tg.stone of tears-第202部分

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ell　that　anything　of　consequence　was　happening。　Many　of　the　men；　poisoned　by　the　bandu　in　the　ale；　lay　sick　around　fires。　Many　were　so　weak　they　burned　to　death　without　trying　to　escape　flaming　tents。　Others　were　in　such　a　drunken　stupor　that　they　actually　smiled　at　the　men　who　drove　swords　through　their　guts。
　
　Even　the　ones　who　were　not　drunk；　or　who　were　not　drunk　to　the　point　of　dullness；　didn’t　truly　appreciate　what　was　happening。　Their　camp　was　often　a　place　of　raucous　noise　and　confusion。　Huge　bonfires　roared　throughout　the　night；　for　warmth　and　as　gathering　places。　They　were　generally　the　only　reference　points　in　the　disorderly　layout；　so　the　fires　of　destruction　caused　little　concern；　except　in　the　immediate　area。
　
　Among　D’Harans；　fighting　in　the　camps　was　simply　part　of　the　revelry；　and　men　screaming　when　they　were　stabbed　in　altercations　was　not　noteworthy。　What　one　had　was　only　his　if　he　was　fierce　enough　to　keep　it　from　others　who　were　always　ready　to　take　it。　Alliances　among　D’Harans　were　shifting　sands　that　could　last　a　lifetime　or；　more　monly；　for　as　little　as　an　hour；　when　a　new　alliance　became　more　advantageous　or　profitable。　The　drinking；　and　the　poison；　dulled　their　grasp　of　the　sheer　volume　of　screams。
　
　In　battle　they　were　disciplined；　but　when　not　in　battle；　they　were　ungoverned　to　the　point　of　anarchy。　Pay；　for　D’Harans　on　expeditions；　was　in　large　part　a　share　of　the　plunder　…they　had　looted　Ebinissia；　despite　all　their　talk　of　a　new　law　…　and　having　that　new　plunder　made　them　perhaps　less　than　single…minded　in　their　devotion　to　duty。　At　battle；　or　the　first　sound　of　an　alarm；　they　became　a　single　unified　fighting　machine；　almost　an　entity　of　one　mind；　but　in　camp；　without　the　overriding　purpose　of　war；　they　became　thousands　of　individuals；　all　bent　on　serving　their　own　self…interest。
　
　Without　an　alarm　to　warn　them；　they　paid　the　added　noise　and　screaming　little　attention。　Above　the　noise　of　their　own　business；　trading；　stories；　laughter；　drinking；　gambling；　fighting；　and　whoring；　the　unheralded　battle　a　short　distance　away　went　largely　unnoticed。　The　officers　would　call　them　if　needed。　Without　that　call　to　duty；　their　life　was　their　own；　and　someone　else’s　troubles　were　not　theirs。　They　were　unprepared　when　the　white　death　materialized。
　
　The　sight　of　white　spirits　appearing　among　them　was　a　paralyzing　force。　Many　a　man　wailed　in　fear　of　the　Shahari　spirits。　Many　envisioned　that　the　separation　between　the　world　of　the　living　and　the　world　of　the　dead　had　evaporated。　Or　that　they　had　somehow　been　suddenly　cast　into　the　underworld。
　
　Without　the　ale；　both　poisoned　and　unadulterated；　it　might　not　be　so。　As　it　was；　the　drink；　and　their　confidence　in　their　numbers　and　strength；　left　them　vulnerable　as　they　would　never　be　again。　But　not　all　were　drunk；　or　dull。　Some　rose　up　fiercely。
　
　Kahlan　watched　it　all　from　atop　her　dancing　warhorse。　In　a　sea　of　raw；　unbridled　emotion；　she　wore　her　Confessor’s　face。
　
　These　men　were　neither　moral　nor　ethical；　they　were　animals　who　lived　by　no　rule　but　might。　They　had　raped　the　women　at　the　palace　and　had　mercilessly　butchered　the　people　of　Ebinissia；　from　the　aged　down　to　newborn　babes。
　
　A　man　lunged　through　the　ring　of　steel　around　her；　grabbing　at　her　saddle　for　support。　He　gaped　at　her；　crying　a　prayer　for　mercy　from　the　good　spirits。　She　split　his　skull。
　
　Kahlan　wheeled　her　horse　to　face　Sergeant　Cullen。　‘Have　we　captured　the　mand　tents？’
　
