敬請(qǐng)所有冰火迷批評(píng)指正亿笤。
“我們?cè)摶厝チ恕栋猖！币娝闹艿牧值卦絹碓桨稻谎Γw里德催促道∑牙“反正野人已經(jīng)死了肃拜〕针纾”
“死人嚇到你了嗎？”魏瑪?洛易斯爵士語(yǔ)帶譏刺地問道燃领。
蓋里德可不吃這一套士聪。他是個(gè)年過五十的老人，人來人往之中猛蔽，這種貨色的公子哥他見得太多了剥悟。“死了就是死了曼库，”他說区岗，“我們不需要尋找死人』倏荩”
“他們果真死了嗎慈缔？”洛易斯輕聲問道≈致辏“我們有何證據(jù)藐鹤？”
“威爾見過他們，”蓋里德說赂韵，“要是他說他們死了教藻，我覺得那就足以為證了∮蚁牵”
威爾早就料到括堤，他們的爭(zhēng)吵遲早會(huì)把他扯進(jìn)去，只是沒想到會(huì)這么快绍移∏那裕“我媽說，死人再怎么著也不會(huì)唱歌蹂窖≡梗”他插嘴道。
“威爾瞬测，我奶娘也這么說過横媚。”洛易斯回應(yīng)道月趟〉坪“千萬(wàn)別相信你還在吃奶時(shí)聽到的一切。即便從死人身上孝宗，也有不少的東西可以學(xué)習(xí)呢穷躁。”他的聲音在暮色蒼茫的森林里回蕩因妇，極其刺耳问潭。
“我們回去還得騎好幾天長(zhǎng)路呢猿诸！”蓋里德提醒他說，“八天或許還不止狡忙，也許要九天梳虽。再說，現(xiàn)在天也黑了灾茁〔懒荆”
魏瑪?洛易斯爵士漫不經(jīng)心地瞥了一眼天空∩径ィ“每天到了這當(dāng)口，天都這么黑啊淑廊。蓋里德逗余，你該不會(huì)是怕黑吧？”
威爾可以看到蓋里德嘴角的抽搐季惩，還有在黑色披風(fēng)厚厚的風(fēng)帽下录粱，他眼神中強(qiáng)制壓抑的怒火。他打小在守夜軍團(tuán)長(zhǎng)大画拾，四十年的守夜資歷啥繁，竟被人如此輕視，他還真適應(yīng)不了青抛。然而旗闽，蓋里德不止是憤怒。威爾從這位老者受傷的自尊下面蜜另，可以覺察出一些別的東西來适室。是的，你可以感受到一種酷似于恐懼的焦慮和不安举瑰。
威爾也是同樣惴惴不安捣辆。他在長(zhǎng)城已經(jīng)待了四年，記得初次外派北上時(shí)此迅，那些小時(shí)候聽過的鬼故事汽畴，統(tǒng)統(tǒng)涌上心頭，嚇得他褲子都濕了耸序。事后每每想起忍些，無(wú)不覺得好笑。現(xiàn)在坎怪，他已經(jīng)是一個(gè)有上百次巡邏經(jīng)驗(yàn)的老手了坐昙。對(duì)眼前這片廣袤無(wú)邊的、南方人稱之為鬼影叢林的黑暗荒野芋忿，他早已無(wú)所畏懼炸客。
一直到今天晚上疾棵，情況才有些異樣。在今晚這種黑暗之中痹仙，潛藏著某種讓他毛骨悚然的鋒芒是尔。九天以來，他們一直在路上开仰，緊緊追蹤著一支野人突襲隊(duì)拟枚。先是向北騎行，隨后折向西北众弓，繼而再轉(zhuǎn)向北方恩溅，在長(zhǎng)城外漸行漸遠(yuǎn)。每天環(huán)境都比頭天糟糕谓娃，今天情況尤其不妙脚乡。冷風(fēng)颼颼地從北方刮來，吹得樹葉沙沙作響滨达，儼然如活物一般奶稠。整整一天，威爾都覺得似乎有什么東西在窺視著他捡遍。那種東西冷酷無(wú)情锌订，對(duì)他懷著不可化解的敵意。蓋里德無(wú)疑也感覺到了画株。威爾恨不得直奔長(zhǎng)城尋求庇護(hù)辆飘，然而這個(gè)念頭你絕不可能告訴你的指揮官。
尤其是像眼前這樣的指揮官谓传。
