srdonaldson.theillearthwar-第56部分
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
through the Center Plains to approach Revelstone。 Thus these Plains bore much of the brunt of Lord Foul's malice。 The people of the Plains remembered this； and sent their sons and daughters to the Loresraat to be trained in the skills of the Sword。
As he made camp that night； Troy was intensely conscious of how personally his warriors depended on him。 Their homes and families were at the mercy of his success or failure。 At his mand they were enduring the slow hell of this forced march。
And he knew that the war would begin within the next day。 By that time； the vanguard of Lord Foul's army would reach the western end of the Mithil valley； and would encounter Hiltmark Quaan and the Lords Callindrill and Verement。 He was sure of it； no later than the evening of the ninth day。 Then men and women would begin to die…his warriors。 Bloodguard would begin to die。 He wanted to be with them； wanted to keep them alive； but he could not。 And the march to Doom's Retreat would go on and on and on； grinding down the Warward like the millstone of an unanswerable need。 Soon Troy stretched himself out in his blankets and pressed his face against the earth as if that were the only way he could keep his balance。
He spent most of the night reviewing every facet of his battle plan； trying to assure himself that he had not made any mistakes。
The next morning； he felt full of urgency； and he found that whenever he forgot himself he began to hurry Mehryl's pace。 So he turned to Mhoram and asked the Lord to talk to him； distract him。
In response； the Lord slowly dropped into a musing； half…singing tone； and began to tell Troy about the
various legended or potent parts of the Land which lay between them and Doom's Retreat。 In particular； he narrated some of the old tales about the One Forest； the mighty wood which had covered the Land in an age that …was ancient before Berek Halfhand's time； with its Forestals and its fierce foes； the Ravers。 During the centuries when the trees were still awake； he said； the Forestals had cherished their consciousness and guided their defenses against turiya； moksha； and samadhi。 But now； if the old tales spoke truly； no active remnant or vestige of the One Forest and the Forestals remained in the Land； except the grim woods of Garroting Deep and Caerroil Wildwood。 And none who entered Garroting Deep； for good or ill； ever returned。
This dark forest lay near the line of the Warward's march； beyond the Last Hills。
Then Troy talked for a while about himself and his reactions to the Land。 He felt close to Mhoram； and this enabled him to discuss the way High Lord Elena personified his sense of the Land。 Gradually； he relaxed； regained his ability to say to himself； It doesn't matter who summoned me。 I am who I am。 I'm going to do it。
So he was not just surprised when he and Mhoram caught up with the struggling march of the warriors by midafternoon。 He was shocked。
The Warward was almost half a day's march behind schedule。
The warriors met him with a halting cheer that stumbled into silence as they realized that the High Lord was not with him。 But Troy ignored them。 Riding straight up to First Haft Amorine； he barked； 〃You're slow！ Speed up the beat！ At this rate； we're going to be exactly one and a half days too late！〃
The wele on Amorine's face fell into chagrin； and she whirled away at once toward the drummers。 With a wide； sighing groan of pain； the warriors stepped up their pace； hurried to the demand of the drums until they were half running。 Then Warmark Troy rode up and down beside their ranks like a flail； enforcing the new rhythm with his angry presence。
When he found one Eoward lagging slightly； he shouted into the young drummer's face； 〃By God！ I'm not going to lose this war because of you！〃 He clapped his beat by the shamed Warhaft's ear until the drummer copied it exactly。
Only after his dismay had subsided did he observe what nine days of hard marching had done to the Warward。 Then he wished that he could recant his harshness。 The warriors were suffering severely。 Almost all of them limped in some way； pushed themselves unevenly against the nagging pain of cuts and torn muscles and bone bruises。 Many were so tired that they had stopped sweating； and the overheated flush of their faces was caked with dust； giving them a yellow and demented look。 More than a few bled at the shoulders from sores worn by the friction of their pack straps。 Despite their doggedness； they marched raggedly； as if they could hardly remember the ranked order which had been trained into them ninety leagues ago at Revelstone。
