tg.stone of tears-第59部分

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　The　brutal　hands　on　her　arms　brought　her　to　a　halt　next　to　a　hissing　torch　set　in　a　rust…encrusted　bracket。　The　fingers　twisted　so　painfully　that　a　small　cry　escaped　her　lips　despite　her　will　to　stifle　it。
　
　‘Are　my　men　hurting　you；　my　lady？’　came　a　mocking　voice　from　behind。
　
　She　coolly　denied　Prince　Fyren　the　satisfaction　of　an　answer。
　
　A　guard　worked　keys　at　a　rusty　lock；　sending　a　sharp；　metallic　sound　echoing　down　the　stone　corridor　when　the　bolt　finally　drew。　The　heavy　door　groaned　on　its　hinges　as　it　was　pulled　open。　The　viselike　hands　forced　her　on；　through　the　doorway　and　down　another　long；　low　passageway。
　
　She　could　hear　the　swish　of　her　satin　skirts；　and　to　the　sides　and　behind；　the　men’s　boots　on　the　stone　floor；　splashing　occasionally　through　stagnant；　foul…smelling　water。　The　dank　air　felt　cold　on　her　shoulders；　which　were　unaccustomed　to　being　uncovered。
　
　Her　heart　threatened　to　race　out　of　control　when　she　thought　about　where　she　was　being　taken。　She　prayed　to　the　dear　spirits　that　there　wouldn’t　be　rats。　She　feared　rats；　their　sharp　teeth；　their　clutching　claws；　and　their　cunning；　black　eyes。　When　she　was　very　little　she　had　nightmares　about　rats；　and　would　wake　screaming。
　
　It　an　effort　to　bring　her　heart　back　under　control；　she　tried　to　think　of　other　things。　She　thought　about　the　strange　woman　who　had　sought　a　private　audience　with　her。　Cyrilla　wasn’t　at　all　sure　why　she　had　granted　it；　but　she　now　wished　she　had　paid　more　heed　to　the　insistent　woman。
　
　What　was　her　name？　Lady　something。　A　glimpse　of　her　hair　beneath　the　concealing　veil　had　shown　it　to　be　too　short　for　someone　of　her　standing。　Lady　。。。　Bevinvier。　Yes；　that　was　it：　Lady　Bevinvier。　Lady　Bevinvier　of　。。。　someplace。　She　couldn’t　will　her　mind　to　remember。　It　didn’t　matter　anyway；　it　was　not　where　the　woman　was　from；　but　what　she　had　said；　that　mattered。
　
　Leave　Aydindril；　Lady　Bevinvier　had　warned。　Leave　at　once。
　
　But　Cyrilla　had　not　e　all　this　way；　in　the　teeth　of　winter；　to　leave　before　the　Council　of　the　Midlands　had　heard　her　grievance；　and　acted　upon　it。　She　had　e　to　demand　that　the　council　do　its　duty　to　bring　an　immediate　halt　to　the　transgressions　against　her　land　and　people。
　
　Towns　had　been　sacked；　farms　burned；　and　people　murdered。　The　armies　of　Kelton　were　massing　to　attack。　An　invasion　was　imminent；　if　not　already　under　way。　And　for　what？　Nothing　but　naked　conquest。　Against　an　ally！　It　was　an　outrage！
　
　It　was　the　council’s　duty　to　e　to　the　defense　of　any　land　being　attacked；　no　matter　by　whom。　The　whole　point　of　the　Council　of　the　Midlands　was　to　prevent　just　such　treason。　It　was　their　duty　to　direct　all　the　lands　to　e　to　the　aid　of　Galea；　and　put　down　the　aggression。
　
　Though　Galea　was　a　powerful　land；　it　had　been　gravely　weakened　by　its　defense　of　the　Midlands　against　D’Hara；　and　was　not　prepared　for　another　costly　war。　Kelton　had　been　spared　the　brunt　of　the　D’Haran　conquest；　and　had　reserves　aplenty。　Galea　had　paid　the　price　of　resistance　in　their　stead。
