The outer courtyard was in ordered turmoil1 when Rand finally reached it with his saddlebags and the bundle containing the harp2 and flute3. The sun climbed toward midday. Men hurried around the horses, tugging4 at saddle girths and pack harness, voices raised. Others darted5 with last-minute additions to the packsaddles, or water for the men working, or dashed off to fetch something just remembered. But everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing and where they were going. The guardwalks and archers6' balconies were crowded again, and excitement crackled in the morning air. Hooves clattered7 on the paving stones. One of the packhorses began kicking, and stablemen ran to calm it. The smell of horses hung thick. Rand's cloak tried to flap in the breeze that rippled8 the swooping-hawk9 banners on the towers, but his bow, slung10 across his back, held it down.
From outside the open gates came the sounds of the Amyrlin's pikemen and archers forming up in the square. They had marched around from a side gate. One of the trumpeters tested his horn.
Some of the Warders glanced at Rand as he walked across the courtyard; a few raised eyebrows11 when they saw the heron-mark sword, but none spoke12. Half wore the cloaks that were so queasy-making to look at. Mandarb, Lan's stallion, was there, tall, and black, and fierce-eyed, but the man himself was not, and none of the Aes Sedai, none of the women, were in evidence yet either. Moiraine's white mare13, Aldieb, stepped daintily beside the stallion.
Rand's bay stallion was with the other group on the far side of the courtyard, with Ingtar, and a bannerman holding Ingtar's Gray Owl16 banner, and twenty other armored men with lances tipped with two feet of steel, all mounted already. The bars of their helmets covered their faces, and golden surcoats with the Black Hawk on the chest hid their plate-and-mail. Only Ingtar's helmet had a crest17, a crescent moon above his brow, points up. Rand recognized some of the men. Rough-tongued Uno, with a long scar down his face and only one eye. Ragan and Masema. Others who had exchanged a word, or played a game of stones. Ragan waved to him, and Uno nodded, but Masema was not the only one who gave him a cold stare and turned away. Their packhorses stood placidly18, tails swishing.
The big bay danced as Rand tied his saddlebags and bundle behind the high-cantled saddle. He put his foot in the stirrup and murmured, "Easy, Red," as he swung into the saddle, but he let the stallion frisk away some of his stable-bound energy.
To Rand's surprise, Loial appeared from the direction of the stables, riding to join them. The Ogier's hairy-fetlocked mount was as big and heavy as a prime Dhurran stallion. Beside it, all the other animals looked the size of Bela, but with Loial in the saddle, the horse seemed almost a pony20.
Loial carried no weapon that Rand could see; he had never heard of any Ogier using a weapon. Their stedding were protection enough. And Loial had his own priorities, his own ideas of what was needed for a journey. The pockets of his long coat had a telltale bulge21, and his saddlebags showed the square imprints22 of books.
The Ogier stopped his horse a little way off and looked at Rand, his tufted ears twitching23 uncertainly.
"I didn't know you were coming," Rand said. "I'd think you would have had enough of traveling with us. This time there's no telling how long it will be, or where we will end up."
Loial's ears lifted a little. "There was no telling when I first met you, either. Besides, what held then, holds now. I can't let the chance pass to see history actually weave itself around ta'veren. And to help find the Horn . . . ."
Mat and Perrin rode up behind Loial and paused. Mat looked a little tired around the eyes, but his face wore a bloom of health.
"Mat," Rand said, "I'm sorry for what I said. Perrin, I didn't mean it. I was being stupid."
Mat only glanced at him, then shook his head and mouthed something to Perrin that Rand could not hear. Mat had only his bow and quiver, but Perrin also wore his axe24 at his belt, with its big half-moon blade balanced by a thick spike25.
"Mat? Perrin? Really, I didn't - " They rode on toward Ingtar.
"That is not a coat for traveling, Rand," Loial said.
Rand glanced down at the golden thorns climbing his crimson26 sleeve and grimaced27. Small wonder Mat and Perrin still think I'm putting on airs. On returning to his room he had found everything already packed and sent on. All of the plain coats he had been given were on the packhorses, so the servants said; every coat left in the wardrobe was at least as ornate as the one he wore. His saddlebags held nothing in the way of clothes but a few shirts, some wool stockings, and a spare pair of breeches. At least he had removed the golden cord from his sleeve, though he had the red eagle pin in his pocket. Lan had meant it for a gift, after all.
"I'll change when we stop tonight," he muttered. He took a deep breath. "Loial, I said things to you I should not have, and I hope you'll forgive me. You have every right to hold them against me, but I hope you won't. "
Loial grinned, and his ears stood up. He moved his horse closer. "I say things I should not all the time. The Elders always said I spoke an hour before I thought."
Suddenly Lan was at Rand's stirrup, in his gray-green scaled armor that would make him all but disappear in forest or darkness. "I need to talk to you, sheepherder." He looked at Loial. "Alone, if you please, Builder." Loial nodded and moved his big horse away.
"I don't know if I should listen to you," Rand told the Warder. "These fancy clothes, and all those things you told me, they didn't help much."
"When you can't win a big victory, sheepherder, learn to settle for the small ones. If you made them think of you as something more than a farmboy who'll be easy to handle, then you won a small victory. Now be quiet and listen. I've only time for one last lesson, the hardest. Sheathing28 the Sword."
