tg.stone of tears-第88部分

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　The　brutal　hands　on　her　arms　brought　her　to　a　halt　next　to　a　hissing　torch　set　in　a　rust…encrusted　bracket。　The　fingers　twisted　so　painfully　that　a　small　cry　escaped　her　lips　despite　her　will　to　stifle　it。
　
　‘Are　my　men　hurting　you；　my　lady？’　came　a　mocking　voice　from　behind。
　
　She　coolly　denied　Prince　Fyren　the　satisfaction　of　an　answer。
　
　A　guard　worked　keys　at　a　rusty　lock；　sending　a　sharp；　metallic　sound　echoing　down　the　stone　corridor　when　the　bolt　finally　drew。　The　heavy　door　groaned　on　its　hinges　as　it　was　pulled　open。　The　viselike　hands　forced　her　on；　through　the　doorway　and　down　another　long；　low　passageway。
　
　She　could　hear　the　swish　of　her　satin　skirts；　and　to　the　sides　and　behind；　the　men’s　boots　on　the　stone　floor；　splashing　occasionally　through　stagnant；　foul…smelling　water。　The　dank　air　felt　cold　on　her　shoulders；　which　were　unaccustomed　to　being　uncovered。
　
　Her　heart　threatened　to　race　out　of　control　when　she　thought　about　where　she　was　being　taken。　She　prayed　to　the　dear　spirits　that　there　wouldn’t　be　rats。　She　feared　rats；　their　sharp　teeth；　their　clutching　claws；　and　their　cunning；　black　eyes。　When　she　was　very　little　she　had　nightmares　about　rats；　and　would　wake　screaming。
　
　It　an　effort　to　bring　her　heart　back　under　control；　she　tried　to　think　of　other　things。　She　thought　about　the　strange　woman　who　had　sought　a　private　audience　with　her。　Cyrilla　wasn’t　at　all　sure　why　she　had　granted　it；　but　she　now　wished　she　had　paid　more　heed　to　the　insistent　woman。
　
　What　was　her　name？　Lady　something。　A　glimpse　of　her　hair　beneath　the　concealing　veil　had　shown　it　to　be　too　short　for　someone　of　her　standing。　Lady　。。。　Bevinvier。　Yes；　that　was　it：　Lady　Bevinvier。　Lady　Bevinvier　of　。。。　someplace。　She　couldn’t　will　her　mind　to　remember。　It　didn’t　matter　anyway；　it　was　not　where　the　woman　was　from；　but　what　she　had　said；　that　mattered。
　
　Leave　Aydindril；　Lady　Bevinvier　had　warned。　Leave　at　once。
　
　But　Cyrilla　had　not　e　all　this　way；　in　the　teeth　of　winter；　to　leave　before　the　Council　of　the　Midlands　had　heard　her　grievance；　and　acted　upon　it。　She　had　e　to　demand　that　the　council　do　its　duty　to　bring　an　immediate　halt　to　the　transgressions　against　her　land　and　people。
　
　Towns　had　been　sacked；　farms　burned；　and　people　murdered。　The　armies　of　Kelton　were　massing　to　attack。　An　invasion　was　imminent；　if　not　already　under　way。　And　for　what？　Nothing　but　naked　conquest。　Against　an　ally！　It　was　an　outrage！
　
　It　was　the　council’s　duty　to　e　to　the　defense　of　any　land　being　attacked；　no　matter　by　whom。　The　whole　point　of　the　Council　of　the　Midlands　was　to　prevent　just　such　treason。　It　was　their　duty　to　direct　all　the　lands　to　e　to　the　aid　of　Galea；　and　put　down　the　aggression。
　
　Though　Galea　was　a　powerful　land；　it　had　been　gravely　weakened　by　its　defense　of　the　Midlands　against　D’Hara；　and　was　not　prepared　for　another　costly　war。　Kelton　had　been　spared　the　brunt　of　the　D’Haran　conquest；　and　had　reserves　aplenty。　Galea　had　paid　the　price　of　resistance　in　their　stead。
　
　The　night　before；　Lady　Bevinvier　had　e　to　her；　and　had　begged　that　she　leave　at　once。　She　had　said　Cyrilla　would　find　no　help　for　Galea　from　the　council。　The　Lady　Bevinvier　said　that　if　the　queen　stayed；　she　would　be　in　great　personal　danger。　At　first；　when　pressed；　Lady　Bevinvier　refused　to　explain　herself。
