srdonaldson.thepowerthatpreserves-第8章

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　　　　He　hoped　to　turn　the　breaking　of　the　Law　of　Death　to　the　Land's　advantage。
　　　　He　found　himself　hurrying；　though　he　knew　he　would　have　to　wait　when　he　reached　the　Close。　The　pressure　of　decision　impelled　him。　Yet　when　Trell　hailed　him　from　a　side　passage；　he　stopped　at　once；　and　turned　to　meet　the　approach　of　the　big　Gravelingas。　Trell　Atiaran…mate　had　claims　which　Mhoram　could　neither　deny　nor　evade。
　　　　Trell　was　traditionally　dressed　as　a　Stonedownor…over　his　light　brown　pants　he　wore　a　short　tunic　with　his　family　symbol；　a　white　leaf　pattern；　woven　into　its　shoulders…and　he　had　the　broad；　muscular　frame　which　characterized　the　people　of　the　rock　villages；　but　the　Stonedownors　were　usually　short；　and　Trell　was　tall。　He　created　an　impression　of　immense　physical　strength；　which　was　only　augmented　by　his　great　skill　in　the　rhadhamaerl　lore。
　　　　He　approached　the　High　Lord　with　his　head　lowered　in　an　attitude　of　shyness；　but　Mhoram　knew　that　it　was　not　embarrassment　which　caused　Trell　to　avoid　meeting　the　eyes　of　other　people。　Another　explanation　glowered　behind　the　thick　intensity　of　Trell's　red　and　gray　beard　and　the　graveling　ruddiness　of　his　features。　Involuntarily；　Mhoram　shivered　as　if　the　wind　of　winter　had　found　its　way　through　Revelstone　to　his　heart。
　　　　Like　the　other　rhadhamaerl；　Trell　had　given　his　whole　life　to　the　service　of　stone。　But　he　had　lost　his　wife　and　daughter　and　granddaughter　because　of　Thomas　Covenant。　The　simple　sight　of　Covenant　seven　years　ago　had　driven　him　to　damage　the　rock　of　the　Keep；　he　had　gouged　his　fingers　into　the　granite　as　if　it　were　nothing　more　than　stiff　clay。
　　　　He　avoided　other　people's　eyes　in　an　effort　to　conceal　the　conflicting　hate　and　hurt　which　knotted　themselves　within　him。
　　　　He　usually　kept　to　himself；　immersing　himself　in　the　stone　labors　of　the　Keep。　But　now　he　accosted　the　High　Lord　with　an　air　of　grim　purpose。
　　　　He　said；　〃You　go　to　the　Close；　High　Lord。〃　Despite　the　severity　of　his　mien；　his　voice　held　an　odd　note　of　supplication。
　　　　〃Yes；〃　Mhoram　answered。
　　　　〃Why？〃
　　　　'　'Trell　Atiaran…mate；　you　know　why。　You　are　not　deaf　to　the　Land's　need。〃
　　　　Flatly；　Trell　said；　〃Do　not。〃
　　　　Mhoram　shook　his　head　gently。　〃You　know　that　I　must　make　this　attempt。〃
　　　　Trell　pushed　this　statement　aside　with　a　jerk　of　his　shoulders；　and　repeated；　〃Do　not。〃
　　　　'　Trell；　I　am　High　Lord　of　the　Council　of　Revelstone。　I　must　do　what　I　can。〃
　　　　〃You　will　denounce…you　will　denounce　the　fall　of　Elena　my　daughter's　daughter。〃
　　　　〃Denounce？〃　Trell's　assertion　surprised　the　High　Lord。　He　cocked　an　eyebrow　and　waited　for　the　Gravelingas　to　explain。
　　　　〃Yes！〃　Trell　averred。　His　voice　sounded　awkward；　as　if　in　the　long；　low；　subterranean　songs　of　his　rhadhamaerl　service　he　had　lost　his　familiarity　with　human　speech；　and　he　looked　as　if　he　were　resisting　an　impulse　to　shout。　''Atiaran　my　wife　said…she　said　that　it　is　the　responsibility　of　the　living　to　justify　the　sacrifices　of　the　dead。　Otherwise　their　deaths　have　no　meaning。　You　will　undo　the　meaning　Elena　earned。　You　must　not…　approve　her　death。〃
　　　　Mhoram　heard　the　truth　in　Trell's　words。　His　decision　might　well　imply　an　affirmation；　or　at　least　an　acceptance；　of　Elena's　fall　under　Melenkurion　Skyweir；　and　that　would　be　bitter　bread　for　Trell's　distress　to　swallow。　Perhaps　this　explained　the　inchoate　fear　which　he　sensed　behind　Trell's　speech。　But　Mhoram's　duty　to　the　Land　bound　him　straitly。　So　that　Trell　could　not　mistake　him；　he　said；　〃I　must　make　this　attempt。''　Then　he　added　gently；　〃High　Lord　Elena　broke　the　Law　of　Death。　In　what　way　can　I　approve？〃