"You've spent an hour every morning making me do nothing but draw this bloody29 sword and put it back in the scabbard. Standing31, sitting, lying down. I think I can manage to get it back in the sheath without cutting myself. "
"I said listen, sheepherder," the Warder growled32. "There will come a time when you must achieve a goal at all costs. It may come in attack or in defense33. And the only way will be to allow the sword to be sheathed34 in your own body."
"That's crazy," Rand said. "Why would I ever - ?"
The Warder cut him off. "You will know when it comes, sheepherder, when the price is worth the gain, and there is no other choice left to you. That is called Sheathing the Sword. Remember it."
The Amyrlin appeared, striding across the crowded courtyard with Leane and her staff, and Lord Agelmar at her shoulder. Even in a green velvet35 coat, the Lord of Fal Dara did not look out of place among so many armored men. There was still no sign of the other Aes Sedai. As they went by, Rand caught part of their conversation.
"But, Mother," Agelmar was protesting, "you've had no time to rest from the journey here. Stay at least a few days more. I promise you a feast tonight such as you could hardly get in Tar14 Valon."
The Amyrlin shook her head without breaking stride. "I cannot, Agelmar. You know I would if I could. I had never planned to remain long, and matters urgently require my presence in the White Tower. I should be there now."
"Mother, it shames me that you come one day and leave the next. I swear to you, there will be no repetition of last night. I have tripled the guard on the city gates as well as the keep. I have tumblers in from the town, and a bard30 coming from Mos Shirare. Why, King Easar will be on his way from Fal Moran. I sent word as soon as . . . . "
Their voices faded as they crossed the courtyard, swallowed up by the din15 of preparation. The Amyrlin never as much as glanced in Rand's direction.
When Rand looked down, the Warder was gone, and nowhere to be seen. Loial brought his horse back to Rand's side. "That is a hard man to catch and hold, isn't he, Rand? He's not here, then he's here, then he's gone, and you don't see him coming or going."
Sheathing the Sword. Rand shivered. Warders must all he crazy.
The Warder the Amyrlin was speaking to suddenly sprang into his saddle. He was at a dead gallop36 before he reached the wide-standing gates. She stood watching him go, and her stance seemed to urge him to go faster.
"Where is he headed in such a hurry?" Rand wondered aloud.
"I heard," Loial said, "that she was sending someone out today, all the way to Arad Doman. There is word of some sort of trouble on Almoth Plain, and the Amyrlin Seat wants to know exactly what. What I don't understand is, why now? From what I hear, the rumors37 of this trouble came from Tar Valon with the Aes Sedai."
Rand felt cold. Egwene's father had a big map back at home, a map Rand had pored over more than once, dreaming before he found out what the dreams were like when they came true. It was old, that map, showing some lands and nations the merchants from outside said no longer existed, but Almoth Plain was marked, butting38 against Toman Head. We will meet again on Toman Head. It was all the way across the world he knew, on the Aryth Ocean. "It has nothing to do with us," he whispered. "Nothing to do with me."
Loial appeared not to have heard. Rubbing the side of his nose with a finger like a sausage, the Ogier was still peering at the gate where the Warder had vanished. "If she wanted to know, why not send someone before she left Tar Valon? But you humans are always sudden and excitable, always jumping around and shouting." His ears stiffened39 with embarrassment40. "I am sorry, Rand. You see what I mean about speaking before I think. I'm rash and excitable sometimes myself, as you know."
Rand laughed. It was a weak laugh, but it felt good to have something to laugh at. "Maybe if we lived as long as you Ogier, we'd be more settled." Loial was ninety years old; by Ogier standards, not old enough by ten years to be outside the stedding alone. That he had gone anyway was proof, he maintained, of his rashness. If Loial was an excitable Ogier, Rand thought most of them must be made of stone.
"Perhaps so," Loial mused41, "but you humans do so much with your lives. We do nothing but huddle42 in our stedding. Planting the groves43, and even the building, were all done before the Long Exile ended." It was the groves Loial held dear, not the cities men remembered the Ogier for building. It was the groves, planted to remind Ogier Builders of the stedding, that Loial had left his home to see. "Since we found our way back to the stedding, we . . . ." His words trailed off as the Amyrlin approached.
Ingtar and the other men shifted in their saddles, preparing to dismount and kneel, but she motioned them to stay as they were. Leane stood at her shoulder, and Agelmar a pace back. From his glum44 face, he appeared to have given up trying to convince her to remain longer.
The Amyrlin looked at them one by one before she spoke. Her gaze stayed on Rand no longer than on any other.
"Peace favor your sword, Lord Ingtar," she said finally. "Glory to the Builders, Loial Kiseran. "
"You honor us, Mother. May peace favor Tar Valon." Ingtar bowed in his saddle, and the other Shienarans did, too.
"All honor to Tar Valon," Loial said, bowing.
Only Rand, and his two friends on the other side of the party, stayed upright. He wondered what she had said to them. Leane's frown took in all three of them, and Agelmar's eyes widened, but the Amyrlin took no notice.
