grrm.astormofswords-第3章

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d。　〃We　might　all　have　been　better　for　a　bit　of　fresh　meat。〃　The　raven　on　his　shoulder　bobbed　its　head　and　echoed；　〃Meat。　Meat。　Meat。〃
　We　could　cook　the　bloody　dogs；　Chett　thought；　but　he　kept　his　mouth　shut　until　the　Old　Bear　sent　him　on　his　way。　And　that's　the　last　time　I'll　need　to　bow　my　head　to　that　one；　he　thought　to　himself　with　satisfaction。　it　seemed　to　him　that　it　was　growing　even　colder；　which　he　would　have　swom。　wasn't　possible。　The　dogs　huddled　together　miserably　in　the　hard　frozen　mud；　and　Chett　was　half　tempted　to　crawl　in　with　them。　instead　he　wrapped　a　black　wool　scarf　round　the　lower　part　of　his　face；　leaving　a　slit　for　his　mouth　between　the　winds。　It　was　warmer　if　he　kept　moving；　he　found；　so　he　made　a　slow　circuit　of　the　perimeter　with　a　wad　of　sourleaf；　sharing　a　chew　or　two　with　the　black　brothers　on　guard　and　hearing　what　they　had　to　say。　None　of　the　men　on　the　day　watch　were　part　of　his　scheme；　even　so；　he　figured　it　was　good　to　have　some　sense　of　what　they　were　thinking。
　Mostly　what　they　were　thinking　was　that　it　was　bloody　cold。
　The　wind　was　rising　as　the　shadows　lengthened。　it　made　a　high　thin　sound　as　it　shivered　through　the　stones　of　the　ringwall。　〃I　hate　that　sound；〃　little　Giant　said。　〃It　sounds　like　a　babe　in　the　brush；　wailing　away　for　milk。〃
　When　he　finished　the　circuit　and　returned　to　the　dogs；　he　found　Lark　waiting　for　him。　〃The　officers　are　in　the　Old　Bear's　tent　again；　talking　something　fierce。〃
　〃That's　what　they　do；〃　said　Chett。　〃They're　highborn；　all　but　Blane；　they　get　drunk　on　words　instead　of　wine。〃
　Lark　sidled　closer。　〃Cheese…for…wits　keeps　going　on　about　the　bird；〃　he　warned；　glancing　about　to　make　certain　no　one　was　close。　〃Now　he's　asking　if　we　cached　any　seed　for　the　damn　thing。〃
　〃It's　a　raven；〃　said　Chett。　〃It　eats　corpses。〃
　Lark　grinned。　〃His；　might　be？〃
　Or　yours。　It　seemed　to　Chett　that　they　needed　the　big　man　more　than　they　needed　Lark。　〃Stop　fretting　about　Small　Paul。　You　do　your　part；　he'll　do　his。〃
　Twilight　was　creeping　through　the　woods　by　the　time　he　rid　himself　of　the　Sisterman　and　sat　down　to　edge　his　sword。　It　was　bloody　hard　work　with　his　gloves　on；　but　he　wasn't　about　to　take　them　off。　Cold　as　it　was；　any　fool　that　touched　steel　with　a　bare　hand　was　going　to　lose　a　patch　of　skin。
　The　dogs　whimpered　when　the　sun　went　down。　He　gave　them　water　and　curses。　〃Half　a　night　more；　and　you　can　find　your　own　feast。〃　By　then　he　could　smell　supper。
　Dywen　was　holding　forth　at　the　cookfire　as　Chett　got　his　heel　of　hardbread　and　a　bowl　of　bean　and　bacon　soup　from　Hake　the　cook。　〃The　wood's　too　silent；〃　the　old　forester　was　saying。　〃No　frogs　near　that　river；　no　owls　in　the　dark。　I　never　heard　no　deader　wood　than　this。〃
　〃Them　teeth　of　yours　sound　pretty　dead；〃　said　Hake。
　Dywen　clacked　his　wooden　teeth。　〃No　wolves　neither。　There　was；　before；　but　no　more。　Where'd　they　go；　you　figure？〃
　〃Someplace　warm；〃　said　Chett。
　Of　the　dozen　odd　brothers　who　sat　by　the　fire；　four　were　his。　He　gave　each　one　a　hard　squinty　look　as　he　ate；　to　see　if　any　showed　signs　of　breaking。　Dirk　seemed　calm　enough；　sitting　silent　and　sharpening　his　blade；　the　way　he　did　every　night。　And　Sweet　Donnel　Hill　was　all　easy　japes。　He　had　white　teeth　and　fat　red　lips　and　yellow　locks　that　he　wore　in　an　artful　tumble　about　his　shoulders；　and　he　claimed　to　be　the　bastard　of　some　Lannister。　Maybe　he　was　at　that。　Chett　had　no　use　for　pretty　boys；　nor　for　bastards　neither；　but　Sweet　Donnel　seemed　like　to　hold　his　own。
　He　was　less　certain　about　the　forester　the　brothers　called　Sawwood；　more　for　his　snoring　than　for　anything　to　do　with　trees。　just　now　he　looked　so　restless　he　might　never　snore　again。　And　Maslyn　was　worse。　Chett　could　see　sweat　trickling　down　his　face；　despite　the　frigid　wind。　The　beads　of　moisture　sparkled　in　the　firelight；　like　so　many　little　wet　jewels。　Maslyn　wasn't　eating　neither；　only　staring　at　his　soup　as　if　the　smell　of　it　was　about　to　make　him　sick。　I'll　need　to　watch　that　one；　Chett　thought。
