grrm.astormofswords-第151部分

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d　before　the　ironmen　came。　He　never　was。　He　was　a　Stark；　the　brother　of　the　man　who　brought　him　down。〃　She　always　pinched　Bran　on　the　nose　then；　he　would　never　forget　it。　〃He　was　a　Stark　of　Winterfell；　and　who　can　say？　Mayhaps　his　name　was　Brandon。　Mayhaps　he　slept　in　this　very　bed　in　this　very　room。〃
　No；　Bran　thought；　but　he　walked　in　this　castle；　where　we'll　sleep　tonight。　He　did　not　like　that　notion　very　much　at　all。　Night's　King　was　only　a　man　by　light　of　day；　Old　Nan　would　always　say；　but　the　night　was　his　to　rule。　And　it's　getting　dark。
　The　Reeds　decided　that　they　would　sleep　in　the　kitchens；　a　stone　octagon　with　a　broken　dome。　it　looked　to　offer　better　shelter　than　most　of　the　other　buildings；　even　though　a　crooked　weirwood　had　burst　up　through　the　slate　floor　beside　the　huge　central　well；　stretching　slantwise　toward　the　hole　in　the　roof；　its　bone…white　branches　reaching　for　the　sun。　It　was　a　queer　kind　of　tree；　skinnier　than　any　other　weirwood　that　Bran　had　ever　seen　and　faceless　as　well；　but　it　made　him　feel　as　if　the　old　gods　were　with　him　here；　at　least。
　That　was　the　only　thing　he　liked　about　the　kitchens；　though。　The　roof　was　mostly　there；　so　they'd　be　dry　if　it　rained　again；　but　he　didn't　think　they　would　ever　get　warm　here。　You　could　feel　the　cold　seeping　up　through　the　slate　floor。　Bran　did　not　like　the　shadows　either；　or　the　huge　brick　ovens　that　surrounded　them　like　open　mouths；　or　the　rusted　meat　hooks；　or　the　scars　and　stains　he　saw　in　the　butcher's　block　along　one　wall。　That　was　where　the　Rat　Cook　chopped　the　prince　to　pieces；　he　knew；　and　he　baked　the　pie　in　one　of　these　ovens。
　The　well　was　the　thing　he　liked　the　least；　though。　It　was　a　good　twelve　feet　across；　all　stone；　with　steps　built　into　its　side；　circling　down　and　down　into　darkness。　The　walls　were　damp　and　covered　with　niter；　but　none　of　them　could　see　the　water　at　the　bottom；　not　even　Meera　with　her　sharp　hunter's　eyes。　〃Maybe　it　doesn't　have　a　bottom；〃　Bran　said　uncertainly。
　Hodor　peered　over　the　knee…high　lip　of　the　well　and　said；　〃HODOR！〃　The　word　echoed　down　the　well；　〃Hodorhodorhodorhodor；〃　fainter　and　fainter；　〃hodorhodorhodorhodor；〃　until　it　was　less　than　a　whisper。　Hodor　looked　startled。　Then　he　laughed；　and　bent　to　scoop　a　broken　piece　of　slate　off　the　floor。
　〃Hodor；　don't！〃　said　Bran；　but　too　late。　Hodor　tossed　the　slate　over　the　edge。　〃You　shouldn't　have　done　that。　You　don't　know　what's　down　there。　You　might　have　hurt　something；　or　。　。　。　or　woken　something　up。〃
　Hodor　looked　at　him　innocently。　〃Hodor？〃
　Far；　far；　far　below；　they　heard　the　sound　as　the　stone　found　water。　it　wasn't　a　splash；　not　truly。　It　was　more　a　gulp；　as　if　whatever　was　below　had　opened　a　quivering　gelid　mouth　to　swallow　Hodor's　stone。　Faint　echoes　traveled　up　the　well；　and　for　a　moment　Bran　thought　he　heard　something　moving；　thrashing　about　in　the　water。　〃Maybe　we　shouldn't　stay　here；〃　he　said　uneasily。
　〃By　the　well？〃　asked　Meera。　〃Or　in　the　Nightfort？〃
　〃Yes；〃　said　Bran。
　She　laughed；　and　sent　Hodor　out　to　gather　wood。　Summer　went　too。　It　was　almost　dark　by　then；　and　the　direwolf　wanted　to　hunt。
　Hodor　returned　alone　with　both　arms　full　of　deadwood　and　broken　branches。　Jojen　Reed　took　his　flint　and　knife　and　set　about　lighting　a　fire　while　Meera　boned　the　fish　she'd　caught　at　the　last　stream　they'd　crossed。　Bran　wondered　how　many　years　had　passed　since　there　had　last　been　a　supper　cooked　in　the　kitchens　of　the　Nightfort。　He　wondered　who　had　cooked　it　too；　though　maybe　it　was　better　not　to　know。