　
　The　night　before；　Lady　Bevinvier　had　e　to　her；　and　had　begged　that　she　leave　at　once。　She　had　said　Cyrilla　would　find　no　help　for　Galea　from　the　council。　The　Lady　Bevinvier　said　that　if　the　queen　stayed；　she　would　be　in　great　personal　danger。　At　first；　when　pressed；　Lady　Bevinvier　refused　to　explain　herself。
　
　Cyrilla　thanked　her　but　said　she　would　not　turn　away　from　her　duty　to　her　people；　and　would　go　before　the　council；　as　planned。　Lady　Bevinvier　broke　down　in　tears；　begging　that　the　queen　heed　her　words。
　
　She　at　last　confided　that　she　had　had　a　vision。
　
　Cyrilla　tried　to　draw　the　nature　of　the　vision　out　of　the　woman；　but　she　said　that　it　was　inplete；　that　she　didn’t　know　any　details；　only　that　if　the　queen　didn’t　leave　at　once；　something　terrible　would　happen。　Though　Cyrilla　trusted　well　the　powers　of　magic；　she　had　little　faith　in　fortunetellers。　Most　were　charlatans；　seeking　only　to　fatten　their　purse　with　a　clever　turn　of　a　phrase；　or　a　vague　hint　of　danger　to　be　avoided。
　
　Queen　Cyrilla　was　touched　by　the　woman’s　seeming　sincerity；　though　she　reasoned　it　might　be　nothing　but　deception；　meant　to　trick　her　out　of　a　coin。　A　ruse　for　money　seemed　strange　ing　from　a　woman　of　such　seeming　wealth；　but　times　had　been　hard；　and　she　knew　the　wealthy　were　not　immune　to　losses。　After　all；　if　gold　and　goods　were　to　be　seized；　it　only　made　sense　to　seek　them　from　those　who　had　them。　Cyrilla　knew　many　who　had　worked　hard　all　their　lives；　only　to　lose　everything　in　the　war　with　D’Hara。　Perhaps　Lady　Bevinvier’s　short　hair　was　the　result　of　that　loss。
　
　She　thanked　the　woman；　but　told　her　that　the　mission　was　too　important　to　be　turned　aside。　She　pressed　a　gold　piece　into　the　woman’s　hand；　only　to　have　Lady　Bevinvier　throw　the　coin　across　the　room　before　rushing　off　in　tears。
　
　Cyrilla　had　been　shaken　by　that。　A　charlatan　did　not　refuse　gold。　Unless　of　course　she　sought　something　more。
　
　Either　the　woman　had　been　telling　the　truth；　or　she　was　working　in　aid　of　Kelton；　trying　to　prevent　the　council　from　hearing　of　the　aggression。
　
　Either　way；　it　didn’t　matter；　Cyrilla　was　resolute。　Besides；　she　was　influential　in　the　council。　Galea　was　respected　for　its　defense　of　the　Midlands。　When　Aydindril　had　fallen；　councilors　who　had　refused　to　swear　the　allegiance　of　their　land　to　D’Hara　had　been　put　to　death　and　replaced　by　puppets。　Those　councilors　who　had　collaborated　were　allowed　to　retain　their　position。　Galea’s　loyal　ambassador　to　the　council　had　been　executed。
　
　How　the　war　had　ended　was　a　puzzle；　D’Haran　forces　were　told　that　Darken　Rahl　was　dead　and　all　hostilities　were　ended。　A　new　Lord　Rahl　had　succeeded；　and　the　troops　were　simply　called　home；　or　ordered　to　help　those　they　had　conquered。　Cyrilla　suspected　Darken　Rahl　had　been　assassinated。
　
　Whatever　had　happened　was　good　by　her；　the　council　was　now　back　in　the　hands　of　the　people　of　the　Midlands。　The　ones　who　collaborated；　and　the　puppets；　had　been　arrested。　Things　were　said　to　be　set　back　to　the　way　they　had　been　before　the　dictator。　She　expected　the　council　would　e　to　the　aid　of　Galea。
