srdonaldson.theillearthwar-第43节

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　tunic；　his　broad　chest　heaved　as　if　he　were　panting。　His　reply　was　inaudible　also。
　There　was　violence　in　Trell's　limbs；　struggling　for　action；　Troy　could　see　it。　He　did　not　understand　Elena's　assertion　that　Covenant　was　safe。　As　he　watched；　he　whispered　to　her；　〃What　did　Covenant　say？〃
　Elena　responded　as　if　she　could　not　be　wrong；　〃The　ur…Lord　promises　that　he　will　not　harm　me。〃
　This　surprised　Troy。　He　wanted　to　know　why　Covenant　would　try　to　reassure　Trell　in　that　way；　but　he　could　not　think　of　a　way　to　ask　Elena　what　the　connection　was　between　her　and　Trell。　Instead；　he　asked；　〃What's　Trell's　answer？〃
　〃Trell　does　not　believe　the　promise。〃
　Silently；　Troy　congratulated　Trell's　mon　sense。
　A　moment　later；　Covenant　jerked　his　horse　into　motion；　and　came　trotting　back　down　the　road。　His　free　hand　pulled　insistently　at　his　beard。　Without　looking　at　Elena；　he　shrugged　his　shoulders　defensively　as　he　said；　〃Well；　he　has　a　good　point。〃　Then　he　urged　his　mount　into　a　canter　to　catch　up　with　the　rest　of　the　riders。
　Troy　wanted　to　wait　for　Trell；　but　the　High　Lord　firmly　took　him　with　her　as　she　followed　Covenant。　Out　of　respect　for　the　Gravelingas；　Troy　did　not　look　back。
　But　when　the　Warward　broke　march　at　midday　for　food　and　rest；　Troy　saw　Trell　eating　with　the　other　rhadhamaerl。
　By　that　time；　the　army　had　wound　out　of　the　foothills　into　the　more　relaxed　grasslands　west　of　the　White　River。　Troy　gauged　the　distance　they　had　covered；　and　used　it　as　a　preliminary　measure　of　the　pace　he　had　set　for　the　march。　So　far；　the　pace　seemed　right。　But　many　factors　influenced　a　day's　march。　The　Warmark　spent　part　of　the　afternoon　with　First　Haft　Amorine；　discussing　how　to　match　the　frequency　and　duration　of　rest　halts　with　such　variables　as　the　terrain；　the　distance　already　traversed；　and　the　state　of　the　supplies。　He　wanted　to　prepare　her　for　his　absences。
　He　was　glad　to　talk　about　his　battle　plan；　he　felt　proud　of　it；　as　if　it　were　a　work　of　objective　beauty。　Traditionally；　beaten　people　fled　to　Doom's　Retreat；　but　he　meant　to　remake　it　into　a　place　of　victory。　His　plan　was　the　kind　of　daring　strategic　stroke　that　only　a　blind　man　could　create。　But　after　a　time　Amorine　responded　by　gesturing　over　the　Warward　and　saying　dourly；　〃One　day　of　such　a　pace　is　no　great　matter。　Even　five　days　may　give　no　distress　to　a　good　warrior。　But　twenty　days；　or　thirty…　In　that　time；　this　pace　may　kill。〃
　〃I　know；〃　Troy　replied　carefully。　His　trepidation　returned　in　a　rush。　〃But　we　haven't　got　any　choice。　Even　at　this　pace；　too　many　warriors　and　Bloodguard　are　going　to　get　killed　buying　us　the　time　we　need。〃
　〃I　hear　you；〃　Amorine　grated。　〃We　will　keep　the　pace。〃
　When　the　army　stopped　for　the　night；　Mhoram；　Elena；　and　Amatin　moved　among　the　bright　campfires；　singing　songs　and　telling　gleeful　Giantish　stories　to　buttress　the　hearts　of　the　warriors。　As　he　watched　them；　Troy　felt　a　keen　regret　that　long　days　would　pass　before　the　Lords　could　again　help　Amorine　maintain　the　Warward's　spirit。
