grrm.astormofswords-第43章

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de　like　a　northman；　milady；〃　Harwin　said　when　he'd　drawn　them　to　a　halt。　〃Your　aunt　was　the　same。　Lady　Lyanna。　But　my　father　was　master　of　horse；　remember。〃
　The　look　she　gave　him　was　full　of　hurt。　〃I　thought　you　were　my　father's　man。〃
　〃Lord　Eddard's　dead；　milady。　I　belong　to　the　lightning　lord　now；　and　to　my　brothers。〃
　〃What　brothers？〃　Old　Hullen　had　fathered　no　other　sons　that　Arya　could　remember。
　〃Anguy；　Lem；　Tom　o'　Sevens；　Jack　and　Greenbeard；　all　of　them。　We　mean　your　brother　Robb　no　ill；　milady　。　。　。　but　it's　not　him　we　fight　for。　He　has　an　army　all　his　own；　and　many　a　great　lord　to　bend　the　knee。　The　smallfolk　have　only　us。〃　He　gave　her　a　searching　look。　〃Can　you　understand　what　I　am　telling　you？〃
　〃Yes。〃　That　he　was　not　Robb's　man；　she　understood　well　enough。　And　that　she　was　his　captive。　I　could　have　stayed　with　Hot　Pie。　We　could　have　taken　the　little　boat　and　sailed　it　up　to　Riverrun。　She　had　been　better　off　as　Squab。　No　one　would　take　Squab　captive；　or　Nan；　or　Weasel；　or　Arry　the　orphan　boy。　I　was　a　wolf；　she　thought；　but　now　I'm　just　some　stupid　little　lady　again。
　〃Will　you　ride　back　peaceful　now；〃　Harwin　asked　her；　〃or　must　I　tie　you　up　and　throw　you　across　your　horse？〃
　〃I'll　ride　peaceful；〃　she　said　sullenly。　For　now。
　
　CHAPTER　18
　SAMWELL
　
　Sobbing；　Sam　took　another　step。　This　is　the　last　one；　the　very　last；　I　can't　go　on；　I　can't。　But　his　feet　moved　again。　One　and　then　the　other。　They　took　a　step；　and　then　another；　and　he　thought；　They're　not　my　feet；　they're　someone　else's；　someone　else　is　walking；　it　can't　be　me。
　When　he　looked　down　he　could　see　them　stumbling　through　the　snow；　shapeless　things；　and　clumsy。　His　boots　had　been　black；　he　seemed　to　remember；　but　the　snow　had　caked　around　them；　and　now　they　were　misshapen　white　balls。　Like　two　clubfeet　made　of　ice。
　It　would　not　stop；　the　snow。　The　drifts　were　up　past　his　knees；　and　a　crust　covered　his　lower　legs　like　a　pair　of　white　greaves。　His　steps　were　dragging；　lurching。　The　heavy　pack　he　carried　made　him　look　like　some　monstrous　hunchback。　And　he　was　tired；　so　tired。　I　can't　go　on。　Mother　have　mercy；　I　can't。
　Every　fourth　or　fifth　step　he　had　to　reach　down　and　tug　up　his　swordbelt。　He　had　lost　the　sword　on　the　Fist；　but　the　scabbard　still　weighed　down　the　belt。　He　did　have　two　knives；　the　dragonglass　dagger　Jon　had　given　him　and　the　steel　one　he　cut　his　meat　with。　All　that　weight　dragged　heavy；　and　his　belly　was　so　big　and　round　that　if　he　forgot　to　tug　the　belt　slipped　right　off　and　tangled　round　his　ankles；　no　matter　how　tight　he　cinched　it。　He　had　tried　belting　it　above　his　belly　once；　but　then　it　came　almost　to　his　armpits。　Grenn　had　laughed　himself　sick　at　the　sight　of　it；　and　Dolorous　Edd　had　said；　〃I　knew　a　man　once　who　wore　his　sword　on　a　chain　around　his　neck　like　that。　One　day　he　stumbled；　and　the　hilt　went　up　his　nose。〃
　Sam　was　stumbling　himself。　There　were　rocks　beneath　the　snow；　and　the　roots　of　trees；　and　sometimes　deep　holes　in　the　frozen　ground。　Black　Bernarr　had　stepped　in　one　and　broken　his　ankle　three　days　past；　or　maybe　four；　or　。　。　。　he　did　not　know　how　long　it　had　been；　truly。　The　Lord　mander　had　put　Bernarr　on　a　horse　after　that。
　Sobbing；　Sam　took　another　step。　It　felt　more　like　he　was　falling　down　than　walking；　falling　endlessly　but　never　hitting　the　ground；　just　falling　forward　and　forward。　I　have　to　stop；　it　hurts　too　much。　I'm　so　cold　and　tired；　I　need　to　sleep；　just　a　little　sleep　beside　a　fire；　and　a　bite　to　eat　that　isn't　frozen。
