erlenstar　Mountain。
　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　The　realization　filled　him　with　both　fury　and　terror。　On　the　shores　of　White　Lady　Lake；　he　turned　to　fight。　He　waited　for　them　in　his　own　shape；　the　stars　in　his　sword…hilt　flaring　a　blood…red　signal　to　them　across　the　backlands。　But　nothing　answered　his　challenge。　The　hot　afternoon　was　motionless；　the　waters　of　the　huge　lake　lay　still　as　beaten　silver。　Groping；　he　could　not　even　touch　their　minds。　Finally；　as　the　waning　sun　drew　shadows　after　it　across　the　lake；　he　began　to　breathe　a　tentative　freedom。　He　sheathed　his　sword；　shrugged　himself　into　wolf…shape。　And　then　he　saw　them；　motionless　as　air；　ranged　across　his　path；　shaping　themselves　out　of　the　blur　of　light　and　darkness。
　　　　　　　He　sparked　a　flame　from　the　dying　sun　in　his　sword　hilt；　let　it　burn　down　the　blade。　Then　he　frayed　himself　into　sha