grrm.astormofswords-第4部分

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　When　the　shouting　died　away；　once　more　he　heard　the　sound　of　the　wind　picking　at　the　ringwall。　The　flames　swirled　and　shivered；　as　if　they　too　were　cold；　and　in　the　sudden　quiet　the　Old　Bear's　raven　cawed　loudly　and　once　again　said；　〃Die。〃
　Clever　bird；　thought　Chett　as　the　officers　dismissed　them；　warning　everyone　to　get　a　good　meal　and　a　long　rest　tonight。　Chett　crawled　under　his　furs　near　the　dogs；　his　head　full　of　things　that　could　go　wrong。　What　if　that　bloody　oath　gave　one　of　his　a　change　of　heart？　Or　Small　Paul　forgot　and　tried　to　kill　Mormont　during　the　second　watch　in　place　of　the　third？　Or　Maslyn　lost　his　courage；　or　someone　turned　informer；　or　。　。　。
　He　found　himself　listening　to　the　night。　The　wind　did　sound　like　a　wailing　child；　and　from　time　to　time　he　could　hear　men's　voices；　a　horse's　whinny；　a　log　spitting　in　the　fire。　But　nothing　else。　So　quiet。
　He　could　see　Bessa's　face　floating　before　him。　It　wasn't　the　knife　I　wanted　to　put　in　you；　he　wanted　to　tell　her。　I　picked　you　flowers；　wild　roses　and　tansy　and　goldencups；　it　took　me　all　morning。　His　heart　was　thumping　like　a　drum；　so　loud　he　feared　it　might　wake　the　camp。　Ice　caked　his　beard　all　around　his　mouth。　Where　did　that　e　from；　with　Bessa？　Whenever　he'd　thought　of　her　before；　it　had　only　been　to　remember　the　way　she'd　looked；　dying。　What　was　wrong　with　him？　He　could　hardly　breathe。　Had　he　gone　to　sleep？　He　got　to　his　knees；　and　something　wet　and　cold　touched　his　nose。　Chett　looked　up。
　Snow　was　falling。
　He　could　feel　tears　freezing　to　his　cheeks。　It　isn't　fair；　he　wanted　to　scream。　Snow　would　ruin　everything　he'd　worked　for；　all　his　careful　plans。　It　was　a　heavy　fall；　thick　white　flakes　ing　down　all　about　him。　How　would　they　find　their　food　caches　in　the　snow；　or　the　game　trail　they　meant　to　follow　east？　They　won't　need　Dywen　nor　Bannen　to　hunt　us　down　neither；　not　if　we're　tracking　through　fresh　snow　And　snow　hid　the　shape　of　the　ground；　especially　by　night。　A　horse　could　stumble　over　a　root；　break　a　leg　on　a　stone。　We're　done；　he　realized。　Done　before　we　began。　We're　lost。　There'd　be　no　lord's　life　for　the　leechman's　son；　no　keep　to　call　his　own；　no　wives　nor　crowns。　Only　a　wildling's　sword　in　his　belly；　and　then　an　unmarked　grave。　The　snow's　taken　it　all　from　me　。　。　。　the　bloody　snow　。　。　。
　Snow　had　ruined　him　once　before。　Snow　and　his　pet　pig。
　Chett　got　to　his　feet。　His　legs　were　stiff；　and　the　falling　snowflakes　turned　the　distant　torches　to　vague　orange　glows。　He　felt　as　though　he　were　being　attacked　by　a　cloud　of　pale　cold　bugs。　They　settled　on　his　shoulders；　on　his　head；　they　flew　at　his　nose　and　his　eyes。　Cursing；　he　brushed　them　off。　Samwell　Tarly；　he　remembered。　I　can　still　deal　with　Ser　Piggy。　He　wrapped　his　scarf　around　his　face；　pulled　up　his　hood；　and　went　striding　through　the　camp　to　where　the　coward　slept。
　The　snow　was　falling　so　heavily　that　he　got　lost　among　the　tents；　but　finally　he　spotted　the　snug　little　windbreak　the　fat　boy　had　made　for　himself　between　a　rock　and　the　raven　cages。　Tarly　was　buried　beneath　a　mound　of　black　wool　blankets　and　shaggy　furs。　The　snow　was　drifting　in　to　cover　him。　He　looked　like　some　kind　of　soft　round　mountain。　Steel　whispered　on　leather　faint　as　hope　as　Chett　eased　his　dagger　from　its　sheath。　One　of　the　ravens　quorked。　〃Snow；〃　another　muttered；　peering　through　the　bars　with　black　eyes。　The　first　added　a　〃Snow〃　of　its　own。　He　edged　past　them；　placing　each　foot　carefully。　He　would　clap　his　left　hand　down　over　the　fat　boy's　mouth　to　muffle　his　cries；　and　then　。　。　。
