mck.harpistinthewind-第48节
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and fear； though they did not understand why。 The entire realm seemed to form under his hands on the grass； pulling at him； stretching him from the cold； empty wastes to the elegant court at Anuin。 He was stone； water； a dying field； a bird struggling against the wind； a king wounded and despairing on the beach below Wind Plain； vesta； wraiths； and a thousand fragile mysteries； shy witches； speaking pigs； and solitary towers that he had to find room for within his mind。 The trumpeter set his lips to the horn and blew。 At the same moment a Great Shout from the army of An blasted over the plain。 The sounds； the urgent onslaught of knowledge； the loss that was boring into Morgon's heart overwhelmed him suddenly。 He cried out again； dropping against the earth； his face buried in the wet grass。
Power ripped through his mind； blurring the bindings he had formed with the earth。 He realized that the death of the High One had unbound all the power of the Earth…Masters。 He felt their minds； ancient； wild； like fire and sea； beautiful and deadly； intent on destroying him。 He did not know how to fight them。 Without moving； he saw them in his mind's eye； fanning across Wind Plain from the sea； flowing like a wave in the shapes of men and animals； their minds riding before them； scenting。 They touched him again and again； uprooting knowledge in his mind； breaking bindings he had inherited； until his awareness of trees in the oak forest； vesta； plow horses in Hed； farmers in Ruhn； tiny pieces of die realm began to disappear from his mind。
He felt it as another kind of loss； terrible and bewildering。 He tried to fight it as he watched the wave draw closer； but it was as though he tried to stop the tide from pulling sand grains out of his hands。 Astrin's army and Mathom's were thundering across the plain from north and south； their battle colors vivid as dying leaves against the whiter sky。 They would be destroyed； Morgon knew； even the dead； no living awareness or memory of the dead could survive the power that was feeding even on his own power。 Mathom rode at the head of his force； in the trees； Har was preparing to loose the vesta onto the plain。 Danan's miners； flanked by the Morgol's guard； were beginning to follow Astrin's warriors。 He did not know how to help them。 Then he realized that on the edge of the plain to the southeast； Eliard and the fanners of Hed； armed with little more than hammers and knives and their bare hands； were marching doggedly to his rescue。
He lifted bis head； his awareness of them faltered suddenly as a mind blurred over his mind。 The whole of the realm seemed to darken； portions of his life were slipping away from him。 He gripped at it； his hands tangled in the grass； feeling that all the High One's hope in him had been for nothing。 Then； in some misty corner of his mind； a door opened。 He saw Tristan e out onto the porch at Akren； shivering a little in the cold wind； her eyes dark and fearful； staring toward the tumult in the mainland。
He got to his knees and then to his feet； with all the enduring stubbornness that small island had instilled in him。 A wind lashed across his face； he could barely keep his balance in it。 He was standing in the heart of chaos。 The living and the dead and the Earth…Masters were just about to converge around him； the land…law of the realm was being torn away from him； he had freed the winds。 They were belling across the realm； telling him of forests bent to the breaking poult； villages picked apart； thatch and shingle whirled away into the air。 The sea was rousing； it would kill Heureu Ymris； if he did not act。 Eliard would die if Morgon could not stop him。 He tried to reach Eliard's mind； but as he searched the plain； he only entangled himself in a web of other minds。
They tore knowledge； power from bun like a wave eating at a cliff。 There seemed no escape from them； no image of peace he could form in his mind to deflect them。 Then he saw something glittering in front of him： his broken harp； lying on the grass； its strings flashing silently； played by the wind。
A strong； clean fury that was not his own washed through him suddenly； burning away all the holds over his mind。 It left his mind clear as fire。 He found Raederle beside him； freeing him for one brief moment with her anger； and he could have gone on his knees to her； because she was still alive； because she was with him。 In the one moment she had given him； he realized what he must do。 Then the forces of the realm shocked together in front of him。 Bones of the dead； shimmering mail and bright shields of the living； vesta white as the falling snow； the Morgol's guard with their slender spears of silver and ash closed with the merciless； inhuman power of the Earth…Masters。
