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！
〃We will never know from what remains in that rubble；〃 Tiamak said。 〃I cannot think we could recognize 。。。〃 He remembered Isorn。 〃Oh； Isgrimnur； please； please forgive me。 I forgot。〃
Isgrimnur shook his head。 〃The doors to the antechamber came open a short while before the end…I suppose Pryrates' dying put an end to his deviltry； his magical wall or whatever it was。 Some of the soldiers nearby pulled out those of the fallen they could before the tower began to collapse。 I； at least； have my son's body。〃 He looked down； struggling for posure； then sighed。 〃Thank you； Tiamak。 I am sorry to make you remember。〃
Tiamak laughed shakily。 〃I have not been able to stop talking about it。 We are all of us in this camp babbling away at each other like children； and have been since the tower fell； since 。 。。 since everything happened。〃
The duke stood； slowly and painfully。 〃I see Strangyeard ing。 The others will meet us。 Will you e along； Tiamak？ These are important matters； and I would like you to be with us when we talk。 We need you wisdom。〃
The Wrannaman gently bowed his head。 〃Of course； Isgrimnur。 Of course。〃
Simon wandered through the rubble of the Inner Bailey The melting snow had shrunk away to reveal patches of dead grass； and here and there a freshet of new plant lift which the sorcerous winter had not destroyed。 The different hues of green and brown were soothing to his eyes He had seen enough of black； ice…white； and blood…red to last him several lifetimes。
He only wished that everything followed such ordinary patterns of renewal。 It was a short two days since the tower had fallen and the Storm King had been vanquished； a time when he and his friends should have been rejoicing over their victory； yet here he was； wandering and brooding。
He had slept through the night and the first day after their escape； a thick； bone…weary slumber。 Binabik had e to him the second night； telling him stories； explaining； miserating； then finally sitting with him in silence until Simon fell asleep once more。 Others had visited him throughout the morning of this second day； friends and acquaintances reaching out； proving to themselves that he lived； just as the sight of these visitors showed Simon that the world still made a kind of sense。
But Miriamele had not e。
When the unclouded sun had begun to slide down past noon； he had nerved himself to go and see her。 Binabik had assured him the night before that she lived and was not badly hurt； so he did not fear for her health； but the troll's reassurances had only made his other unhappiness stronger。 If she was well； why had she not e to him or sent a message？
He had found her at her tent； in conversation with Aditu； who earlier that morning had been one of his own visitors。 Miriamele had greeted him in a friendly enough fashion； and had exclaimed sorrowfully over his various wounds； as he had over hers； but when he expressed his sadness over the deaths of her uncle and father； she had suddenly grown cold and remote。
Simon wanted to believe it was no more than the justifiable bitterness of someone who had lived through a terrible time and had lost her family…not to mention her own unhappy role in her father's death…but he could not fool himself that there was nothing more to her reaction than that。 She had been reacting to him； too； as though something about Simon still made her dreadfully unfortable。 It made him miserable to see that distance in her eyes after all they had been through together； but he had also felt fury； wondering why he should be treated as though it had been his cruelty to her that had marred their trip into Erkynland； instead of the other way around。 Although he had struggled to hide this anger； things had only grown chillier between them； and at last he had excused himself and gone out into the wind。
Into the wind and up the hill he had gone； to wander now through the slushy grounds of the abandoned Hayholt。
Simon paused； staring at the great pile of spread rubble that had once been Green Angel Tower。 Small figures moved in the ruins； Erchester…folk scavenging for anything worth saving； either to trade for food or as a keepsake of what was already a fabled event。
It was strange； Simon reflected。 He had gone as deep into the earth as anyone could； and had climbed equally as high； but he had not changed very much。 He was a little stronger； perhaps； but he guessed that was a strength mostly caused by the inflexibility of scarred places； other than that； he was much the same。 A kitchen boy； Pryrates had called him。 The priest had been right。 Despite his knighthood； despite all else that had happened； there would always be the heart of a scullion inside him。
Something caught his eye and he bent forward。 A green hand lay at the bottom of the gulley beside his feet； fingers protruding from the mud in a frozen gesture of release。 Simon leaned forward and scraped away some of the soggy clay； exposing an arm； then finally a bronze face。
It was the angel of the towertop； fallen to the earth。 He poured a handful of puddle water over the high…boned face； clearing the eyes。 They were open； but no life was in them。 It was a tumbled statue； nothing more。
Simon stood up and wiped his hands on his breeches。 Let someone else drag it from the muck and take it home。 Let it sit in the corner of someone's cottage and whisper to them beguiling stories of the depths and heights。
But as he trudged away across the mons yard； turning his back on the wreckage of the tower； the angel's voice…Leieth's voice…came back to him。
〃These truths are too strong；〃 she had said； 〃the myths and lies around them too great。 You must see them and you must understand for yourself。 But this has been your story。〃
And she had showed him important things indeed。 The proof of that； at least in part； lay scattered over a thousand cubits of ground behind him。 But there had been more； something that had teased at the edge of his understanding； but which time and circumstance had kept him from pondering。 Now the curious thread of memory came back to him； and would not be denied。 He had e closest to seeing it in the throne room。。。。
His footsteps echoed across the tiles。 There was no other sound。 This was a place no one had yet e to scavenge…the mute specter of the Dragonbone Chair was enough to raise fearful hackles in the best of times； and these had not been the best of times。
The afternoon light； warmer than the last time he had been here； spilled down from the windows and gave a little color to the strew of fading banners； although the malachite kings were still cloaked in their own black stone shadows。 Simon remembered a void of spreading nothingness and hesitated； his heart pounding； but he swallowed his momentary fear and stepped forward。 That blackness was gone。 That king was dead。
In full daylight the great throne looked less daunting than he remembered it。 The great toothy mouth still menaced； but some vitality it had once had seemed gone。 There was nothing in the eye sockets but cobwebs。 Even the massive cage of wired bones sagged in places； and it was clear that some were missing； although none