　
　Queen　Cyrilla；　too；　had　an　ally　on　the　council；　the　most　powerful　ally　there　was：　the　Mother　Confessor。　Though　Kahlan　was　her　half…sister；　that　wasn’t　what　forged　their　alliance。　Cyrilla　had　always　supported　the　sovereignty　of　the　various　lands；　while　also　recognizing　the　fundamental　need　for　peace　among　them。　The　Mother　Confessor　respected　that　steadfastness；　and　it　was　that　respect　which　made　her　Galea’s　ally。
　
　Kahlan　had　never　shown　Cyrilla　any　favoritism；　and　that　was　as　it　should　have　been；　favoritism　would　have　weakened　the　Mother　Confessor；　threatening　the　alliance　of　the　council；　and　therefore　peace。　She　respected　Kahlan　for　putting　the　unity　of　the　Midlands　above　any　power　games。　Such　games　were　a　shifting　bog　anyway；　one　was　always　better　off　in　the　end　when　dealt　with　fairly；　rather　than　by　favor。
　
　Cyrilla　had　always　been　secretly　proud　of　her　half　sister。　Kahlan　was　twelve　years　younger；　smart；　strong；　and；　despite　her　young　age；　an　astute　leader。　Though　they　were　related　by　blood；　they　almost　never　spoke　of　it。　Kahlan　was　a　Confessor；　and　of　the　magic。　She　was　not　a　sister　who　shared　the　blood　of　a　father；　but　a　Confessor；　and　the　Mother　Confessor　of　the　Midlands。　Confessors　were　blood　to　no　one　but　Confessors。
　
　Still；　having　no　family　of　her　own；　save　her　beloved　brother；　Harold；　she　had　often　longed　to　take　Kahlan　in　her　arms　as　kin；　as　a　little　sister；　and　speak　of　the　things　they　shared。　But　that　was　not　possible。　Cyrilla　was　the　queen　of　Galea；　and　Kahlan　was　the　Mother　Confessor；　two　women　who　were　virtual　strangers　who　shared　nothing　save　blood　and　mutual　respect。　Duty　came　before　the　heart。　Galea　was　Cyrilla’s　family；　the　Confessors；　Kahlan’s。
　
　Though　there　were　those　who　resented　Kahlan’s　mother　taking　Wyborn　as　a　mate；　Cyrilla　was　not　among　them。　Her　mother；　Queen　Bernadine；　had　taught　her　and　Harold　of　the　need　for　Confessors；　their　need　for　strong　blood　in　that　line　of　magic；　and　how　it　served　the　greater　cause　of　the　Midlands　in　keeping　peace。　Her　mother　had　never　spoken　bitterly　of　losing　her　husband　to　the　Confessors；　but　explained　instead　the　honor　Cyrilla　and　Harold　had　of　sharing　blood　with　the　Confessors；　even　if　it　was　mostly　unspoken。　Yes；　she　was　proud　of　Kahlan。
　
　Proud；　but　also　perhaps　a　bit　wary。　The　ways　of　Confessors　were　a　mystery　to　her。　From　birth　they　were　trained　in　Aydindril；　trained　by　other　Confessors；　and　by　wizards。　Their　magic；　their　power；　was　something　they　were　born　with；　and　in　a　way　they　were　slaves　to　it。　In　some　ways　it　was　the　same　with　her；　born　to　be　queen；　without　much　choice。　Though　she　had　no　magic；　she　understood　the　weight　of　birthright。
　
　From　birth　until　their　training　was　pleted；　Confessors　were　kept　cloistered；　like　priestesses；　in　a　world　apart。　Their　discipline　was　said　to　be　rigorous。　Though　Cyrilla　knew　they　must　have　emotions　like　anyone；　Confessors　were　trained　to　subjugate　them。　Duty　to　their　power　was　all。　It　left　them　no　choice　in　life；　save　choosing　a　mate；　and　even　that　was　not　for　love　but　for　duty。
