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.Standing now, leaning heavily on Jemel, he looked down on the sleeping Hasan and then out, over the parapet for his first sight of Surayon.He saw a valley like a garden on a grand scale, green and growing - or rather it had been, and should have been yet.Whichever way he turned, though, west and north and east the air was smudged with smoke.He forgot almost that he had lost the Daughter's eyes; he seemed to see sharply at great distances despite that all-encompassing haze, and what he saw was death and fury.This was what Hasan had yearned for, he thought bleakly, and Sieur Anton too - a bolt shot at the heart of the Kingdom, a purifying fire, a holy war for each of them although they followed different gods.Try as he might, stare though he did, he could see nothing holy: only men in armour, men in black, men in midnight blue, all blood-swathed and screaming.Three armies, he thought: one was Ransomer-led, one was Sharai and not led by anyone, its only hope for a leader here at his feet.The other must be from Ascariel.Between them all the Surayonnaise, fighting like farmers for their lands and lives.Better if the armies fought each other; that must come, surely, as soon as Sharai tribes met knights of Outremer.However soon, though, it would be too late for Surayon.The land had been blighted already, in a morning's work; another day or two, and it would be destroyed.Jemel was gazing at Hasan.'I cannot believe that he sleeps in Outremer, while the tribes are fighting.''You haven't been where he was, Jemel.I can believe that he would sleep and sleep; I wish I could.Besides, better that for Hasan than to rise up and make a killing choice.This is Outremer, yes - but it is also Surayon.The Sharai have had an understanding with these people for many years.Elisande lived a year in Rhabat, do you remember? And was not the first to do so.The Princip saved Hasan's life this morning; should Hasan demand a mount and a weapon, to fight him this afternoon? Or should he betray the tribes who trust him, who followed him this far?''Hasan should do what he believes is right, what he has always taught and argued for.' Jemel's voice was as tight and unforgiving as his face.'It is a cowards way, to escape into dreams when the road is hard.He knew that Surayon was part of Outremer, he has always known that.It was Catari land before, and holy to us.''And what would you do, if he made that choice and went to lead the tribes? Would you join their slaughter, as you wanted to before? It is a slaughter, Jemel, just lift your eyes and look.Or listen, can't you hear the screaming? There are children's voices in the screaming.''There always are.Children, women, the old and the sick - they die, whosever hand directs the blade.That is war, Marron.You know this, you have done this too.You say you will not kill again; I say wait, the time will come.Hasan might control the tribes a little; the slaughter will be worse without him.But no, I would not follow if he left.I followed him once, and Jazra died.I swore then that I would never follow him again, but kill him rather.I was hot then, blaming him for saving me; that oath was foolish, and I broke it.But now he is sleeping in the sun while men die - yes, and children too - and I will not follow him again.A man should not be weak when he is needed.Besides, I am sworn to stay with you, and that oath I will keep, foolish or not.'Marron might have wished the last answer to have come first, but he was glad enough to hear it at all.He nodded his acceptance, although privately he wondered if his changeable friend might not turn once more, when Hasan was awake and in his strength again.That man had a drawing power in his voice and manner, that Jemel had been helpless to resist before.For now, he just nodded his head towards the open doorway that led off the terrace and into the palace beyond.*Standing had been hard enough; walking was worse, even with Jemel's shoulder as a crutch beneath his arm.He felt absurdly weak, utterly drained and more.He shuffled along like a man old and spent, as though all his youth and vitality had been ripped from him.His body had not forgotten the steely inexhaustibility it had borrowed from the Daughter.With every step he expected to recover it, and with every step he was betrayed into a trembling helplessness.Probably any man so cruelly reduced would hunger for what he had lost.He couldn't blame himself for yearning to have the Daughter back in his blood again; his soul's freedom didn't seem worth the price today.They passed through a wide and empty room, and came to a corridor that led straight and far, too far, seemingly into the hillside the house was built against.There was still no one in sight, no sound of movement from any of the many doors that opened to left and right.Marron wondered foolishly if the entire household had abandoned them and ridden off to the war.More seriously, he wondered if he could possibly walk as far as the corridor's end, even with Jemel's support.If he did, and if they found nothing but empty rooms all the way, he was utterly certain that he would not be able to walk back.Jemel knew; he said, 'This was stupid from the start.We should sit on the terrace and wait.The Princip will come soon, Sherett said so.'Perhaps Hasan is not so cowardly and weak, then, eh?The words hovered treacherously on Marron's tongue, and were not - quite - said; instead he only sighed, close to yielding already, only wanting not to make waste so quickly of the great effort that had brought him this far.He hadn't felt like this those times when Elisande had healed him, neither her father Rudel.Perhaps the legendary Princip was cruder in his work, coming to it late as he had, lacking the subtlety of the native-born miracle worker.Even as the thought occurred, he heard voices, down at the further end of the corridor.He waited a beat, to know who they were and what they were saying; then remembered that it was the Daughter's trick and not his, to hear such details across such a distance [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]