fs.thethirdbookofswords-第12章
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dent that the mere presence of the Sword in his possession would be enough to maintain his magical disguise。 He was vaguely reassured to see that the patrol always posted sentries at night； in a professional manner。
The journey proceeded swiftly。 On the afternoon of the fourth day after Mark had joined them； the patrol rode into sight of Vilkata's main encampment。
As the riders topped a small； barren rise of land； the huge bivouac came into view a kilometer ahead； on slightly lower ground。 The sprawling camp was constructed around what looked to Mark like a large parade ground of scraped and flattened earth。 The camp appeared to be laid out in good order； but it was not surrounded by a palisade or any other defensive works。 Rather it sprawled arrogantly exposed； as if on the assumption that no power on earth was going to dare attack it。 Mark considered gloomily that the assumption was probably correct。
As he and his escort rode nearer to the camp； he realized that it probably contained not only more human troops than he had ever seen in one place before； but a greater variety of them as well； housed in a wild assortment of tents and other temporary shelters。 The outer pickets of the camp； men and women patrolling with leashed warbeasts； made no attempt to challenge Mark and his escort as they approached。 And Mark observed that when the human sentries were close enough to get a good look at him； they； like his escort originally； shrank back perceptibly。
He had to wonder again： Who； or what； did they see？ And who or what would Vilkata see when Mark entered his presence； if Mark succeeded in pushing matters that far？ It was hard for Mark to imagine that there could be anyone the Dark King either feared or loved。
Only now； at last； did Mark clearly consider that he might be headed for a personal encounter with the Dark King。 He had first approached the patrol with no more than a vague idea of eavesdropping on the enemy's secret councils； just as Draffut said he had moved unrecognized among the gods。 Now for the first time Mark saw that it might be his duty to acplish something more than that。 The thought was vastly intriguing and at the same time deeply frightening； and he did not try now to think it through to any definite conclusion。
He rode on； still surrounded by his escort； until they were somewhere deep inside the vast encampment。 There the patrol halted； and its members began an animated discussion among themselves； in some dialect that Mark could not really follow。 Judging that the debate might be on how to separate themselves from him as safely and properly as possible； he took the matter into his own hands by dismounting； and then dismissing both his steed and his escort with what he hoped looked like an arrogantly confident wave of his hand。
Turning his back on the patrol then； Mark stalked away on foot； heading for a tall flagpole that was visible above the nearby tents。 The pole supported a long banner of black and gold； hanging limp now in the windless air。 Mark hoped and expected that this flag marked the location of some central headquarters。 As he walked toward it he saw the heads of soldiers and camp…followers turn； their attention following him as he passed； and he saw too that some people either speeded up or slowed their own progress； in order not to cross his path too closely。
Now he had to detour around some warbeasts' pens； the smell and the mewing of the great catlike creatures ing out of them in waves。 Now he was in sight of one corner of the vast parade ground。 From the farther reaches of its expanse； somewhere out of Mark's sight； there sounded the chant and drumbeat of some hapless infantry unit condemned to drilling in the heat。 Looking across the nearest corner of the field； he could now see the tall flagpole at full length。 There was a wooden reviewing stand beside the flagpole； and behind the stand a magnificent pavilion。 This was a tent larger than most houses； of black and gold cloth。
Mark stalked directly toward the great pavilion； considering that it had to be the Dark King's head… quarters。 His right hand； riding on the hilt of sheathed Sightblinder； could feel a new hum of power in the Sword； perhaps there were guardian spells here that had to be overe。
The front of the reviewing stand displayed another copy of Vilkata's flag； this one stretched out to reveal the design； a skull of gold upon a field of black。 The eyesockets of the skull stared forth sightlessly； twin windows into night。
Again Mark had to make a small detour； round more low cages that he at first thought held more warbeasts。 But the wood…slatted cages looked too small for that。 All but one of them were empty； and that one held。。。 the naked body confined inside was human。
Abruptly something shimmered in the air above Mark's head； broadcasting torment。 As Mark moved instinctively to step aside； this presence moved with him。 Only at this moment did he realize that it was sentient。
And only a moment after that did he realize that he was being confronted by a demon。
And the demon was addressing him； demanding something of him； though not in human speech。 Whether its munication was meant for his ears or to enter his mind directly he could not tell。 Nor could he grasp more than fragments of the meaning。 It was basically a challenge： Why was he here？ Why was he here now； when he ought to be somewhere else？ Why was he as he was？
