mck.harpistinthewind-第22部分

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　　　　　　　Long　before　that；　he　stood　in　wonder　in　the　vast　throne　room　at　Erlenstar　Mountain；　where　legend　so　old　it　had　no　beginning　had　placed　the　High　One。　It　was　empty。　The　raw　jewels　embedded　in　the　stone　walls　were　dim　and　weathered。　Generations　of　bats　clung　to　the　ceiling。　Spiders　had　woven　webs　frail　as　illusion　around　the　throne。　He　had　e　to　ask　a　question　about　a　dreamer　deep　in　Isig　Mountain。　But　mere　was　no　one　to　ask。　He　brushed　cobweb　from　the　throne　and　sat　down　to　puzzle　over　the　emptiness。　And　as　the　grey　light　faded　between　the　rotting　doors；　he　began　to　spin　illusions。。。。
　　　　　　　He　stood　in　another　silent；　beautiful　place　in　another　mountain；　his　mind　taking　the　shape　of　a　strange　white　stone。　It　was　dreaming　a　child's　dream；　and　he　could　barely　breathe　as　he　watched　the　fragile　images　flow　through　him。　A　great　city　stood　on　a　windy　plain；　a　city　that　sang　with　winds　in　the　child's　memory。　The　child　saw　it　from　a　distance。　Its　mind　was　touching　leaves；　light　on　tree　bark；　grass　blades；　it　gazed　back　at　itself　from　the　stolid　mind　of　a　toad；　its　blurred　face　was　refracted　in　a　fish's　eyes；　its　windblown　hair　teased　the　mind　of　a　bird　building　a　nest。　A　question　beat　beneath　the　dreaming；　scoring　his　heart　with　fire；　as　the　child　reached　out　to　absorb　the　essence　of　a　single　leaf。　He　asked　it　finally；　the　child　seemed　to　turn　at　his　voice；　its　eye　dark　and　pure　and　vulnerable　as　a　falcon's　eye。
　　　　　　　〃What　destroyed　you？〃
　　　　　　　The　sky　went　grey　as　stone　above　the　plain；　the　light　faded　from　the　child's　face。　It　stood　tensely；　listening。　The　winds　snarled　across　the　plain；　roiling　the　long　grass。　A　sound　built；　too　vast　for　hearing；　unendurable。　A　stone　ripped　loose　from　one　of　the　shining　walls　in　the　city；　sank　deep　into　the　ground。　Another　cracked　against　a　street。　The　sound　broke；　then；　a　deep；　shuddering　bass　roar　that　held　at　the　heart　of　it　something　he　recognized；　though　he　could　no　longer　see　nor　hear；　and　the　fish　floated　like　a　white　scar　on　the　water；　and　the　bird　had　been　swept　out　of　the　tree。。。。
　　　　　　　〃What　is　it？〃　he　whispered；　reaching　through　Ghisteslwchlohm's　mind；　through　the　child's　mind；　for　the　end　of　the　dream。　But　as　he　reached；　it　faded　into　the　wild　water；　into　the　dark　wind；　and　the　child's　eye　turned　white　as　stone。　Its　face　became　Ghisteslwchlohm's；　his　eyes　sunken　with　weariness；　washed　with　a　light　pale　as　foam。
　　　　　　　Morgon；　struggling；　bewildered；　to　pick　up　the　thread　of　his　probing；　saw　something　flash　out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye。　His　head　snapped　around。　Stars　struck　his　face；　reeling；　he　lost　consciousness　a　moment。　He　wrestled　back　into　shimmering　light　and　found　himself　on　the　rubble；　swallowing　blood　from　a　cut　in　his　mouth。　He　raised　his　head。　The　blade　of　his　own　sword　touched　his　heart。
　　　　　　　The　shape…changer　who　stood　over　him　had　eyes　as　white　as　the　child's。　He　smiled　a　greeting　and　a　fine…honed　edge　of　fear　rippled　the　surface　of　Morgon's　thoughts。　Ghisteslwchlohm　was　staring　beyond　him。　He　turned　his　head　and　saw　a　woman　standing　among　the　broken　stones。　Her　face；　quiet；　beautiful；　was　illumined　briefly　by　a　red…gold　sky。　Morgon　heard　the　battle　that　raged　behind　her：　of　swords　and　spears；　wizardry　and　weapons　made　of　human　bone　scoured　clean　in　the　depths　of　the　sea。
　　　　　　　The　woman's　head　bowed。　〃Star…Bearer。〃　There　was　no　mockery　in　her　voice。　〃You　are　beginning　to　see　far　too　much。〃