魏瑪?洛易斯爵士來自一個(gè)子嗣多不勝數(shù)的古老世家劈猪，是弟兄年紀(jì)最小的那個(gè)。他是個(gè)十八歲的英俊青年良拼，有一雙灰色的眼睛战得，舉止優(yōu)雅，身材修長(zhǎng)得像一把刀庸推。騎在那匹高大的黑色軍馬上常侦，這位騎士遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)高過在小矮馬上坐著的威爾和蓋里德。他穿著黑皮靴贬媒，配黑色羊毛褲聋亡，戴著一副黑色鼴鼠皮手套；質(zhì)地上乘的柔皮大衣际乘，由黑羊毛和加工過的皮革制成坡倔；大衣外罩一層烏黑發(fā)亮的鏈甲。魏瑪爵士宣誓加入守夜軍團(tuán)不足半年，但沒人敢說他沒有為他的使命做好準(zhǔn)備罪塔。起碼從他的一身行頭來看投蝉，他無(wú)疑是有備而來的。
那襲披風(fēng)就是他無(wú)上的榮耀：由黑貂皮縫制征堪，無(wú)以復(fù)加的厚實(shí)瘩缆、黝黑與柔順〉柩粒“我敢打賭庸娱，那些黑貂一定都是他親手殺死的，不會(huì)錯(cuò)的谐算，”喝酒后的蓋里德這樣在軍營(yíng)里說熟尉，“我們的猛士，把它們的小腦袋一個(gè)個(gè)擰下來洲脂〗锒”軍營(yíng)里頓時(shí)哄堂大笑。
威爾抖抖索索地坐在矮馬上腮考，不禁尋思：要聽命于一個(gè)你喝酒時(shí)的嘲諷對(duì)象，這的確有點(diǎn)困難玄捕。蓋里德應(yīng)該也是這么想的踩蔚。
“摩蒙特叫我們找尋他們，我們找到了枚粘，”蓋里德說道馅闽，“現(xiàn)在他們死了，不會(huì)再來騷擾我們了馍迄。我們前面還得走好長(zhǎng)一段路呢福也。我不喜歡這種天氣。一旦下起雪來攀圈，就得花兩個(gè)星期才能回去暴凑。如果單是下雪，那倒不是最糟糕的赘来。我的大人现喳，您可曾見過冰暴？”
那位公子哥好像沒聽他說話犬辰，只顧用他那種半是厭倦嗦篱、半是散漫的特用方式，研究著暮色漸濃的黃昏幌缝。威爾跟著這位騎士游巡的時(shí)間不算短灸促，知道當(dāng)他做出這種表情時(shí)，最好不要打擾他≡≡裕“威爾荒叼，把你看見的再跟我說一遍。要所有細(xì)節(jié)吃度，一點(diǎn)都不能少甩挫。”
加入守夜軍團(tuán)之前椿每，威爾一直以打獵為生伊者。跟您這么說吧，他其實(shí)是個(gè)偷獵者间护。當(dāng)年亦渗，他正藏身于梅里斯特家的樹林里，滿手血污地剝著雄鹿皮汁尺，而那雄鹿法精，也是從梅里斯特家偷來的。梅里斯特的自由騎士把他逮個(gè)正著痴突，他如果不想斷一只手搂蜓，就只能披上黑衣當(dāng)守夜人去。論在森林里悄然潛行的功夫辽装，無(wú)人比得上威爾帮碰；黑衣軍的兄弟們，不久便發(fā)現(xiàn)了他的這個(gè)本領(lǐng)拾积。
“營(yíng)地在前面兩英里以外殉挽，在山脊那面，和一條小河緊緊挨著拓巧，”威爾說斯碌，“我靠得不能再近了。他們總共有八個(gè)人肛度，男女都有傻唾。沒看到有孩子。他們緊挨巖石建了一個(gè)單坡屋頂?shù)呐镂莩泄ⅰ９烙?jì)現(xiàn)在大雪已經(jīng)把那棚屋全蓋住了策吠，不過我辨認(rèn)得出來。他們沒有生火瘩绒，但火炕像平日一樣顯眼猴抹。全部人都是一動(dòng)不動(dòng)。我已經(jīng)觀察了很久了锁荔。一個(gè)大活人不可能那么安靜地躺著蟀给◎觯”
“你看到有血跡嗎？”
“嗯……沒有跋理≡窨耍”威爾承認(rèn)。
“你發(fā)現(xiàn)有武器嗎前普？”
“幾把長(zhǎng)劍肚邢，一些彈弓。有個(gè)男的還有柄斧頭拭卿。雙刃的斧子骡湖，看起來很沉、很猛的一件鐵器峻厚，擺在那人身邊响蕴，就在他手邊的地上』萏遥”