　〃Assemble！〃　The　shout　came　suddenly；　from　a　dozen　throats；　and　quickly　spread　to　every　part　of　the　hilltop　camp。　〃Men　of　the　Night's　Watch！　Assemble　at　the　central　fire！〃
　Frowning；　Chett　finished　his　soup　and　followed　the　rest。
　The　Old　Bear　stood　before　the　fire　with　Smallwood；　Locke；　Wythers；　and　Blane　ranged　behind　him　in　a　row。　Mormont　wore　a　cloak　of　thick　black　fur；　and　his　raven　perched　upon　his　shoulder；　preening　its　black　feathers。　This　can't　be　good。　Chett　squeezed　between　Brown　Bemarr　and　some　Shadow　Tower　men。　When　everyone　was　gathered；　save　for　the　watchers　in　the　woods　and　the　guards　on　the　ringwall；　Mormont　cleared　his　throat　and　spat。　The　spittle　was　frozen　before　it　hit　the　ground。　〃Brothers；〃　he　said；　〃men　of　the　Night's　Watch。〃
　〃Men！〃　his　raven　screamed。　〃Men！　Men！〃
　〃The　wildlings　are　on　the　march；　following　the　course　of　the　Milkwater　down　out　of　the　mountains。　Thoren　believes　their　van　will　be　upon　us　ten　days　hence。　Their　most　seasoned　raiders　will　be　with　Harma　Dogshead　in　that　van。　The　rest　will　likely　form　a　rearguard；　or　ride　in　close　pany　with　Mance　Rayder　himself。　Elsewhere　their　fighters　will　be　spread　thin　along　the　line　of　march。　They　have　oxen；　mules；　horses　。　。　。　but　few　enough。　Most　will　be　afoot；　and　ill…armed　and　untrained。　Such　weapons　as　they　carry　are　more　like　to　be　stone　and　bone　than　steel。　They　are　burdened　with　women；　children；　herds　of　sheep　and　goats；　and　all　their　worldly　goods　besides。　In　short；　though　they　are　numerous；　they　are　vulnerable　。　。　。　and　they　do　not　know　that　we　are　here。　Or　so　we　must　pray。〃
　They　know；　thought　Chett。　You　bloody　old　pus　bag；　they　know；　certain　as　sunrise。　Qhorin　Halfhand　hasn't　e　back；　has　he？　Nor　Jarman　Buckwell。　lf　any　of　them　got　caught；　you　know　damned　well　the　wildlings　will　have　wrung　a　song　or　two　out　of　them　by　now　Smallwood　stepped　forward。　〃Mance　Rayder　means　to　break　the　Wall　and　bring　red　war　to　the　Seven　Kingdoms。　Well；　that's　a　game　two　can　play。　On　the　morrow　we'll　bring　the　war　to　him。〃
　〃We　ride　at　dawn　with　all　our　strength；〃　the　Old　Bear　said　as　a　murmur　went　through　the　assembly。　〃We　will　ride　north；　and　loop　around　to　the　west。　Harma's　van　will　be　well　past　the　Fist　by　the　time　we　turn。　The　foothills　of　the　Frostfangs　are　full　of　narrow　winding　valleys　made　for　ambush。　Their　line　of　march　will　stretch　for　many　miles。　We　shall　fall　on　them　in　several　places　at　once；　and　make　them　swear　we　were　three　thousand；　not　three　hundred。〃
　〃We'll　hit　hard　and　be　away　before　their　horsemen　can　form　up　to　face　us；〃　Thoren　Smallwood　said。　〃If　they　pursue；　we'll　lead　them　a　merry　chase；　then　wheel　and　hit　again　farther　down　the　column。　We'll　burn　their　wagons；　scatter　their　herds；　and　slay　as　many　as　we　can。　Mance　Rayder　himself；　if　we　find　him。　If　they　break　and　return　to　their　hovels；　we've　won。　If　not；　we'll　harry　them　all　the　way　to　the　Wall；　and　see　to　it　that　they　leave　a　trail　of　corpses　to　mark　their　progress。〃
　〃There　are　thousands；〃　someone　called　from　behind　Chett。
　〃We'll　die。〃　That　was　Maslyn's　voice；　green　with　fear。
　〃Die；〃　screamed　Mormont's　raven；　flapping　its　black　wings。　〃Die；　die；　die。〃
　〃Many　of　us；〃　the　Old　Bear　said。　〃Mayhaps　even　all　of　us。　But　as　another　Lord　mander　said　a　thousand　years　ago；　that　is　why　they　dress　us　in　black。　Remember　your　words；　brothers。　For　we　are　the　swords　in　the　darkness；　the　watchers　on　the　walls　。　。　。〃
　〃The　fire　that　burns　against　the　cold。〃　Ser　Mallador　Locke　drew　his　longsword。
　〃The　light　that　brings　the　dawn；〃　others　answered；　and　more　swords　were　pulled　from　scabbards。
　Then　all　of　them　were　drawing；　and　it　was　near　three　hundred　upraised　swords　and　as　many　voices　crying；　〃The　horn　that　wakes　the　sleepers！　The　shield　that　guards　the　realms　of　men！〃　Chett　had　no　choice　but　to　join　his　voice　to　the　others。　The　air　was　misty　with　their　breath；　and　firelight　glinted　off　the　steel。　He　was　pleased　to　see　Lark　and　Softfoot　and　Sweet　Donnel　Hill　joining　in；　as　if　they　were　as　big　fools　as　the　rest。　That　was　good。　No　sense　to　draw　attention；　when　their　hour　was　so　close。
　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。　S