ggk.thelionsofal-rassan-第72章

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d　his　Muwardi；　crashing　straight　into　him；　screaming　at　the　top　of　his　voice　as　he　drove　the　man　back。　He　began　dealing　and　receiving　swordstrokes；　heedless　of　his　naked　vulnerability。　Rodrigo；　sprinting　past　them　towards　the　last　man；　gave　Alvar's　foe　a　quick　slash　to　the　back　of　the　calf。　This　was　battle；　not　courtly　display。　The　man　made　a　high…pitched　sound；　fell；　and　Alvar　killed　him　with　a　stroke。
　　The　last　man　was　Rodrigo's。
　　Again　he　was　brave；　no　hint　of　surrender　or　flight。　Again　he　was　skilled　with　his　sword；　defiant　in　his　aggression；　seeing　the　man　he　had　e　here　to　kill　standing　alone　before　him。　None　of　these　things　extended　his　tenure　on　life　under　the　blue　moon　or　the　torches　or　the　stars　he　worshipped。　Belmonte　was　enraged；　and　his　fury　was　always　cold　and　controlling　in　battle。　The　sixth　Muwardi　fell　to　a　heavy；　driving；　backhand　stroke　to　his　collarbone…very　much；　in　fact；　like　the　blow　that　had　killed　the　man　with　the　staff。
　　It　was　over。　As　so　many　such　battles　had　ended　through　the　years…seemingly　as　swiftly　as　it　had　begun。　He　had　an　extreme　facility　for　bat　such　as　this。　It　defined　him；　this　skill；　in　the　eyes　of　the　world　in　which　he　lived。　In　which　he　still　lived；　though　he　should　have　died　tonight。
　　Rodrigo　turned；　breathing　rapidly；　and　looked　towards　Alvar　and　the　peacock；　who　turned　out；　improbably；　to　be　Husari。　Ibn　Musa　had　torn　off　his　mask　and　stood；　white…faced；　over　the　body　of　the　man　he'd　just　clubbed　to　death。　First　killing。　A　new　thing　for　him。
　　Alvar；　in　the　stillness　after　bat；　seemed　to　bee　aware　of　his　condition…and　his　sole　item　of　golden　adornment。　In　any　other　circumstance　at　all　Rodrigo　would　have　laughed　in　delight。
　　There　was　no　laughter　in　him。　In　any　of　them。　A　number　of　the　other　men　of　the　pany　were　hurrying　up。　One　of　them；　without　ment；　threw　Alvar　his　own　cloak。　Alvar　wrapped　himself　in　it　and　untied　the　leash。
　　〃You　are　all　right？〃
　　It　was　Martin；　speaking　to　Rodrigo；　eyeing　him　closely。
　　Belmonte　nodded。　〃Nothing　to　speak　of。〃
　　He　said　no　more；　walking　past　them　all；　six　dead　Muwardis　and　the　men　of　his　pany　and　the　milling；　frightened　people　in　the　square。
　　He　came　to　where　Lain　Nunez　crouched　beside　the　small　figure　that　lay　breathing　shallowly　on　the　stones；　his　life　seeping　away　from　the　deep　wound　in　his　throat。　Lain　had　folded　his　cloak　as　a　pillow　for　the　fallen　man。　Ludus　had　seized　a　torch　and　was　holding　it　above　them。　Someone　else　brought　up　another　light。
　　Rodrigo　took　one　glance；　and　then　had　to　close　his　eyes　for　a　moment。　He　had　seen　this　many　times；　it　ought　to　have　bee　easier　by　now。　It　never　had。　Not　with　people　you　knew。　He　knelt　on　the　blood…soaked　stones　and　gently　slipped　off　the　token　eye…mask　the　little　man　had　worn　as　a　concession　to　the　rites　of　Ragosa's　Carnival。
　　〃Velaz；〃　he　said。
　　And　found　he　couldn't　say　anything　more。　This　was　not…it　was　so　profoundly　not…the　proper　ending　for　such　a　man　as　this。　He　ought　not　to　be　dying　here；　with　a　knife　in　his　chest　and　this　hideous；　pouring　wound。　The　wrongness　of　it　was　appalling。
　　〃They　。。。　dead？〃　The　dying　man's　eyes　were　open；　fierce；　clear；　fighting　pain。
　　〃All　of　them。　You　saved　my　life。　What　words　can　I　say　to　you？〃
　　Velaz　swallowed；　tried　to　speak　again；　then　had　to　wait　as　a　hard　high　wave　of　pain　crashed　over　him。
　　〃Care　。。。　her；〃　he　whispered。　〃Please？〃
　　Rodrigo　felt　sorrow　threaten　to　overwhelm　him。　This　oldest；　endless　sorrow　of　mankind；　and　new　every　single　time。　Of　course　this　would　be　what　Velaz　of　Fezana　needed　to　ask　before　he　died。　How　did　the　world　in　which　they　lived　cause　such　things　as　this　to　happen？　Why　hadn't　Lain；　or　Ludus；　Martin　。。。　any　of　a　dozen　soldiers　。。。　been　nearest　when　Rodrigo　fell　to　the　ground　among　enemies？　Any　one　of　so　many　men　who　would　have　been　bitterly　mourned；　but　whose　death　in　this　fashion　could　have　been　seen　as　something　embedded…a　known　and　courted　risk…in　the　life　they　had　chosen？
