srdonaldson.theillearthwar-第67部分

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e　things　down　during　the　dark　night；　while　Mhoram　and　Callindrill　fought　to　maintain　the　Word　of　Warning。　Now　he　felt　strangely　cauterized。　He　was　the　Warmark；　and　he　had　returned　to　his　work。　He　was　thinking…measuring　distances；　gauging　relative　speeds；　forecasting　the　Warward's　attrition　rate。　He　was　in　mand。
　He　could　see　his　army's　need　for　leadership　as　clearly　as　if　it　were　in　some　way　atrocious。　Ahead　of　him；　the　Warward　had　swung　slightly　south　to　avoid　the　immediate　foothills　of　the　mountains；　and　across　this　easier　ground　it　moved　at　a　pace　which　would　cover　no　more　than　seven　leagues　a　day。　But　still　the　conditions　of　the　march　were　horrendous。　His　army
　was　traveling　into　the　dry　half…desert　of　the　Southron　Wastes。
　No　vestige　or　hint　of　autumn　ameliorated　the　arid　breeze　which　blew　northward　off　the　parched；　lifeless　Gray　Desert。　Most　of　the　grass　had　already　failed；　and　the　few　rills　and　rivulets　which　ran　down　out　of　the　mountains　evaporated　before　they　reached　five　leagues　into　the　Wastes。　And　even　south　of　the　foothills　the　terrain　was　difficult…eroded　and　rasped　and　cut　by　long　ages　of　sterile　wind　into　jagged　hills；　gullies；　arroyos。　The　result　was　a　stark；　heat…pale　land　possessed　by　a　weird　and　unfriendly　beauty。　The　Warward　had　to　march　over　packed　ground　that　felt　as　hard　and　hostile　as　rock　underfoot；　and　yet　sent　up　thick　dust　as　if　the　soil　were　nothing　but　powder。
　Within　three　leagues　of　the　Retreat；　Troy　and　his　panions　found　the　first　dead　warrior。　The　Woodhelvennin　corpse　lay　contorted　on　the　ground　like　a　torture　victim。　Exhaustion　blackened　its　lips　and　tongue；　and　its　staring　eyes　were　full　of　dust。　Troy　had　a　mad　impulse　to　stop　and　bury　the　warrior。　But　he　was　sure　of　his　calculations；　in　this　acrid　heat；　the　losses　of　the　Warward　would　probably　double　every　day。　None　of　the　living　could　afford　the　time　or　strength　to　care　for　the　dead。
　By　the　time　the　Warmark　caught　up　with　his　army；　he　had　counted　ten　more　fallen　warriors。　Numbers　thronged　in　his　brain：　eleven　dead　the　first　day；　twenty…two　the　second；　forty…four　the　third…six　hundred　and　ninety…three　human　beings　killed　by　the　cruel　demands　of　the　march　before　he　reached　his　destination。　And　God　alone　knew　how　many　more　He　found　himself　wondering　if　he　would　ever　be　able　to　sleep　again。
　But　he　forced　himself　to　pay　attention　as　Quaan　and　Amorine　reported　on　their　efforts　to　keep　the　warriors　alive。　Food　was　rationed；　all　water　jugs　were　refilled　at　every　stream；　however　small；　every　Haft　and　Warhaft　moved　on　foot；　so　that　their　horses　could　carry　the　weakest　men　and　women；　Quaan's　remaining　riders　also　walked；　and　their　damaged　mounts　bore　packs　and　collapsed　warriors；　all　scouting　and　water
　gathering　were　done　by　the　Bloodguard。　And　every　warrior　who　could　go　no　farther　was　supplied　with　food；　and　ordered　to　seek　safety　in　the　mountains。
　There　was　nothing　else　the　manders　could　do。
　All　this　filled　Troy　with　pain。　But　then　Quaan　described　to　him　how　very　few　warriors　chose　to　leave　the　march　and　hide　in　the　hills。　That　news　steadied　Troy；　he　felt　it　was　both　terrible　and　wonderful　that　so　many　men　and　women　were　willing　to　follow　him　to　the　utter　end　of　his　ideas。　He　mustered　his　confidence　to　answer　Quaan's　and　Amorine's　inevitable　questions。
　Quaan　went　bluntly　to　the　immediate　problem。　〃Does　Fleshharrower　pursue　us？〃