　
　Cyrilla　thanked　her　but　said　she　would　not　turn　away　from　her　duty　to　her　people；　and　would　go　before　the　council；　as　planned。　Lady　Bevinvier　broke　down　in　tears；　begging　that　the　queen　heed　her　words。
　
　She　at　last　confided　that　she　had　had　a　vision。
　
　Cyrilla　tried　to　draw　the　nature　of　the　vision　out　of　the　woman；　but　she　said　that　it　was　inplete；　that　she　didn’t　know　any　details；　only　that　if　the　queen　didn’t　leave　at　once；　something　terrible　would　happen。　Though　Cyrilla　trusted　well　the　powers　of　magic；　she　had　little　faith　in　fortunetellers。　Most　were　charlatans；　seeking　only　to　fatten　their　purse　with　a　clever　turn　of　a　phrase；　or　a　vague　hint　of　danger　to　be　avoided。
　
　Queen　Cyrilla　was　touched　by　the　woman’s　seeming　sincerity；　though　she　reasoned　it　might　be　nothing　but　deception；　meant　to　trick　her　out　of　a　coin。　A　ruse　for　money　seemed　strange　ing　from　a　woman　of　such　seeming　wealth；　but　times　had　been　hard；　and　she　knew　the　wealthy　were　not　immune　to　losses。　After　all；　if　gold　and　goods　were　to　be　seized；　it　only　made　sense　to　seek　them　from　those　who　had　them。　Cyrilla　knew　many　who　had　worked　hard　all　their　lives；　only　to　lose　everything　in　the　war　with　D’Hara。　Perhaps　Lady　Bevinvier’s　short　hair　was　the　result　of　that　loss。
　
　She　thanked　the　woman；　but　told　her　that　the　mission　was　too　important　to　be　turned　aside。　She　pressed　a　gold　piece　into　the　woman’s　hand；　only　to　have　Lady　Bevinvier　throw　the　coin　across　the　room　before　rushing　off　in　tears。
　
　Cyrilla　had　been　shaken　by　that。　A　charlatan　did　not　refuse　gold。　Unless　of　course　she　sought　something　more。
　
　Either　the　woman　had　been　telling　the　truth；　or　she　was　working　in　aid　of　Kelton；　trying　to　prevent　the　council　from　hearing　of　the　aggression。
　
　Either　way；　it　didn’t　matter；　Cyrilla　was　resolute。　Besides；　she　was　influential　in　the　council。　Galea　was　respected　for　its　defense　of　the　Midlands。　When　Aydindril　had　fallen；　councilors　who　had　refused　to　swear　the　allegiance　of　their　land　to　D’Hara　had　been　put　to　death　and　replaced　by　puppets。　Those　councilors　who　had　collaborated　were　allowed　to　retain　their　position。　Galea’s　loyal　ambassador　to　the　council　had　been　executed。
　
　How　the　war　had　ended　was　a　puzzle；　D’Haran　forces　were　told　that　Darken　Rahl　was　dead　and　all　hostilities　were　ended。　A　new　Lord　Rahl　had　succeeded；　and　the　troops　were　simply　called　home；　or　ordered　to　help　those　they　had　conquered。　Cyrilla　suspected　Darken　Rahl　had　been　assassinated。
　
　Whatever　had　happened　was　good　by　her；　the　council　was　now　back　in　the　hands　of　the　people　of　the　Midlands。　The　ones　who　collaborated；　and　the　puppets；　had　been　arrested。　Things　were　said　to　be　set　back　to　the　way　they　had　been　before　the　dictator。　She　expected　the　council　would　e　to　the　aid　of　Galea。
　
　Queen　Cyrilla；　too；　had　an　ally　on　the　council；　the　most　powerful　ally　there　was：　the　Mother　Confessor。　Though　Kahlan　was　her　half…sister；　that　wasn’t　what　forged　their　alliance。　Cyrilla　had　always　supported　the　sovereignty　of　the　various　lands；　while　also　recognizing　the　fundamental　need　for　peace　among　them。　The　Mother　Confessor　respected　that　steadfastness；　and　it　was　that　respect　which　made　her　Galea’s　ally。
　
　Kahlan　had　never　shown　Cyrilla　any　favoritism；　and　that　was　as　it　should　have　been；　favoritism　would　have　weakened　the　Mother　Confessor；　threatening　the　alliance　of　the　council；　and　therefore　peace。　She　respected　Kahlan　for　putting　the　unity　of　the　Midlands　above　any　power　games。　Such　games　were　a　shifting　bog　anyway；　one　was　always　better　off　in　the　end　when　dealt　with　fairly；　rather　than　by　favor。
