rj.theshadowrising-第44部分

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ing　nod。
　　　　　　　〃Moiraine；〃　Elayne　said；　〃what　is　Rand　going　to　do　now？　After　this　attack。。。　Will　he　start　the　war　you　want？〃
　　　　　　　〃I　do　not　want　a　war；〃　the　Aes　Sedai　replied。　〃I　want　what　will　see　him　alive　to　fight　Tarmon　Gai'don。　He　says　he　will　tell　us　all　what　he　means　to　do　tomorrow。〃　The　smallest　frown　creased　her　smooth　forehead。　〃Tomorrow；　we　will　all　know　more　than　we　do　tonight。〃　Her　departure　was　abrupt。
　　　　　　　Tomorrow；　Elayne　thought。　What　will　he　do　when　I　tell　him？　What　will　he　say？　He　has　to　understand。　Determinedly；　she　joined　the　other　two　to　discuss　their　preparations。

Chapter　13
（Dice）
Rumors

　　　　　　　The　tavern's　business　rocked　along　like　any　in　the　Maule；　a　wagonload　of　geese　and　crockery　careering　downhill　through　the　night。　The　babble　of　voices　fought　with　the　musicians'　offerings　on　three　assorted　drums；　two　hammered　dulcimers；　and　a　bulbous　semseer　that　produced　whining　trills。　The　serving　maids　in　dark；　ankle…length　dresses　with　necks　up　to　the　chin　and　short　white　aprons　hustled　between　crowded　tables；　holding　clusters　of　pottery　mugs　overhead　so　they　could　squeeze　through。　Barefoot　leather…vested　dockmen　mixed　with　fellows　in　coats　tight　to　the　waist　and　bare…chested　men　with　broad；　colorful　sashes　to　hold　up　their　baggy　breeches。　So　close　to　the　docks；　vestments　of　outlanders　were　everywhere　among　the　crowd；　high　collars　from　the　north　and　long　collars　from　the　west；　silver　chains　on　coats　and　bells　on　vests；　knee…high　boots　and　thigh…high　boots；　necklaces　or　earrings　on　men；　lace　on　coats　or　shirts。　One　man　with　wide　shoulders　and　a　big　belly　had　a　forked　yellow　beard；　and　another　had　smeared　something　on　his　mustaches　to　make　them　glisten　in　the　lamplight　and　curl　up　on　either　side　of　his　narrow　face。　Dice　rolled　and　tumbled　in　three　corners　of　the　room　and　on　a　number　of　tabletops；　silver　changing　hands　briskly　to　shouts　and　laughter。
　　　　　　　Mat　sat　alone　with　his　back　to　the　wall　where　he　could　see　all　the　doors；　though　mostly　he　peered　into　a　still　untouched　mug　of　dark　wine。　He　did　not　go　near　the　dice　games；　and　he　never　glanced　at　the　serving　girls'　ankles。　With　the　tavern　so　crowded；　men　occasionally　thought　to　share　his　table；　but　a　good　look　at　his　face　made　them　sheer　away　and　crowd　onto　a　bench　elsewhere。
　　　　　　　Dipping　a　finger　in　his　wine；　he　sketched　aimlessly　on　the　tabletop。　These　fools　had　no　idea　what　had　happened　in　the　Stone　tonight。　He　had　heard　a　few　Tairens　mention　some　kind　of　trouble；　quick　words　that　trailed　off　into　nervous　laughter。　They　did　not　know　and　did　not　want　to。　He　almost　wished　he　did　not　know　himself。　No；　he　wished　he　had　a　better　idea　of　what　had　happened。　The　images　kept　flashing　in　his　head；　flashing　through　the　holes　in　his　memory；　making　no　real　sense。