　　　　　　　〃I'm　still　ignorant。〃　He　swallowed　again。　〃What　do　you　want　from　me？　I　still　need　to　ask　that。　My　life　or　my　death？〃
　　　　　　　〃Both。　Neither。〃　She　looked　across　the　room　at　Ghisteslwchlohm。　〃Master　Ohm。　What　shall　we　do　with　you？　You　woke　the　Star…Bearer　to　power。　The　wise　man　does　not　forge　the　blade　that　will　kill　him。〃
　　　　　　　〃Who　are　you？〃　the　Founder　whispered。　〃I　killed　the　embers　of　a　dream　of　three　stars　a　thousand　years　ago。　Where　were　you　then？〃
　　　　　　　〃Waiting。〃
　　　　　　　〃What　are　you？　You　have　no　true　shape；　you　have　no　name。。。〃
　　　　　　　〃We　are　named。〃　Her　voice　was　still　clear；　quiet；　but　Morgon　heard　a　tone　in　it　that　was　not　human：　as　if　stone　or　fire　had　spoken　in　a　soft；　rational；　ageless　voice。　The　fear　stirred　through　him　again；　a　dead…winter　wind；　spun　of　silk　and　ice。　He　shaped　his　fear　into　a　riddle；　his　own　voice　sounding　numb。
　　　　　　　〃When。。。　when　the　High　One　fled　from　Erlenstar　Mountain；　who　was　it　he　ran　from？〃
　　　　　　　A　flare　of　power　turned　half　her　face　liquid　gold。　She　did　not　answer　him。　Ghisteslwchlohm's　lips　parted；　the　long　draw　of　his　breath　sounded　clear　in　the　turmoil；　like　the　tide's　withdrawal。
　　　　　　　〃No。〃　He　took　a　step　back。　〃No。〃
　　　　　　　Morgon　did　not　realize　he　had　moved　until　he　felt　the　sudden　pain　over　his　heart。　His　hand　reached　out　toward　the　wizard。　〃What　is　it？〃　he　pleaded。　〃I　can't　see！〃　The　cold　metal　forced　him　back。　His　need　spat　in　fire　out　of　the　stars　in　the　sword　hilt；　jolting　the　shape…changer's　hold。　The　sword　clanged　to　the　floor；　lay　smoldering。　He　tried　to　rise。　The　shape…changer　twisted　the　throat　of　his　tunic；　his　burned　hand　poised　to　strike。　Morgon；　staring　into　his　expressionless　eyes；　sent　a　blaze　of　power　like　a　cry　into　his　mind。　The　cry　was　lost　in　a　cold；　heaving　sea。　The　shape…changer's　hand　dropped。　He　pulled　Morgon　to　his　feet；　left　him　standing　free　and　bewildered　by　both　the　power　and　the　restraint。　He　flung　a　last；　desperate　tendril　of　thought　into　the　wizard's　mind　and　heard　only　the　echo　of　the　sea。
　　　　　　　The　battle　burst　through　the　ruined　walls。　Shape…changers　pushed　traders；　exhausted　warriors；　the　Morgol's　guards　into　the　hall。　Their　blades　of　bone　and　iron　from　lost　ships　thrashed　mercilessly　through　the　chaos。　Morgon　saw　two　of　the　guards　slain　before　he　could　even　move。　He　reached　for　his　sword；　the　breath　pushing　hard　through　his　chest。　The　shape…changer's　knee　slammed　into　his　heart　as　he　bent。　He　sagged　to　his　hands　and　knees；　whimpering　for　one　scrap　of　air。　The　room　grew　very　quiet　around　him；　he　saw　only　the　rubble　under　his　fingers。　The　silence　eddied　dizzily　about　him；　whirling　to　a　center。　As　from　a　dream　he　heard　at　its　core　the　clear；　fragile　sound　of　a　single　harp　note。
　　　　　　　The　battle　noises　rolled　over　him　again。　He　heard　his　voice；　dragging　harshly　at　the　air。　He　lifted　his　head；　looking　for　the　sword；　and　saw　Lyra　dodging　between　traders　in　the　doorway。　Something　stung　back　of　his　throat。　He　wanted　to　call　out；　stop　the　battle　until　she　left；　but　he　had　no　strength。　She　worked　her　way　closer　to　him。　Her　face　was　worn；　drawn；　there　were　half…circles　like　bruises　under　her　eyes。　There　was　dried　blood　on　her　tunic；　in　her　hair。　Scanning　the　battlefield；　she　saw　him　suddenly。　The　spear　spun　in　her　hand；　she　flung　it　toward　him。　He　watched　it　e　without　moving；　without　breathing。　It　whistled　past　him；　struck　the　shape…changer　and　dragged　him　away　from　Morgon's　side。　He　grasped　the　sword　and　got　to　his　feet　unsteadily。　Lyra　bent；　swept　up　the　spear　beneath　one　of　the　fallen　guards。　She　balanced　it；　turning　in　a　single　swift；　clean　movement；　and　threw　it。