He realized with a shock that he was going to have to answer it； to offer something analogous to a password before it would allow him to pass this point； or even release him。 What image it saw when it looked at him evidently did not matter。 Here； approaching the pavilion； everyone must be stopped。 And he doubted there was anything； or anyone； that this demon feared or loved。
Mark could no more answer the demonic voice intelligently； in its own terms； than he could have held converse with a bee。 He knew fear； exploding into terror。 He ought to have foreseen that here there might be such formidable guardians； here at the heart of Vilkata's power and control； the Dark King himself was most likely in that huge tent ahead。 Here； perhaps； they had even been able to plan defenses against the Sword of Stealth。 Here its powers were not going to be enough。。。
Only moments had passed since the demon had first challenged him； but already Mark could sense the creature's growing suspicion。 Now it sent an even more urgent interrogation crashing against Mark's mind。 Now it was probing him； searching for evidence of the signs and keys of magic that he did not possess。 In a moment it would be certain that he was some imposter； not a wizard after all。
In his desperation Mark grasped at a certain memory； four years old but still vivid。 It was the recollection of his only previous close encounter with a demon； in the depths of the buried treasure…vaults of the Blue Temple。 Now； in desperate imitation of what another had done then； Mark gasped out a mand into the shimmering air：
〃In the Emperor's name； depart and let me pass！〃
There was a momentary howling in the air。 Simultaneously there came a tornado…blast of wind； lasting only for an instant。 Mark caught a last shred of munication from the thing that challenged him … it was outraged； it had definitely identified him as an imposter。 But that did not matter。 The demon could do nothing about it； for in the next instant it was gone； gone instantaneously； as if yanked away on invisible steel cables that extended to infinity。
Now the air above Mark was quiet and clear； but moments passed before his senses； jarred by the encounter； returned to normal。 He realized that he had stumbled and almost fallen； and that his body was bent over； hands halfway outstretched in front of him； as if to avoid searing heat or ward off dreadful danger。 It had been a very near thing indeed。
Hastily he drew himself erect； looking around carefully。 Wherever the demon had gone； there was no sign it was ing back。 A few people were standing； idly or in conversation； near the front of the pavilion； and he supposed that at least some of them must have noticed something of the challenge and his response。 But all of them； as far as Mark could tell； were going on about their business as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had taken place。 Maybe； he thought； that was the necessary attitude here； in what must be a constant center of intrigue。
Mark walked on。 Having now passed the prison cages and the reviewing stand； he was within a few paces of the huge pavilion； by all indications the tent of Vilkata himself。 Having e this far； Mark swore that he was going forward。 Two human sentries flanked the central doorway of the huge tent； but to his relief these only offered him deep bows as he approached。 Without responding he passed between them； and into a shaded entry。
Cool perfumed lair； doubtless provided by some means of magic； wafted about him。 Mark paused； letting his eyes adjust to the relative gloom； and he had a moment in which to wonder： How could any spell as simple as the one he had just used； recited by a mundane non…magician like himself； repel even the weakest demon？ And what a repulsion！ Repulsion was the wrong word。 It had been instant banishment； as if by catapult。
His puzzlement was not new； essentially the same question had been nagging at him off and on for the past four years； ever since a similar experience in the Blue Temple treasure vaults。 Mark had recounted that event to several trusted magicians in the meantime； and none had given him a satisfactory explanation； though they had all found the occurrence extremely interesting。
He was not going to have time to ponder the matter now。
From just inside the inner doorway of the tent he could hear voices； five or six of them perhaps； men's and women's mixed； chanting softly what Mark took to be words of magic。 The voices came wafting out with the cool air and the perfume； some kind of incense burning。 There was another odor mingled with it now； one not intrinsically unpleasant； but when Mark thought that he recognized it； the strength seemed to drain from his arms and legs； making it momentarily impossible to go on。 He thought that he could recognize the smell of burning human flesh。
Ardneh be with me； Mark prayed mechanically； and wished even more ardently that living； solid Draffut could be with him also。 Then he put back a heavy curtain with his hand； and made himself walk forward into the next chamber of the tent。 A moment later he wished that he had not。
The human body fastened to the stone altar…table was not dead； for it still moved within the limits of its bonds； but it had somehow been deprived of the power to cry out。 Yesterday it had probably been young； whether it had then been male or female was no longer easy to determine； in the dim light of the smoking lamp that hung above the altar。 Around the altar half a dozen magicians of both sexes were gathered； various implements of torture in their hands。 There was a lot of blood； most of it neatly confined to the altar itself； where carved troughs and channels drained it away。 Near the altar stood a small brazier； with the insulated handles of more torture…tools protruding from the glow of coals。
Mark had seen bad things bef
