ggk.asongforarbonne-第86部分

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。　It　was　very　late；　this　was　unusual。　He　went　over　to　join　them；　and　as　they　made　room　for　him　in　their　midst　it　was　Maritte；　very　near　now　to　delivering　the　child　he　and　she　had　conceived　last　spring；　who　told　Roche　that　word　had　just　arrived　that　the　army　of　Gorhaut　had　been　seen　two　days　ago　in　the　High　Road　Pass　through　the　mountains　ing　south　into　Arbonne　with　the　engines　of　war。
　　
　　It　had　always　been　likely；　more　than　that；　even。
　　From　the　moment　the　Treaty　of　Iersen　Bridge　had　been　signed；　Beatritz　had　been　certain　Gorhaut　would　be　ing　to　them。　Until　the　sun　falls　and　the　moons　die；　Gorhaut　and　Arbonne　shall　not　lie　easily　beside　each　other。　That　was　the　ancient　saying…in　both　countries。　The　sun　had　not　fallen　and　both　moons　were　in　the　winter　sky　tonight　she　knew；　aware　of　them　as　presences　though　she　could　not　see　their　light。
　　Deep　in　her　cushioned　chair　she　was　also　aware　of　the　fire　on　the　hearth；　as　a　warmth　certainly；　and　a　wele　one；　but　also　as　something　else；　not　sound　or　heat；　certainly　not　light…a　source　of　danger　and　knowledge；　both。　It　was　such　a　plex　world　she　had　walked　into　on　the　night　she　had　given　up　her　eyes　for　this　other　sight　of　Rian。　She　saw　so　differently　now；　better　in　the　darkness；　best　on　the　island；　not　at　all　without　Brissel　on　her　shoulder。　She　reached　up　and　stroked　the　owl；　she　could　feel　his　disquiet；　or　rather；　she　could　feel　him　reacting　to　her　own。　She　tried　to　send　calming　thoughts；　to　go　with　the　gentling　hand；　but　it　was　hard。　It　was　hard　tonight。
　　Aubry　had　been　a　blow　to　her　heart；　heavy　as　a　descending　hammer；　and　it　had　only　been　an　opening　move；　no　more　than　a　small　number　of　Gorhaut　corans　writing　a　first　message　in　fire　last　autumn。　There　was　an　army　now；　and　it　seemed　Galbert　de　Garsenc's　long　dream　of　burnings　in　Arbonne　was　about　to　be　fulfilled。
　　And　there　was　next　to　nothing　she　could　do　about　it。　She　had　already　done　what　she　could；　keeping　her　lines　of　knowledge　flung　far；　leaving　the　island　more　than　she　ought　to　have　done；　neglecting　the　localized　but　vital　needs　of　her　priests　and　priestesses　to　meet　with　her　mother　and　Roban　and　the　most　important　of　the　nobility…Bertran；　Thierry　and　Ariane；　Urté。　It　had　been　Beatritz；　feeling　the　rare　pulse　of　the　goddess　within　her；　who　had　counselled　that　a　careful　approach　be　made　to　Blaise　de　Garsenc；　who　was　known　to　have　left　Gorhaut　in　anger。　She　remembered　the　first　reactions　to　that：　he　was　the　son　of　the　High　Elder；　their　purest　enemy。　An　ignorant；　unpleasant　mercenary　soldier；　Roban　the　chancellor　had　named　him　derisively。
　　He　is　more　than　that；　Beatritz　had　told　them；　trusting　her　intuition　and　the　silence　of　her　owl。　Bertran　was　the　one　who　had　agreed　with　her；　though　almost　in　spirit　of　amusement；　and　also　because…as　they　only　afterwards　understood…her　proposal　coincided　neatly　with　a　seduction　he　was　then　pursuing。　It　was　that　way　with　Bertran；　sometimes。　You　took　him　for　what　he　was；　which　was　not　inconsiderable；　and　tried　to　keep　private　the　inward　lament　for　how　much　more　he　might　have　been。
　　She　had　known　she　was　right　about　Blaise　de　Garsenc　when　Rian；　in　holy　intercession；　had　acted　to　bring　the　man　to　the　island　even　before　Bertran　went　to　Castle　Baude。　Beatritz　had　done　what　she　could　here；　too；　trying　to　frighten　him　out　of　the　grim　placency　that　was　obvious　and　reach　past　his　barriers　to　touch　the　shielded　thing　she　sensed　within。　Brissel　had　let　her　know　that　he；　too；　felt　something　there；　and　long　ago　she　had　learned　to　listen　when　the　owl　told　her　such　things。