“所有人的位置你都記得嗎浦夷？”
威爾聳聳肩」纪酰“兩個(gè)人背靠石頭坐著劈狐，大多數(shù)人躺在地上。像是被人放倒的呐馆》实蓿”
“或者就是在睡覺∧∏。”洛易斯提出異議辫继。
“肯定是被人放倒的怒见∷状龋”威爾堅(jiān)持自己的看法∏菜＃“鐵樹上還有個(gè)女人闺阱，半隱蔽在樹枝后，應(yīng)該是偵察兵舵变『ɡ＃”他微笑著〖拖叮“我動(dòng)作很小心赊豌，不讓她發(fā)現(xiàn)我。不過當(dāng)我靠近了一看绵咱，發(fā)現(xiàn)她也是紋絲不動(dòng)碘饼。”說到這兒，他禁不住哆嗦了一下艾恼。
“你著涼了嗎住涉？”洛易斯問道。
“有點(diǎn)钠绍∮呱”威爾小聲地說，“是風(fēng)的緣故柳爽，大人媳握。”
年輕騎士轉(zhuǎn)向頭發(fā)斑白的老兵泻拦。霜打的樹葉窸窸窣窣毙芜，在周邊飄落。洛易斯的戰(zhàn)馬局促不安地動(dòng)來動(dòng)去争拐∫钢啵“你覺得會(huì)是誰(shuí)殺死了這些人，蓋里德架曹？”魏瑪爵士隨口問道隘冲，同時(shí)隨手整了整黑貂皮披風(fēng)的褶皺。
“是寒冷绑雄！”蓋里德斬釘截鐵地說展辞。“上個(gè)冬天万牺，我看過人被活活凍死罗珍。在那之前，我還是半大的小孩的時(shí)候脚粟，也見過一次覆旱。人人都說那雪有四十英尺深，冰風(fēng)呼嘯著從北邊吹來核无。不過真正致命的還是冷空氣扣唱。它能悄悄地貼近你身旁，比威爾還要來得無(wú)聲無(wú)息团南。起初噪沙，你會(huì)發(fā)抖，牙齒打戰(zhàn)吐根，拼命跺腳正歼，夢(mèng)見香甜的熱葡萄酒、溫?zé)岬幕鸲芽介佟Ｓ谑蔷忠澹惚阒苌頋L燙齐疙，真的。沒什么像冷空氣那樣讓人身上發(fā)燙旭咽。不過贞奋，僅僅過了一會(huì)，它便潛入你體內(nèi)穷绵，開始充斥你全身轿塔。不久，你便喪失了抵制它的氣脈仲墨，索性就地而坐或睡去勾缭。他們說，在一步步走向生命盡頭的過程中目养，你根本感覺不到任何疼痛俩由。先是變得虛弱，犯困癌蚁，然后是眼前的一切悉數(shù)褪色幻梯，最后，就像沉入溫暖的奶海之中努释，對(duì)碘梢，就是這樣。
“口才不錯(cuò)伐蒂，蓋里德煞躬，”魏瑪爵士觀察著他，說：“我從不懷疑你有這特長(zhǎng)逸邦《髋妫”
“我身上還留著當(dāng)年受凍的烙印，大人缕减！”說著雷客，蓋里德拉下風(fēng)帽，讓魏瑪大人好好看看他殘耳烛卧》鹑遥“不但凍掉了兩個(gè)耳朵妓局、三根腳趾总放，還有左手的小手指。我總算是逃過一劫好爬，只是受了點(diǎn)輕傷局雄。我哥哥是凍死在崗位上的。我們找到他時(shí)存炮，他臉上還帶著笑呢炬搭◎诶欤”
魏瑪爵士聳了聳肩」“蓋里德融虽，你該穿暖和點(diǎn)∽瓢牛”
蓋里德怒視著這個(gè)公子哥有额，耳洞周圍的傷疤，就是當(dāng)年埃蒙學(xué)士將他凍壞的耳朵全部切除的地方彼绷，因憤怒而漲得通紅巍佑。“等冬天來了寄悯，我倒要看看你能穿得多暖和萤衰！”他披上風(fēng)帽，弓著身子上了馬猜旬，一臉的怒氣脆栋，再也沒有吭聲。
“要是蓋里德說是因?yàn)槔涮鞖狻蓖栭_口道洒擦。
“威爾筹吐，你這幾周有沒有抽到站崗的簽灭返？”
“有孙蒙。大人灵莲±藓欤”他哪個(gè)禮拜不是抽到一打的簽恨胚？這人到底是啥意思毯侦？
“你留意到長(zhǎng)城是怎么個(gè)狀況矾瑰？”