　When　the　flames　were　blazing　nicely　Meera　put　the　fish　on。　At　least　it's　not　a　meat　pie。　The　Rat　Cook　had　cooked　the　son　of　the　Andal　king　in　a　big　pie　with　onions；　carrots；　mushrooms；　lots　of　pepper　and　salt；　a　rasher　of　bacon；　and　a　dark　red　Domish　wine。　Then　he　served　him　to　his　father；　who　praised　the　taste　and　had　a　second　slice。　Afterward　the　gods　transformed　the　cook　into　a　monstrous　white　rat　who　could　only　cat　his　own　young。　He　had　roamed　the　Nightfort　ever　since；　devouring　his　children；　but　still　his　hunger　was　not　sated。　〃It　was　not　for　murder　that　the　gods　cursed　him；〃　Old　Nan　said；　〃nor　for　serving　the　Andal　king　his　son　in　a　pie。　A　man　has　a　right　to　vengeance。　But　he　slew　a　guest　beneath　his　roof；　and　that　the　gods　cannot　forgive。〃
　〃We　should　sleep；〃　joien　said　solemnly；　after　they　were　full。　The　fire　was　burning　low。　He　stirred　it　with　a　stick。　〃Perhaps　I'll　have　another　green　dream　to　show　us　the　way。〃
　Hodor　was　already　curled　up　and　snoring　lightly。　From　time　to　time　he　thrashed　beneath　his　cloak；　and　whimpered　something　that　might　have　been　〃Hodor。〃　Bran　wriggled　closer　to　the　fire。　The　warmth　felt　good；　and　the　soft　crackling　of　flames　soothed　him；　but　sleep　would　not　e。　Outside　the　wind　was　sending　armies　of　dead　leaves　marching　across　the　courtyards　to　scratch　faintly　at　the　doors　and　windows。　The　sounds　made　him　think　of　Old　Nan's　stories。　He　could　almost　hear　the　ghostly　sentinels　calling　to　each　other　atop　the　Wall　and　winding　their　ghostly　warhoms。　Pale　moonlight　slanted　down　through　the　hole　in　the　dome；　painting　the　branches　of　the　weirwood　as　they　strained　up　toward　the　roof。　It　looked　as　if　the　tree　was　trying　to　catch　the　moon　and　drag　it　down　into　the　well。　Old　gods；　Bran　prayed；　if　you　hear　me；　don't　send　a　dream　tonight。　Or　if　you　do；　make　it　a　good　dream。　The　gods　made　no　answer。
　Bran　made　himself　close　his　eyes。　Maybe　he　even　slept　some；　or　maybe　he　was　just　drowsing；　floating　the　way　you　do　when　you　are　half　awake　and　half　asleep；　trying　not　to　think　about　Mad　Axe　or　the　Rat　Cook　or　the　thing　that　came　in　the　night。
　Then　he　heard　the　noise。
　His　eyes　opened。　What　was　that？　He　held　his　breath。　Did　I　dream　it？　Was　I　having　a　stupid　nightmare？　He　didn't　want　to　wake　Meera　and　Jojen　for　a　bad　dream；　but　。　。　。　there　。　。　。　a　soft　scuffling　sound；　far　off　。　。　。　Leaves；　it's　leaves　rattling　off　the　walls　outside　and　rustling　together　。　。　。　or　the　wind；　it　could　be　the　wind　。　。　。　The　sound　wasn't　ing　from　outside；　though。　Bran　felt　the　hairs　on　his　arm　start　to　rise。　The　sound's　inside；　it's　in　here　with　us；　and　it's　getting　louder。　He　pushed　himself　up　onto　an　elbow；　listening。　There　was　wind；　and　blowing　leaves　as　well；　but　this　was　something　else。　Footsteps。　Someone　was　ing　this　way。　Something　was　ing　this　way。
　It　wasn't　the　sentinels；　he　knew。　The　sentinels　never　left　the　Wall。　But　there　might　be　other　ghosts　in　the　Nightfort；　ones　even　more　terrible。　He　remembered　what　Old　Nan　had　said　of　Mad　Axe；　how　he　took　his　boots　off　and　prowled　the　castle　halls　barefoot　in　the　dark；　with　never　a　sound　to　tell　you　where　he　was　except　for　the　drops　of　blood　that　fell　from　his　axe　and　his　elbows　and　the　end　of　his　wet　red　beard。　Or　maybe　it　wasn't　Mad　Axe　at　all；　maybe　it　was　the　thing　that　came　in　the　night。　The　'prentice　boys　all　saw　it；　Old　Nan　said；　but　afterward　when　they　told　their　Lord　mander　every　description　had　been　different。　And　three　died　within　the　year；　and　the　fourth　went　mad；　and　a　hundred　years　later　when　the　thing　had　e　again；　the　'prentice　boys　were　seen　shambling　along　behind　it；　all　in　chains。
