gc.thewhiterose-第7章

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　　　〃Yes。　Yes。　But　this　is　more　personal。　Closer　to　home。　Not　so？〃
　　　〃I　guess。〃　Case　sounded　baffled。　Corbie　smiled。　Legacy　of　a　farm　youth。
　　　〃Let's　go　back。　It's　peaked。　But　I　don't　trust　it　with　those　clouds　rolling　in。〃
　　　Rain　did　threaten。　Were　the　river　to　rise　much　more；　the　hill　would　bee　an　island。
　　　Case　helped　Corbie　cross　the　boggy　parts　and　up　to　the　crest　of　the　low　rise　which　kept　the　flood　from　reaching　cleared　land。　Much　of　that　was　a　lake　now；　shallow　enough　to　be　waded　if　some　fool　dared。　Under　grey　skies　the　Great　Barrow　stood　out　poorly；　reflecting　off　the　water　as　a　dark　lump。　Corbie　shuddered。　〃Case。　He's　still　there。〃
　　　The　youth　leaned　on　his　spear；　interested　only　because　Corbie　was　interested。　He　wanted　to　get　out　of　the　drizzle。
　　　〃The　Dominator；　lad。　Whatever　else　did　not　escape。　Waiting。　Filling　with　ever　more　hatred　for　the　living。〃
　　　Case　looked　at　Corbie。　The　older　man　was　taut　with　tension。　He　seemed　frightened。
　　　〃If　he　gets　loose；　pity　the　world。〃
　　　〃But　didn't　the　Lady　finish　him　in　Juniper？〃
　　　〃She　stopped　him。　She　didn't　destroy　him。　That　may　not　be　possible　。　。　。　〃
　　　〃Well；　it　must　be。　He　has　to　be　vulnerable　somehow。　But　if　the　White　Rose　couldn't　harm　him　。　。　。　〃
　　　〃The　Rose　wasn't　so　strong；　Corbie。　She　couldn't　even　hurt　the　Taken。　Or　even　their　minions。　All　she　could　do　was　bind　and　bury　them。　It　took　the　Lady　and　the　Rebel　。　。　。　〃
　　　〃The　Rebel？　I　doubt　that。　She　did　it。〃　Corbie　lunged　forward；　forcing　his　leg。　He　marched　along　the　edge　of　the　lake。　His　gaze　remained　fixed　on　the　Great　Barrow。
　　　Case　feared　Corbie　was　obsessed　with　the　Barrowland。　As　a　Guard；　he　had　to　be　concerned。　Though　the　Lady　had　exterminated　the　Resurrectionists　in　his　grandfather's　time；　still　that　mound　exerted　its　dark　attraction。　Monitor　Sweet　remained　frightened　someone　would　revive　that　idiocy。　He　wanted　to　caution　Corbie；　could　think　of　no　polite　way　to　phrase　himself。
　　　Wind　stirred　the　lake。　Ripples　ran　from　the　Barrow　toward　them。　Both　shivered。　〃Wish　this　weather　would　break；〃　Corbie　muttered。　〃Time　for　tea？〃
　　　〃Yes。〃
　　　The　weather　continued　chill　and　wet。　Summer　came　late。　Autumn　arrived　early。　When　the　Great　Tragic　did　at　last　recede；　it　left　a　mud　plain　strewn　with　the　wrecks　of　grand　trees。　Its　channel　had　shifted　a　half　mile　westward。
　　　The　woodland　tribes　continued　selling　furs。
　　　Serendipity。　Corbie　was　near　done　renovating。　He　was　restoring　a　closet。　In　removing　a　wooden　clothes　rod　he　fumbled。　The　rod　separated　into　parts　when　it　hit　the　floor。
　　　He　knelt。　He　stared。　His　heart　hammered。　A　slim　spindle　of　white　silk　lay　exposed　。　。　。　　Gently；　gently；　he　put　the　rod　back　together；　carried　it　upstairs。
　　　Carefully；　carefully；　he　removed　the　silk；　unrolled　it。　His　stomach　knotted。
　　　It　was　Bomanz's　chart　of　the　Barrowland；　plete　with　notes　about　which　Taken　lay　where；　where　fetishes　were　located　and　why；　the　puissance　of　protective　spells；　and　a　scatter　of　known　resting　places　of　minions　of　the　Taken　who　had　gone　into　the　ground　with　their　captains。　A　cluttered　chart　indeed。　Mostly　annotated　in　TelleKurre。
　　　Also　noted　were　burial　sites　outside　the　Barrowland　proper。　Most　of　the　ordinary　fallen　had　gone　into　mass　graves。
　　　The　battle　fired　Corbie's　imagination。　For　a　moment　he　saw　the　Dominator's　forces　standing　firm；　dying　to　the　last　man。　He　saw　wave　after　wave　of　the　White　Rose　horde　give　themselves　up　to　contain　the　shadow　within　the　trap。　Overhead；　the　Great　et　seared　the　sky；　a　vast　flaming　scimitar。
　　　He　could　only　imagine；　though。　There　were　no　reliable　histories。
　　　He　miserated　with　Bomanz。　Poor　foolish　little　man；　dreaming；　seeking　the　truth。　He　had　not　earned　his　dark　legend。