　　She　remembered　Brissel　flying　from　her　shoulder　on　Midsummer　Night　in　Tavernel　when　Blaise　had　first　spoken　of　the　crown　of　Gorhaut。　She　had　not　expected　that；　either　the　man's　words　or　the　white　owl's　sudden　flight　to　him。　She　was　truly　blind　when　Brissel　was　not　with　her；　but　her　mother　had　reached　up　to　take　her　hand　and　had　told　her　quietly　where　the　bird　had　gone；　and　Beatritz　had　felt　the　presence　of　Rian　in　that　moment。
　　If　only　it　were　a　presence　she　could　invoke　more　often。　If　only　she　had　a　tenth　of　the　magic　and　the　mental　powers　the　superstitious　attributed　to　her。　But　magic　in　Arbonne　was　a　tenuous；　very　nearly　non…existent　thing…whatever　it　might　be　in　those　uncharted　countries　storm…blown　mariners　had　told　her　lay　beyond　the　deserts　to　the　south。　Magic　here　was　wholly　confined　to　small　things；　the　coinage　of　hearth　and　heart。　Control　of　conception；　foreknowledge　of　a　child's　sex…and　that　last　not　always　with　certainty。　Knowledge　of　sorrows；　some　access　to　easing　them。　A　skill　with　the　gifts　of　the　earth：　herbs；　flowers；　fruits；　trees。　A　certain　awareness　Beatritz　herself　had…though　only　here　on　the　island　or　the　isle　in　Lake　Dierne；　and　only　since　her　blinding…of　inward　life；　in　matters　of　love　and　hate。　Some　powers　of　healing；　though　these　as　much　a　matter　of　herbal　and　other　lore　handed　down　as　anything　else。
　　That　was　the　sum　of　their　magic；　that　was　their　dangerous　power。　It　had　been　useful　to　have　others　think　there　was　more；　a　fear　of　the　clergy　of　Rian　and　their　night　gatherings　could　be　a　kind　of　defence。
　　Until　that　fear　became　so　deep　and　cold　a　terror　that　it　became　the　very　reason　for　their　peril。　Galbert　de　Garsenc　seemed　to　have　crossed　over　that　line　one　day　or　night　in　his　own　past。　His　fear　of　the　women　of　Arbonne；　his　hatred　of　Rian　and　all　the　goddess　meant；　was　the　reason　there　was　an　army　in　the　mountains　in　the　midst　of　winter；　whipped　into　a　killing　frenzy　by　the　High　Elder　of　Corannos。　They　would　be　out　of　the　mountains　by　now；　Beatritz　corrected　herself；　her　heart　aching；　a　slow；　cold　dread　moving　through　her　like　a　poison　in　the　blood。
　　She　didn't　know　what　to　do。　That　was　the　worst　of　it。　She　could　pray；　gather　everyone　on　the　island　under　the　temple　dome　to　offer　hymns　and　incantations　all　day　and　night；　seeking　some　access　to　the　goddess；　invoking　her　intercession。　Rian　could　not　be　pelled；　though。　That　was　the　oldest；　deepest　law；　she　was　capricious　and　inviolate；　and　death　was　a　part　of　her　dominion…it　was；　in　fact；　one　of　her　incarnations。　She　was　mother；　she　was　bride；　but　she　was　also　gatherer　of　the　dead。
　　It　might　even　be　that　Rian　herself　had　ordained　this　scourge　as　a　punishment；　a　cleansing　of　the　evils　of　their　time。　Beatritz　didn't　know　what　their　great　acts　of　evil　might　be；　but　she　was　only　a　servant　of　the　goddess；　not　privy　to　divine　awareness。　She　would　have　thought…she　would　have　said…that　there　was　no　darkness　or　evil　in　Arbonne　deserving　of　what　had　happened　to　the　corans　in　that　watch…tower　below　the　High　Pass　last　autumn；　or　to　the　priestesses　of　the　temple　of　Aubry　that　same　night。
