tg.stone of tears-第41部分

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thing：　the　truth　that　he　wasn’t　good　enough　for　her。　‘I　guess　so。　But　I　don’t　like　wearing　a　collar。　Not　one　bit。’
　
　He　was　sick　of　talking。　His　chest　hurt。　His　muscles　were　all　cramped。　He　was　tired。　He　missed　Kahlan。　But　Kahlan　had　made　him　put　on　a　collar　and　sent　him　away。　He　let　his　horse　and　the　one　tethered　to　his　saddle　fall　back　to　trail　behind　the　Sister’s　once　more　as　tears　ran　down　his　cheeks；　feeling　like　ice　on　his　skin。
　
　He　rode　in　silence。　His　horse　tore　off　wads　of　grass　and　chewed　as　it　plodded　along。　Ordinarily；　Richard　wouldn’t　have　let　his　horse　eat　while　it　had　a　bit　in　its　mouth。　It　couldn’t　chew　properly　with　the　bit；　and　could　end　up　with　colic。　You　could　lose　a　good　horse　to　colic。　Instead　of　stopping　it；　Richard　stroked　its　warm　neck　and　gave　reassuring　pats。
　
　It　felt　good　to　have　pany　that　didn’t　tell　him　he　was　stupid；　pany　that　didn’t　judge　or　make　demands。　He　didn’t　feel　like　doing　the　same　to　the　horse。　Better　to　be　a　horse　than　a　man；　he　thought。　Walk；　turn；　stop。　Nothing　more。　Better　to　be　anything　than　what　he　was。
　
　Despite　what　Sister　Verna　said；　he　knew　he　was　nothing　more　than　a　captive。　Nothing　she　said　could　change　that。
　
　If　he　was　ever　going　to　be　set　free；　he　would　have　to　learn　to　control　the　gift。　Once　the　Sisters　were　satisfied　he　could　control　the　gift；　maybe　they　would　free　him。　If　Kahlan　didn’t　want　him；　at　least　he　would　be　free。
　
　That　was　what　he　would　do；　he　decided。　Learn　to　use　the　gift　as　fast　as　he　could；　so　he　could　get　the　collar　off　and　be　set　free。　Zedd　had　always　told　him　he　was　a　fast　learner。　He　would　learn　everything。　Besides；　he　had　always　liked　learning。　He　had　always　wanted　to　know　more。　There　was　never　enough　for　him。　He　brightened　the　slightest　bit　at　the　idea。　He　liked　learning　new　things。　Maybe　it　wouldn’t　be　so　bad。　He　could　do　it。　Besides；　what　else　was　there？
　
　He　thought　of　the　way　Denna　trained　him；　taught　him。
　
　His　mood　sank。　He　was　just　deluding　himself。　They　would　never　set　him　free。　He　wasn’t　going　to　learn　because　he　wanted　to；　or　what　he　wanted　to；　he　was　going　to　learn　what　the　Sisters　of　the　Light　wanted　him　to　learn；　and　he　didn’t　necessarily　believe　that　what　they　taught　was　the　truth。　They　were　going　to　teach　him　about　pain。　It　was　hopeless。
　
　He　rode　with　his　dark；　brooding　thoughts。　He　was　the　Seeker。　The　bringer　of　death。
　
　Every　time　he　killed　someone　with　the　Sword　of　Truth；　he　knew　that　that　was　what　he　was。　That　was　what　the　Seeker　did；　what　the　Seeker　was：　the　bringer　of　death。
　
　As　the　sky　began　flaming　into　pinks；　yellows；　and　golds；　he　noticed　white　patches　in　the　distance　ahead。　It　wasn’t　snow；　the　snow　hadn’t　stuck。　Besides；　these　things　moved。　Sister　Verna　didn’t　say　anything　about　them；　she　simply　rode　along。　The　sun　at　their　backs　sent　long　shadows　ahead　of　them。　For　the　first　time；　Richard　realized　they　were　traveling　east。
　