"You ride to find the Horn of Valere," she said, "and the hope of the world rides with you. The Horn cannot be left in the wrong hands, especially in Darkfriend hands. Those who come to answer its call, will come whoever blows it, and they are bound to the Horn, not to the Light."
There was a stir among the listening men. Everyone believed that those heroes called back from the grave would fight for the Light. If they could fight for the Shadow, instead . . . .
The Amyrlin went on, but Rand was no longer listening. The watcher was back. The hair stirred on the back of his neck. He peered up at the packed archers' balconies overlooking the courtyard, at the rows of people jammed along the guardwalks atop the walls. Somewhere among them was the set of eyes that had followed him unseen. The gaze clung to him like dirty oil. It can't be a Fade, not here. Then who? Or what? He twisted in his saddle, pulling Red around, searching. The bay began to dance again.
Suddenly something flashed across in front of Rand's face. A man passing behind the Amyrlin cried out and fell, a black-fletched arrow jutting46 from his side. The Amyrlin stood calmly looking at a rent in her sleeve; blood slowly stained the gray silk.
A woman screamed, and abruptly47 the courtyard rang with cries and shouts. The people on the walls milled furiously, and every man in the courtyard had his sword out. Even Rand, he was surprised to realize.
Agelmar shook his blade at the sky. "Find him!" he roared. "Bring him to me!" His face went from red to white when he saw the blood on the Amyrlin's sleeve. He fell to his knees, head bowed. "Forgive, Mother. I have failed your safety. I am ashamed."
"Nonsense, Agelmar," the Amyrlin said. "Leane, stop fussing over me and see to that man. I've cut myself worse than this more than once cleaning fish, and he needs help now. Agelmar, stand up. Stand up, Lord of Fal Dara. You have not failed me, and you have no reason for shame. Last year in the White Tower, with my own guards at every gate and Warders all around me, a man with a knife came within five steps of me. A Whitecloak, no doubt, though I've no proof. Please stand up, or I will be shamed." As Agelmar slowly rose, she fingered her sliced sleeve. "A poor shot for a Whitecloak bowman, or even a Darkfriend." Her eyes flickered48 up to touch Rand's. "If it was at me he aimed." Her gaze was gone before he could read anything on her face, but he suddenly wanted to dismount and hide.
It wasn't aimed at her, and she knows it.
Leane straightened from where she had been kneeling. Someone had laid a cloak over the face of the man who had taken the arrow. "He is dead, Mother." She sounded tired. "He was dead when he struck the ground. Even if I had been at his side . . . ."
"You did what you could, Daughter. Death cannot be Healed."
Agelmar moved closer. "Mother, if there are Whitecloak killers49 about, or Darkfriends, you must allow me to send men with you. As far as the river, at least. I could not live if harm came to you in Shienar. Please, return to the women's apartments. I will see them guarded with my life until you are ready to travel."
"Be at ease," she told him. "This scratch will not delay me a moment. Yes, yes, I will gladly accept your men as far as the river, if you insist. But I will not let this delay Lord Ingtar a moment, either. Every heartbeat counts until the Horn is found again. Your leave, Lord Agelmar, to order your oathmen?"
He bowed his head in assent50. At that moment he would have given her Fal Dara had she asked.
The Amyrlin turned back to Ingtar and the men gathered behind him. She did not look at Rand again. He was surprised to see her smile suddenly.
"I wager51 Illian does not give its Great Hunt of the Horn so rousing a send-off," she said. "But yours is the true Great Hunt. You are few, so you may travel quickly, yet enough to do what you must. I charge you, Lord Ingtar of House Shinowa, I charge all of you, find the Horn of Valere, and let nothing bar your way."
Ingtar whipped his sword from his back and kissed the blade. "By my life and soul, by my House and honor, I swear it, Mother."
"Then ride."
Ingtar swung his horse toward the gate.
Rand dug his heels into Red's flanks and galloped52 after the column already disappearing through the gates.
Unaware53 of what had occurred within, the Amyrlin's pikemen and archers stood walling a path from the gates to the city proper, the Flame of Tar Valon on their chests. Her drummers and trumpeters waited near the gates, ready to fall in when she left. Behind the rows of armored men, people packed the square in front of the keep. Some cheered Ingtar's banner, and others no doubt thought this was the start of the Amyrlin Seat's departure. A swelling54 roar followed Rand across the square.
He caught up with Ingtar where low-eaved houses and shops stood to either side, and more people thickly lined the stone-paved street. Some of them cheered, too. Mat and Perrin had been riding at the head of the column with Ingtar and Loial, but the two of them fell back when Rand joined them. How am I ever going to apologize if they won't stay near me long enough for me to say anything? Burn me, he doesn't look like he's dying.
"Changu and Nidao are gone," Ingtar said abruptly. He sounded cold and angry, but shaken, too. "We counted every head in the keep, alive or dead, last night and again this morning. They are the only ones not accounted for. "
"Changu was on guard in the dungeon55 yesterday," Rand said slowly.
"And Nidao. They had the second watch. They always stayed together, even if they had to trade or do extra duty for it. They were not on guard when it happened, but . . . . They fought at Tarwin's Gap, a month gone, and saved Lord Agelmar when his horse went down with Trollocs all around him. Now this. Darkfriends." He drew a deep breath. "Everything is breaking apart."