　　She　would　have　said　as　much　to　holy　Rian　herself。　As　if　it　would　matter。　The　owl　ruffled　his　feathers；　bringing　her　mind　back。　She'd　been　considering　options；　responses。　She　remembered　how　her　father　used　to　do　that；　crisply　running　through　possibilities　aloud　before　decisively　choosing　his　path。　It　was　still　difficult　for　her　sometimes　to　accept　that　he　was　dead；　that　the　burdens　were　her　mother's　now　and　her　own；　with　such　aid　as　could　be　invoked　from　the　bitterly　divided　nobility　of　Arbonne。
　　There　was　no　heir。　That　had　always　been　a　problem；　and　Guibor　IV　of　Barbentain　had　been　unable　to　name　one　in　his　last　years　for　fear　of　tearing　the　country　apart。　He　had　even　tried　to　make　Beatritz　leave　the　sanctuary　of　the　goddess　in　the　year　after　Aelis　died　with　her　child　in　Miraval。　Guibor　had　anticipated　this　trouble　in　the　time　that　followed　the　death　of　his　youngest　child。　He　had　always　anticipated　a　great　deal；　it　was　a　fault　of　his；　to　try　to　make　too　many　things　fall　right　at　the　same　time。　It　had　been　that　way　with　Aelis's　marriage　to　Urté　de　Miraval　in　the　first　place：　a　powerful　duke；　one　of　the　mightiest　in　the　country；　a　choice　that　could　not　be　impeached；　and　a　man　anxious　to　father　children；　a　son　or　even　a　daughter　to　rule　Arbonne　when　Guibor　died。
　　But　Aelis　had　died　first；　and　so　too；　almost　certainly；　had　her　son。　No　one　could　be　absolutely　sure；　though　everyone　knew　what　she　had　told　her　husband　on　her　deathbed　about　the　fathering　of　the　child：　in　doing　so　she　had　given　dreadful；　calamitous　life　to　the　feud　that　had　shaped　Arbonne　ever　since。　Urté　could　not　even　be　approached　or　spoken　to　on　this　issue。　Beatritz　had　tried　once；　at　the　end　of　the　year　after　Aelis　died…and　had　received　the　most　stinging　rebuke　of　her　life。　They　would　have　had　to　put　the　duke　of　Miraval　to　torture　to　even　try　to　make　him　speak。　And　he　wouldn't　have；　they　all　knew　that：　he　wouldn't　have　said　what　had　happened　to　the　child　even　then。
　　Not　even　Guibor　the　count　had　been　able　to　quell　or　control　what　Aelis　had　begun　between　Talair　and　Miraval　on　that　night　so　long　ago。　So；　searching　for　alternatives；　he　had　tried　to　make　Beatritz　leave　the　clergy；　e　back　to　Barbentain；　prepare　herself　to　marry；　to　have　a　child　of　her　own。
　　It　was　then　that　she'd　had　herself　blinded；　in　that　small　temple　in　the　Gotzland　mountains；　taking　the　step　no　priestess　had　taken　for　years　upon　years；　aligning　herself　irrevocably　with　Rian。　She　had　bee　High　Priestess　two　years　later　and　had　e　to　the　island。
　　Her　father　had　never　truly　forgiven　her。　That　had　always　hurt；　for　she　had　loved　him。　Not　as　her　mother　did；　with　an　undying　passion　of　the　soul；　and　not　even　as　her　sister　Aelis　had；　with　something　plex　and　yearning　at　its　core。　Beatritz　had　known　her　father's　weaknesses　and　his　flaws　too　well；　had　seen　him　too　clearly　for　either　of　those　kinds　of　love：　she　understood　his　pride；　how　he　wished　to　control　and　shape　far　too　much　in　too　many　different　ways；　his　own　guiding　hands　on　the　reins　of　everyone　and　everything。　Of　course　she　understood　such　a　thing：　it　was　her　own　besetting　vice。　She　was　Guibor's　child。　Her　call　to　Rian　had　been　real；　though；　the　truest　thing　in　her　life；　and　she　had　known　it　young。
　　Her　mother　had　understood；　surprisingly。　Signe；　beautiful　and　glittering　like　an　ornamental　jewel　under　torchlight　in　Barbentain；　seemed　nonetheless　to　have　understood　a　great　deal；　always。　Beatritz　ached　for　her　tonight；　picturing　her　in　the　wintry　castle　with　these　brutal　tidings　newly　e　and　the　terrible；　crushing　knowledge　that　she　might　be　the　ruler　of　Arbonn