　When　they　were　closer；　he　recognized　the　white　forms　spread　across　their　way；　turning　pink　in　the　last　rays　of　the　sun。　It　was　a　small　flock　of　sheep。　As　they　passed　among　them；　Richard　saw　that　the　people　tending　the　animals　were　Bantak。　He　recognized　their　manner　of　dress。
　
　Three　Bantak　men　approached　to　the　side　of　Richard；　ignoring　Sister　Verna。　They　mumbled　something　he　didn’t　understand；　but　their　words　and　faces　seemed　to　hold　a　certain　reverence。　The　three　dropped　to　their　knees　and　bowed　down；　stretching　their　arms　out；　their　hands　on　the　ground　toward　him。　Richard　slowed　his　horse　to　a　walk　as　he　looked　down　at　them。　They　came　back　up　on　their　knees；　chattering　at　him；　but　he　didn’t　understand　the　words。
　
　Richard　lifted　his　hand　in　greeting。　It　seemed　to　satisfy　them。　The　three　broke　into　grins　and　bowed　a　few　more　times　as　he　rode　past。　They　came　to　their　feet　and　trotted　next　to　his　horse；　attempting　to　push　things　into　his　hands：　bread；　fruit；　strips　of　dried　meat；　a　drab；　dirty　scarf；　necklaces　made　of　teeth；　bone　and　beads；　even　their　shepherd’s　crooks。
　
　Richard　forced　a　smile　and；　with　signs　he　thought　they　would　understand；　tried　to　decline　the　offers　without　offending　the　men。　One　of　the　three　was　particularly　insistent　he　take　a　melon；　offering　it　repeatedly。　Richard　didn’t　want　trouble；　so　he　took　the　melon　and　bowed　his　head　several　times。　They　seemed　proud；　nodding　and　bowing　as　he　rode　on。　He　gave　them　a　last　bow　from　his　saddle　as　he　rode　past；　and　slipped　the　melon　into　a　saddlebag。
　
　Sister　Verna　had　her　horse　turned　toward　him；　waiting　for　him　to　catch　up。　She　scowled　as　she　waited。　Richard　didn’t　hurry　his　horse　along；　he　simply　let　it　go　at　its　own　pace。　What　now；　he　wondered。
　
　When　he　finally　reached　her；　she　leaned　toward　him。　‘Why　are　they　saying　those　things！’
　
　‘What　things？　I　don’t　understand　their　language。’
　
　She　gritted　her　teeth。　They　think　you　are　a　wizard。　Why　would　they　think　that？　Why！’
　
　Richard　shrugged。　‘I　would　guess　it’s　because　that’s　what　I　told　them。’
　
　‘What！’　She　pushed　the　hood　of　her　cloak　back。　‘You　are　not　a　wizard！　You　have　no　right　telling　them　you　are！　You　lied！’
　
　Richard　folded　his　wrists　over　the　high　pommel　of　the　saddle。　‘You’re　right。　I’m　not　a　wizard。　Yes；　I　told　them　a　lie。’
　
　‘Lying　is　a　crime　against　the　Creator！’
　
　Richard　heaved　a　weary　sigh。　‘I　did　not　do　it　to　play　at　being　a　wizard。　I　did　it　to　stop　a　war。　It　was　the　only　way　I　could　keep　a　lot　of　people　from　dying。　It　worked　and　no　one　was　hurt。　I　would　do　the　same　thing　again　if　it　would　prevent　killing。’
　
　‘Lying　is　wrong！　The　Creator　hates　lies！’
　
　‘Does　this　Creator　of　yours　like　killing　better？’
　
　Sister　Verna　looked　like　she　was　ready　to　spit　fire　at　him。　‘He　is　everyone’s　Creator。　Not　just　my　Creator。　And　He　hates　lies。’
　
　Richard　calmly　appraised　her　heated　expression。　‘Tell　you　that　himself；　did　he？　e　right　up　and　sit　down　next　to　you　and　say　‘Sister　Verna；　I　want　you　to　know　I　hate　lies’？’
　
　She　ground　her　teeth　and　growled　the　words。　‘Of　course　not。　It　is　written。　Written　in　books。’