　　　　Trell's　gaze　moved　around　the　walls；　avoiding　the　face　of　the　High　Lord；　and　his　heavy　hands　clutched　his　hips　as　if　to　prevent　themselves　from　striking　out…as　if　he　did　not　trust　what　his　hands　might　do　if　he　failed　to　hold　them　down。　〃Do　you　love　the　Land？〃　he　said　in　a　thick　voice。　〃You　will　destroy　it。〃
　　　　Then　he　met　Mhoram's　gaze；　and　his　sore　eyes　gleamed　with　moist　fire。　〃It　would　have　been　better　if　I　had〃…abruptly；　his　hands　tore　loose　from　his　sides；　slapped　together　in　front　of　him；　and　his　shoulders　hunched　like　a　strangler's…〃crushed　Lena　my　own　daughter　at　birth。〃
　　　　〃No！〃　Mhoram　affirmed　softly。　〃No。〃　He　yearned　to　put　his　arms　around　Trell；　to　console　the　Gravelingas　in　some　way。　But　he　did　not　know　how　to　untie　Trell's　distress；　he　was　unable　to　loosen　his　own　secret　dilemma。　〃Hold　Peace；　Trell；〃　he　murmured。　〃Remember　the　Oath。〃　He　could　think　of　nothing　else　to　say。
　　　　〃Peace？〃　Trell　echoed　in　ridicule　or　grief。　He　no　longer　seemed　to　see　the　High　Lord。　〃Atiaran　believed　in　Peace。　There　is　no　Peace。〃　Turning　vaguely　from　Mhoram；　he　walked　away　down　the　side　passage　from　which　he　had　e。
　　　　Mhoram　stared　after　him　down　the　passage　for　a　long　moment。　Duty　and　caution　told　him　that　he　should　have　warriors　assigned　to　watch　the　Gravelingas。　But　he　could　not　bear　to　torment　Trell　with　such　an　expression　of　distrust；　that　judgment　might　weaken　the　last　clutch　of　Trell's　self…control。　And　he；　Mhoram；　had　seen　men　and　women　rise　to　victory　from　anguish　as　bad　as　Trell's。
　　　　Yet　the　Gravelingas　had　not　looked　like　a　man　who　could　wrest　new　wholeness　out　of　the　ruins　of　his　old　life。　Mhoram　was　taking　a　grave　risk　by　not　acting　in　some　way。　As　he　started　again　toward　the　Close；　the　weight　of　his　responsibilities　bore　heavily　on　him。　He　did　not　feel　equal　to　the　multitude　of　dooms　he　carried。
　　　　The　Lords　possessed　nothing　of　their　own　with　which　to　fight　the　long　cruel　winter　that　fettered　the　Land。
　　　　He　strode　down　a　long；　torchlit　corridor；　climbed　a　spiral　stairway；　and　approached　one　of　the　Lords'　private　entrances　to　the　Close。　Outside　the　door；　he　paused　to　gauge　the　number　of　people　who　had　already　gathered　for　the　Council；　and　after　a　moment　he　heard　Lord　Amatin　ing　up　the　stair　behind　him。　He　waited　for　her。　When　she　reached　the　landing　where　he　stood；　he　saw　that　her　eyes　were　red…rimmed；　her　forlorn　mouth　aggravated　by　tension。　He　was　tempted　to　speak　to　her　now；　but　he　decided　instead　to　deal　with　her　feelings　before　the　Council。　If　he　were　ever　to　reveal　his　secret　knowledge；　he　would　first　have　to　prepare　the　ground　for　it。　With　a　quiet；　sympathetic　smile；　he　opened　the　door　for　her　and　followed　her　into　the　Close。
　　　　From　the　door；　he　and　Amatin　went　down　the　steps　to　the　Lords'　table；　which　stood　below　the　level　of　the　tiered　galleries　in　the　high；　round　council　hall。　The　hall　was　lit　by　four　huge；　lore…burning　lillianrill　torches　set　into　the　walls　above　the　galleries；　and　by　an　open　pit　of　graveling　in　the　base　of　the　Close；　below　and　within　the　wide　C　of　the　table。　Stone　chairs　for　the　Lords　and　their　special　guests　waited　around　the　outer　edge　of　the　table；　facing　in　toward　the　open　floor　and　the　graveling　pit；　and　at　the　head　of　the　table　was　the　high…backed　seat　of　the　High　Lord。
　　　　On　the　floor　of　the　Close　beside　the　graveling　pit　was　a　round　stone　table　with　a　short　silver　sword　stabbed　halfway　to　the　hilt　in　its　center。　This　was　the　krill　of　Loric；　left　where　Covenant　had　driven　it　seven　years　ago。　In　that　time；　the　Lords　had　found　no　way　to　remove　it　from　the　stone。　They　left　it　in　the　Close　so　that　anyone　who　wished　to　study　the　krill　could　do　so　freely。　But　nothing　had　changed　except　the　clear　white　gem　around　which　the　guards　and　haft　of　the　two…edged　blade　were　forged。
