按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
d。 So I'm being my own enemy； my own Despiser…working against myself when I try to stay alive by agreeing with the people who make it so hard。 That's why I'm dreaming this。 Catharsis。 Work out the dilemma subconsciously； so that when I wake up I'll be able to cope。〃
He stood up suddenly； and began to pace Mhoram's ascetic chamber with a voracious gleam in his eyes。 〃Sure。 That's it。 Why didn't I think of it before？ I've been telling myself all the time that this is escapism； suicide。 But that's not it…that's not it at all。 Just forget that I'm losing every one of the habits that keep me alive。 This is dream therapy。〃
But abruptly a grimace of pain clutched his face。 〃Hellfire！〃 he… rasped intensely。 〃That sounds like a story I should have burned…back when I was burning stories…when I still had stories to burn。〃
Mhoram heard the anguished change； the turning to dust； in Covenant's tone； and he stood to reach out toward his visitor。 But he did not need to move； Covenant came almost aimlessly in his direction； as if within the four walls of the chamber he had lost his way。 He stopped at the table near Mhoram； and gazed miserably at the krill。 His voice shook。
〃I don't believe it。 That's just another easy way to die。 I already know too many of them。〃
He seemed to stumble； though he was standing still。 He lurched forward； and caught himself on Mhoram's shoulder。 For a moment； he clung there； pressing his forehead into Mhoram's robe。 Then Mhoram lowered him into a chair。
〃Ah； my friend； how can I help you？ I do not understand。〃
Covenant's lips trembled； but with a visible effort he regained control of his voice。 〃Just tired。 I haven't eaten since yesterday。 That Unfettered One…drained me。 Some food would be very nice。〃
The opportunity to do something for Covenant gave Mhoram a feeling of relief。 Moving promptly； he brought his guest a flask of springwine。 Covenant drank as if he were trying to break an inner drought； and Mhoram went to his back rooms to find some food。
While he was placing bread and cheese and grapes on a tray； he heard a sharp； distant shout； a voice cried his name with an urgency that smote his heart。 He set the tray down； hastened to throw open the door of his chambers。
In the sudden wash of light from the courtyard； he saw a warrior standing in one of the coigns high above him。 The warrior was a young man…too young for war meat； Mhoram thought grimly…who had lost mand of himself。 〃Lord Mhoram！〃 he blurted。 〃e！ Now！ The Close！〃
〃Stop。〃 The authority in Mhoram's tone caught the young man like a bit。 He winced； stiffened； forced down a chaotic tumult of words。 Then he recovered his self…possession。 Seeing this； the Lord said more gently； 〃I hear you。 Speak。〃
〃The High Lord asks that you e to the Close at once。 A messenger has e from the Plains of Ra。 The Gray Slayer is marching。〃
〃War？〃 Mhoram spoke softly to conceal a sharp prevision of blood。
〃Yes； Lord Mhoram。〃
〃Please say to the High Lord that that I have heard you。〃
Bearing himself carefully； Mhoram turned back toward Covenant。 The Unbeliever met his gaze with a hot； oddly focused look； as if his skull were splitting between his eyes。 Mhoram asked simply； 〃Will you e？〃
Covenant gripped the Lord's gaze； and said； 〃Tell me something； Mhoram。 How did you get away when that Raver caught you…near Foul's Creche？〃
Mhoram answered with a conscious serenity； a refusal of dismay； which looked like danger in his goldflecked eyes。 〃The Bloodguard with me were slain。 But when samadhi Raver touched me； he knew me as I knew him。 He was daunted。〃
For a moment； Covenant did not move。 Then he dropped his glance。 Wearily； he set the stoneware flask on the table； pushed it over so that it clicked against the krill。 He tugged momentarily at his beard； then pulled himself to his feet。 To Mhoram's gaze； he looked like a thin candle clogged with spilth…guttering；frail； and portionless。
〃Yes；〃 he said。 〃Elena asked me the same thing。 For all the good it'll do any of us。 I'm ing。〃
Awkwardly； he shambled out onto the burning floor。
PART II
The Warmark
ELEVEN： War Council
HILE Troy was sure of one thing； despite whatever Covenant said； the Land was no dream。 He perceived this with an acuteness which made his heart ache。
In the 〃real〃 world； he had not been simply blind； he had been eyeless from birth。 He lacked even the organs of sight which could have given him a conception of what vision was。 Until the mysterious event which had snatched him from between opposing deaths； and had dropped him on the sunlit grass of Trothgard； light and dark had been equally inprehensible to him。 He had not known that he lived in immitigable midnight。 The tools with which he had handled his physical surroundings had been hearing and touch and language。 His sense of ambience； his sensitivity to the auras of objects and the resonances of space； was translated by words until it became his sole measure of the concrete world。 He had been a good strategist precisely because his perceptions of space and interacting force were pure； undistracted by any knowledge of day or night or color or brilliance or illusion。
Therefore he could not be imagining the Land。 His former mind had not contained the raw materials out of which such dreams were made。 When he appeared in the Land…when Lord Elena taught him that the rush of sensations which confused him was sight the experience was altogether new。 It did not restore to him something that he had lost。 It opened in front of him like an oracle。
He knew that the Land was real。
And he knew that its future hung by the thread of his strategy in this war。 If he made a mistake； then more brightness and color than he could ever take into account were doomed。
So when Ruel； the Bloodguard assigned to watch over him； came to him in his quarters and informed him that a Ramen Manethrall had arrived from the Plains of Ra； bringing word of Lord …Foul's army； Troy felt an instant of panic。 It had begun…the test of all his training； planning； hopes。 If he had believed Mhoram's tales of a Creator； he would have dropped to his knees to pray
But he had never learned to rely on anyone but himself。 The Wayward and the strategy were his； he was in mand。 He paused just long enough to strap the traditional ebony sword of the Warmark to his waist and don his headband。 Then he followed Ruel toward the Close。
As he moved； he was grateful for the brightness of the torches in the hallways。 Even with their help； his sight was dim。 In daylight； he could see clearly； with more grasp of detail and more distance than the fareyed Giants。 The sun brought distant things close to him； at times； he felt that he possessed more of the Land than anyone else。 But night restored his blindness like an insistent reminder of where he had e from。 While the sun was down； he was lost without torches or fires。 Starlight did not touch his private darkness； and even a full moon cast no more than a gray smudge across his mind。
Sometimes in the middle of the night； his sightlessness scared him like a repudiation of sunlight and vision。
By force of habit； he adjusted his sunglasses。 He had worn them for so long；