　　　　　　　The　din　of　fighting　somewhere　in　the　distance　echoed　down　the　corridor；　dulled　by　the　wall　hangings。　He　retrieved　his　knife　from　the　Gray　Man's　corpse　with　a　shaking　hand。　A　Gray　Man；　and　hunting　him。　It　had　to　have　been　after　him。　Gray　Men　did　not　wander　about　killing　at　random；　they　had　targets　as　surely　as　an　arrow。　He　turned　to　run；　and　there　was　a　Myrddraal　striding　toward　him　like　a　black　snake　on　legs；　its　pasty…faced；　eyeless　stare　sending　shivers　into　his　bones。　At　thirty　paces　he　hurled　the　knife　straight　at　where　an　eye　should　have　been；　at　that　distance　he　could　hit　a　knothole　no　larger　than　an　eye　four　times　in　five。
　　　　　　　The　Fade's　black　sword　blurred　as　it　knocked　the　dagger　away；　almost　casually；　it　did　not　even　break　stride。　〃Time　to　die；　Hornsounder。〃　Its　voice　was　a　red　adder's　dry　hiss；　warning　of　death。
　　　　　　　Mat　backed　away。　He　had　a　knife　in　either　hand；　now；　though　he　did　not　remember　drawing　them。　Not　that　knives　would　be　much　good　against　a　sword；　but　running　meant　that　black　blade　in　his　back　as　sure　as　five　sixes　beat　four　threes。　He　wished　he　had　a　good　quarterstaff。　Or　a　bow；　he　would　like　to　see　this　thing　try　to　deflect　a　shaft　from　a　Two　Rivers　longbow。　He　wished　he　were　somewhere　else。　He　was　going　to　die；　here。
　　　　　　　Suddenly　a　dozen　Trollocs　roared　out　of　a　side　hallway；　piling　onto　the　Fade　in　a　frenzy　of　chopping　axes　and　stabbing　swords。　Mat　stared　in　amazed　disbelief。　The　Halfman　fought　like　a　black…armored　whirlwind。　More　than　half　the　Trollocs　were　dead　or　dying　before　the　Fade　lay　in　a　twitching　heap；　one　arm　flexed　and　thrashed　like　a　dying　snake　three　paces　away　from　the　body；　still　with　that　black　sword　in　its　fist。
　　　　　　　A　ram…horned　Trolloc　peered　toward　Mat；　snout　lifted　to　sniff　the　air。　It　snarled　at　him；　then　whined　and　began　licking　a　long　gash　that　had　laid　open　mail　and　hairy　forearm。　The　others　finished　cutting　the　throats　of　their　wounded；　and　one　barked　a　few　harsh；　guttural　words。　Without　another　glance　at　Mat；　they　turned　and　trotted　away；　hooves　and　boots　making　hollow　sounds　on　the　stone　floor。
　　　　　　　Away　from　him。　Mat　shivered。　Trollocs　to　the　rescue。　What　had　Rand　gotten　him　into　now？　He　saw　what　he　had　drawn　with　the　wine　…　an　open　door　…　and　scrubbed　it　out　angrily。　He　had　to　get　away　from　here。　He　had　to。　And　he　could　also　feel　that　urge　in　the　back　of　his　head；　that　it　was　time　to　go　back　to　the　Stone。　He　pushed　it　away　angrily；　but　it　kept　buzzing　at　him。
　　　　　　　He　caught　a　snatch　of　talk　from　the　table　to　his　right；　where　the　lean…faced　fellow　with　the　curling　mustaches　was　holding　forth　in　a　heavy　Lugarder　accent。　〃Now　this　Dragon　of　yours　is　a　great　man　no　doubt；　I'll　not　be　denying　it；　but　he's　not　a　patch　on　Logain。　Why；　Logain　had　all　of　Ghealdan　at　war；　and　half　of　Amadicia　and　Altara；　as　well。　He　made　the　earth　swallow　whole　towns　that　resisted　him；　he　did。　Buildings；　people　and　all　entire。　And　the　one　up　in　Saldaea；　Maseem？　Why；　they　say　he　made　the　sun　stand　still　till　he　defeated　the　Lord　of　Bashere's　army。　'Tis　a　fact；　they　do　say。〃
