srdonaldson.theillearthwar-第75部分

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ge；　but　it　caused　the　Raver's　forces　to　hesitate　one　instant　in　their　pursuit。　Using　that　instant；　he　followed　the　warriors。　Together　the　survivors…hardly　more　than　ten　Eoward　…ran　straight　toward　Mhoram。
　When　he　saw　them　ing；　Lord　Mhoram　went　out　to　meet　Troy。　He　pulled　the　Warmark　from　Mehryl's　back…it　was　not　safe　to　ride　under　the　branches　of　the　Deep…took　his　arm；　and　guided　him　toward　the　trees。　The　fleeing　warriors　were　almost　on　their　heels　when　Mhoram　and　Troy　strode　into　Garroting　Deep。
　Caerroil　Wildwood　had　vanished；　but　his　song　remained。　It　seemed　to　resonate　lightly　off　every　leaf　in　the　Forest。　Mhoram　could　feel　it　piloting　him；　and　he　followed　it　implicitly。　Behind　him；　he　heard　the　warriors　consummating　their　exhaustion　in　a　last　rush　toward　sanctuary　or　death。　He　heard　Quaan　shouting　as　if　from　a　great　distance　that　all　survivors　were　now　among　the　trees。　But　he　did　not　look　back。　The　Forestal's　song　exercised　a　fascination　over　him。　Gripping　Troy's　arm　and　peering　steadily　ahead　into　the　gloom；　he　moved　at　a　brisk　walk　along　the　path　of　the　melody。
　With　Callindrill；　Troy；　Quaan；　Amorine；　twoscore　Bloodguard；　all　the　Ranyhyn；　and　more　than　four　thousand　warriors；　Lord　Mhoram　passed　for　a　time　out　of　the　world　of　humankind。
　Slowly；　the　music　transmuted　his　conscious　alertness；　drew　him　into　a　kind　of　trance。　He　felt　that　he　was　still　aware　of　everything；　but　that　now　nothing　touched　him。　He　could　see　the　onset　of　evening　in　the　altered　dimness　of　the　Deep；　but　he　felt　no　passage　of　time。　In　openings　between　the　trees；　he　could　see　the　Westron　Mountains。　By　the　changing　positions　of　the　peaks；　he　could　gauge　his　speed。　He　appeared　to　be　moving　faster　than　a　galloping　Ranyhyn。　But　he　felt　no　exertion　or　strain　of　travel。　The　breath　of　the　song　wafted　him　ahead；　as　if　he　and　his　panions　were　being　inhaled　by　the　Deep。　It　was　a　weird；　dreamy　passage；　a　soul　journey；　full　of　speed　he　could　not　experience　and　events　he　could　not　feel。
　Night　came…the　moon　was　pletely　dark…but　he　did　not　lose　sight　of　his　way。　Some　hint　of　light　in　the　grass　and　leaves　and　song　made　his　path　clear　to　him；　and　he　went　on　confidently；　untouched　by　any　need　for　rest。　The　Forestal's　song　released　him　from　mortality；　wrapped　him　in　careless　peace。
　Sometime　during　the　darkness；　he　heard　the　change　of　the　song。　The　alteration　had　no　effect　on　him；　but　he　understood　its　meaning。　Though　the　Forest　swallowed　every　other　sound；　so　that　no　howls　or　screams　or　cries　reached　his　ears；　he　knew　that　Fleshharrower's　army　was　being　destroyed。　The　song　described　ages　of　waiting　hate；　of　grief　over　vast　tracts　of　kindred　lost；　ages　of　slow　rage　which　climbed　through　the　sap　of　the　woods　until　every　limb　and　leaf　shared　it；　lived　it；　ached　to　act。　And　through　that　melodic　narration　came　whispers　of　death　as　roots　and　boughs　and　trunks　moved　together　to　crush　and　rend。
　Against　the　immense　Deep；　even　Fleshharrower's　army　was　small　and　defenseless…a　paltry　insult　hurled　against　an　ocean。　The　trees　brushed　aside　the　power　of　the　ur…viles　and　the　strength　of　the　Cavewights　and　the　mad；　cornered；　desperate　fear　of　all　the　other　creatures。　Led　by　Caerroil　Wildwood's　song；
　they　simply　throttled　the　invaders。　Flames　were　stamped　out；　blade　wielders　were　slain；　lore　and　force　were　overwhelmed。　Then　the　trees　drank　the　blood　and　ate　the　bodies…eradicated　every　trace　of　the　enemy　in　an　apotheosis　of　ancient　and　exquisite　fury。