　
　Cyrilla　had　always　wished　she　could　bring　a　little　of　the　love　of　a　sister　to　Kahlan。　Perhaps；　she　also　wished　Kahlan　could　have　brought　a　little　of　that　love　to　her；　too。　But　it　could　never　be。　Maybe　Kahlan　had　loved　her　from　afar；　as　Cyrilla　had　Kahlan。　Perhaps　Kahlan　had　been　proud　of　her；　too；　in　her　own　way。　She　had　always　hoped　it　was　so。
　
　The　thing　that　pained　her　the　most　was　that　though　they　both　served　the　Midlands；　she　was　loved　by　her　people　for　doing　her　duty；　but　Kahlan　was　feared　and　hated　for　it。　She　wished　Kahlan　could　know　a　people’s　love；　it　was　a　fort　that　in　part　made　up　for　the　sacrifice。　But　a　Confessor　never　could。　Perhaps；　she　thought；　that　was　why　they　were　taught　to　subjugate　their　emotions　and　needs。
　
　Kahlan；　too；　had　tried　to　warn　her　of　the　danger　from　Kelton。
　
　It　had　been　at　the　midsummer　festival；　several　years　ago；　the　first　summer　after　the　death　of　Cyrilla’s　mother。　The　first　summer　Cyrilla　had　been　queen。　The　first　summer；　too；　since　Kahlan　had　ascended　to　Mother　Confessor。
　
　That　Kahlan　had　bee　the　Mother　Confessor　at　such　a　young　age　spoke　of　both　the　strength　of　her　power　and　of　her　character。　And　perhaps　of　a　need。　Since　the　selection　was　made　in　secrecy；　Cyrilla　knew　little　about　the　succession　of　Confessors；　except　that　it　was　done　without　animosity　or　rivalry；　and　had　to　do　with　the　strength　of　power　weighed　against　age　and　training。
　
　To　the　people　of　the　Midlands；　age　was　irrelevant。　They　feared　Confessors　in　general；　regardless　of　age；　and　the　Mother　Confessor　in　particular。　They　knew　she　was　the　most　powerful　of　Confessors。　Unlike　most　people；　however；　Cyrilla　knew　that　power　in　and　of　itself　was　not　necessarily　something　to　fear；　and　Kahlan　had　always　been　fair。　She　had　never　sought　anything　but　peace。
　
　That　day　the　streets　of　Ebinissia；　the　Crown　city　of　Galea；　had　been　filled　with　festivities　of　every　sort。　Not　even　the　lowest　stableboy　had　failed　to　find　wele　at　the　tables　of　the　fair；　or　at　the　games；　or　around　the　musicians；　acrobats；　and　jugglers。
　
　Cyrilla；　as　queen；　had　presided　over　the　contests；　and　given　ribbons　to　the　victors。　She　had　never　seen　so　many　smiling　faces；　so　many　happy　people。　She　had　never　felt　so　contented　for　her　people；　or　been　made　to　feel　so　loved　by　them。
　
　That　night　there　was　a　royal　ball　at　the　palace。　The　great　hall　was　filled　with　nearly　four　hundred　people。　It　was　dazzling　to　see　everyone　in　their　most　elegant　dress。　Food　and　wine　were　arrayed　on　the　long　tables　in　abundant　and　stunning　variety　…　only　fitting　for　the　most　important　day　of　the　year。　It　was　grand　beyond　any　ball　that　had　e　before；　for　there　was　much　for　which　to　be　thankful。　It　was　a　time　of　peace　and　prosperity；　growth　and　promise；　new　life　and　bounty。
　