　〃Yes；〃　Troy　Replied。　〃Lord　Verement　gained　us　about　a　day。　But　that　Giant　is　ing　after　us　now　he's　ing　fast。〃
　Quaan　did　not　need　to　ask　what　had　happened　to　Lord　Verement。　Instead；　he　said；　〃Fleshharrower　will　move　swiftly。　When　will　he　overtake　us？〃
　〃Sometime　tomorrow　afternoon。　Tomorrow　evening　at　the　latest。〃
　〃Then　we　are　lost；〃　said　Amorine；　and　her　voice　shook。　〃We　can　march　no　faster。　The　warriors　are　too　weary　to　turn　and　fight。　Warmark；〃　she　implored；　〃take　this　matter　from　me。　Give　the　First　Haft's　place　to　another。　I　cannot　bear…I　cannot　give　these　mands。〃
　He　tried　to　fort　her　with　his　confidence。　〃Don't　worry。　We're　not　beaten　yet。〃　But　to　himself　he　sounded　more　hysterical　than　confident。　He　had　a　sudden　desire　to　scream。　〃We　won't　have　to　march　any　faster　than　this。　We're　just　going　to　turn　south　a　fraction　more；　so　that　we'll　reach　that　old　ruined　city　‘Doriendor　Corishev；'　Mhoram　calls　it。　We　should　get　there　before　noon　tomorrow。〃
　He　felt　that　he　was　speaking　too　quickly。　He　forced　himself　to　slow　down　while　he　explained　his　intentions。　Then　he　was　relieved　to　see　dour　approval　in　the　faces　of　his　officers。　First　Haft　Amorine　took　a　deep；　shuddering　breath　as　she　caught　hold　of　her　courage　again；　and　Quaan's　eyes　glinted　with　bloody
　promises　for　the　enemy。　Shortly；　he　asked；　〃Who　will　mand　the　Eoward　which　must　remain？〃
　〃Permit　me；〃　Amorine　said。　〃I　am　at　the　end　of　my　strength　for　this　marching。　I　wish　to　fight。〃
　The　Hiltmark　opened　his　mouth　to　answer　her；　but　Troy　stopped　them　both　with　a　gesture。　For　a　moment；　he　juggled　burdens　mentally；　seeking　a　point　of　balance。　Then　he　said　to　Quaan；　〃The　Lords　and　I　will　stay　behind　with　First　Haft　Amorine。　We'll　need　eight　Eoward　of　volunteers；　and　every　horse　that　can　still　stand。　The　Bloodguard　will　probably　stay　with　us。　If　we　handle　it　right；　most　of　us　will　survive。〃
　Quaan　frowned　at　the　decision。　But　his　acceptance　was　as　candid　as　his　dislike。　To　Amorine；　he　said；　〃We　must　find　those　who　are　willing；　and　prepare　them　today；　so　that　tomorrow　no　time　will　be　lost。〃
　In　answer；　the　First　Haft　saluted　both　Quaan　and　Troy；　then　rode　away　among　the　Warward。　She　carried　herself　straighter　than　she　had　for　several　days；　and　her　alacrity　demonstrated　to　Troy　that　he　had　made　the　correct　choice。　He　nodded　after　her；　sardonically　congratulating　himself　for　having　done　something　right。
　But　Quaan　still　had　questions。　Shortly；　he　said；　〃I　ask　your　pardon；　Warmark…but　we　have　been　friends；　and　I　must　speak　of　this。　Will　you　not　explain　to　me　why　we　march　now？　If　Doom's　Retreat　is　not　the　battleground　you　desire；　perhaps　Doriendor　Corishev　will　serve。　Why　must　this　terrible　march　continue？〃
　〃No；　I'm　not　going　to　explain。　Not　yet。〃　Troy　kept　his　final　plan　to　himself　as　if　by　silence　and　secrecy　he　could　contain　its　terrors。　〃And　Doriendor　Corishev　won't　serve。　We　could　fight　there　for　a　day　or　two。　But　after　that；　Fleshharrower　would　surround　us　and　just　squeeze。　We've　got　to　do　better　than　that。〃
　The　Hiltmark　nodded　morosely。　Troy's　refusal　saddened　him　like　an　expression　of　distrust。　But　he　managed　a　wry　smile　as　he　said；　〃Warmark；　is　there　no　end　to　your　plans？〃
　〃Yes；〃　Troy　sighed。　〃Yes；　there　is。　And　we're　going　to　get　there。　After　that；　Mhoram　is　going　to　have　to　save　us。　He　promised…〃
