df.therunelords-第22章
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am your protector。 I will return for you。〃
He turned smartly and hurried to the stairs； running so softly she did not hear his feet scuff the stone。 If not for the racing of her heart and the warmth on her cheek where he'd kissed her； she almost would have thought she'd imagined him。
Captain Ault stepped in behind Gaborn and followed him down into the bailey。
How will he escape； she wondered； with Raj Ahten's guards watching the city？
She glanced down at his retreating back； at his blue cloak flapping； as Gaborn made his way through the throng of the blind； the deaf； the idiots and other crippled Dedicates of House Sylvarresta。 He was not tall。 Perhaps a young man could escape the castle without regard。
How odd； she considered； her thoughts still disjointed； to think I love him。 She almost dared hope that they really might wed。
But of course； Prince Orden had to save himself； and she had nothing to offer him。 Dully； she realized that this day could not have turned out any other way。
Perhaps we are both more pragmatic than we want to believe； she wondered。
〃Goodbye； my lord；〃 she whispered to Gaborn's retreating form； and added an old blessing for wayfarers。 〃May the Glories guide your every step。
She turned back to look down on Lord Raj Ahten； grinning and waving to his new subjects。 His dappled gray stallion strode proudly through the cobbled streets； and the peasants parted for him easily； their cheers being steadily more deafening。 He'd already made it into the second tier of the city； past the Market Gate。 He spurred his way up through the streets； and for a moment was hidden from Iome's view。
Suddenly Chemoise stood at Iome's elbow。 Iome swallowed hard； wondering what Raj Ahten would do to her。 Would she be put to death？ Be tortured？ Disgraced？
Or would he leave her some position； let her father reign as a regent？ It seemed possible。
One could only hope。
Down below； Raj Ahten suddenly rounded a corner and was now only two hundred yards away。
She could see his face beneath the sweeping white wings of his helmthe clear skin； glossy black hair； the impassive dark eyes。 Handsome； handsome。 As perfectly formed as if he were sculpted by love or goodness。
He looked up at Iome。 Because she was beautiful as only a princess of the Runelords could be； Iome was growing accustomed to the occasional rapacious stares of men。 She knew how sorely her appearance could arouse a man。
Yet of all the predatory gazes she'd ever been granted； nothing pared to what she saw laid bare in Raj Ahten's eyes。
Chapter 9
THE WIZARD'S GARDEN
Gaborn nearly flew down the stairs of the Dedicates' Tower； making his way through the crowded courtyard； past the smelly idiots； the cripples。
Captain Ault was at his side； and he said； 〃Young sir； please go into the Dedicates' kitchens； and wait until I send someone for you。 The sun will be down in moments。 We can find a way to get you over a wall after nightfall。〃
Gaborn nodded。 〃Thank you； Sir Ault。〃
He'd known for hours that he'd have to make his escape from Castle Sylvarresta； but hadn't believed it would happen so soon。 He'd imagined that the castle's defenders would have put up a great battle。 The castle walls were certainly thick enough； high enough to hold Raj Ahten's army at bay。
He'd wanted some sleep。 He'd had almost none over the past three days。 In truth； he needed almost no sleep。 As an infant； he'd been given three endowments of stamina； and fortunately two of those who'd granted the endowments still lived。 So； in the way of those who had great stamina； Gaborn was able to get his rest on horseback； to let his mind rest； as he moved about as if through a waking dream。 Still； he sometimes wanted a nap。
Food was another matter。 Even a Runelord with great stamina needed food。 Right now Gaborn's stomach was cramping。 Yet he had almost no time to eat。
Worse than that； he'd taken a woundnothing major； but an arrow had pierced his right bicep。 His sword arm。 He'd washed and bandaged it； but the thing throbbed； burned。
And Gaborn had no time to take care of any of these needs。 Right now； he needed a disguise。
He'd killed one of Raj Ahten's outriders； three of his Frowth giants。 His arrows had taken half a dozen war dogs。
Raj Ahten's outriders would want vengeance on Gaborn。 He was cornered。 He didn't feel certain that he could escape； even if he waited an hour for full darkness。 Gaborn had two endowments of scent； but his keen sense of smell was nothing pared to that of some of Raj Ahten's troops： men with noses more keen than a hound's。 They would track him。
Despite his show of confidence to Iome； Gaborn felt terrified。 Still； he took one thing at a time。 He smelled food cooking in the Dedicates' kitchens； hurried through a broad plank door。 Its brass handle felt loose in his hand。
He found himself not in the kitchen； but in the wide entrance to the dining chamber。 To the right of the door； he could see past several heavy beams into kitchens where the cooking fires burned like a blast furnace。 Several plucked geese hung from the rafters； along with cheeses； strings of garlic； smoked eels； and sausages。 He could hear a soup boiling in one of the big kettles next to the fire。 The smell of tarragon； basil； and rosemary lay heavy in the air。 A worktable lay between him and the kitchens； and a young blind girl was there； stacking boiled eggs； turnips； and onions on a huge metal tray。
Down at her feet； a tawny cat toyed with a chewed and frightened mouse。
Ahead； the room opened wide to the thick plank dining tables； black from age and grime； benches running down each side。 Small oil lamps sat burning atop each table。