　The　music　trailed　off　in　thin；　discordant　notes；　and　the　loud　drone　of　the　gathering　fell　suddenly　dead　silent　as　the　the　Mother　Confessor　strode　purposefully　into　the　hall；　her　wizard　at　her　heels；　his　silver　robes　flying　behind。　Her　regal…looking　white　dress　stood　out　among　the　confusion　of　color　like　the　full　moon　among　the　stars。　Bright　color　and　fancy　dress　had　never　looked　so　unexpectedly　trivial。　Everyone　bowed　low　at　her　passing。　Cyrilla　waited　with　her　advisors　beside　the　table　on　which　sat　a　large；　cut…glass　bowl　of　spiced　wine。
　
　Kahlan　crossed　the　hushed　room；　followed　by　every　eye；　and　drew　to　a　halt　before　the　queen；　giving　a　prompt　bow　of　her　head。　Her　expression　was　as　still　as　ice。　She　didn’t　wait　for　the　formality　of　the　bow　to　her　office　to　be　returned。
　
　‘Queen　Cyrilla。　You　have　an　advisor　named　Drefan　Tross？’
　
　Cyrilla　held　her　open　hand　out　to　the　side。　This　is　he。’
　
　Kahlan’s　emotionless　gaze　moved　to　Drefan。　‘I　would　speak　with　you　in　private。’
　
　‘Drefan　Tross　is　a　trusted　advisor；’　Cyrilla　interrupted。　He　was　more　than　that。　He　was　a　man　she　was　very　fond　of；　a　man　she　was　just　beginning　to　fall　in　love　with。　‘You　may　speak　to　him　in　my　presence。’　She　didn’t　know　what　this　was　about；　but　thought　it　best　if　she　were　privy　to　it。　Confessors　did　not　interrupt　banquets　except　for　trouble。　‘This　is　neither　the　time　nor　place　to　conduct　business　of　this　sort；　Mother　Confessor；　but　if　it　cannot　wait；　then　let　it　be　done　and　finished　with　here　and　now。’
　
　She　thought　that　would　put　it　in　abeyance　until　a　more　appropriate　time。　Without　expression；　the　Mother　Confessor　considered　this　a　moment。　The　wizard　at　her　back　was　anything　but　expressionless。　He　appeared　quite　agitated；　in　fact。
　
　He　bent　toward　Kahlan　to　speak；　but　she　raised　her　hand　to　silence　him　before　he　could　begin。
　
　‘As　you　wish。　I　am　sorry；　Queen　Cyrilla；　but　it　cannot　wait。’　She　returned　her　attention　to　Drefan。　‘I　have　just　taken　the　confession　of　a　murderer。　In　his　confession；　he　also　revealed　himself　to　be　an　acplice　to　an　assassin。　He　named　you　as　that　assassin；　and　your　target　as　Queen　Cyrilla。’
　
　There　were　astonished　whispers　from　those　near　enough　to　overhear。　Drefan’s　face　went　red。　The　whispers　died　into　brittle　silence。
　
　Cyrilla　could　scarcely　follow　what　happened　next。　A　blink　of　the　eye　and　it　would　have　been　missed。　One　instant　Drefan　stood　as　he　had；　with　his　hand　in　his　gold　and　deep　blue　coat；　and　the　next　he　was　driving　a　knife　toward　the　Mother　Confessor。　Standing　tall；　she　moved　only　her　arm；　catching　his　wrist。　Seemingly　at　the　same　time；　there　was　a　violent　impact　to　the　air　…　thunder　but　no　sound。　The　cut…glass　bowl　shattered；　flooding　red　wine　over　the　table　and　floor。　Cyrilla　flinched　with　the　sudden　flash　of　pain　coursing　through　every　joint　in　her　body。　The　knife　clattered　to　the　floor。　Drefan’s　eyes　went　wide；　his　jaw　slack。
　
　‘Mistress；’　he　whispered　reverently。
　
　Cyrilla　was　numb　with　shock　to　see　a　Conffessor　use　her　power。　She　knew　only　of　its　aftereffects；　arid　had　never　seen　it　being　used。　Few　had。　The　magic　seemed　still　to　sizzle　in　the　air　a　long　moment。
　
　The　crowd　pressed　closer。　A　warning　glare　from　the　wizard　changed　their　curiosity　to　timidity；　and