　That　was　only　a　story；　though。　He　was　just　scaring　himself。　There　was　no　thing　that　es　in　the　night；　Maester　Luwin　had　said　so。　if　there　had　ever　been　such　a　thing；　it　was　gone　from　the　world　now；　like　giants　and　dragons。　It's　nothing；　Bran　thought。
　But　the　sounds　were　louder　now。
　It's　ing　from　the　well；　he　realized。　That　made　him　even　more　afraid。　Something　was　ing　up　from　under　the　ground；　ing　up　out　of　the　dark。　Hodor　woke　it　up。　He　woke　it　up　with　that　stupid　piece　of　slate；　and　now　it's　ing。　it　was　hard　to　hear　over　Hodor's　snores　and　the　thumping　of　his　own　heart。　Was　that　the　sound　blood　made　dripping　from　an　axe？　Or　was　it　the　faint；　far…off　rattling　of　ghostly　chains？　Bran　listened　harder。　Footsteps。　it　was　definitely　footsteps；　each　one　a　little　louder　than　the　one　before。　He　couldn't　tell　how　many；　though。　The　well　made　the　sounds　echo。　He　didn't　hear　any　dripping；　or　chains　either；　but　there　was　something　else　。　。　。　a　high　thin　whimpering　sound；　like　someone　in　pain；　and　heavy　muffled　breathing。　But　the　footsteps　were　loudest。　The　footsteps　were　ing　closer。
　Bran　was　too　frightened　to　shout。　The　fire　had　burned　down　to　a　few　faint　embers　and　his　friends　were　all　asleep。　He　almost　slipped　his　skin　and　reached　out　for　his　wolf；　but　Summer　might　be　miles　away。　He　couldn't　leave　his　friends　helpless　in　the　dark　to　face　whatever　was　ing　up　out　of　the　well。　I　told　them　not　to　e　here；　he　thought　miserably。　I　told　them　there　were　ghosts。　I　told　them　that　we　should　go　to　Castle　Black。
　The　footfalls　sounded　heavy　to　Bran；　slow；　ponderous；　scraping　against　the　stone。　It　must　be　huge。　Mad　Axe　had　been　a　big　man　in　Old　Nan's　story；　and　the　thing　that　came　in　the　night　had　been　monstrous。　Back　in　Winterfell；　Sansa　had　told　him　that　the　demons　of　the　dark　couldn't　touch　him　if　he　hid　beneath　his　blanket。　He　almost　did　that　now；　before　he　remembered　that　he　was　a　prince；　and　almost　a　man　grown。
　Bran　wriggled　across　the　floor；　dragging　his　dead　legs　behind　him　until　he　could　reach　out　and　touch　Meera　on　the　foot。　She　woke　at　once。　He　had　never　known　anyone　to　wake　as　quick　as　Meera　Reed；　or　to　be　so　alert　so　fast。　Bran　pressed　a　finger　to　his　mouth　so　she'd　know　not　to　speak。　She　heard　the　sound　at　once；　he　could　see　that　on　her　face；　the　echoing　footfalls；　the　faint　whimpering；　the　heavy　breathing。
　Meera　rose　to　her　feet　without　a　word　and　reclaimed　her　weapons。　With　her　three…pronged　frog　spear　in　her　right　hand　and　the　folds　of　her　net　dangling　from　her　left；　she　slipped　barefoot　toward　the　well。　Jojen　dozed　on；　oblivious；　while　Hodor　muttered　and　thrashed　in　restless　sleep。　She　kept　to　the　shadows　as　she　moved；　stepped　around　the　shaft　of　moonlight　as　quiet　as　a　cat。　Bran　was　watching　her　all　the　while；　and　even　he　could　barely　see　the　faint　sheen　of　her　spear。　I　can't　let　her　fight　the　thing　alone；　he　thought。　Summer　was　far　away；　but　。　。　。
　　。　。　。　he　slipped　his　skin；　and　reached　for　Hodor。
　It　was　not　like　sliding　into　Summer。　That　was　so　easy　now　that　Bran　hardly　thought　about　it。　This　was　harder；　like　trying　to　pull　a　left　boot　on　your　right　foot。　It　fit　all　wrong；　and　the　boot　was　s