　　　　　　　Mat　shook　his　head。　The　Stone　fallen　and　Callandor　in　Rand's　hand；　and　this　idiot　still　thought　he　was　another　false　Dragon。　He　had　sketched　that　doorway　again。　Rubbing　a　hand　through　it；　he　grabbed　up　the　mug　of　wine；　then　stopped　with　it　halfway　to　his　mouth。　Through　the　motion　his　ear　had　picked　out　a　familiar　name　spoken　at　a　nearby　table。　Scraping　back　his　bench；　he　made　his　way　to　that　table；　mug　in　hand。
　　　　　　　The　people　around　it　were　the　sort　of　odd　mixture　made　in　taverns　in　the　Maule。　Two　barefoot　sailors　wearing　oiled　coats　over　bare　chests；　one　with　a　thick　gold　chain　close　around　his　neck。　A　once　fat　man　with　sagging　jowls；　in　a　dark　Cairhienin　coat　with　slashes　of　red　and　gold　and　green　across　his　chest　which　might　have　indicated　that　he　was　a　noble；　though　one　sleeve　was　torn　at　the　shoulder；　a　good　many　Cairhienin　refugees　had　e　down　far　in　the　world。　A　gray…haired　woman　all　in　subdued　dark　blue；　with　a　hard　face　and　a　sharp　eye　and　heavy　gold　rings　on　her　fingers。　And　the　speaker；　the　fork…bearded　fellow；　with　a　ruby　the　size　of　a　pigeon's　egg　in　his　ear。　The　three　silver　chains　looped　across　the　straining　chest　of　his　dark；　reddish　coat　named　him　a　Kandori　master　merchant。　They　had　a　guild　for　merchants　in　Kandor。
　　　　　　　The　talk　ceased　and　all　eyes　swung　to　Mat　when　he　stopped　at　their　table。　〃I　heard　you　mention　the　Two　Rivers。〃
　　　　　　　Forkbeard　ran　a　quick　eye　over　him；　the　unbrushed　hair；　the　tight　expression　on　his　face　and　the　wine　in　his　fist；　the　gleaming　black　boots；　the　green　coat　with　its　gold　scrollwork；　open　to　the　waist　to　reveal　a　snowy　linen　shirt；　but　both　coat　and　shirt　heavily　wrinkled。　In　short；　the　very　image　of　a　young　noble　sporting　himself　among　the　moners。　〃I　did；　my　Lord；〃　he　said　heartily。　〃I　was　saying　there'll　be　no　tabac　out　of　there　this　year；　I'll　wager。　I　have　twenty　casks　of　the　finest　Two　Rivers　leaf；　though；　than　which　there　is　none　finer。　Fetch　an　excellent　price　later　in　the　year。　If　my　Lord　wishes　a　cask　for　his　own　stock。。。〃　He　tugged　one　point　of　his　yellow　beard　and　laid　a　finger　alongside　his　nose。　〃。　。　。　I　am　certain　I　could　manage　to　…〃
　　　　　　　〃You'll　wager　that；　will　you？〃　Mat　said　softly；　cutting　him　short。　〃Why　would　there　be　no　tabac　out　of　the　Two　Rivers？〃
　　　　　　　〃Why；　the　Whitecloaks；　my　Lord。　The　Children　of　the　Light。〃
　　　　　　　〃What　about　Whitecloaks？〃
　　　　　　　The　master　merchant　peered　around　the　table　for　help；　there　was　a　dangerous　note　in　that　quiet　tone。　The　sailors　looked　as　if　they　would　leave　if　they　dared。　The　Cairhienin　was　glaring　at　Mat；　sitting　up　too　straight　and　smoothing　his　worn　coat　as　he　swayed；　the　empty　mug　in　front　of　him　was　obviously　not　his　first。　The　gray…haired　woman　had　her　mug　to　her　mouth；　her　sharp　eyes　watching　Mat　over　the　rim　in　a　calculating　way。