　　　　When　Mhoram　and　Callindrill　had　returned　from　their　plunge　into　Garroting　Deep；　they　had　found　the　gem　lightless；　dead。　The　hot　fire　which　Covenant　had　set　within　it　had　gone　out。
　　　　It　stood　near　the　graveling　like　an　icon　of　the　Lords'　futility；　but　Mhoram　kept　his　thoughts　away　from　it。　He　did　not　need　to　look　around　to　learn　who　was　already　present　in　the　Close；　the　perfect　acoustics　of　the　hall　carried　every　low　noise　and　utterance　to　his　ears。　In　the　first　row　of　the　gallery；　above　and　behind　the　seats　of　the　Lords；　sat　warriors；　Hafts　of　the　Warward；　occupying　the　former　places　of　the　Bloodguard。　The　two　Hearthralls；　Tohrm　the　Gravelingas　and　Borillar　the　Hirebrand；　sat　with　Warmark　Quaan　in　their　formal　positions　high　in　the　gallery　behind　the　High　Lord's　chair。　Several　Lorewardens　had　taken　seats　in　tiers　above　the　table；　the　weary　dust　of　their　flight　from　Revelwood　was　still　on　them；　but　they　were　too　taut　with　the　news　of　the　tree's　fall　to　miss　this　Council。　And　with　them　were　virtually　all　the　lillianrill　of　Lord's　Keep。　The　burning　of　a　tree　struck　at　the　very　hearts　of　the　Hirebrands；　and　they　watched　the　High　Lord's　approach　with　pain　in　their　eyes。
　　　　Mhoram　reached　his　seat　but　did　not　sit　down　immediately。　As　Lord　Amatin　moved　to　her　place　on　the　right　side　of　the　table；　he　felt　a　sharp　pang　at　sight　of　the　stone　seat　which　Callindrill　should　have　filled。　And　he　could　sense　the　remembered　presence　of　the　others　who　had　occupied　the　High　Lord's　chair：　Variol；　Prothall；　Osondrea；　and　Elena　among　the　new　Lords；　Kevin；　Loric；　and　Damelon　of　the　Old。　Their　individual　greatness　and　courage　humbled　him；　made　him　realize　how　small　a　figure　he　was　to　bear　such　losses　and　duties。　He　stood　on　the　brink　of　the　Land's　doom　without　Variol's　foresight　or　Prothall's　ascetic　strength　or　Osondrea's　dour　intransigence　or　Elena's　fire；　and　he　had　not　power　enough　to　match　the　frailest　Lord　in　the　weakest　Council　led　by　Kevin　or　Loric　or　Damelon　or　Berek　Heartthew　the　Lord…Fatherer。　Yet　none　of　the　remaining　Lords　could　take　his　place。　Amatin　lacked　physical　toughness。　Trevor　did　not　believe　in　his　own　stature；　he　felt　that　he　was　not　the　equal　of　his　fellow　Lords。　And　Loerya　was　torn　between　her　love　for　the　Land　and　her　desire　to　protect　her　own　family。　Mhoram　knew　that　more　than　once　she　had　almost　asked　him　to　release　her　from　her　Lordship；　so　that　she　could　flee　with　her　daughters　into　the　relative　sanctuary　of　the　Westron　Mountains。
　　　　With　Callindrill　gone；　High　Lord　Mhoram　was　more　alone　than　he　had　ever　been　before。
　　　　He　had　to　force　himself　to　pull　out　his　chair　and　sit　down。
　　　　He　waited　for　Trevor　and　Loerya　in　a　private　reverie；　gathering　his　fortitude。　Finally；　the　main　doors　of　the　Close　opened　opposite　him；　and　the　two　Lords　started　down　the　broad　steps；　acpanying　Eldest　Corimini。　He　moved　with　slow　difficulty；　as　if　the　end　of　Revelwood　had　exhausted　the　last　elasticity　of　his　thews；　leaving　him　at　the　mercy　of　his　age；　and　Trevor　and　Loerya　supported　him　gently　on　either　side。　They　helped　him　to　a　chair　down　the　table　from　Amatin；　then　walked　around　and　took　their　places　on　the　High　Lord's　left。
　　　　When　they　were　seated；　the　Close　grew　quiet。　All　talking　stopped；　and　after　a　brief　shuffle　of　feet　and　positions；　silence　filled　the　warm　yellow　light　of　the　torches　and　graveling。　Mhoram　could　hear　nothing　but　the　low　susurration　of　hushed　breathing。　Slowly；　he　looked　around　the　table　and　the　galleries。　Every　eye　in　the　chamber　was　on　him。　Stiffening　himself；　he　placed　his　staff　flat　on　the　table　before　him；　and　stood　up。
　　　　〃Friends　and　servants　of　the　Land；〃　he　said　steadily；　〃be　wele　to　the　Council　of　Lords。　I　am　Mhoram　son　of　Variol；　High　Lord　by　the　choice　of　the　Council。　There　are　dire　matters　upon　us；　and　we　must　take　action　against　them。　But　first　we　must　wele　the　Lorewardens