　Uuuuuuuhoooooooooo。
　He　stopped　midstep；　swallowing　his　curse　as　the　sound　of　the　horn　shuddered　through　the　camp；　faint　and　far；　yet　unmistakable。　Not　now　Gods　be　damned；　not　NOW！　The　Old　Bear　had　hidden　far…eyes　in　a　ring　of　trees　around　the　Fist；　to　give　warning　of　any　approach。　Jarman　Buckwell's　back　from　the　Giant's　Stair；　Chett　figured；　or　Qhorin　Halfhand　from　the　Skirling　Pass。　A　single　blast　of　the　horn　meant　brothers　returning。　If　it　was　the　Halfhand；　Jon　Snow　might　be　with　him；　alive。
　Sam　Tarly　sat　up　puffy…eyed　and　stared　at　the　snow　in　confusion。　The　ravens　were　cawing　noisily；　and　Chett　could　hear　his　dogs　baying。　Half　the　bloody　camp's　awake。　His　gloved　fingers　clenched　around　the　dagger's　hilt　as　he　waited　for　the　sound　to　die　away。　But　no　sooner　had　it　gone　than　it　came　again；　louder　and　longer。
　Uuuuuuuuuuuuhooooooooooooooo。
　〃Gods；〃　he　heard　Sam　Tarly　whimper。　The　fat　boy　lurched　to　his　knees；　his　feet　tangled　in　his　cloak　and　blankets。　He　kicked　them　away　and　reached　for　a　chain…mail　hauberk　he'd　hung　on　the　rock　nearby。　As　he　slipped　the　huge　tent　of　a　garment　down　over　his　head　and　wriggled　into　it；　he　spied　Chett　standing　there。　〃Was　it　two？〃　he　asked。　〃I　dreamed　I　heard　two　blasts　。　。　。〃
　〃No　dream；〃　said　Chett。　〃Two　blasts　to　call　the　Watch　to　arms。　Two　blasts　for　foes　approaching。　There's　an　axe　out　there　with　Piggy　writ　on　it；　fat　boy。　Two　blasts　means　wildlings。　〃The　fear　on　that　big　moon　face　made　him　want　to　laugh。　〃Bugger　them　all　to　seven　hells。　Bloody　Harma。　Bloody　Mance　Rayder。　Bloody　Smallwood；　he　said　they　wouldn't　be　on　us　for　another…〃
　Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhooooooooooooooooooooooooo。
　The　sound　went　on　and　on　and　on；　until　it　seemed　it　would　never　die。　The　ravens　were　flapping　and　screaming；　flying　about　their　cages　and　banging　off　the　bars；　and　all　about　the　camp　the　brothers　of　the　Night's　Watch　were　rising；　donning　their　armor；　buckling　on　swordbelts；　reaching　for　battleaxes　and　bows。　Samwell　Tarly　stood　shaking；　his　face　the　same　color　as　the　snow　that　swirled　down　all　around　them。　〃Three；〃　he　squeaked　to　Chett；　〃that　was　three；　I　heard　three。　They　never　blow　three。　Not　for　hundreds　and　thousands　of　years。　Three　means…〃
　〃…Others。〃　Chett　made　a　sound　that　was　half　a　laugh　and　half　a　sob；　and　suddenly　his　smallclothes　were　wet；　and　he　could　feel　the　piss　running　down　his　leg；　see　steam　rising　off　the　front　of　his　breeches。
　
　CHAPTER　1
　JAIME
　
　An　east　wind　blew　through　his　tangled　hair；　as　soft　and　fragrant　as　Cersei's　fingers。　He　could　hear　birds　singing；　and　feel　the　river　moving　beneath　the　boat　as　the　sweep　of　the　oars　sent　them　toward　the　pale　pink　dawn。　After　so　long　in　darkness；　the　world　was　so　sweet　that　Jaime　Lannister　felt　dizzy。　I　am　alive；　and　drunk　on　sunlight。　A　laugh　burst　from　his　lips；　sudden　as　a　quail　flushed　from　cover。
　〃Quiet；〃　the　wench　grumbled；　scowling。　Scowls　suited　her　broad　homely　face　better　than　a　smile。　Not　that　Jaime　had　ever　seen　her　smiling。　He　amused　himself　by　picturing　her　in　one　of　Cersei's　silken　gowns　in　place　of　her　studded　leather　jerkin。　As　well　dress　a　cow　in　silk　as　this　one。