　But　the　separation　was　necessary。　High　Lord　Elena　had　several　reasons　for　visiting　the　Loresraat。　But　Revelwood　was　out　of　the　way；　the　added　distance　was　prohibitive　for　the　marching　warriors。　So　the　Lords　and　the　Warward　parted　pany　the　next　afternoon。　The　three　Lords；　acpanied　by　Covenant　and　Troy；　the　twenty　Bloodguard；　and　the　Lorewardens；　turned　with　the　road　southwest　toward　Trothgard　and　Revelwood。　And　First　Haft　Amorine　led　the　Warward；　with　its　mounted　Hirebrands　and　Gravelingases；　almost　due　south　in　a　direct　line　toward　Doom's　Retreat。
　Troy　had　business　of　his　own　at　the　Loresraat；　and　he　was　forced　to　leave　Amorine　alone　in　mand　of　his　army。　That　afternoon；　the　autumn　sky　turned　dim　as　rain　clouds　moved　heavily　eastward。　When　he　gave　the　First　Haft　his　final　instructions；　his　vision　was　blurred；　he　had　to　peer　through　an　ominous　haze。　〃Keep　the　pace；〃　he　said　curtly。　〃Push　it　even　faster　when　you　reach　easier　ground　past　the　Gray　River。　If　you　can　gain　a　little　time；　we　won't　have　to　drive　so　hard　around　the　Last　Hills。　If　those　Bloodguard　the　High　Lord　sent　out　were　able　to　do　their　jobs；　there　should　be　plenty　of　supplies　along　the　way。　We'll　catch　up　to　you　in　the　Center　Plains。〃　His　voice　was　stiff　with　awareness　of　the　difficulties　she　faced。
　Amorine　responded　with　a　nod　that　expressed　her　seasoned　resolve。　A　light　rain　started　to　fall。　Troy'
　〃his　vision　became　so　clouded　that　he　could　no　longer　make　out　individual　figures　in　the　massed　Warward。　He　gave　the　First　Haft　a　tight　salute；　and　she　turned　to　lead　the　warriors　angling　away　from　the　road。
　　The　Lords　and　Lorewardens　gave　a　shout　of　encouragement；　but　Troy　did　not　join　it。　He　took　Mehryl　to　the　top　of　a　bare　knoll；　and　stood　there　with　his　ebony　sword　raised　against　the　drizzle　while　the　whole　length　of　his　army　passed　by　like　a　shadow　in　the　fog　below　him。　He　told　himself　that　the　Warward　was　not　going　into　battle　without　him　that　his　warriors　would　only　march　until　he　rejoined　them。　But　the　thought　did　not　ease　him。　The　Warward　was　his　tool；　his　means　of　serving　the　Land；　and　when　he　returned　to　the　other　riders　he　felt　awkward；　disjointed；　almost　dismembered；　as　if　only　the　skill　of　the　Ranyhyn　kept　him　on　balance。　He　rode　on　through　the　rest　of　the　day　wrapped　in　the　familiar　loneliness　of　the　blind。
　The　drizzle　continued　throughout　the　remainder　of　the　afternoon；　all　that　night；　and　most　of　the　next　day。　Despite　the　piled　thickness　of　the　clouds；　the　rain　did　not　e　down　hard；　but　it　kept　out　the　sunlight；　tormented　Troy　by　obscuring　his　vision。　In　the　middle　of　the　night；　sleeping　in　wet　blankets　that　seemed　to　cling　to　him　like　winding　sheets；　he　was　snatched　awake　by　a　wild；　inchoate　conviction　that　the　weather　would　be　overcast　when　he　went　into　battle　at　Doom's　Retreat。　He　needed　sunlight；　clarity。　If　he　could　not　see…1
　He　arose　depressed；　and　did　not　recover　his　usual　confidence　until　the　rainclouds　finally　blew　away　to　the　east；　letting　the　sun　return　to　him。