A man on horseback forced his way through the throng56 lining57 the street and joined in behind Ingtar. He was a townsman, by his clothes, lean, with a lined face and graying hair cut long. A bundle and waterbottles were lashed45 behind his saddle, and a short-bladed sword and a notched58 sword-breaker hung at his belt, along with a cudgel.
Ingtar noticed Rand's glances. "This is Hurin, our sniffer. There was no need to let the Aes Sedai know about him. Not that what he does is wrong, you understand. The King keeps a sniffer in Fal Moran, and there's another in Ankor Dail. It's just that Aes Sedai seldom like what they do not understand, and with him being a man . . . . It's nothing to do with the Power, of course. Aaaah! You tell him, Hurin."
"Yes, Lord Ingtar," the man said. He bowed low to Rand from his saddle. "Honor to serve, my Lord."
"Call me Rand." Rand stuck out his hand, and after a moment Hurin grinned and took it.
"As you wish, my Lord Rand. Lord Ingtar and Lord Kajin don't mind a man's ways - and Lord Agelmar, of course - but they say in the town you're an outland prince from the south, and some outland lords are strict for every man in his place."
"I'm not a lord." At least I'll get away from that, now. "Just Rand."
Hurin blinked. "As you wish, my Lor - ah - Rand. I'm a sniffer, you see. Been one four years this Sunday. I never heard of such a thing before then, but I hear there's a few others like me. It started slow, catching59 bad smells where nobody else smelled anything, and it grew. Took a whole year before I realized what it was. I could smell violence, the killing60 and the hurting. Smell where it happened. Smell the trail of those who did it. Every trail's different, so there's no chance of mixing them up. Lord Ingtar heard of it, and took me in his service, to serve the King's justice."
"You can smell violence?" Rand said. He could not help looking at the man's nose. It was an ordinary nose, not large, not small. "You mean you can really follow somebody who, say, killed another man? By smell?"
"I can that, my Lor - ah - Rand. It fades with time, but the worse the violence, the longer it lasts. Aiie, I can smell a battlefield ten years old, though the trails of the men who were there are gone. Up near the Blight61, the trails of the Trollocs almost never fade. Not much to a Trolloc but killing and hurting. A fight in a tavern62, though, with maybe a broken arm . . . that smell's gone in hours."
"I can see where you wouldn't want Aes Sedai to find out."
"Ah, Lord Ingtar was right about the Aes Sedai, the Light illumine them-ah-Rand. There was one in Cairhien once-Brown Ajah, but I swear I thought she was Red before she let me go-she kept me a month trying to find out how I do it. She didn't like not knowing. She kept muttering, `Is it old come again, or new?' and staring at me until you would have thought I was using the One Power. Almost had me doubting myself. But I haven't gone mad, and I don't do anything. I just smell it."
Rand could not help remembering Moiraine. Old barriers weaken. There is something of dissolution and change about our time. Old things walk again, and new things are born. We may live to see the end of an Age. He shivered. "So we'll track those who took the Horn with your nose."
Ingtar nodded. Hurin grinned proudly, and said, "We will that - ah - Rand. I followed a murderer to Cairhien, once, and another all the way to Maradon, to bring them back for the King's justice." His grin faded, and he looked troubled. "This is the worst ever, though. Murder smells bad, and the trail of a murderer stinks63 with it, but this . . . ." His nose wrinkled. "There were men in it last night. Darkfriends, must be, but you can't tell a Darkfriend by smell. What I'll follow is the Trollocs, and the Halfmen. And something even worse." He trailed off, frowning and muttering to himself, but Rand could hear it. "Something even worse, the Light help me. "
They reached the city gates, and just beyond the walls Hurin lifted his face to the breeze. His nostrils64 flared65, then he gave a snort of disgust. "That way, my Lord Ingtar." He pointed66 south.
Ingtar looked surprised. "Not toward the Blight?"
"No, Lord Ingtar. Faugh!" Hurin wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "I can almost taste them. South, they went."
"She was right, then, the Amyrlin Seat," Ingtar said slowly. "A great and wise woman, who deserves better than me to serve her. Take the trail, Hurin."
Rand turned and peered back through the gates, up the street to the keep. He hoped Egwene was all right. Nynaeve will look after her. Maybe it's better this way, like a clean cut, too quick to hurt till after it's done.
He rode after Ingtar and the Gray Owl banner, south. The wind was making up, and cold against his back despite the sun. He thought he heard laughter in it, faint and mocking.
The waxing moon lit the humid, night-dark streets of Illian, which still rang with celebration left over from daylight. In only a few more days, the Great Hunt of the Horn would be sent forth67 with pomp and ceremony that tradition claimed dated to the Age of Legends. The festivities for the Hunters had blended into the Feast of Teven, with its famed contests and prizes for gleemen. The greatest prize of all, as always, would go for the best telling of The Great Hunt of the Horn.
Tonight the gleemen entertained in the palaces and mansions68 of the city, where the great and mighty69 disported70 themselves, and the Hunters come from every nation to ride out and find, if not the Horn of Valere itself, at least immortality71 in song and story. They would have music and dancing, and fans and ices to dispel72 the year's first real heat, but carnival73 filled the streets, too, in the moon-bright muggy74 night. Every day was a carnival, until the Hunt departed, and every night.