　But　the　cow　could　row。　Beneath　her　roughspun　brown　breeches　were　calves　like　cords　of　wood；　and　the　long　muscles　of　her　arms　stretched　and　tightened　with　each　stroke　of　the　oars。　Even　after　rowing　half　the　night；　she　showed　no　signs　of　tiring；　which　was　more　than　could　be　said　for　his　cousin　Ser　Cleos；　laboring　on　the　other　oar。　A　big　strong　peasant　wench　to　look　at　her；　yet　she　speaks　like　one　highborn　and　wears　longsword　and　dagger。　Ah；　but　can　she　use　them？　Jaime　meant　to　find　out；　as　soon　as　he　rid　himself　of　these　fetters。
　He　wore　iron　manacles　on　his　wrists　and　a　matching　pair　about　his　ankles；　joined　by　a　length　of　heavy　chain　no　more　than　a　foot　long。　〃You'd　think　my　word　as　a　Lannister　was　not　good　enough；〃　he'd　japed　as　they　bound　him。　He'd　been　very　drunk　by　then；　thanks　to　Catelyn　Stark。　Of　their　escape　from　Riverrun；　he　recalled　only　bits　and　pieces。　There　had　been　some　trouble　with　the　gaoler；　but　the　big　wench　had　overe　him。
　After　that　they　had　climbed　an　endless　stair；　around　and　around。　His　legs　were　weak　as　grass；　and　he'd　stumbled　twice　or　thrice；　until　the　wench　lent　him　an　arm　to　lean　on。　At　some　point　he　was　bundled　into　a　traveler's　cloak　and　shoved　into　the　bottom　of　a　skiff。　He　remembered　listening　to　Lady　Catelyn　mand　someone　to　raise　the　portcullis　on　the　Water　Gate。　She　was　sending　Ser　Cleos　Frey　back　to　King's　Landing　with　new　terms　for　the　queen；　she'd　declared　in　a　tone　that　brooked　no　argument。
　He　must　have　drifted　off　then。　The　wine　had　made　him　sleepy；　and　it　felt　good　to　stretch；　a　luxury　his　chains　had　not　permitted　him　in　the　cell。　Jaime　had　long　ago　learned　to　snatch　sleep　in　the　saddle　during　a　march。　This　was　no　harder。　Tyrion　is　going　to　laugh　himself　sick　when　he　hears　how　I　slept　through　my　own　escape。　He　was　awake　now；　though；　and　the　fetters　were　irksome。　〃My　lady；〃　he　called　out；　〃if　you'll　strike　off　these　chains；　I'll　spell　you　at　those　oars。〃
　She　scowled　again；　her　face　all　horse　teeth　and　glowering　suspicion。　〃You'll　wear　your　chains；　Kingslayer。〃
　〃You　figure　to　row　all　the　way　to　King's　Landing；　wench？〃
　〃You　will　call　me　Brienne。　Not　wench。〃
　〃My　name　is　Ser　Jaime。　Not　Kingslayer。〃
　〃Do　you　deny　that　you　slew　a　king？〃
　〃No。　Do　you　deny　your　sex？　If　so；　unlace　those　breeches　and　show　me。〃　He　gave　her　an　innocent　smile。　〃I'd　ask　you　to　open　your　bodice；　but　from　the　look　of　you　that　wouldn't　prove　much。〃
　Ser　Cleos　fretted。　〃Cousin；　remember　your　courtesies。〃
　The　Lannister　blood　runs　thin　in　this　one。　Cleos　was　his　Aunt　Genna's　son　by　that　dullard　Emmon　Frey；　who　had　lived　in　terror　of　Lord　Tywin　Lannister　since　the　day　he　wed　his　sister。　When　Lord　Walder　Frey　had　brought　the　Twins　into　the　war　on　the　side　of　Riverrun；　Ser　Emmon　had　chosen　his　wife's　allegiance　over　his　father's。　Casterly　Rock　got　the　worst　of　that　bargain；　Jaime　reflected。　Ser　Cleos　looked　like　a　weasel；　fought　like　a　goose；　and　had　the　courage　of　an　especially　brave　ewe。　Lady　Stark　had　promised　him　release　if　he　delivered　her　message　to　Tyrion；　and　Ser　Cleos　had　solemnly　vowed　to　do　so。
　They'd　all　done　a　deal　of　vowing　back　in　that　cell；　Jaime　most　of　all。　That　was　Lady　Catelyn's　price　for　loosing　him。　She　had　laid　the　point　of　the　big　wench's　sword　against　his　heart　and　said；　〃Swear　that　you　will　never　again　take　up　arms　against　Stark　nor　Tully。　Swear　that　you　will　pel　your　brother　to　honor　his　pledge　to　return　my　daughters　safe　and　unharmed。　Swear　on　your　honor　as　a　knight；　on　your　honor　as　a　Lannister；　on　your　honor　as　a　Sworn　Brother　of　the　Kingsguard。　Swear　it　by　your　sister's　life；　and　your　father's；