　But　if　he　stopped　he　died。　He　knew　that。　They　all　knew　that；　the　few　who　were　left。　They　had　been　fifty　when　they　fled　the　Fist；　maybe　more；　but　some　had　wandered　off　in　the　snow；　a　few　wounded　had　bled　to　death　。　。　。　and　sometimes　Sam　heard　shouts　behind　him；　from　the　rear　guard；　and　once　an　awful　scream。　When　he　heard　that　he　had　run；　twenty　yards　or　thirty；　as　fast　and　as　far　as　he　could；　his　half…frozen　feet　kicking　up　the　snow；　He　would　be　running　still　if　his　legs　were　stronger。　They　are　behind　us；　they　are　still　behind　us；　they　are　taking　us　one　by　one。
　Sobbing；　Sam　took　another　step。　He　had　been　cold　so　long　he　was　forgetting　what　it　was　like　to　feel　warm。　He　wore　three　pairs　of　hose；　two　layers　of　smallclothes　beneath　a　double　lambswool　tunic；　and　over　that　a　thick　quilted　coat　that　padded　him　against　the　cold　steel　of　his　chainmail。　Over　the　hauberk　he　had　a　loose　surcoat；　over　that　a　triplethick　cloak　with　a　bone　button　that　fastened　tight　under　his　chins。　Its　hood　flopped　forward　over　his　forehead。　Heavy　fur　mitts　covered　his　hands　over　thin　wool…and…leather　gloves；　a　scarf　was　wrapped　snugly　about　the　lower　half　of　his　face；　and　he　had　a　tight…fitting　fleece…lined　cap　to　pull　down　over　his　ears　beneath　the　hood。　And　still　the　cold　was　in　him。　His　feet　especially。　He　couldn't　even　feel　them　now；　but　only　yesterday　they　had　hurt　so　bad　he　could　hardly　bear　to　stand　on　them；　let　alone　walk。　Every　step　made　him　want　to　scream。　Was　that　yesterday？　He　could　not　remember。　He　had　not　slept　since　the　Fist；　not　once　since　the　horn　had　blown。　Unless　it　was　while　he　was　walking。　Could　a　man　walk　while　he　was　sleeping？　Sam　did　not　know；　or　else　he　had　forgotten。
　Sobbing；　he　took　another　step。　The　snow　swirled　down　around　him。　Sometimes　it　fell　from　a　white　sky；　and　sometimes　from　a　black；　but　that　was　all　that　remained　of　day　and　night。　He　wore　it　on　his　shoulders　like　a　second　cloak；　and　it　piled　up　high　atop　the　pack　he　carried　and　made　it　even　heavier　and　harder　to　bear。　The　small　of　his　back　hurt　abominably；　as　if　someone　had　shoved　a　knife　in　there　and　was　wiggling　it　back　and　forth　with　every　step。　His　shoulders　were　in　agony　from　the　weight　of　the　mail。　He　would　have　given　most　anything　to　take　it　off；　but　he　was　afraid　to。　Anyway　he　would　have　needed　to　remove　his　cloak　and　surcoat　to　get　at　it；　and　then　the　cold　would　have　him。
　If　only　I　was　stronger　。　。　。　He　wasn't；　though；　and　it　was　no　good　wishing。　Sam　was　weak；　and　fat；　so　very　fat；　he　could　hardly　bear　his　own　weight；　the　mail　was　much　too　much　for　him。　It　felt　as　though　it　was　rubbing　his　shoulders　raw；　despite　the　layers　of　cloth　and　quilt　between　the　steel　and　skin。　The　only　thing　he　could　do　was　cry；　and　when　he　cried　the　tears　froze　on　his　cheeks。
　Sobbing；　he　took　another　step。　The　crust　was　broken　where　he　set　his　feet；　otherwise　he　did　not　think　he　could　have　moved　at　all。　Off　to　the　left　and　right；　half…seen　through　the　silent　trees；　torches　turned　to　vague　orange　haloes　in　the　falling　snow。　When　he　turned　his　head　he　could　see　them；　slipping　silent　through　the　wood；　bobbing　up　and　down　and　back　and　forth。　The　Old　Bear's　ring　of　fire；　he　reminded　himself；　and　woe　to　him　who　leaves　it。　As　he　walked；　it　seemed　as　if　he　were　chasing　the　torches　ahead　of　him；　but　they　had　legs　as　well；　longer　and　stronger　than　his；　so　he　could　never　catch　them。
　Yesterday　he　begged　for　them　to　let　him　be　one　of　the　torchbearers；　even　if　it　meant　walking　outside　of　the　column　with　the　darkness　pressing　close。　He　wanted　the　fire；　dreamed　of　the　fire。　If　I　had　the　fire；　I　would　not　be　cold。　But　someone　reminded　him　that　he'd　had　a　torch　at　the　start；　but　he'd　dropped　it　in　the　snow　and　snuffed　the　fire　out。　Sam　didn't　remember　dropping　any　torch；　but　he　supposed　it　was　true。　He　was　too　weak　to　hold　his　arm　up　for　long。　Was　it　Edd　who　reminded　him　about　the　torch；　or　Grenn？　He　couldn't　remember　that　either。　Fat　and　weak　and　useless；　even　my　wits　are　freezing　now　He　took　another　step。