　　〃We　will　take　care　of　her；〃　he　said　quietly。　〃On　my　oath。　She　will　be　cherished；　as　you　cherished　her。〃
　　Velaz　nodded　his　head；　satisfied。　Even　that　small　movement　caused　a　pumping　of　blood　in　his　terrible　wound。
　　He　closed　his　eyes　again。　There　was　no　color　in　his　face　at　all。　He　said；　eyes　still　closed；　〃Can　。。。　find？〃
　　And　this；　too；　Rodrigo　understood。　〃I　will。　I'll　find　her　for　you。〃
　　He　rose　then；　and　strode　away；　blood　soaking　his　clothes；　moving　swiftly；　purposefully；　to　try　to　do　a　thing　that　was；　in　fact；　beyond　him　or　any　man　that　night：　to　find　a　single；　masked　woman　in　the　careening　dark　of　Carnival。
　　Which　is　why　he　was　not　in　the　square；　but　hammering　at　the　door　of　her　house　and　then　doubling　back　through　the　streets；　shouting　her　name　at　the　top　of　his　voice　in　a　world　of　noise　and　laughter；　when　first　Ammar　and　then　Jehane　herself　came　running　up；　fearing　to　find　Rodrigo　dead；　only　to　discover　it　was　Velaz　lying　on　the　stones　under　torches　held　by　silent　soldiers。
　　
　　Jehane　had　never　realized　how　much　affection　had　been　won　from　a　pany　of　Valledan　soldiers　by　the　little　man　who　had　served　her　father　and　then　herself　all　these　years。　It　ought　not；　perhaps；　to　have　been　such　a　surprise。　Military　men　recognized　petence　and　inner　strength　and　loyalty；　and　Velaz　had　embodied　these　things。
　　Alvar；　in　particular；　was　taking　this　death　very　badly；　almost　blaming　himself　for　it。　It　appeared　that　he　had　been　the　second　man　to　arrive　when　Rodrigo　was　attacked。　Jehane　didn't　know　where　he'd　e　from；　but　she　gathered　he'd　been　with　a　woman　not　far　away。
　　Her　thinking　wasn't　really　very　clear。　The　night　was　nearly　done。　The　thin　crescent　of　the　white　moon　was　overhead　now；　but　there　already　appeared　to　be　a　hint　of　grey　through　the　open　windows　facing　east。　They　were　in　the　barracks；　the　dining　room　on　the　ground　floor。　The　streets　seemed　quieter　now；　but　that　may　have　been　an　illusion；　behind　these　walls。　Jehane　wanted　to　tell　Alvar　there　was　nothing　inappropriate　about　having　been　with　a　woman　at　Carnival；　but　she　couldn't　seem　to　be　able　to　manage　any　words　yet。
　　Someone…Husari；　she　thought…had　brought　her　a　cup　of　something　warm。　She　gripped　it　in　both　hands；　shivering。　Someone　else　had　draped　a　cloak　over　her。　Another　cloak　lay　over　Velaz；　on　one　of　the　tables　not　far　away。　A　third　covered　the　soldier　who　had　died　in　the　doorway　when　the　Muwardis　burst　in。　The　door　had　been　unlocked。　It　seemed　he　had　been　watching　the　dancing　in　the　square。
　　She　had　been　crying；　off　and　on；　for　a　long　time。　She　felt　numb；　hollow；　light…headed。　Very　cold；　even　beneath　the　cloak。　In　her　mind　she　tried　to　begin　a　letter　to　her　mother　and　father　。。。　and　then　stopped。　The　process　of　forming　those　necessary　words　threatened　to　make　her　weep　again。
　　He　had　been　a　part　of　the　world　all　her　life；　if　not　at　the　very　center；　then　never　far　away。　He　had　not　ever；　as　best　she　knew；　done　a　violent　or　a　hurtful　thing　to　any　man　or　woman　until　tonight　when　he　had　attacked　a　Muwardi　warrior　and　saved　Rodrigo's　life。
　　That　made　her　remember；　much　too　late；　something　else。　She　looked　over　and　saw　that　Rodrigo's　wounds　were　being　cleaned　and　dressed　by　Lain　Nunez。　I　ought　to　be　doing　that；　a　part　of　her　said　inwardly；　but　she　couldn't　have。　She　could　not　have　done　it　tonight。
　　She　realized　that　Ammar　had　e　up　and　was　crouched　on　his　heels　beside　her。　She　also　realized；　belatedly；　that　it　was　his　cloak　she　was　wearing。　He　looked　at　her　searchingly；　then　took　her　hand；　not　speaking。　How　to　prehend　that　this　same　night　they　had　kissed？　And　he　had　said　certain　things　that　opened　up　new　horizons　in　the　world。