People ran past Bayle Domon in masks and costumes bizarre and fanciful, many showing too much flesh. Shouting and singing they ran, a half dozen together, then scattered75 pairs giggling76 and clutching each other, then twenty in a raucous77 knot. Fireworks crackled in the sky, gold and silver bursts against the black. There were almost as many Illuminators in the city as there were gleemen.
Domon spared little thought for fireworks, or for the Hunt. He was on his way to meet men he thought might be trying to kill him.
He crossed the Bridge of Flowers, over one of the city's many canals, into the Perfumed Quarter, the port district of Illian. The canal smelled of too many chamber78 pots, with never a sign that there had ever been flowers near the bridge. The quarter smelled of hemp79 and pitch from the shipyards and docks, and sour harbor mud, all of it made fiercer by heated air that seemed nearly damp enough to drink. Domon breathed heavily; every time he returned from the northcountry he found himself surprised, for all he had been born there, at the early summer heat in Illian.
In one hand he carried a stout80 cudgel, and the other hand rested on the hilt of the short sword he had often used in defending the decks of his river trader from brigands81. No few footpads stalked these nights of revelry, where the pickings were rich and most were deep in wine.
Yet he was a broad, muscular man, and none of those out for a catch of gold thought him rich enough, in his plain-cut coat, to risk his size and his cudgel. The few who caught a clear glimpse of him, when he passed through light spilling from a window, edged back till he was well past.
Dark hair that hung to his shoulders and a long beard that left his upper lip bare framed a round face, but that face had never been soft, and now it was set as grimly as if he meant to batter82 his way through a wall. He had men to meet, and he was not happy about it.
More revelers ran past singing off-key, wine mangling83 their words. "The Horn of Valere, " my aged84 grandmother! Domon thought glumly85. It be my ship I do want to hang on to. And my life, Fortune prick86 me.
He pushed into an inn, under a sign of a big, white-striped badger87 dancing on its hind19 legs with a man carrying a silver shovel88. Easing the Badger, it was called, though not even Nieda Sidoro, the innkeeper, knew what the name meant; there had always been an inn of the name in Illian.
The common room, with sawdust on the floor and a musician softly strumming a twelve-stringed bittern in one of the Sea Folk's sad songs, was well lighted and quiet. Nieda allowed no commotion89 in her place, and her nephew, Bili, was big enough to carry a man out with either hand. Sailors, dockworkers, and warehousemen came to the Badger for a drink and maybe a little talk, for a game of stones or darts90. The room was half full now; even men who liked quiet had been lured91 out by carnival. The talk was soft, but Domon caught mentions of the Hunt, and of the false Dragon the Murandians had taken, and of the one the Tarens were chasing through Haddon Mirk. There seemed to be some question whether it would be preferable to see the false Dragon die, or the Tarens.
Domon grimaced. False Dragons! Fortune prick me, there be no place safe these days. But he had no real care for false Dragons, any more than for the Hunt.
The stout proprietress, with her hair rolled at the back of her head, was wiping a mug, keeping a sharp eye on her establishment. She did not stop what she was doing, or even look at him, really, but, her left eyelid92 drooped93, and her eyes slanted94 toward three men at a table in the corner. They were quiet even for the Badger, almost somber95, and their bell-shaped velvet caps and dark coats, embroidered96 across the chest in bars of silver and scarlet97 and gold, stood out among the plain dress of the other patrons.
Domon sighed and took a table in a corner by himself. Cairhienin, this time. He took a mug of brown ale from a serving girl and drew a long swallow. When he lowered the mug, the three men in striped coats were standing beside his table. He made an unobtrusive gesture, to let Nieda know that he did not need Bili.
"Captain Domon?" They were all three nondescript, but there was an air about the speaker that made Domon take him for their leader. They did not appear to be armed; despite their fine clothes, they looked as if they did not need to be. There were hard eyes in those so very ordinary faces. "Captain Bayle Domon, of the Spray?"
Domon gave a short nod, and the three sat down without waiting for an invitation. The same man did the talking; the other two just watched, hardly blinking. Guards, Domon thought, for all their fine clothes. Who do he be to have a pair of guards to look over him?
"Captain Domon, we have a personage who must be brought from Mayene to Illian."
"Spray be a river craft," Domon cut him off. "Her draft be shallow, and she has no the keel for deep water." It was not exactly true, but close enough for landsmen. At least it be a change from Tear. They be getting smarter.
The man seemed unperturbed at the interruption. "We had heard you were giving up the river trade."
"Maybe I do, and maybe no. I have no decided98." He had, though. He would not go back upriver, back to the Borderlands, for all the silk shipped in Taren bottoms. Saldaean furs and ice peppers were not worth it, and it had nothing to do with the false Dragon he had heard of there. But he wondered again how anyone knew. He had not spoken of it to anyone, yet the others had known, too.
"You can coast to Mayene easily enough. Surely, Captain, you would be willing to sail along the shoreline for a thousand gold marks."
Despite himself, Domon goggled99. It was four times the last offer, and that had been enough to make a man's jaw100 drop. "Who do you want me to fetch for that? The First of Mayene herself? Has Tear finally forced her all the way out, then?"