　　　Corbie　remained　fixed　over　the　chart　all　night；　letting　it　seep　into　bone　and　soul。　It　did　little　to　help　him　translate；　but　it　did　illuminate　the　Barrowland　some。　And　even　more；　it　illuminated　a　wizard　so　dedicated　he　had　spent　his　entire　adult　life　studying　the　Barrowland。
　　　Dawn's　light　stirred　Corbie。　For　a　moment　he　doubted　himself。　Could　he　bee　prey　to　the　same　fatal　passion？
　　　
　　　Chapter　Nine：THE　PLAIN　OF　FEAR
　　　
　　　The　Lieutenant　himself　stirred　me　out。　〃Elmo's　back；　Croaker。　Eat　some　breakfast；　then　report　to　the　conference　room。〃　He　was　a　sour　man　getting　sourer　every　day。　Sometimes　I　regret　having　voted　for　him　after　the　Captain　died　in　Juniper。　But　the　Captain　wished　it。　It　was　his　dying　request。
　　　〃Be　there　soonest；〃　I　said；　piling　out　without　my　customary　growl。　I　grabbed　clothing；　stirred　papers；　silently　mocked　myself。　How　often　did　I　doubt　voting　for　the　Captain　himself？　Yet　when　he　wanted　to　resign；　we　did　not　let　him。
　　　My　quarters　look　nothing　like　a　physician's　den。　The　walls　are　floor　to　ceiling　with　old　books。　I　have　read　most；　after　having　studied　the　languages　in　which　they　are　written。　Some　are　as　old　as　the　pany　itself；　recounting　ancient　histories。　Some　are　noble　genealogies；　stolen　from　widely　dispersed　old　temples　and　civil　offices。　The　rarest；　and　most　interesting；　chronicle　the　rise　and　growth　of　the　Domination。
　　　The　rarest　of　all　are　those　in　TelleKurre。　The　followers　of　the　White　Rose　were　not　gentle　victors。　They　burned　books　and　cities；　transported　women　and　children；　profaned　ancient　works　of　art　and　famous　shrines。　The　customary　afterglow　of　a　great　conflagration。　So　there　is　little　left　to　key　one　into　the　languages　and　thinking　and　history　of　the　losers。　Some　of　the　most　plainly　written　documents　I　possess　remain　totally　inaccessible。
　　　How　I　wish　Raven　were　with　us　still；　instead　of　dwelling　among　the　dead　men。　He　had　a　passing　familiarity　with　written　TelleKurre。　Few　outside　the　Lady's　intimate　circle　do。
　　　Goblin　stuck　his　head　in。　〃You　ing　or　not？〃
　　　I　cried　on　his　shoulder。　It　was　the　old　lament。　No　progress。　He　laughed。　〃Go　blow　in　your　girlfriend's　ear。　She　might　help。〃
　　　〃When　will　you　guys　let　up？〃　It　had　been　fifteen　years　since　I　wrote　my　last　simpleminded　romance　about　the　Lady。　That　was　before　the　long　retreat　which　led　the　Rebel　to　his　doom　before　the　Tower　at　Charm。　They　do　not　let　you　forget。
　　　〃Never；　Croaker。　Never。　Who　else　has　spent　the　night　with　her？　Who　else　goes　carpet…flying　with　her？〃
　　　I　would　rather　forget。　Those　were　times　of　terror；　not　romance。
　　　She　became　aware　of　my　annalistic　endeavors　and　asked　me　to　show　her　side。　More　or　less。　She　did　not　censor　or　dictate；　but　did　insist　I　remain　factual　and　impartial。　I　recall　thinking　she　expected　defeat；　wanted　an　unbiased　history　set　down　somewhere。
　　　Goblin　glanced　at　the　mound　of　documents。　〃You　can't　get　any　handle　on　it？〃
　　　〃I　don't　think　there　is　a　handle。　Everything　I　do　translate　turns　out　a　big　nothing。　Somebody's　expense　record。　An　appointment　calendar。　A　promotions　list。　A　letter　from　some　officer　to　a　friend　at　court。　Everything　way　older　than　what　I'm　looking　for。〃
　　　Goblin　raised　an　eyebrow。
　　　〃I'll　keep　on　trying。〃　There　was　something　there。　We　took　them　from　Whisper；　when　she　was　a　Rebel。　They　meant　a　lot　to　her。　And　our　mentor　then；　Soulcatcher；　thought　them　of　empire…toppling　significance。
　　　Thoughtfully；　Goblin　remarked；　〃Sometimes　the　whole　is　greater　than　the　sum　of　its　parts。　Maybe　you　should　look　for　what　ties　it　all　together。〃
　　　The　thought　had　occurred　to　me。　A　name　here；　there；　elsewhere；　revealing　the　wake　of　someone　through　his　or　her　earlier　days。　Maybe　I　would　find　it。　The　et　would　not　return　for　a　long　time。
　　　But　I　had　my　doubts。