　Before　midmorning　the　next　day；　the　pany　of　the　Lords　came　in　sight　of　the　Maerl　River。　They　had　been　traveling　faster　since　they　had　left　the　Warward；　and　when　they　reached　the　river；　the　northern　boundary　of　Trothgard；　they　were　halfway　to　Revelwood。　The　Maerl　flowed　out　of　high　places　in　the　Westron　Mountains；　and　ran　first　northeast；　then　southeast；　until　it　joined　the　Gray；　became　part　of　the　Gray；　and
　went　eastward　to　the　Soulsease。　Beyond　the　Maerl　was　the　region　where　the　Lords　concentrated　their　efforts　to　heal　the　ravages　of　Desecration　and　war。
　Trothgard　had　borne　the　name　Kurash　Plenethor；　Stricken　Stone；　from　the　last　years　of　Kevin　Landwaster　until　it　was　rechristened　when　the　new　Lords　first　swore　their　oath　of　service　after　the　Desecration。　At　that　time；　the　region　had　been　pletely　blasted　and　barren。　The　last　great　battle　between　the　Lords　and　the　Despiser　had　taken　place　there；　and　had　left　it　burned；　ruined；　soaked　in　scorched　blood；　almost　soilless。　Some　of　the　old　tales　said　that　Kurash　Plenethor　had　smoked　and　groaned　for　a　hundred　years　after　that　last　battle。　And　forty　years　ago　the　Maerl　River　had　still　run　thick　with　eroded　。　and　unfertile　mud。
　But　now　there　was　only　a　trace　of　silt　left　in　the　current。　For　all　the　limitations　of　their　prehension；　the　Lords　had　learned　much　about　the　nurturing　of　damaged　earth　from　the　Second　Ward；　and　on　this　day　the　Maerl　carried　only　a　slight　haze　of　impurity。　Because　of　centuries　of　past　erosion；　it　lay　in　a　ravine　like　a　crack　across　the　land。　But　the　sides　of　the　ravine　were　gentle　with　deep…rooted　grasses　and　shrubs；　and　healthy　trees　lifted　their　boughs　high　out　of　the　gully。
　The　Maerl　was　a　vital　river　again。
　Looking　down　into　it　from　the　edge　of　the　ravine；　the　pany　paused　for　a　moment　of　gladness。　Together；　Elena；　Mhoram；　and　Amatin　sang　softly　part　of　the　Lords'　oath。　Then　they　galloped　down　the　slope　and　across　the　road　ford；　so　that　the　hooves　of　the　Ranyhyn　and　the　horses　made　a　gay；　loud　splashing　as　they　passed　into　Trothgard。
　This　region　lay　between　the　Westron　Mountains　and　the　Maerl；　Gray；　and　Rill　rivers。　Within　these　borders；　the　effects　of　the　Lords'　care　were　everywhere；　in　everything。　Generations　of　Lords　had　made　Stricken　Stone　into　a　hale　woodland；　a　wide　hilly　country　of　forests　and　glades　and　dales。　Whole　grassy　hillsides　were　vivid　with　small　blue　and　yellow　flowers。　For　scores　of　leagues　south　and　west　of　the　riders；　profuse　aliantha　and　deep　grass　were　full　of　goldleaved　Gilden　and　other　trees；　cherry　and　apple　and　white　linden；　prodigious　oaks　and　elms　and　maples　anademed　in　autumn　glory。　And　air　that　for　decades　after　the　battle　had　still　echoed　with　the　blasts　and　shrieks　of　war　was　now　so　clear　and　clean　that　it　seemed　to　glisten　with　birdcalls。
　This　was　what　Troy　had　first　seen　when　his　vision　began；　this　was　what　Elena　had　used　to　teach　him　the　meaning　of　sight。
　Riding　now　on　Mehryl's　back　under　brilliant　sun　in　Trothgard's　luminous　ambience；　he　felt　more　free　of　care　than　he　had　for　a　long　time。
　As　the　pany　of　the　Lords　moved　through　the　early　part　of　the　afternoon；　the　country　around　them　changed。　Piles　'of　tumbled　rock　began　to　appear　among　the　trees　and　through　the