The bakers and chefs of Castle Sylvarresta were hard at work； piling the tables with loaves of bread； bowls of fruit； filling plates with meat。 While the rest of Sylvarresta's followers had run to the walls to gawk at the battle； the cooks here knew where their duty lay： in caring for the wretches who had given up endowments to House Sylvarresta。
As in most Dedicates' kitchens； the staff was posed mostly of those who had given up endowments themselves： the ugly people who had given up glamour served the tables and ruled the kitchens。 The mutes and the deaf worked the bakery。 The blind and those who had no sense of smell or touch swept the plank floors and scoured the burnt kettles。
Gaborn immediately noticed the silence here in the kitchens。 Though a dozen people bustled about； no one spoke； aside from a curt order here and there。 These people were terrified。
The kitchens offered a mixed palate of smells： the scents of butchered animals and baked bread struggled to overpower the odors of moldering cheese； spilled wine； rancid grease。 It was a ghastly bination； yet Gaborn found himself salivating。
He hurried into the dining hall。 A narrow corridor behind it led to the bakers' ovens。 Gaborn smelled fresh； yeasty bread still steaming。
He grabbed a hot loaf from the table； earning a scowl from a pretty serving girl。 Yet he took the food as if it were his； and gave her a glance that said； I own this。
The wench could not withstand the unspoken rebuke； hurried away。 She held her arms in close； in the careful way of those who've given up an endowment of touch。 Gaborn took a good knife； cut a thigh off a goose that lay on another plate。 He thrust the dagger into the belt of his tunic； and stuffed as much meat as he could in his mouth； he uncorked a bottle of wine from the table； washed down the goose meat as fast as he could； surprised at the quality of the wine。
One of the King's own red hunting hounds had been lounging under the table。 It saw Gaborn eating； came up and sat at Gaborn's feet； eyes expectant； casually sweeping the floor with its tail。
Gaborn tossed it the meaty goose bone； then grabbed another loaf of bread； began eating。
All this time； his mind raced。 Though someone would e to help guide him from the castle； he knew that it would not be easy； and he could not safely rely on others。 He considered various plans。 Castle Sylvarresta had a moat； a river flowing along its eastern wall； with a water wheel for the grain mill。
There would be a boathouse by the mill； where the royals could go out for a casual row。 Often； an underground passage led down to the boathouse from the castle。
But the boathouse would be well watched by Raj Ahten's troops。 The Wolf Lord had nomen with him； nomen who could see in the dark。 It wasn't likely that Gaborn could make it out of the boathouse。
The kitchen staff might have some sort of a sewer that would connect to the river。 But that was unlikely。 Nothing ever went to waste in the kitchens。 Bones were fed to the King's dogs。 Vegetable peels and animal guts went to the swine。 Hides went to tanners。 Anything that was left went to the gardens。
Gaborn had to escape through the river。 He couldn't risk trying to go out by land。 The war dogs would find him。
And he couldn't stay； couldn't hide in the castle for the night。 He had to leave before nightfall。 Once darkness fell； and the city quieted； Raj Ahten's hunters would begin searching for him； out for vengeance。
The pretty serving wench returned with another bottle of wine； more bread and meat to replace what Gaborn had taken。
Gaborn spoke to the back of her neck。 〃Pardon me。 I am Prince Orden。 I need to reach the river。 Do you know of a passage I can take？〃 Almost immediately he felt stupid。 I should not have given my name； he thought。 Yet he'd felt the need to impress upon her the nature of his predicament； and revealing his name was the swiftest way to do so。
The girl looked at him； lamplight reflecting in her brown eyes。 Gaborn wondered why she'd divested herself of feeling。 A love affair gone awry； the desire to never touch or be touched again？ Life could not he easy for her。 Those who gave endowments of touch could not feel heat or cold； pain or pleasure。 All their senses dulled somewhathearing； sight； and smell。
Because of this； life for them was as empty as if they were opium addicts。 They would often burn or cut themselves； never knowing。 In the cold of winter； they could get frostbite and bear it without tears。
Gaborn didn't know who she'd given her endowment of touch towhether it had gone to the King； to the Queen； or to Iome。 Yet he felt certain that King Sylvarresta would be put to death。 Possibly within hours； before dawn。 Unless Raj Ahten wanted to torture the man first。
Would this wench sit before a fire tonight； waiting for the first touch of warmth to her skin？ Or would she stand out in the cold mists； feeling the play of it over her face ？ Certainly life could not be easy for her。
〃There's a trail out back；〃 she said； her voice surprisingly husky； sweet。 〃The baker's path leads down to the mill。 There are some low birches that sweep out over the water。 You might make it。〃
〃Thank you；〃 Gaborn said。
He turned； thinking to go out to the courtyard。 He wanted to leave Castle Sylvarresta； but he needed to strike a blow against Raj Ahten。 He'd seen dozens of forcibles lying on the green； where the facilitators had recently worked。
The forcibles； forged from valuable blood metal from the hills of Kartish； were a mixture of metals believed to be derived from