　　Then　the　king　of　Cartada。
　　Then　Velaz　on　the　cobblestones。
　　She　had　not　told　anyone　about　Almalik。　A　man　she　loved　was　here…she　could　use　that　word　now　in　her　mind；　admit　it　to　herself…and　that　part　of　this　night's　dark　spinning　was　his　to　tell；　or　to　preserve　in　silence。
　　She　had　heard　enough　from　the　balcony　to　understand　a　little　of　what　lay　between　Ammar　and　the　young；　frightened　king　of　Cartada。　The　king　who　had　nonetheless　been　calculating　enough　to　send　killers　from　the　desert　after　Rodrigo　Belmonte。　He　had　also　ordered　the　execution　of　the　warrior　who'd　thrown　a　blade　at　Ammar。　There　was　something　plex　and　hurtful　here。
　　She　could　not　seek　her　vengeance　for　Velaz　by　setting　these　men　on　the　track　of　the　Cartadan　king。　It　was　Rodrigo　he　had　tried　to　kill；　and　mercenary　soldiers；　passing　back　and　forth　across　the　tagra　lands　and　the　boundaries　of　Jad　and　Ashar；　lived　lives　that　made　that　likely；　even　probable。
　　Velaz　had　not。　Velaz　ben　Ishak…he　had　taken　her　father's　name　when　he　adopted　the　Kindath　faith…had　lived　a　life　that　ought　to　have　ended　in　a　kind　and　cared…for　old　age。　Not　on　a　table　in　a　barracks　hall　with　that　sword　wound　in　his　neck。
　　It　occurred　to　Jehane　then…in　the　dreamy　way　thoughts　were　ing…that　she；　too；　had　decisions　to　make　in　the　days　that　lay　ahead。　The　divided　loyalties　were　not　only　Ammar's　or　Rodrigo's。　She　was　physician　to　a　band　of　Valledan　mercenaries　and　to　the　court　of　Ragosa。　She　was　also　a　citizen　of　Fezana；　in　Cartadan　lands。　Her　home　was　there　and　her　family。　It　was　her　own　king；　in　fact；　who　was　riding　away　from　these　walls　tonight；　with　one　panion　only　on　a　dangerous　journey　home。　The　man　he　had　ordered　killed　was　a　Valledan；　a　Jaddite　enemy；　the　Scourge　of　Al…Rassan。
　　A　man　who　might；　through　his　valor　and　his　pany's；　achieve　the　conquest　of　her　own　city　if　he　were　to　rejoin　King　Ramiro　and　the　assault　upon　Fezana　became　a　reality。　The　Jaddites　of　Esperana　had　burned　the　Kindath；　or　enslaved　them。　The　island　tomb　of　Queen　Vasca　remained　a　place　of　holiest　pilgrimage。
　　Ammar　was　holding　her　hand。　Husari　came　back。　His　eyes　were　red…rimmed。　She　lifted　her　free　hand　and　he　took　it　in　his。　Good　men　all　around　her　in　this　room；　decent；　caring　men。　But　the　most　decent；　the　most　caring；　the　one　who　had　loved　her　from　the　day　she　was　born；　was　dead　on　a　table　under　a　soldier's　cloak。
　　Somewhere　within　her　grieving　soul　Jehane　experienced　a　tremor　then；　an　apprehension　of　pain　to　e。　The　world　of　Esperana；　of　Al…Rassan；　seemed　to　her　to　be　rushing　headlong　towards　something　vast　and　terrible；　and　the　deaths　of　Velaz　and　of　Rodrigo's　man　at　the　barracks　door；　and　even　of　seven　desert　warriors　tonight…all　these　were　merely　prelude　to　much　worse　to　e。
　　She　looked　around　the　large　room　and　by　the　light　of　the　torches　saw　men　she　liked　and　admired；　and　some　she　loved；　and　she　wondered…in　the　strange；　hollowed…out　mood　she　had　passed　into…how　many　of　them　would　live　to　see　the　next　Ragosa　Carnival。
　　Or　if　there　would　be　another　one　a　year　from　now。
　　Rodrigo　came　over；　shirtless；　a　neat；　efficient　bandage　covering　his　most　serious　wound。　His　upper　body　and　arms　were　hard　and　muscled；　laced　with　scars。　One　more　now；　when　this　healed。　She　would　have　a　look　at　it　later　in　the　day。　Work　was　sometimes　the　only　barrier　there　was　between　life　and　the　emptiness　beyond。
　　His　expression　was　strange。　She　hadn't　seen　him　look　this　way　since　。。。　since　the　night　she'd　met　him　and　they　had　watched　a　hamlet　burn　north　of　Fezana。　There　was　that　same　anger　now；　and　a　kind　of　hurt　that　didn't　sort　easily　with　his　profes