　
　Cyrilla　had　always　been　secretly　proud　of　her　half　sister。　Kahlan　was　twelve　years　younger；　smart；　strong；　and；　despite　her　young　age；　an　astute　leader。　Though　they　were　related　by　blood；　they　almost　never　spoke　of　it。　Kahlan　was　a　Confessor；　and　of　the　magic。　She　was　not　a　sister　who　shared　the　blood　of　a　father；　but　a　Confessor；　and　the　Mother　Confessor　of　the　Midlands。　Confessors　were　blood　to　no　one　but　Confessors。
　
　Still；　having　no　family　of　her　own；　save　her　beloved　brother；　Harold；　she　had　often　longed　to　take　Kahlan　in　her　arms　as　kin；　as　a　little　sister；　and　speak　of　the　things　they　shared。　But　that　was　not　possible。　Cyrilla　was　the　queen　of　Galea；　and　Kahlan　was　the　Mother　Confessor；　two　women　who　were　virtual　strangers　who　shared　nothing　save　blood　and　mutual　respect。　Duty　came　before　the　heart。　Galea　was　Cyrilla’s　family；　the　Confessors；　Kahlan’s。
　
　Though　there　were　those　who　resented　Kahlan’s　mother　taking　Wyborn　as　a　mate；　Cyrilla　was　not　among　them。　Her　mother；　Queen　Bernadine；　had　taught　her　and　Harold　of　the　need　for　Confessors；　their　need　for　strong　blood　in　that　line　of　magic；　and　how　it　served　the　greater　cause　of　the　Midlands　in　keeping　peace。　Her　mother　had　never　spoken　bitterly　of　losing　her　husband　to　the　Confessors；　but　explained　instead　the　honor　Cyrilla　and　Harold　had　of　sharing　blood　with　the　Confessors；　even　if　it　was　mostly　unspoken。　Yes；　she　was　proud　of　Kahlan。
　
　Proud；　but　also　perhaps　a　bit　wary。　The　ways　of　Confessors　were　a　mystery　to　her。　From　birth　they　were　trained　in　Aydindril；　trained　by　other　Confessors；　and　by　wizards。　Their　magic；　their　power；　was　something　they　were　born　with；　and　in　a　way　they　were　slaves　to　it。　In　some　ways　it　was　the　same　with　her；　born　to　be　queen；　without　much　choice。　Though　she　had　no　magic；　she　understood　the　weight　of　birthright。
　
　From　birth　until　their　training　was　pleted；　Confessors　were　kept　cloistered；　like　priestesses；　in　a　world　apart。　Their　discipline　was　said　to　be　rigorous。　Though　Cyrilla　knew　they　must　have　emotions　like　anyone；　Confessors　were　trained　to　subjugate　them。　Duty　to　their　power　was　all。　It　left　them　no　choice　in　life；　save　choosing　a　mate；　and　even　that　was　not　for　love　but　for　duty。
　
　Cyrilla　had　always　wished　she　could　bring　a　little　of　the　love　of　a　sister　to　Kahlan。　Perhaps；　she　also　wished　Kahlan　could　have　brought　a　little　of　that　love　to　her；　too。　But　it　could　never　be。　Maybe　Kahlan　had　loved　her　from　afar；　as　Cyrilla　had　Kahlan。　Perhaps　Kahlan　had　been　proud　of　her；　too；　in　her　own　way。　She　had　always　hoped　it　was　so。
　
　The　thing　that　pained　her　the　most　was　that　though　they　both　served　the　Midlands；　she　was　loved　by　her　people　for　doing　her　duty；　but　Kahlan　was　feared　and　hated　for　it。　She　wished　Kahlan　could　know　a　people’s　love；　it　was　a　fort　that　in　part　made　up　for　the　sacrifice。　But　a　Confessor　never　could。　Perhaps；　she　thought；　that　was　why　they　were　taught　to　subjugate　their　emotions　and　needs。
　
　Kahlan；　too；　had　tried　to　warn　her　of　the　danger　from　Kelton。
　
　It　had　been　at　the　midsummer　festival；　several　years　ago；　the　first　summer　after　the　death　of　Cyrilla’s　mother。　The　first　summer　Cyrilla　had　been　queen。　The　first　summer；　too；　sinc