　When　the　song　resumed　its　former　placid　wafting；　it　seemed　to　breathe　grim　satisfaction　and　victory。
　Soon　after　that…Mhoram　thought　it　was　soon…a　rumble　like　thunder　passed　over　the　woods。　At　first；　he　thought　that　he　was　hearing　Fleshharrower's　death　struggle。　But　then　he　saw　that　the　sound　had　an　entirely　different　source。　Far　ahead　and　to　the　west；　some　terrible　violence　occurred　in　the　mountains。　Red　fires　spouted　from　one　part　of　the　range。　After　every　eruption；　a　concussion　rolled　over　the　Deep；　and　a　coruscating　exhaust　paled　the　night　sky。　But　Mhoram　was　immune　to　it。　He　watched　it　with　interest；　but　the　song　wrapped　him　in　its　enchantments　and　preserved　him　from　all　care。
　And　he　felt　no　concern　when　he　realized　that　the　Warward　was　no　longer　behind　him。　Except　for　Lord　Callindrill；　Troy；　Amorine；　Hiltmark　Quaan；　and　two　Bloodguard；　Terrel　and　Morril；　he　was　alone。　But　he　was　not　anxious；　the　song　assuaged　him　with　peace　and　trust。　It　led　him　onward　and　still　onward　through　a　measureless　night　into　the　dawn　of　a　new　day。
　With　the　return　of　light；　he　found　that　he　was　moving　through　a　woodland　profuse　with　purple　and　white　orchids。　Their　soft；　pure　colors　fell　in　with　the　music　as　if　they　were　the　notes　Caerroil　Wildwood　sang。　They　folded　Mhoram　closely　in　the　consolation　of　the　melody。　With　a　wide；　unconscious　smile　he　let　himself　go　as　if　the　current　which　carried　him　were　an　anodyne　for　all　his　hurts。
　His　strange　speed　was　more　apparent　now。　Already　through　gaps　in　the　overhanging　foliage；　he　could　see　the　paired　spires　of　Melenkurion　Skyweir；　the　tallest　peaks　in　the　Westron　Mountains。　He　could　see　the　high；　sheer　plateau　of　Rivenrock　as　the　struggle　it　concealed　continued。　Eruptions　and　muffled　booms　came　echoing　from　the　depths　of　the　mountain；　and　red　bursts　of　force　struck　the　sky　at　irregular　intervals。　But　still　he　was　untouched。　His　speed；　his　exhilarating；　easy　swiftness；　filled　his　heart　with　gay　glee。　He　had　covered　thirty　or　forty　leagues　since　entering　the　Deep。　He　felt　ready　to　walk　that　way　forever。
　But　the　day　passed　with　the　same　timeless　evanescence　that　had　borne　him　through　the　night。　Soon　the　sun　was　close　to　setting；　yet　he　had　no　sense　of　duration；　no　weary　or　hungry　physical　impression　that　he　had　traveled　all　day。
　Then　the　song　changed　again。　Gradually；　it　no　longer　floated　him　forward。　The　end　of　his　wafting　filled　him　with　quiet　sadness；　but　he　accepted　it。　The　thunders　and　eruptions　of　Rivenrock　were　now　almost　due　southwest　of　him。　He　judged　that　he　and　his　panions　were　nearing　the　Black　River。
　The　song　led　him　straight　through　the　Forest　to　a　high　bald　hill　that　stood　up　out　of　the　woodland　like　a　wen　of　barrenness。　Beyond　it；　he　could　hear　a　rush　of　water…the　Black　River…but　the　hill　itself　caught　his　attention；　restored　some　measure　of　his　self…awareness。　The　soil　of　the　hill　was　pletely　lifeless；　as　if　in　past　ages　it　had　been　drenched　with　too　much　death　ever　to　bloom　again。　And　just　below　its　crown　on　the　near　side　stood　two　rigid　trees　like　sentinels；　witnesses；　ten　yards　or　more　apart。　They　were　as　dead　as　the　hill…blackened；　bereft　of　limbs　and　leaves；　sapless。　Each　dead　trunk　had　only　one　bough　left。　Fifty　feet　above　the　ground；　the　trees　reached　toward　each　other；　and　their　limbs　interwove　to　form　a　crossbar　between　them。