He heard； for the first time； the sorrowing cry a vesta made as it died； calling plaintively to its own。 He felt the names of the dead blotted out like blown flames in his mind。 Men and women fought with spears and swords； picks and battle axes against an enemy that kept to no single shape； but a constant； fluid changing that mesmerized opponents to despair and to death。 Morgon felt them die； parts of himself。 Danan's miners fell like great； stolid trees； the fanners from Hed； viewing a foe beyond all their conceptions； nothing their placid history had ever suggested existed； seemed too confused even to defend themselves。 Their lives were wrenched out of Morgon like rooted things。 The plain was a living； snarling thing before his eyes； a piece of himself fighting for its life with no hope of survival against the dark； sinuous； sharp…toothed beast that determined the realm would die。 In the few brief moments of battle； he felt the first of the land…rulers die。
He sensed the struggle in Heureu Ymris' mind as； wounded and unaided； he tried to prehend the turmoil in his land。 His body was not strong enough for such torment。 He died alone； hearing the crashing sea and the cries of the dying across Wind Plain。 Morgon felt the life…force in the king drain back to Ymris。 And on the battlefield； Astrin； fighting for his life； wrestled suddenly with an overwhelming grief； and the sudden wakening in him of all land…instinct。
His grief woke Morgon's again； for the High One； for Heureu； for the realm itself； entrusted to his care and dying within him。 His mind shook open on a harp note that was also a call to a south wind burning across the backlands。 Note by note； all tuned to sorrow； he called the unbound winds back to Wind Plain。
They came to him out of the northern wastes； burning with cold； rain…soaked from the backlands； tasting of brine and snow from the sea； smelling of wet earth； from Hed。 They were devastating。 They flattened the grass from one end of the plain to the other。 They wrenched his shape into air； uprooted oak at the edge of the plain。 They moaned the darkness of his sorrow； tore the air with their shrill； furious keening。 They flung apart the armies before them like chaff。 Riderless horses ran before them； dead frayed back into memory； shields were tossed in the air like leaves； men and women sprawled on the ground； trying to crawl away from the winds。 Even the Earth…Masters were checked； no shape they took could batter past the winds。
Morgon； his mind fragmented into harp notes； struggled to shape an order out of them。 The bass； northern wind hummed its deep note through him； he let it fill his mind until he shuddered with sound like a harp string。 It loosed him finally； he grasped at another voice； thin and fiery； out of the remote back…lands。 It burned through his mind with a sweet； terrible note。 He flamed with it； absorbed it。 Another wind； sweeping across the sea； shook a wild song through him。 He sang its wildness back at it； changed the voice in him； in the winds； to a gentleness。 The waves massed against the shores of Hed began to calm。 A different wind sang into his mind； of the whiter silence of Isig Pass and the harping still echoing through the darkness of Erlenstar Mountain。 He shaped the silence and darkness into his own song。
He was scarcely aware of the Earth…Masters' minds as he battled for mastery over the winds。 Their power was filling him； challenging him； yet defending him。 No mind on the plain around him could have touched him； embroiled as it was with wind。 A remote part of him watched the realm he was bound to。 Warriors were fleeing into the border forests。 They were forced to leave their arms； they could not even carry the wounded with them。 As far as Caithnard； Caerweddin； and Hed the noises of his struggle with the winds were heard。 The wizards had left the plain； he felt the passage of their power as they responded to bewilderment and fear。 Twilight drifted over the plain； and then night； and he wrestled with the cold； sinewy； wolf…voiced winds of darkness。
He drew the power of the winds to a fine precision。 He could have trained an east wind on the innermost point of the cairn beside him and sent the stones flying all over the plain。 He could have picked a snow…flake off the ground； or turned one of the fallen guards lightly buried under snow to see her face。 All along both sides of the plain hundreds of fires had been lit al
