tg.stone of tears-第141部分

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　He　turned　his　back　to　her。
　
　‘But　we　have　only　one　soap。’
　
　‘Well；　you　can　throw　it　to　me　when　you’re　through。’
　
　She　came　around　to　the　front　of　him。　He　tried　to　turn　again　but　she　followed　him　around；　grabbing　at　his　buttons。
　
　‘I　cannot　scrub　my　own　back。　And　it　is　not　fair。　You　have　seen　me；　so　I　should　see　you。　That　is　why　you　are　turning　red；　because　you　have　not　been　fair。　This　will　make　you　feel　better。’
　
　He　slapped　her　hands　away。　‘Stop　it。　Du　Chaillu；　where　I　e　from　this　is　not　proper。　Men　and　women　do　not　bathe　together。　It’s　just　not　done。’　He　turned　his　back　to　her　again。
　
　‘Not　even　my　third　husband　is　as　shy　as　you。’
　
　‘Third！　You　have　had　three　husbands？’
　
　‘No。　I　have　five。’
　
　Richard　stiffened。　‘Have？’　He　turned　to　her。　‘What　do　you　mean　‘have’？’
　
　She　looked　at　him　as　if　he　had　asked　if　trees　grew　in　the　forest。　‘I　have　five　husbands。　Five　husbands　and　my　children。’
　
　‘And　how　many　of　those　do　you　have？’
　
　‘Three。　Two　girls；　and　a　boy。’　A　wistful　smile　came　to　her。　‘It　is　a　long　time　since　I　have　held　them。’　Her　smile　turned　sad。　‘My　poor　babies　will　have　cried　every　night；　thinking　I　am　dead。　No　one　ever　returned　from　the　Majendie　before。’　She　grinned。　‘My　husbands　will　be　anxious　to　draw　lots　to　see　who　will　be　the　first　to　try　to　give　me　another　child。’　Her　smile　faded　and　her　voice　trailed　off。　‘But　I　guess　a　Majendie　dog　has　already　done　that。’
　
　Richard　handed　her　the　soap。　‘It　will　all　turn　out　fine。　You’ll　see。　Go　bathe。　I’ll　go　on　the　other　side　of　the　rushes。’
　
　He　relaxed　in　the　cool　water；　listening　to　her　splash；　waiting　for　her　to　finish　with　the　soap。　A　mist　thickened　over　the　pond；　stealing　slowly；　silently；　into　the　surrounding　trees。
　
　‘I’ve　never　heard　of　a　woman　having　more　than　one　husband。　Do　all　the　Baka　Ban　Mana　women　have　more　than　one　husband？’
　
　She　giggled。　‘No。　Only　me。’
　
　‘Why　you？’
　
　The　water　stopped　splashing。　‘Because　I　wear　the　prayer　dress；’　she　said；　as　if　it　should　be　self…evident。
　
　Richard　rolled　his　eyes。　‘Well；　what　does　。。。’
　
　She　came　swimming　through　the　rushes　toward　him。　‘Before　you　can　have　the　soap；　you　must　wash　my　back。’
　
　Richard　let　out　an　aggravated　sigh。　‘All　right；　if　I　wash　your　back；　will　you　then　go　back　on　your　side？’
　
　She　presented　her　back　to　him。　‘If　you　do　a　proper　job。’
　
　When　she　was　satisfied；　she　finally　went　back　to　get　dressed　while　he　washed。　She　told　him　over　the　chirp　of　bugs　and　the　trill　of　frogs　that　she　was　hungry。　He　was　pulling　his　pants　on　while　she　called　for　him　to　hurry　so　they　could　eat。
　
　He　threw　his　shirt　over　his　shoulder　and　ran　to　catch　up　with　her　as　she　headed　toward　the　smell　of　cooking。　She　looked　much　better　clean。　Her　hair　looked　like　a　normal　person’s；　instead　of　a　wild　animal’s。　She　looked　no　more　like　a　savage；　but　somehow　noble。
　
　It　wasn’t　dark　yet；　but　getting　close　to　it。　The　mist　that　had　formed　over　the　pond　was　drifting　in　around　them　from　behind。　The　trees　were　disappearing　in　the　gathering　fog。
　
　As　the　two　of　them　stepped　into　the　ring　of　light　around　the　fire；　Sister　Verna　stood。　Richard　was　putting　his　right　arm　through　his　sleeve　when　he　froze　at　the　wide…eyed　look　on　Sister　Verna’s　face。　She　was　staring　at　his　chest；　at　the　thing　he　had　never　let　her　see　before。
　