　This　was　Gallows　Howe；　the　ancient　slaying　place　of　the　Forestall。　Here；　according　to　the　legends　of　the　Land；　Caerroil　Wildwood　and　his　brethren　had　held　their　assizes　in　the　long…past　ages　when　the　One　Forest　still　struggled　for　survival。　Here　the　Ravers　who　had　e　within　the　Forestall'　grasp　had　been　executed。
　Now　moksha　Fleshharrower　hung　from　the　gibbet。　Black　fury　congested　his　face；　his　swollen　tongue　protruded　like　contempt　between　his　teeth；　and　his　eyes　stared　emptily。　A　rictus　of　hate　strained　and　stretched　all　his　muscles。　His　dying　frenzy　had　been　so
　extravagant　that　many　of　his　blood　vessels　had　ruptured；　staining　his　skin　with　dark　hemorrhages。
　As　Lord　Mhoram　gazed　upward　through　the　thickening　dusk；　he　felt　suddenly　tired　and　thirsty。　Several　moments　passed　before　he　noticed　that　Caerroil　Wildwood　was　nearby。　The　Forestal　stood　to　one　side　of　the　hill；　singing　quietly；　and　his　eyes　shone　with　a　red　and　silver　light。
　At　Mhoram's　side；　Warmark　Troy　stirred　as　if　he　were　awakening；　and　asked　dimly；　〃What　is　it？　What　do　you　see？〃
　Mhoram　had　to　swallow　several　times　before　he　could　find　his　voice。　〃It　is　Fleshharrower。　The　Forestal　has　slain　him。〃
　A　sharp　intensity　crossed　Troy's　face；　as　if　he　were　straining　to　see。　Then　he　smiled。　〃Thank　God。〃
　〃It　is　a　worthy　bargain；〃　Caerroil　Wildwood　sang。　〃I　know　that　I　cannot　slay　the　spirit　of　a　Raver。　But　it　is　a　great　satisfaction　to　kill　the　flesh。　He　is　garroted。〃　His　eyes　flared　redly　for　a　moment；　then　faded　toward　silver　again。　〃Therefore　do　not　think　that　I　have　rescinded　my　word。　Your　people　are　unharmed。　The　presence　of　so　many　faithless　mortals　disturbed　the　trees。　To　shorten　their　disfort；　I　have　sent　your　people　out　of　Garroting　Deep　to　the　north。　But　because　of　the　bargain；　and　the　price　yet　to　be　paid；　I　have　brought　you　hers。　Behold　the　retribution　of　the　Forest。〃
　Something　in　his　high　clear　voice　made　Mhoram　shudder。　But　he　remembered　himself　enough　to　ask；　〃What　has　bee　of　the　Raver's　Stone？〃
　〃It　was　a　great　evil；〃　the　Forestal　hummed　severely。　〃I　have　destroyed　it。〃
　Quietly；　Lord　Mhoram　nodded。　〃That　is　well。〃　Then　he　tried　to　focus　his　attention　on　the　matter　of　Caerroil　Wildwood's　price。　He　wanted　to　argue　that　Troy　should　not　be　held　to　the　bargain；　the　Warmark　had　not　understood　what　was　being　asked　of　him。　But　while　Mhoram　was　still　searching　for　words；　Terrel　distracted　him。　Silently；　the　Bloodguard　pointed　away　upriver。
　The　night　was　almost　plete；　only　open　starlight
　and　the　glow　of　Caerroil　Wildwood's　eyes　illumined　Gallows　Howe。　But　when　the　Lord　followed　Terrel's　indication；　he　saw　two　different　lights。　Far　in　the　distance；　Rivenrock's　fiery　holocaust　was　visible。　The　violence　there　seemed　to　be　approaching　its　climacteric。　The　fires　spouted　furiously；　and　dark　thunder　rolled　over　the　Deep　as　if　great　cliffs　were　cracking。　The　other　light　was　much　closer。　A　small；　grave；　white　gleam　shone　through　the　trees　between　Mhoram　and　the　river。　As　he　looked　at　it；　it　moved　out　of　sight　beyond　the　Howe。
　Someone　was　traveling　through　Garroting　Deep　along　the　Black　River。
　An　intuition　clutched　Lord　Mhoram；　and　at　once　he　found　he　was　afraid。　Glimpses　and　visions　which　he　had　forgotten　during　the　past　days；　returned　to　him。　Quickly；　he　turned　to　the　Forestal。　〃Who　es？　Have　you　made　other　bargains？〃
　〃If　I　have；〃　sang　the　Forestal；　〃they　are　no　concern　of　yours。　But　these　two　pass　on　sufferance。　They　have　not　spoken　to　me。　I　allow　the