"You need no names, Captain." The man set a large leather pouch101 on the table, and a sealed parchment. The pouch clinked heavily as he pushed them across the table. The big red wax circle holding the folded parchment shut bore the many-rayed Rising Sun of Cairhien. "Two hundred on account. For a thousand marks, I think you need no names. Give that, seal unbroken, to the Port Captain of Mayene, and he will give you three hundred more, and your passenger. I will hand over the remainder when your passenger is delivered here. So long as you have made no effort to discover that personage's identity."
Domon drew a deep breath. Fortune, it be worth the voyage if there be never another penny beyond what be in that sack. And a thousand was more money than he would clear in three years. He suspected that if he probed a little more, there would be other hints, just hints, that the voyage involved hidden dealings between Illian's Council of Nine and the First of Mayene. The First's city-state was a province of Tear in all but name, and she would no doubt like Illian's aid. And there were many in Illian who said it was time for another war, that Tear was taking more than a fair share of the trade on the Sea of Storms. A likely net to snare103 him, if he had not seen three like it in the past month.
He reached to take the pouch, and the man who had done all the talking caught his wrist. Domon glared at him, but he looked back undisturbed.
"You must sail as soon as possible, Captain."
"At first light," Domon growled, and the man nodded and released his hold.
"At first light, then, Captain Domon. Remember, discretion104 keeps a man alive to spend his money."
Domon watched the three of them leave, then stared sourly at the pouch and the parchment on the table in front of him. Someone wanted him to go east. Tear or Mayene, it did not matter so long as he went east. He thought he knew who wanted it. And then again, I have no a clue to them. Who could know who was a Darkfriend? But he knew that Darkfriends had been after him since before he left Marabon to come back downriver. Darkfriends and Trollocs. Of that, he was sure. The real question, the one he had not even a glimmer105 of an answer for, was why?
"Trouble, Bayle?" Nieda asked. "You do look as if you had seen a Trolloc." She giggled106, an improbable sound from a woman her size. Like most people who had never been to the Borderlands, Nieda did not believe in Trollocs. He had tried telling her the truth of it; she enjoyed his stories, and thought they were all lies. She did not believe in snow, either.
"No trouble, Nieda." He untied107 the pouch, dug a coin out without looking, and tossed it to her. "Drinks for everyone till that do run out, then I'll give you another."
Nieda looked at the coin in surprise. "A Tar Valon mark! Do you be trading with the witches now, Bayle?"
"No," he said hoarsely108. "That I do not!"
She bit the coin, then quickly snugged109 it away behind her broad belt. "Well, it be gold for that. And I suspect the witches be no so bad as some make them out, anyway. I'd no say so much to many men. I know a money changer who do handle such. You'll no have to give me another, with as few as be here tonight. More ale for you, Bayle?"
He nodded numbly110, though his mug was still almost full, and she trundled off. She was a friend, and would not speak of what she had seen. He sat staring at the leather pouch. Another mug was brought before he could make himself open it enough to look at the coins inside. He stirred them with a callused finger. Gold marks glittered up at him in the lamplight, every one of them bearing the damning Flame of Tar Valon. Hurriedly he tied the bag. Dangerous coins. One or two might pass, but so many would say to most people exactly what Nieda thought. There were Children of the Light in the city, and although there was no law in Illian against dealing102 with Aes Sedai, he would never make it to a magistrate111 if the Whitecloaks heard of this. These men had made sure he would not simply take the gold and stay in Illian.
While he was sitting there worrying, Yarin Maeldan, his brooding, stork-like second on Spray, came into the Badger with his brows pulled down to his long nose and stood over the captain's table. "Carn's dead, Captain. "
Domon stared at him, frowning. Three others of his men had already been killed, one each time he refused a commission that would take him east. The magistrates112 had done nothing; the streets were dangerous at night, they said, and sailors a rough and quarrelsome lot. Magistrates seldom troubled themselves with what happened in the Perfumed Quarter, as long as no respectable citizens were injured.
"But this time I did accept them," he muttered.
"'Tisn't all, Captain," Yarin said. "They worked Carn with knives, like they wanted him to tell them something. And some more men tried to sneak113 aboard Spray not an hour gone. The dock watch ran them off. Third time in ten days, and I never knew wharf114 rats to be so persistent115. They like to let an alarm die down before they try again. And somebody tossed my room at the Silver Dolphin last night. Took some silver, so I'd think it was thieves, but they left that belt buckle116 of mine, the one set with garnets and moonstones, lying right out in plain sight. What's going on, Captain? The men are afraid, and I'm a little nervous myself."
Domon reared to his feet. "Roust the crew, Yarin. Find them and tell them Spray sails as soon as there do be men enough aboard to handle her." Stuffing the parchment into his coat pocket, he snatched up the bag of gold and pushed his second out the door ahead of him. "Roust them, Yarin, for I'll leave any man who no makes it, standing on the quay117 as he is."
Domon gave Yarin a shove to start him running, then stalked off toward the docks. Even footpads who heard the clinking of the pouch he carried steered118 clear of him, for he walked now like a man going to do murder.
There were already crewmen scrambling119 aboard Spray when he arrived, and more running barefoot down the stone quay. They did not know what he feared was pursuing him, or even that anything did pursue him, but they knew he made good profits, and after the Illianer way, he gave shares to the crew.