　At　the　scar。　At　the　handprint　burned　there。　At　the　handprint　that　was　a　constant　reminder　of　who　fathered　him。
　
　Sister　Verna　was　as　white　as　a　spirit。　Her　voice　was　so　soft　he　had　to　strain　to　hear　her。　‘Where　did　you　get　that？’
　
　Du　Chaillu　was　staring　at　the　scar；　too。
　
　Richard　pulled　his　shirt　closed。　‘I　told　you　before；　Darken　Rahl　burned　me　with　his　hand。　You　said　I　was　only　having　visions。’
　
　Her　gaze　slowly　rose　to　meet　his。　Her　eyes　were　filled　with　something　he　had　never　seen　in　them　before。　Unbridled　fear。
　
　‘Richard；’　she　whispered；　‘you　must　not　show　anyone　at　the　palace　what　you　have　upon　you。　Except　the　Prelate。　She　may　know　what　to　do。　You　must　show　her。　But　no　one　else。’　She　stepped　closer。　‘Do　you　understand？　No　one！’
　
　Richard　slowly　buttoned　his　shirt。　‘Why？’
　
　‘Because；　if　you　do；　they　will　kill　you。　That　is　the　mark　of　the　Nameless　One。’　Her　tongue　wet　her　lips。　‘Sins　of　the　father。’
　
　From　the　distance　came　the　plaintive　howl　of　wolves。　Du　Chaillu　shuddered　and　hugged　herself　as　she　stared　off　into　the　deepening　fog。
　
　‘People　will　die　tonight；’　Du　Chaillu　whispered。
　
　Richard　frowned　at　her。　‘What　are　you　talking　about？’
　
　‘Wolves。　When　wolves　howl　like　that　in　the　mist；　they　are　foretelling　that　people　are　to　die　violently　in　the　night；　in　the　mist。’
　
　
　CHAPTER　44
　
　They　materialized　out　of　fog　and　mist；　the　white　fangs　of　death。　The　startled　prey；　at　first　immobilized　by　bone…chilling　fright；　jumped　to　flee　before　the　white　death。　Fangs　of　white　steel　ripped　into　them　without　mercy　as　they　bolted　for　their　lives。　Death　squeals　tore　the　night　air　with　their　terror。　Hysteria　sent　them　running　heedlessly　onto　the　waiting　cold；　white　steel。
　
　Fearless　men　tasted　fear　before　they　died。
　
　Pandemonium　spread　on　a　wild　uproar　of　noise。　The　ringing　chime　of　steel；　the　splintering　of　wood；　the　ripping　of　canvas；　the　groan　of　leather；　the　pop　of　bones；　the　whoosh　of　fire；　the　crash　of　wagons；　the　thuds　of　flesh　and　bone　hitting　ground；　and　the　screams　of　man　and　beast　all　joined　into　one　long　cacophony　of　terror。　The　wave　of　white　death　drove　the　tumult　before　it。
　
　The　sharp　smell　of　blood　washed　through　the　air；　over　the　sweet　aroma　of　blazing　wood；　the　acrid　tang　of　igniting　lamp　oil；　the　smoky　smack　of　flaming　pitch；　and　the　gagging　stench　of　burning　fur　and　flesh。
　
　What　wasn’t　wet　with　the　cold　mist　was　greasy…slick　with　hot　blood。
　
　The　white　steel　fangs　now　were　coated　with　blood　and　gore；　white　snow　became　a　soggy　mat　of　red　splashes。　The　cold　air　was　seared　by　gouts　of　flame　that　leapt　up　to　turn　the　white　fog　an　incandescent　orange。　Sinister；　dark　clouds　of　smoke　hugged　the　ground　while　the　sky　burned　overhead。
　
　Arrows　zipped　past；　spears　arced　through　the　air；　splintered　lances　spun　away　into　the　mist；　and　severed　pike　heads　whirled　off　into　the　darkness。　Remnants　of　torn　tents　flapped　and　fluttered　as　if　battered　by　a　furious　storm。　Swords　rose　and　fell　in　waves；　driven　by　the　grunts　that　acpanied　frantic　effort。
　
　Men　ran　in　every　direction；　like　frenzied　ants。　Some　tumbled　to　the　ground；　spilling　their　viscera　across　the　snow。　One　of　the　wounded；　blinded　by　blood；　stumbled　aimlessly　until　a　white　shadow　swept　by；　a　spirit　of　death；　cutting　him　down。　A　wagon　wheel　bounced　past；　its　progress　quickly　obscured　from　view　by　dark　curtains　of　acrid　smoke　that　drifted　past。