　The　sergeant　signaled；　and　one　of　the　white；　naked　men　ran　off　to　check　as　they　drove　deeper　into　the　camp　of　the　Order。　When　she　spotted　the　horses；　she　gave　the　signal。　From　behind　she　heard　the　sound　of　galloping　hooves；　and　the　sharp　rattle　of　chains：　scythes　of　death；　e　to　reap　a　crop　of　the　living。
　
　With　a　sound　like　a　boy　running　past　a　picket　fence　with　a　stick　in　hand；　the　chain　scythes　being　pulled　at　a　full　charge　reaped　a　snapping　of　bone　that　meshed　into　a　long；　clacking　roar。　The　beasts’　screams　and　the　dull　thuds　as　they　slammed　the　ground　drowned　out　the　sound　of　galloping　hooves　and　breaking　bone。
　
　Even　the　drunken　enemy　turned　from　the　white　spirits　to　stare　at　the　ghastly　spectacle。　It　was　the　last　thing　they　saw。　Men　stumbled　from　their　tents；　to　watch　without　understanding　what　it　was　that　was　occurring　before　their　eyes。　Others　wandered　aimlessly；　mugs　in　hand；　as　if　at　a　fair；　drunkenly　looking　from　one　sight　to　another。　There　were　so　many；　some　had　to　wait　a　bit　for　their　turn　to　die。
　
　Some　were　not　drunk　and　saw　not　spirits　but　men　painted　white。　They　saw　an　attack；　and　understood　well…honed　blades　ing　for　them。　A　pocket　of　fierce　counterattack　was　surrounded　and　broken；　but　not　without　cost。　Kahlan　rallied　her　men　and　drove　her　wedge　of　white　steel　deeper　into　the　heart　of　the　enemy’s　camp。
　
　She　saw　two　men　on　huge　draft　horses　…　she　couldn’t　see　who　they　were　…　having　cut　down　all　the　horses　they　could　find；　take　to　charging　down　a　line　of　tents；　reaping　havoc　as　well　as　helpless　men。　The　chain　caught　something　as　solid　as　bedrock。　It　whipped　the　horses　around　into　a　brutal　collision。　The　riders　went　down。　Men　with　swords　and　axes　swarmed　over　them。
　
　A　man　with　sword　to　hand；　and　sober；　she　was　alarmed　to　note；　appeared　suddenly　next　to　her　leg。　He　looked　up　with　a　fierce　glare。　His　sharp　eyes　made　her　feel　suddenly　nothing　more　than　a　naked　woman　sitting　on　a　horse。
　
　He　took　all　of　her　in。　‘What　the　。。。’
　
　A　foot　of　steel　erupted　from　his　breastbone；　driving　a　grunt　from　his　lungs。
　
　‘Mother　Confessor！’　The　naked　man　behind　yanked　his　sword　free　and　pointed　with　it。　‘The　mand　tents　are　over　there！’
　
　A　movement　to　the　other　side　caught　her　attention。　With　a　backhanded　swing；　she　caught　the　side　of　a　stumbling　drunk’s　neck。
　
　‘Let’s　go！　To　the　mand　tents！　Now！’
　
　Her　men　abandoned　the　enemy　they　were　decimating　to　follow　her　as　she　jumped　Nick　over　men　and　fires　and　crumpled　wagons。　As　they　followed；　they　didn’t　stop　to　slaughter　the　confused；　panicked；　and　drunken　D’Harans　everywhere；　but　cut　down　those　they　could　if　it　didn’t　slow　their　pace。　Where　necessary；　they　engaged　the　sporadic　resistance。
　
　The　large　mand　tents　were　surrounded　by　her　white　Galeans。　They　held　a　small　group　of　about　fifteen　men　at　swordpoint。　Before　them　lay　a　neat　row　of　at　least　thirty　bodies　on　their　backs　in　the　snow。
　
　Others　of　her　men　were　throwing　battle　standards　and　flags　atop　a　large　pile　already　smoldering　and　burning　in　the　fire。　Empty　casks　lay　scattered　in　the　snow。　When　their　army　had　e　under　attack；　the　manders　had　issued　no　orders。　The　army　of　the　Imperial　Order　was　without　benefit　of　direction。
　
　Lieutenant　Sloan　pointed　with　his　sword　to　the　line　of　bodies。　These　officers　were　already　dead。　The　poison　did　its　work。　These　others　were　still　alive；　although　not　in　the　best　of　health。　They　were　all　lying　about　in　their　tents。　We　could　hardly　get　them　up。　They　asked　us　for　rum；　if　you　can　believe　it。　We’ve　held　them；　like　you　said。’
　
　Kahlan　surveyed　the　faces　of　the　bodies　in　the　snow。　She　didn’t　see　what　she　wanted。　She　looked　to　the　faces　of　the　capt