Spray was eighty feet long, with two masts, and broad in the beam, with room for deck cargo120 as well as in the holds. Despite what Domon had told the Cairhienin - if they had been Cairhienin - he thought she could stand the open water. The Sea of Storms was quieter in the summer.
"She'll have to," he muttered, and strode below to his cabin.
He tossed the sack of gold on his bed, built neatly121 against the hull122 like everything else in the stern cabin, and dug out the parchment. Lighting123 a lantern, hanging in its swivel from the overhead, he studied the sealed document, turning it as if he could read what was inside without opening it. A rap on the door made him frown.
"Come. "
Yarin stuck his head in. "They're all aboard but three I couldn't find, Captain. But I've spread the word through every tavern, hell, and crib in the quarter. They'll be aboard before it's light enough to start upriver."
"Spray do sail now. To sea." Domon cut off Yarin's protests about light and tides, and Spray not being built for the open sea. "Now! Spray can clear the bars at dead low tide. You've no forgotten how to sail by the stars, have you? Take her out, Yarin. Take her out now, and come back to me when we be beyond the breakwater."
His second hesitated-Domon never let a tricky124 bit of sailing pass without him on deck giving orders, and taking Spray out in the night would be all of that, shallow draft or no-then nodded and vanished. In moments the sounds of Yarin shouting orders and bare feet thumping125 on the decks overhead penetrated126 Domon's cabin. He ignored them, even when the ship lurched, catching the tide.
Finally he lifted the mantle127 of the lantern and stuck a knife into the flame. Smoke curled up as oil burned off the blade, but before the metal could turn red, he pushed charts out of the way and pressed the parchment flat on his desk, working the hot steel slowly under the sealing wax., The top fold lifted.
It was a simple document, without preamble128 or salutation, and it made sweat break out on his forehead.
The bearer of this it a Darkfriend wanted in Cairhien for murders and other foul129 crimes, least among them, theft from Our Person. We call upon you to seize this man and all things found in his keeping, to the smallest. Our representative will come to carry away what he has stolen from Us. Let all he possesses, save what We claim, go to you at reward for taking him. Let the vile130 miscreant131 himself be hanged immediately, that his Shadow-spawned villainy no longer taint132 the Light.
Sealed by Our Hand
Galldrian su Riatin Rie
King of Cairhien
In thin red wax below the signature were impressed the Rising Sun seal of Cairhien and the Five Stars of House Riatin.
"Defender of the Dragonwall, my aged grandmother," Domon croaked134. "Fine right the man do have to call himself that any longer."
He examined the seals and signature minutely, holding the document close to the lamp, with his nose all but brushing the parchment, but he could find no flaw in the one, and for the other, he had no idea what Galldrian's hand looked like. If it was not the King himself who had signed it, he suspected that whoever had had made a good imitation of Galldrian's scrawl135. In any case, it made no real difference. In Tear, the letter would be instantly damning in the hands of an Illianer. Or in Mayene, with Taren influence so strong. There was no war now, and men from either port came and went freely, but there was as little love for Illianers in Tear as the other way round. Especially with an excuse like this.
For a moment he thought of putting the parchment into the lantern's flame it was a dangerous thing to have, in Tear or Illian or anywhere he could imagine-but finally he tucked it carefully into a secret cubbyhole behind his desk, concealed136 by a panel only he knew how to open.
"My possessions, eh?"
He collected old things, as much as he could living on shipboard. What he could not buy, because it was too expensive or too large, he collected by seeing and remembering. All those remnants of times gone, those wonders scattered around the world that had first pulled him aboard a ship as boy. He had added four to his collection in Maradon this last trip, and it had been then that the Darkfriend pursuit began. And Trollocs, too, for a time. He had heard that Whitebridge had been burned to the ground right after he sailed from there, and there had been rumors of Myrddraal as well as Trollocs. It was that, all of it together, that had first convinced him he was not imagining things, that had had him on guard when that first odd commission was offered, too much money for a simple voyage to Tear, and a thin tale for a reason.
Digging into his chest, he set out on the desk what he had bought in Maradon. A lightstick, left from the Age of Legends, or so it was said. Certainly no one knew the making of them any longer. Expensive, that, and rarer than an honest magistrate. It looked like a plain glass rod, thicker than his thumb and not quite as long as his forearm, but when held in the hand it glowed as brightly as a lantern. Lightsticks shattered like glass, too; he had nearly lost Spray in the fire caused by the first he had owned. A small, age-dark ivory carving137 of a man holding a sword. The fellow who sold it claimed if you held it long enough you started to feel warm. Domon never had, and neither had any of the crew he let hold it, but it was old, and that was enough for Domon. The skull138 of a cat as big as a lion, and so old it was turned to stone. But no lion had ever had fangs139, almost tusks140, a foot long. And a thick disk the size of a man's hand, half white and half black, a sinuous141 line separating the colors. The shopkeeper in Maradon had said it was from the Age of Legends, thinking he lied, but Domon had haggled142 only a little before paying, because he recognized what the shopkeeper did not: the ancient symbol of Aes Sedai from before the Breaking of the World. Not a safe thing to have, precisely143, but neither a thing to be passed up by a man with a fascination144 for the old.