　　　　　　　Managing　a　seated　bow；　the　merchant　put　on　an　ingratiating　tone。　〃The　rumor　is；　my　Lord；　that　the　Whitecloaks　have　gone　into　the　Two　Rivers。　Hunting　the　Dragon　Reborn；　it's　said。　Though　of　course；　that　cannot　be；　since　the　Lord　Dragon　is　here　in　Tear。〃　He　eyed　Mat　to　see　how　that　had　been　taken；　Mat's　face　did　not　change。　〃These　rumors　can　run　very　wild；　my　Lord。　Perhaps　it's　only　wind　in　a　bucket。　The　same　rumor　claims　the　Whitecloaks　are　after　some　Darkfriend　with　yellow　eyes；　too。　Did　you　ever　hear　of　a　man　with　yellow　eyes；　my　Lord？　No　more　have　I。　Wind　in　a　bucket。〃
　　　　　　　Mat　set　his　mug　on　the　table　and　leaned　closer　to　the　man。　〃Who　else　are　they　hunting？　According　to　this　rumor。　The　Dragon　Reborn。　A　man　with　yellow　eyes。　Who　else？〃
　　　　　　　Beads　of　sweat　formed　on　the　merchant's　face。　〃No　one；　my　Lord。　No　one　that　I　heard。　Only　rumor；　my　Lord。　Straws　in　the　wind；　no　more。　A　puff　of　smoke；　soon　vanished。　If　I　might　have　the　honor　of　presenting　my　Lord　a　cask　of　Two　Rivers　tabac？　A　gesture　of　appreciation。。。　the　honor　of。。。　to　express　my。。。〃
　　　　　　　Mat　tossed　an　Andoran　gold　crown　onto　the　table。　〃Buy　your　drink　on　me　till　that　runs　out。〃
　　　　　　　As　he　turned　away　he　heard　mutters　from　the　table。　〃I　thought　he'd　cut　my　throat。　You　know　these　lordlings　when　they're　full　of　wine。〃　That　from　the　fork…bearded　merchant。　〃An　odd　young　man；〃　the　woman　said。　〃Dangerous。　Do　not　try　your　ploys　on　that　kind；　Paetram。〃　〃I　do　not　think　he　is　a　lord　at　all；〃　another　man　said　petulantly。　The　Cairhienin；　Mat　supposed。　His　lip　curled。　A　lord？　He　would　not　be　a　lord　if　it　was　offered　to　him。　Whitecloaks　in　the　Two　Rivers。　Light！　Light　help　us！
　　　　　　　Plowing　his　way　to　the　door；　he　pulled　a　pair　of　wooden　clogs　from　the　pile　against　the　wall。　He　had　no　idea　whether　they　were　the　ones　he　had　worn　in　…　they　all　looked　alike　…　and　did　not　care。　They　fit　his　boots。
　　　　　　　It　had　started　raining　outside；　a　light　fall　that　made　the　darkness　that　much　deeper。　Turning　up　his　collar；　he　splashed　along　the　muddy　streets　of　the　Maule　in　an　awkward　trot；　past　blaring　taverns　and　well…lit　inns　and　dark…windowed　houses。　When　mud　gave　way　to　paving　stones　at　the　wall　marking　the　inner　city；　he　kicked　the　clogs　off　and　left　them　lying　as　he　ran　on。　The　Defenders　guarding　the　nearest　gate　into　the　Stone　let　him　pass　without　a　word；　they　knew　who　he　was。　He　ran　all　the　way　to　Perrin's　room　and　flung　open　the　door；　barely　noticing　the　splintered　split　in　the　wood。　Perrin's　saddlebags　lay　on　the　bed；　and　Perrin　was　stuffing　shirts　and　stockings　into　them。　There　was　only　one　candle　lit；　but　he　did　not　seem　to　notice　the　gloom。
　　　　　　　〃You