　
　‘Ahh。’　Richard　nodded。　‘Well　then；　of　course　it　is　the　truth。　If　it　is　written　in　books；　then　it　has　to　be　true。　Everyone　knows　that　if　something　is　written　down　and　attributed；　then　it　must　be　true。’
　
　Her　eyes　were　fire。　‘You　treat　lightly　the　Creator’s　words。’
　
　He　leaned　toward　her；　some　of　his　own　heat　surfacing。　‘And　you；　Sister　Verna；　treat　lightly　the　lives　of　people　you　consider　heathens。’
　
　She　paused　and　with　an　effort　calmed　herself　a　little。　‘Richard；　you　must　learn　that　lying　is　wrong。　Very　wrong。　It　is　against　the　Creator。　Against　what　we　teach。　You　are　as　much　a　wizard　as　an　infant　is　an　old　man。　Calling　yourself　a　wizard　when　you　are　not　is　a　lie。　A　filthy　lie。　It　is　a　desecration。　You　are　not　a　wizard。’
　
　‘Sister　Verna；　I　know　very　well　that　lying　is　wrong。　I　am　not　in　the　habit　of　going　around　telling　lies；　but　in　perspective；　I　consider　it　preferable　to　people　being　killed。　It　was　the　only　way。’
　
　She　took　a　deep　breath　and　nodded；　causing　the　curls　in　her　brown　hair　to　spring　up　and　down　a　little。　‘Perhaps　you　are　right。　So　long　as　you　know　that　lying　is　wrong。　Don’t　make　a　habit　of　it。　You　are　no　wizard。’
　
　Richard　stared　at　her　as　his　grip　tightened　on　the　reins。　‘I　know　I’m　not　a　wizard；　Sister　Verna。　I　know　exactly　what　I　am。’　He　gave　his　horse’s　ribs　a　squeeze　with　his　legs；　urging　it　ahead。　‘I’m　the　bringer　of　death。’
　
　Her　hand　darted　out　and　snatched　a　fistful　of　his　shirtsleeve；　yanking　him　around　in　his　saddle。　He　snugged　the　reins　back　as　he　was　pulled　around　to　her　wide　eyes。
　
　Her　voice　was　an　urgent　whisper。　‘What　did　you　say？　What　did　you　call　yourself？’
　
　He　gave　her　an　even　look。　‘I’m　the　bringer　of　death。’
　
　‘Who　named　you　that？’
　
　Richard　studied　her　ashen　face。　‘I　know　what　wearing　this　sword　means。　I　know　what　it　is　to　draw　it。　I　know　it　better　than　any　Seeker　before　me　has　known。　It　is　part　of　me；　I　am　part　of　it。　I　used　its　magic　to　kill　the　last　person　who　put　a　collar　around　my　neck。　I　know　what　it　makes　me。　I　lied　to　the　Bantak　because　I　didn’t　want　people　to　be　killed。　But　there　is　another　reason。　The　Bantak　are　a　peaceful　people。　I　did　not　want　them　to　learn　the　horror　of　what　it　means　to　kill。　I　know　all　too　well　that　lesson。　You　killed　Sister　Elizabeth　；　perhaps　you　know；　too。’
　
　‘Who　named　you　‘bringer　of　death’？’　she　pressed。
　
　‘No　one。　I　named　myself；　because　that　is　what　I　do；　what　I　am。　I　am　the　bringer　of　death。’
　
　She　released　her　grip　on　his　shirt。　‘I　see。’
　
　As　she　began　turning　her　horse　around；　he　called　out　her　name　in　a　manding　tone。　It　brought　her　to　a　halt。　‘Why？　Why　do　you　want　to　know　who　named　me　that？　Why　is　it　so　important？’
　
　Her　anger　seemed　to　have　vanished；　and　left　a　shadow　of　fear　in　its　passing。　‘I　told　you　I　read　all　the　prophecies　at　the　palace。　There　is　a　fragment　of　one　that　contains　those　words。　‘He　is　the　bringer　of　death；　and　he　shall　so　name　himself。’’
　