　He　had　wrapped　his　scarf　over　his　nose　and　mouth；　but　it　was　covered　with　snot　now；　and　so　stiff　he　feared　it　must　be　frozen　to　his　face。　Even　breathing　was　hard；　and　the　air　was　so　cold　it　hurt　to　swallow　it。　〃Mother　have　mercy；〃　he　muttered　in　a　hushed　husky　voice　beneath　the　frozen　mask。　〃Mother　have　mercy；　Mother　have　mercy；　Mother　have　mercy。〃　With　each　prayer　he　took　another　step；　dragging　his　legs　through　the　snow。　〃Mother　have　mercy；　Mother　have　mercy；　Mother　have　mercy。〃
　His　own　mother　was　a　thousand　leagues　south；　safe　with　his　sisters　and　his　little　brother　Dickon　in　the　keep　at　Horn　Hill。　She　can't　hear　me；　no　more　than　the　Mother　Above。　The　Mother　was　merciful；　all　the　septons　agreed；　but　the　Seven　had　no　power　beyond　the　Wall。　This　was　where　the　old　gods　ruled；　the　nameless　gods　of　the　trees　and　the　wolves　and　the　snows。　〃Mercy；〃　he　whispered　then；　to　whatever　might　be　listening；　old　gods　or　new；　or　demons　too；　〃oh；　mercy；　mercy　me；　mercy　me。〃
　Maslyn　screamed　for　mercy。　Why　had　he　suddenly　remembered　that？　It　was　nothing　he　wanted　to　remember。　The　man　had　stumbled　backward；　dropping　his　sword；　pleading；　yielding；　even　yanking　off　his　thick　black　glove　and　thrusting　it　up　before　him　as　if　it　were　a　gauntlet。　He　was　still　shrieking　for　quarter　as　the　wight　lifted　him　in　the　air　by　the　throat　and　near　ripped　the　head　off　him。　The　dead　have　no　mercy　left　in　them；　and　the　Others　。　。　。　no；　I　mustn't　think　of　that；　don't　think；　don't　remember；　just　walk；　just　walk；　just　walk。
　Sobbing；　he　took　another　step。
　A　root　beneath　the　crust　caught　his　toe；　and　Sam　tripped　and　fell　heavily　to　one　knee；　so　hard　he　bit　his　tongue。　He　could　taste　the　blood　in　his　mouth；　warmer　than　anything　he　had　tasted　since　the　Fist。　This　is　the　end；　he　thought。　Now　that　he　had　fallen　he　could　not　seem　to　find　the　strength　to　rise　again。　He　groped　for　a　tree　branch　and　clutched　it　tight；　trying　to　pull　himself　back　to　his　feet；　but　his　stiff　legs　would　not　support　him。　The　mail　was　too　heavy；　and　he　was　too　fat　besides；　and　too　weak；　and　too　tired。
　〃Back　on　your　feet；　Piggy；〃　someone　growled　as　he　went　past；　but　Sam　paid　him　no　mind。　I'll　just　lie　down　in　the　snow　and　close　my　eyes。　It　wouldn't　be　so　bad；　dying　here。　He　couldn't　possibly　be　any　colder；　and　after　a　little　while　he　wouldn't　be　able　to　feel　the　ache　in　his　lower　back　or　the　terrible　pain　in　his　shoulders；　no　more　than　he　could　feel　his　feet。　I　won't　be　the　first　to　die；　they　can't　say　I　was。　Hundreds　had　died　on　the　Fist；　they　had　died　all　around　him；　and　more　had　died　after；　he'd　seen　them。　Shivering；　Sam　released　his　grip　on　the　tree　and　eased　himself　down　in　the　snow。　It　was　cold　and　wet；　he　knew；　but　he　could　scarcely　feel　it　through　all　his　clothing。　He　stared　upward　at　the　pale　white　sky　as　snowflakes　drifted　down　upon　his　stomach　and　his　chest　and　his　eyelids。　The　snow　will　cover　me　like　a　thick　white　blanket。　It　will　be　warm　under　the　snow；　and　if　they　speak　of　me　they'll　have　to　say　I　died　a　man　of　the　Night's　Watch。　I　did。　I　did。　I　did　my　duty。　No　one　can　say　I　forswore　myself。　I'm　fat　and　I'm　weak　and　I'm　craven；　but　I　did　my　duty。
　The　ravens　had　been　his　responsibility。　That　was　why　they　had　brought　him　along。　He　hadn't　wanted　to　go；　he'd　told　them　so；　he'd　told　them　all　what　a　big　coward　he　was。　But　Maester　Aemon　was　very　old　and　blind　besides；　so　they　had　to　send　Sam　to　tend　to　the　ravens。　The　Lord　mander　had　given　him　his　orders　when　they　made　their　camp　on　the　Fist。　〃You're　no　fighter。　We　both　know　that；　boy。　If　it　happens　that　we're　attacked；　don't　go　trying　to　prove　otherwise；　you'll　just　get　in　the　way。　You're　to　send　a　message。　And　don't　e　running　to　ask　what　the　letter　should　say。　Write　it　out　yourself；　and　send　one　bird　to　Castle　Black　and　another