　Because　he　could　not　bear　to　face　Quaan　with　his　inadequacies；　he　turned　away。　Clapping　Mehryl　with　his　heels；　he　went　in　search　of　the　Lords。　He　wanted　to　explain　his　intentions　for　Doriendor　Corishev；　and　to　find　out　what　additional　help　Mhoram　or　Callindrill　could　give　the　Warward。
　During　the　rest　of　that　day　and　the　next　morning；　he　received　regular　reports　from　the　Bloodguard　on　Fleshharrower's　progress。　The　Giant…Raver's　army　was　large　and　unwieldy；　it　had　covered　only　nine　leagues　during　the　day　after　it　traversed　Doom's　Retreat。　But　it　did　not　halt　during　the　dark　night；　and　took　only　one　short　rest　before　dawn。　Troy　judged　that　the　Giant　would　reach　Doriendor　Corishev　by　mid…afternoon。
　That　knowledge　made　him　ache　to　drive　the　Warward　faster。　But　he　could　not。　Too　many　warriors　left　the　army　or　died　that　night　and　the　next　morning。　To　his　dismay；　the　attrition　tripled。　A　litany　of　numbers　ran　through　his　brain：　eleven；　thirty…three；　ninety…nine　…at　that　rate；　the　march　itself　would　claim　four　thousand　four　victims　by　the　end　of　six　days。　And　lives　would　be　lost　in　Doriendor　Corishev。　He　needed　plex　equations　to　measure　the　plight　of　his　army。　He　did　not　try　to　hurry　it。
　As　a　result；　the　warriors　were　only　a　league　ahead　of　Fleshharrower　when　they　started　up　the　long　slope　toward　the　ruins　of　Doriendor　Corishev。　The　ancient　city　sat　atop　a　high　hill　under　the　perpetual　frown　of　the　mountains；　and　the　hill　itself　crested　a　southrunning　ridge。　The　ruins　were　elevated　on　a　line　that　separated；　hid　from　each　other；　the　east　and　west　sides　of　the　Southron　Wastes。　In　past　ages；　when　the　city　lived　and　thrived；　it　had　manded　perfectly　the　northern　edge　of　that　region；　and　now　the　low；　massive　remains　of　fortifications　testified　that　the　inhabitants　of　the　city　had　known　the　value　of　their　position。　According　to　the　legends　which　had　been　preserved　in　Kevin's　Lore；　these　people　had　been　warlike；　they　had　needed　their　strategic　location。　Lord　Callindrill　translated　the　name　as　〃masterplace〃　or　〃desolation　of　enemies。〃
　The　legends　said　that　for　centuries　Doriendor　Corishev　had　been　the　capital　of　the　nation　which　gave　birth　to　Berek　Halfhand。
　That　was　the　age　of　the　One　Forest's　dominion　in　the　Land。　Then　there　were　no　Wastes　south　of　the　mountains；　the　region　was　green　and　populous。　But　in　time　it　became　too　populous。　Groups　of　people　from　this　southern　country　slowly　moved　up　into　the　Land；　and　began　to　attack　the　Forest。　At　first；　they　only　wanted　timber　for　the　civilization　of　Doriendor　Corishev。　Then　they　wanted　fields　for　crops。　Then　they　wanted　homes。　With　the　unconscious　aid　of　other　immigrants　from　the　north；　they　eventually　acplished　the　maiming　of　the　One　Forest。
　But　that　injury　had　many　ramifications。　On　the　one　hand；　the　felling　of　the　trees　unbound　the　interdict　which　the　Colossus　of　the　Fall　had　held　over　the　Lower　Land。　The　Ravers　were　unleashed…a　release　which　led　with　deft　inevitability　to　the　destruction　of　Doriendor　Corishev's　monarchy　in　the　great　war　of　Berek　Halfhand。　And　on　the　other　hand；　the　loss　of　perhaps　a　hundred　thousand　square　leagues　'of　Forest　altered　the　natural　balances　of　the　Earth。　Every　falling　tree　hammered　home　an　ineluctable　doom　for　the　masterplace。　As　the　trees　died；　the　southern　lands　lost　the　watershed　which　had　preserved　them　from　the　Gray　Desert。　Centuries　after　the　ravage　of　the　One　Forest　became　irreversible；　these　lands　turned　to　dry　ruin。
　But　the　city　had　been　deserted　since　the　time　of　Berek；　the　first　Lord。　Now；　after　millennia　of　wind　and　dust；　nothing　remai