　　　Darling　is　a　young　thing　yet；　just　into　her　middle　twenties。　But　the　bloom　of　youth　has　abandoned　her。　Hard　years　have　piled　on　hard　years。　There　is　little　feminine　about　her。　She　had　no　chance　to　develop　in　that　direction。　Even　after　two　years　on　the　Plain　none　of　us　think　of　her　as　woman。
　　　She　is　tall；　maybe　two　inches　under　six　feet。　Her　eyes　are　a　washed…out　blue　that　often　seems　vacant；　but　they　bee　swords　of　ice　when　she　is　thwarted。　Her　hair　is　blonde；　as　from　much　exposure　to　the　sun。　Without　continuous　attention　it　hangs　in　straggles　and　strings。　Not　vain；　she　keeps　it　shorter　than　is　stylish。　In　dress；　too；　she　leans　toward　the　utilitarian。　Some　first…time　visitors　are　offended　because　she　dresses　so　masculine。　But　she　leaves　them　with　no　doubts　that　she　can　handle　business。
　　　Her　role　came　to　her　unwanted；　but　she　has　made　peace　with　it；　has　assumed　it　with　stubborn　determination。　She　shows　a　wisdom　remarkable　for　her　age；　and　for　one　handicapped　as　she　is。　Raven　taught　her　well　during　those　few　years　he　was　her　guardian。
　　　She　was　pacing　when　I　arrived。　The　conference　room　is　earth…sided；　smokey；　crowded　even　when　empty。　It　smells　of　long　occupation　by　too　many　unclean　men。　The　old　messenger　from　Oar　was　there。　So　were　Tracker　and　Corder　and　several　other　outsiders。　Most　of　the　pany　were　present。　I　finger…signed　a　greeting。　Darling　gave　me　a　sisterly　hug；　asked　if　I　had　any　progress　to　report。
　　　I　spoke　for　the　group　and　signed　for　her。　〃I　am　sure　we　don't　have　all　the　documents　we　found　in　the　Forest　of　Cloud。　Not　just　because　I　can't　identify　what　I'm　looking　for；　either。　Everything　I　do　have　is　too　old。〃
　　　Darling's　features　are　regular。　Nothing　stands　out。　Yet　you　sense　character；　will；　that　this　woman　cannot　be　broken。　She　has　been　to　Hell　already。　It　did　not　touch　her　as　a　child。　She　will　not　be　touched　now。
　　　She　was　not　pleased。　She　signed；　〃We　will　not　have　the　time　we　thought。〃
　　　My　attention　was　half　elsewhere。　I　had　hoped　for　sparks　between　Tracker　and　the　other　westerner。　On　a　gut　level　I　had　responded　negatively　to　Tracker。　I　found　myself　with　an　irrational　hope　for　evidence　to　sustain　that　reaction。
　　　Nothing。
　　　Not　surprising。　The　cell　structure　of　the　movement　keeps　our　sympathizers　insulated　from　one　another。
　　　Darling　wanted　to　hear　from　Goblin　and　One…Eye　next。　Goblin　used　his　squeakiest　voice。　〃Everything　we　heard　is　true。　They　are　reinforcing　their　garrisons。　But　Corder　can　tell　you　better。　For　us；　the　mission　was　a　bust。　They　were　ready。　They　chased　us　all　over　the　Plain。　We　were　lucky　to　get　away。　We　didn't　get　no　help；　either。〃
　　　The　menhirs　and　their　weird　pals　are　on　our　side；　supposedly。　Sometimes　I　wonder。　They　are　unpredictable。　They　help　or　don't　according　to　a　formula　only　they　understand。
　　　Darling　was　little　interested　in　details　of　the　failed　raid。　She　moved　on　to　Corder。　He　said；　〃Armies　are　gathering　on　both　sides　of　the　Plain。　Under　mand　of　the　Taken。〃
　　　〃Taken？〃　I　asked。　I　knew　of　only　the　two。　He　sounded　like　he　meant　many。
　　　A　chill　then。　There　is　a　longtime　rumor　that　the　Lady　has　been　quiet　so　long　because　she　is　raising　a　new　crop　of　Taken。　I　had　not　believed　it。　The　age　is　sorrowfully　short　of　characters　of　the　magnificently　villainous　vitality　of　those　the　Dominator　took　in　olden　times：　Soulcatcher；　the　Hanged　Man；　Nightcrawler；　Shapeshifter；　the　Limper；　and　such。　Those　were　nastymen　of　the　grand　scope；　nearly　as　wild　and　hairy　in　their　wickedness　as　the　Lady　and　Dominator　themselves。　This　is　the　era　of　the　weak　sister；　excepting　only　Darling　and　Whisper。
　　　Corder　responded　shyly。　〃The　rumors　are　true；　Lord。〃
　　　Lord。　Me。　Because　I　stand　near　the　heart　of　the　dream。　I　hate　it；　yet　eat　it　up。　〃Yes？〃
　　　〃They　may　not　be　Stormbringers　or　Howlers；　these　new　Taken。〃　He　smile