　Richard　narrowed　his　eyes。　And　what　does　the　rest　of　the　prophecy　say？　Did　it　also　say　that　I　will　kill　you；　and　anyone　else　I　have　to；　to　get　this　collar　off？’
　
　She　looked　away　from　his　glare。　‘Prophecies　are　not　for　the　eyes　or　ears　of　the　untrained。’
　
　With　a　sharp　kick；　she　surprised　her　horse　and　sent　it　surging　ahead。　As　he　followed　behind；　Richard　decided　to　let　the　matter　drop。　He　didn’t　care　about　prophecies。　They　were　nothing　more　than　riddles　as　far　as　he　was　concerned；　and　he　hated　riddles。　If　something　was　important　enough　to　need　saying；　why　couch　it　in　riddles？　Riddles　were　stupid　games；　and　not　important。
　
　As　he　rode；　he　wondered　how　many　people　he　was　going　to　have　to　kill　to　get　the　collar　off。　One；　or　a　hundred；　it　didn’t　matter。　His　rage　boiled　at　the　thought　of　being　led　around　by　the　Rada’Han。　He　gritted　his　teeth　at　the　thought。　His　jaw　muscles　flexed　at　the　thought。　His　fists　tightened　on　the　reins。
　
　Bringer　of　death。　He　would　kill　as　many　as　it　took。　He　would　have　the　collar　off；　or　he　would　die　trying。　The　fury；　the　need　to　kill；　surged　through　every　fiber　of　his　being。
　
　With　a　start；　he　realized　he　was　calling　forth　the　magic　from　the　sword；　even　as　it　sat　in　its　scabbard。　He　no　longer　had　to　hold　the　sword　to　do　it。　He　could　feel　its　wrath　tingling　through　him。　With　an　effort；　he　put　it　down　and　calmed　himself。
　
　Besides　the　rage　of　hate　from　the　sword；　he　also　knew　how　to　call　forth　its　opposite　side；　its　white　magic。　The　Sisters　didn’t　know　he　could　do　that。　He　hoped　he　would　have　no　reason　to　teach　them。　But　if　he　had　to；　he　would。　He　would　have　the　collar　off。　He　would　use　either　side　of　the　sword’s　magic；　or　both；　to　have　the　collar　off　his　neck。　When　the　time　came。　When　the　time　came。
　
　In　the　violet　afterglow　of　twilight；　Sister　Verna　brought　them　to　a　halt　for　the　night。　She　had　said　nothing　further　to　him。　He　didn’t　know　if　she　was　still　angry；　but　he　didn’t　really　care。
　
　Richard　walked　the　horses　a　short　distance　to　a　line　of　small　willows　at　the　bank　of　a　creek　and　removed　their　bridles；　replacing　them　with　halters。　His　bay　tossed　her　head；　glad　to　have　the　bit　out　of　her　mouth。　Richard　saw　it　was　an　aggressive　spade　bit。　Few　bits　were　more　cruelly　punishing。
　
　People　who　used　them；　it　seemed　to　him；　were　people　who　thought　horses　were　nothing　more　than　beasts　humans　had　to　conquer　and　control。　He　thought　maybe　they　should　have　to　have　a　bit　in　their　mouths　to　see　how　they　liked　it。　Properly　trained；　a　horse　needed　nothing　more　than　a　jointed　snaffle。　If　it　was　properly　trained；　and　given　a　little　understanding；　it　didn’t　even　need　a　bit。　He　guessed　some　people　preferred　punishment　to　patience。
　
　He　reached　up　experimentally　to　stroke　the　horse’s　black…tipped　ear。　It　lifted　its　head　firmly　away　from　his　hand。　‘So；’　he　muttered；　‘they　like　to　twitch　your　ear；　too。’　He　scratched　and　patted　the　horse’s　neck。　‘I　won’t　do　that　to　you；　my　friend。’　The　horse　leaned　against　his　scratching。
　