And they were behind schedule。 They were still one hundred eighty leagues away from Doom's Retreat。
By the time they lurched and gasped their way into camp for the night； Troy was almost frantic for some way to save them。 He sensed that bare determination would not be enough。
As soon as the acpanying Hirebrands and Gravelingases had started their campfires； Lord Mhoram went to do what he could for the Warward。 He moved from Eoward to Eoward； helping the cooks。 In each stewpot； his blue fire worked some effect on 4 the food； enhanced it； increased its health and vitality。 And when the meal was done； he walked through all the Warward； spreading the balm of his presence talking to the warriors； helping them with their bruises ' and bandages； jesting with any who could 。muster the
strength to laugh。
While the Lord did this； Troy met with his officers； the Hafts and Warhafts。 After he had explained High Lord Elena's absence； he turned to the problem of the march。 Painfully； he reviewed the circumstances which made this ordeal so imperative； so irretrievably
necessary。 Then he addressed himself to specific details。 He organized a rotation schedule for the leather water jugs； so that they would be passed continuously through the ranks for the sake of the overheated warriors。 He made arrangements for the packs of the men and women with bleeding shoulders to be carried by the horses。 He ordered all the mounted officers except the drummers to ride double； so that the most exhausted warriors could rest on horseback； and he told these officers to gather aliantha for the marchers as they rode。 He assigned all scouting and water duties to the Bloodguard； thus freeing more horses to help the warriors。 Then he sent the Hafts and Warhafts back to their mands。
When they were gone； First Haft Amorine came over to speak with him。 Her blunt； dour face was charged with some grim statement； and he forestalled her quickly。 〃No； Amorine；〃 he said； 〃I am not going to put someone else in your place。〃_ She tried to protest； and he hurried on more gently； 〃I know I've made it sound as if I blame you because we're behind schedule。 But that's just because I really blame myself。 You're the only one for this job。 The Warward respects you…just as it respects Quaan。 The warriors trust your experience and honesty。〃 Glumly； he concluded； 〃After all this； I'm not so sure how they feel about me。〃
At once； her self…doubt vanished。 〃You are the Warmark。 Who has dared to question you？〃 Her tone implied that anyone who wanted to challenge him would have to deal with her first。
Her loyalty touched him。 He was not entirely sure that he deserved it。 But he intended to deserve it。 Swallowing down his emotion； he replied； 〃No one is going to question me as long as we keep up the pace。 And we are going to keep it up。〃 To himself； he added； I promised Quaan。 〃We're going to gain back the time we've lost…and we're going to do it here； in the Center Plains。 The terrain gets worse south of the Black River。〃
The First Haft nodded as if she believed him。
After she had left him； he went to his blankets； and
spent the night battering the private darkness of his brain in search of some alternative to his dilemma。 But he could conceive nothing to eliminate the need for this forced march。 When he slept； he dreamed of warriors shambling into the south as if it were an open grave。
The next morning； when the ranks of the Warward stirred； tensed weakly； lumbered into motion like a long dark groan across the Plains； Warmark Hile Troy marched with them。 Eschewing his Ranyhyn； he started the beat of the drums； verified it； and moved to it himself。 As he marched； he worked his way up and down among the Eoward； visiting every Eoman； encouraging every Warhaft by name； surprising the warriors out of their numb fatigue with his presence and concern…striving in spite of his own untrained physical condition to set an example that would be of some help to his army。 At the end of one day in the ranks； he was so weary that he barely reached the small camp he shared with Lord Mhoram and First Haft Amorine before he mumbled something about dying and pitched into sleep。 But the next day he hauled himself up and repeated his performance； hiding his pain behind the miseration which he carried in one way or another to the warriors of the Warward。
He marched with his army for four days across the Center Plains。 After each day at his cruel pace； he felt that he had passed his limit…that the whole forced march was impossible； and he must give it up。 But each night Lord Mhoram helped cook the army's food； and then went among the wa