　
　No　alarm　had　been　raised；　the　sentries　were　long　dead。　Few　in　camp　had　realized　what　was　happening　until　it　was　upon　them。
　
　The　camp　of　the　Imperial　Order　had　lately　been　a　place　of　noise　and　wild　celebration；　and　for　many；　in　their　drunken　state；　it　was　hard　to　tell　that　anything　of　consequence　was　happening。　Many　of　the　men；　poisoned　by　the　bandu　in　the　ale；　lay　sick　around　fires。　Many　were　so　weak　they　burned　to　death　without　trying　to　escape　flaming　tents。　Others　were　in　such　a　drunken　stupor　that　they　actually　smiled　at　the　men　who　drove　swords　through　their　guts。
　
　Even　the　ones　who　were　not　drunk；　or　who　were　not　drunk　to　the　point　of　dullness；　didn’t　truly　appreciate　what　was　happening。　Their　camp　was　often　a　place　of　raucous　noise　and　confusion。　Huge　bonfires　roared　throughout　the　night；　for　warmth　and　as　gathering　places。　They　were　generally　the　only　reference　points　in　the　disorderly　layout；　so　the　fires　of　destruction　caused　little　concern；　except　in　the　immediate　area。
　
　Among　D’Harans；　fighting　in　the　camps　was　simply　part　of　the　revelry；　and　men　screaming　when　they　were　stabbed　in　altercations　was　not　noteworthy。　What　one　had　was　only　his　if　he　was　fierce　enough　to　keep　it　from　others　who　were　always　ready　to　take　it。　Alliances　among　D’Harans　were　shifting　sands　that　could　last　a　lifetime　or；　more　monly；　for　as　little　as　an　hour；　when　a　new　alliance　became　more　advantageous　or　profitable。　The　drinking；　and　the　poison；　dulled　their　grasp　of　the　sheer　volume　of　screams。
　
　In　battle　they　were　disciplined；　but　when　not　in　battle；　they　were　ungoverned　to　the　point　of　anarchy。　Pay；　for　D’Harans　on　expeditions；　was　in　large　part　a　share　of　the　plunder　…they　had　looted　Ebinissia；　despite　all　their　talk　of　a　new　law　…　and　having　that　new　plunder　made　them　perhaps　less　than　single…minded　in　their　devotion　to　duty。　At　battle；　or　the　first　sound　of　an　alarm；　they　became　a　single　unified　fighting　machine；　almost　an　entity　of　one　mind；　but　in　camp；　without　the　overriding　purpose　of　war；　they　became　thousands　of　individuals；　all　bent　on　serving　their　own　self…interest。
　
　Without　an　alarm　to　warn　them；　they　paid　the　added　noise　and　screaming　little　attention。　Above　the　noise　of　their　own　business；　trading；　stories；　laughter；　drinking；　gambling；　fighting；　and　whoring；　the　unheralded　battle　a　short　distance　away　went　largely　unnoticed。　The　officers　would　call　them　if　needed。　Without　that　call　to　duty；　their　life　was　their　own；　and　someone　else’s　troubles　were　not　theirs。　They　were　unprepared　when　the　white　death　materialized。
　
　The　sight　of　white　spirits　appearing　among　them　was　a　paralyzing　force。　Many　a　man　wailed　in　fear　of　the　Shahari　spirits。　Many　envisioned　that　the　separation　between　the　world　of　the　living　and　the　world　of　the　dead　had　evaporated。　Or　that　they　had　somehow　been　suddenly　cast　into　the　underworld。
　
　Without　the　ale；　both　poisoned　and　unadulterated；　it　might　not　be　so。　As　it　was；　the　drink；　and　their　confidence　in　their　numbers　and　strength；　left　them　vulnerable　as　they　would　never　be　again。　But　not　all　were　drunk；　or　dull。　Some　rose　up　fiercely。
　
　Kahlan　watched　it　all　from　atop　her　dancing　warhorse。　In　a　sea　of　raw；　unbridled　emotion；　she　wore　her　Confessor’s　face。
　
　These　men　were　neither　moral　nor　ethical；　they　were　animals　who　lived　by　no　rule　but　might。　T