　Richard　retrieved　water　in　a　canvas　bucket　and　let　each　horse　have　only　a　few　swallows；　as　they　weren’t　cooled　down。　In　one　of　the　saddlebags；　he　found　brushes；　and　took　his　time　carefully　currying　each　of　them　and　then　picking　their　hooves　clean。　He　took　longer　than　he　needed　to；　because　he　preferred　their　pany　to　the　Sister’s。
　
　After　he　finished；　he　cut　a　section　of　rind　from　the　melon　the　Bantak　had　given　him；　and　gave　each　horse　a　piece。　Horses　loved　few　things　in　life　as　much　as　a　melon　rind。　Each　showed　eagerness　for　the　treat。　It　was　the　first　eagerness　any　of　them　had　shown。　After　seeing　the　spade　bits；　he　knew　why。
　
　When　he　decided　his　chest　hurt　too　much　to　stand　around　any　longer；　he　went　over　to　where　Sister　Verna　sat　on　a　small　blanket　and　put　his　own　blanket　on　the　ground　opposite　her。　He　folded　his　legs　as　he　sat　and　pulled　a　piece　of　the　flat　tava　bread　from　his　pack；　more　for　something　to　do　than　because　he　was　hungry。　She　accepted　his　offer　of　a　piece。　He　cut　up　the　melon　and　put　the　remaining　rind　aside；　saving　it　for　later。　Richard　offered　Sister　Verna　a　piece　of　melon。
　
　She　looked　at　it　coolly　as　he　held　it　out。　‘It　was　given　under　false　pretenses。’
　
　‘It　was　given　as　thanks　for　preventing　a　war。’
　
　She　took　it　at　last；　but　not　eagerly。　‘Perhaps。’
　
　‘I’ll　take　first　watch；　if　you　wish；’　he　offered。
　
　There　is　no　need　to　stand　watch。’
　
　He　appraised　her　in　the　near　darkness　as　he　chewed　a　juicy　piece　of　melon。　‘There　are　heart　hounds　in　the　Midlands。　Other　things；　too。　I　could　draw　another　screeling。　I　think　a　watch　would　be　wise。’
　
　She　pulled　off　a　piece　of　tava　bread　without　looking　up。　‘You　are　safe　with　me。　There　is　no　need　for　a　watch。’
　
　Her　voice　was　flat。　It　wasn’t　angry；　but　it　wasn’t　far　from　it；　either。　He　ate　in　silence　for　a　while；　and　then　decided　to　try　to　lighten　the　mood。　He　tried　to　make　his　voice　sound　cheerful；　even　though　he　felt　no　cheer。
　
　‘I’m　here；　you’re　here；　I’m　wearing　the　Rada’Han；　how　about　if　you　start　teaching　me　to　use　the　gift？’
　
　She　looked　up　from　under　her　eyebrows　as　she　chewed。　‘There　will　be　time　enough　to　teach　you　when　we　reach　the　Palace　of　the　Prophets。’
　
　The　air　felt　as　if　it　had　suddenly　cooled。　His　anger　heated。　The　sword’s　anger　tugged　at　him　to　be　released。　Richard　put　it　down。　As　you　wish。’
　
　Sister　Verna　lay　down　on　her　blanket；　pulling　her　cloak　tightly　around　herself。　‘It’s　cold。　Build　a　fire。’
　
　He　put　the　last　bite　of　tava　bread　in　his　mouth　and　waited　until　he　had　swallowed　before　speaking　softly。　Her　eyes　watched　him。
　
　‘I’m　surprised　you　don’t　know　more　about　magic；　Sister　Verna。　There　is　a　word　that　is　magic。　It　can　acplish　more　than　you　might　think。　Maybe　you　have　heard　it　before。　It　is　the　word　‘please。’’　He　rose　to　his　feet。　‘I’m　not　cold。　If　you　want　a　fire；　build　it　yourself。　I’m　going　to　go　stand　watch。　I　told　you　before；　I　will　take　nothing　on　faith。　If　we　are　killed　in　the　night；　it　won’t　be　without　warning　on　my　watch。’
　
　
　He　turned　his　back　to　her　without　waiting　for　a　response。　He　didn’t　want　to　hear　anything　she　had　to　say。　Wal