And it was heartstone. The shopkeeper had never dared add that to what he thought were lies. No riverfront shopkeeper in Maradon could afford even one piece of cuendillar.
The disk felt hard and smooth in his hand, and not at all valuable except for its age, but he was afraid it was what his pursuers were after. Lightsticks, and ivory carvings145, and even bones turned to stone, he had seen other times, other places. Yet even knowing what they wanted-if he did know-he still had no idea why, and he could no longer be sure who his pursuers were. Tar Valon marks, and an ancient Aes Sedai symbol. He scrubbed a hand across his lips; the taste of fear lay bitter on his tongue.
A knock at the door. He set the disk down and pulled an unrolled chart over what lay on his desk. "Come."
Yarin entered. "We're beyond the breakwater, Captain. "
Domon felt a flash of surprise, then anger with himself. He should never have gotten so engrossed146 that he failed to feel Spray lifting on the swells147. "Make west, Yarin. See to it."
"Ebou Dar, Captain?"
No far enough. No by five hundred leagues. "We'll put in long enough for me to get charts and top the water barrels, then we do sail west."
"West, Captain? Tremalking? The Sea Folk are tight with any traders but their own."
"The Aryth Ocean, Yarin. Plenty of trade between Tarabon and Arad Doman, and hardly a Taraboner or Domani bottom to worry about. They do no like the sea, I have heard. And all those small towns on Toman Head, every one holding itself free of any nation at all. We can even pick up Saldaean furs and ice peppers brought down to Bandar Eban."
Yarin shook his head slowly. He always looked at the dark side, but he was a good sailor. "Furs and peppers'll cost more there than running upriver for them, Captain. And I hear there's some kind of war. If Tarabon and Arad Doman are fighting, there may be no trade. I doubt we'll make much off the towns on Toman Head alone, even if they are safe. Falme's the largest, and it is not big."
"The Taraboners and the Dornani have always squabbled over Almoth Plain and Toman Head. Even if it has come to blows this time, a careful man can always find trade. West, Yarin."
When Yarin had gone topside, Domon quickly added the black-and-white disk to the cubbyhole, and stowed the rest back in the bottom of his chest. Darkfriends or Aes Sedai, I'll no run the way they want me. Fortune prick me, I'll no.
Feeling safe for the first time in months, Domon went on deck as Spray heeled to catch the wind and put her bow west into the night-dark sea.
收听单词发音 |
1
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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bulge
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| n.突出，膨胀，激增；vt.突出，膨胀 | |
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imprints
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| n.压印( imprint的名词复数 )；痕迹；持久影响 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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grimaced
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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28
sheathing
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| n.覆盖物，罩子v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的现在分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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29
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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31
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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32
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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33
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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34
sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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38
butting
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| 用头撞人（犯规动作） | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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42
huddle
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| vi.挤作一团；蜷缩；vt.聚集；n.挤在一起的人 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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45
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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46
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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47
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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48
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
killers
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| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
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50
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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51
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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52
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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53
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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54
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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55
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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56
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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57
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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58
notched
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| a.有凹口的，有缺口的 | |
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59
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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60
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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61
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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62
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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63
stinks
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的第三人称单数 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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65
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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66
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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67
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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68
mansions
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| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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69
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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70
disported
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| v.嬉戏，玩乐，自娱( disport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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72
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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73
carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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74
muggy
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| adj.闷热的；adv.（天气）闷热而潮湿地；n.（天气）闷热而潮湿 | |
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75
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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76
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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77
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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78
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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79
hemp
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| n.大麻；纤维 | |
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81
brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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82
batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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83
mangling
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| 重整 | |
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84
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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85
glumly
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| adv.忧郁地，闷闷不乐地；阴郁地 | |
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86
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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87
badger
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| v.一再烦扰，一再要求，纠缠 | |
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88
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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89
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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90
darts
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| n.掷飞镖游戏；飞镖( dart的名词复数 )；急驰，飞奔v.投掷，投射( dart的第三人称单数 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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91
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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92
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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93
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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95
somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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96
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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97
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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98
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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99
goggled
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| adj.戴护目镜的v.睁大眼睛瞪视， （惊讶的）转动眼珠( goggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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101
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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102
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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103
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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104
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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105
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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106
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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108
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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109
snugged
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| v.整洁的( snug的过去式和过去分词 )；温暖而舒适的；非常舒适的；紧身的 | |
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110
numbly
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| adv.失去知觉，麻木 | |
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111
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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112
magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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113
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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114
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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115
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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116
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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117
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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118
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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119
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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120
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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121
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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122
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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123
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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124
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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125
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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126
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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127
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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128
preamble
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| n.前言；序文 | |
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129
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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130
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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131
miscreant
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| n.恶棍 | |
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132
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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133
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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134
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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135
scrawl
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| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
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136
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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137
carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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138
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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139
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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140
tusks
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| n.（象等动物的）长牙( tusk的名词复数 )；獠牙；尖形物；尖头 | |
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141
sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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142
haggled
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| v.讨价还价( haggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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143
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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144
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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145
carvings
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| n.雕刻( carving的名词复数 )；雕刻术；雕刻品；雕刻物 | |
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146
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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147
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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