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！
〃Yeurquin！〃 Triock screamed。 〃Yeurquin！〃
He dashed after his friend； grappling； groping frantically for him。 For an instant； a dim shape scudded away just beyond his reach。 〃Yeurquin！〃 Then it was gone； scattered into the distance like a handful of brittle leaves on the raving wind。
He ran after it。 He was hardly conscious of Quirrel's grip on his cloak； or of the wind yammering at his back； impelling him southward； away from his destination。 Fear for Yeurquin drove every other thought from his mind。 Suddenly he was no longer the bearer of impossible messages for the Lords。 With a rush of passion； he became mere Triock son of Thuler； the former Cattleherd who could not bear to abandon a friend。 He ran along the wind in search of Yeurquin as if his soul depended on it。
But the snow struck at his back like one vicious blow prolonged into torment； the wind yelped and yowled in his numb ears； unmoored his bearings； the cold sucked the strength out of him； weakened him as if it frosted the blood in his veins。 He could not find Yeurquin。 He had rushed past his friend unknowing in the darkness…or Yeurquin had somewhere found the strength to turn to one side against the wind…or the injured man had simply fallen and disappeared under the snow。 Triock shouted and groped and ran； and encountered nothing but the storm。 When he tried to turn his head toward Quirrel； he found that inches of ice had already formed on his shoulders； freezing his neck into that one strained position。 His very sweat turned to ice on him。 He could not resist the blast。 If he did not keep stumbling tortuously before the wind； he would fall and never rise again。
He kept going until he had forgotten Yeurquin and Covenant and messages； forgotten everything except the exertion of his steps and Quirrel's grim grasp on his cloak。 He had no conception of where he was going； he was not going anywhere except along the wind； always along the wind。 Gradually the storm became silent around him as the crusting snow froze over his ears。 Leagues passed unnoticed。 When the ground abruptly canted upward under him； he fell to his hands and knees。 A wave of numbness and lassitude ran through him as if it were springing from the frostbite in his hands and feet。
Something shook his head； something was hitting him on the side of his head。 At first； the ice protected him； then it broke away with a tearing pain as if it had taken his ear with it。 The howling of wind demons rushed at him； and he almost did not hear Quirrel shout； 〃Hills！ Foothills！ Climb！ Find shelter！〃
He was an old man； too old for such labor。 He was a strong Stonedown Cattleherd； and did not intend to die frozen and useless。 He lumbered to his feet； struggled upward。
Leaning weakly back against the wind； he ascended the ragged slope。 He realized dimly that both wind and snow were less now。 But still he could see nothing； now the storm itself was wrapped in night。 When the slope became too steep for the wind to push him up it； he turned to the side which offered the least resistance and went on； lumbering blindly through knee…deep snow； letting the blizzard guide him wherever it chose。
Yet in spite of the night and the storm； his senses became slowly aware of looming rock walls。 The wind lost its single fury； turned to frigid gusts and eddies； and he limped between sheer； close cliffs into a valley。 But the disruption of the storm's force came too late to save him。 The valley floor lay waist…deep in heavy gray snow； and he was too exhausted to make much headway against it。 Once again； he found he was supporting a rade； Quirrel hung from his shoulders like spent mortality。 Soon he could go no farther。 He fell into a snowbank； gasping into the snow；' Tire。 Must…fire。〃
But his hands were too frozen； his arms were too locked in ice。 He could not reach his lomillialor rod； could never have pulled flame from it。 Quirrel had already lost her graveling。 And his was in his pack。 It might as well have been lost also； he could not free his shoulders from the pack straps。 He tried to rouse Quirrel； failed。 The lower half of her face was caked in ice； and her eyelids fluttered as if she were going into shock。
〃Fire；〃 Triock rasped。 He was sobbing and could not stop。 Frustration and exhaustion overwhelmed him。 The snow towered above him as if it would go on forever。
Tears froze his eyes shut； and when he pried them open again； he saw a yellow flame flickering its way toward him。 He stared at it dumbly。 It bobbed and weaved forward as if it were riding the wick of an invisible candle until it was so close to his face that he could feel its warm radiance on his eyeballs。 But it had no wick。 It stood in the air before his face and flickered urgently； as if it were trying to tell him something。
He could not move； he felt that ice and exhaustion had already frozen his limbs to the ground。 But when he glanced away from the flame； he saw others； three or four more； dancing around him and Quirrel。 One of them touched her forehead as if it were trying to catch her attention。 When it failed； it flared slightly； and at once all the flames left； scurried away down the valley。 Triock watched them go as if they were his last hope。
Then the cold came over him like slumber； and he began to lose consciousness。 Unable to help himself； he sagged toward night。 The cold and the snow and the valley faded and were replaced by vague faces… Lena； Elena； Atiaran； Trell； Saltheart Foamfollower； Thomas Covenant。 They all regarded him with supplication； imploring him to do something。 If he failed； their deaths would have no meaning。 〃Forgive me；〃 he breathed； speaking especially to Covenant。 〃Forgive。〃
〃Perhaps I shall；〃 a distant voice replied。 〃It will not be easy…I do not desire these intrusions。 But you bear a rare token。 I see that I must at least help you。〃
Struggling； Triock turned his sight outward again。 The air over his head was bright with dancing flames； each no larger than his hand。 And among them stood a tall man dressed only in a long robe the color of granite。 He met Triock's gaze awkwardly； as if he were unaccustomed to dealing with eyes other than his own。 But when Triock croaked； 〃Help；〃 he replied quickly； 〃Yes。 I will help you。 Have no fear。〃
Moving decisively； he knelt； pulled open Triock's cloak and tunic； and placed one warm palm on his chest。 The man sang softly to himself； and as he did so； Triock felt a surge of heat pour into him。 His pulse steadied almost at once； his breathing unclenched； with wondrous speed； the possibility of movement returned to his limbs。 Then the man turned away to help Quirrel。 By the time Triock was on his feet among the bobbing flames； she had regained consciousness。
He recognized the flames now； he had heard of them in some of the happiest and saddest legends of the Land。 They were Wraiths。 As he shook his head clear of ice； he heard through the gusting wind snatches of their light crystal song； music like the melody of perfect quartz。 They danced about him as if they were asking him questions which he would never be able to understand or answer； and their lights bemused him； so that he stood entranced am