　　　　　　　It　soared　above　the　struggle；　arched　downward；　ripping　the　air　with　a　silver　wake　in　a　path　to　the　Founder's　heart。　His　eyes；　the　color　of　mist　over　the　sea；　could　not　even　blink　as　he　watched　it　e。　Morgon's　thoughts　flew　faster　than　its　shadow。　He　saw　Lyra's　expression　change　into　a　stunned；　weary　horror　as　she　realized　the　wizard　was　bound；　helpless　against　her；　there　was　no　skill；　no　honor；　not　even　choice　in　her　death…giving。　Morgon　wanted　to　shout；　snapping　the　spear　with　his　voice　to　rescue　a　dream　of　truth　hidden　behind　a　child's　eye；　a　wizard's　eye。　His　hands　moved　instead；　pulling　the　harp　at　his　back　out　of　the　air。　He　played　it　as　he　shaped　it：　the　last　low　string　whose　reverberations　set　his　own　sword　belling　in　anguish　and　shattered　every　other　weapon　inside　and　out　of　the　hall
　　　　　　　Silence　settled　like　old　dust　over　the　room。　Ymris　warriors　were　staring　in　disbelief　at　the　odd　bits　of　metal　in　their　hands。　Lyra　was　still　watching　the　air　where　the　spear　had　splintered　apart；　two　feet　from　Ghisteslwchlohm。　She　turned　slowly；　making　the　only　movement　in　the　hall。　Morgon　met　her　eyes；　she　seemed　suddenly　so　tired　she　could　barely　stand。　The　handful　of　guard　left　alive　were　looking　at　Morgon；　their　faces　haunted；　desperate。　The　shape…changers　were　very　still。　Their　shapes　seemed　uncertain；　suddenly；　as　if　at　his　next　movement　they　would　flow　into　a　tide　of　nothingness。　Even　the　woman　he　knew　as　Eriel　was　still；　watching　him；　waiting。
　　　　　　　He　caught　a　glimpse　then　of　the　fearsome　power　they　saw　in　him；　lying　in　some　misty　region　beyond　his　awareness。　The　depths　of　his　ignorance　appalled　him。　He　turned　the　harp　aimlessly　in　his　hands；　holding　the　shape…changers　trapped　and　having　absolutely　no　idea　what　to　do　with　them。　At　the　slight　uncertain　movement；　the　expression　in　Eriel's　eyes　turned　to　simple　amazement。
　　　　　　　She　moved　forward　quickly；　to　take　the　harp；　to　kill　him　with　his　own　sword；　to　turn　his　mind；　like　Ghisteshvchlohm's；　vague　as　the　sea；　he　could　only　guess。　He　picked　up　the　sword　and　stepped　back。　A　hand　touched　his　shoulder；　stopped　him。
　　　　　　　Raederle　stood　beside　him。　Her　face　was　pure　white　within　her　fiery　hair；　as　if　it　had　been　shaped；　like　the　Earth…Masters'　children；　out　of　stone。　She　held　him　lightly；　but　she　was　not　seeing　him。　She　said　softly　to　Eriel；　〃You　will　not　touch　him。〃
　　　　　　　The　dark　eyes　held　hers　curiously。　〃Ylon's　child。　Have　you　made　your　choice？〃　She　moved　again；　and　Morgon　felt　the　vast；　leashed　power　in　Raederie's　mind　strain　free。　For　one　moment；　he　saw　the　shape　that　Eriel　had　taken　begin　to　fray　away　from　her；　reveal　something　incredibly　ancient；　wild；　like　the　dark　heart　of　earth　or　fire。　He　stood　gripped　in　wonder；　his　face　ashen；　knowing　he　could　not　move　even　if　the　thing　Raederle　was　forcing　into　shape　was　his　own　death。
　　　　　　　Then　a　shout　slapped　across　his　mind；　jarred　him　out　of　his　fascination。　He　stared　dizzily　across　the　room。　The　ancient　wizard　he　had　seen　at　the　gates　of　the　city　caught　his　eyes；　held　them　with　his　own　strange　light…seared　gaze。
　　　　　　　The　silent　shout　snapped　through　him　again：　Run！　He　did　not　move。　He　would　not　leave　Raederle；　but　he　could　not　help　her；　he　felt　incapable　even　of　thought。　Then　a　power　gripped　his