“在流淚啊坦敌【腧剑”威爾說著皺起眉頭希坚。這下，他明白魏瑪大人話中的意思了陵且〔蒙“對(duì)了，他們不可能是凍死的慕购。如果長(zhǎng)城都在流淚聊疲，他們就不至于如此。天氣還沒有冷到那地步沪悲』裰蓿”
洛易斯點(diǎn)頭〉钊纾“還是你這小子聰明贡珊。上個(gè)禮拜是落了點(diǎn)輕霜最爬，時(shí)不時(shí)的還來一陣小雪什么的，但絕對(duì)沒能冷到讓八個(gè)成年人凍死的程度门岔。這些人穿著毛衣爱致，穿著皮革，而且寒随，讓我提醒你們一下蒜鸡，他們旁邊就是屋棚，何況還可以生火牢裳》攴溃”騎士頗為自負(fù)地笑起來∑蜒叮“威爾忘朝，帶我們?nèi)ツ莾骸Ｎ乙H眼看看這些死人判帮【粥遥”
你還能怎么做呢？命令已下晦墙，榮譽(yù)感驅(qū)使他們?nèi)シ摹?/p>
威爾走到前面帶路悦昵。他騎著那匹毛發(fā)蓬松的小矮馬，小心謹(jǐn)慎地在灌木叢中穿行晌畅。頭天下了點(diǎn)雪但指，積雪之下，凈是些石塊抗楔、樹根和暗溝棋凳，稍不留神就會(huì)被絆倒。魏瑪爵士跟在后面连躏，他座下的黑駿馬鼻息粗重剩岳，急喘不止。外出巡邏時(shí)本就不該騎戰(zhàn)馬入热，不過誰(shuí)也不敢將這層意思試著傳達(dá)給這位大老爺拍棕。蓋里德落在最后。這位老兵一路上喃喃自語(yǔ)勺良。
暮色愈沉绰播，晴空變成淤青般的深紫色，不久便沒入一片漆黑郑气。群星始現(xiàn)幅垮，半輪明月升上天空腰池。威爾為有月色星輝而心懷感激尾组。
“我們應(yīng)該可以再走快點(diǎn)忙芒。”洛易斯說道讳侨。這時(shí)呵萨，月亮已經(jīng)完全升起來了。
“騎著這種馬跨跨，我可辦不到潮峦，”威爾說。心中的恐懼是他變得無(wú)禮起來勇婴〕类冢“我的大人，您大概想要自己帶路吧耕渴？”
魏瑪?洛易斯爵士顯然不屑于回答他這個(gè)問題拘悦。
密林深處，一只狼在嗷嗷叫喚橱脸。
走到一棵滿是樹瘤的老鐵樹前础米，威爾下了馬。
“你干嘛停下來添诉？”魏瑪爵士問屁桑。
“接下來的路程，最好還是走過去栏赴，大人蘑斧。只要翻過那道山脊就到了⌒刖欤”
洛易斯稍停片刻乌叶，若有所思地眺望遠(yuǎn)方。冷風(fēng)呼嘯著穿林而過柒爸，他的貂皮大披風(fēng)不停拍打后背准浴，儼然被賦予了生命。
“這里有點(diǎn)不對(duì)勁捎稚±趾幔”蓋里德咕噥道。
年輕騎士鄙夷地對(duì)他一笑今野∑瞎“有嗎？”
“你感覺不到嗎条霜？”蓋里德問催什，“你聽聽黑暗中的聲音≡姿”
威爾感覺到了潛藏的威脅蒲凶。他已經(jīng)當(dāng)了四年守夜人气筋，卻從來沒有這么害怕過。那究竟是什么東西旋圆？
“風(fēng)聲宠默、樹葉的響聲，還有狼在叫喚灵巧，蓋里德搀矫，是哪種聲音把你嚇成這樣？”見蓋里德不接話刻肄，洛易斯姿勢(shì)優(yōu)美地翻身下馬瓤球，并把馬拴到那根低垂的樹枝上，和另外兩匹馬隔出一段明顯的距離敏弃。然后冰垄，他拔劍出鞘。那是一把由城堡鑄劍師打造的長(zhǎng)劍权她，劍柄上鑲嵌著寶石虹茶，月光沿著明晃晃的劍身傾瀉而下。從外觀上看隅要，這件華麗的兵器鑄成不久蝴罪。威爾懷疑它還從未在任何實(shí)戰(zhàn)中使用過。
“大人步清，這里樹長(zhǎng)得很密集要门，”威爾提醒他，“帶那把劍會(huì)被樹枝纏住的廓啊，還是用匕首比較好欢搜。”
“我需要你來教我的時(shí)候谴轮，到時(shí)會(huì)問你的炒瘟。”這位年輕的貴族說第步，“蓋里德疮装，你呆在這兒，看住這些馬匹粘都±疲”
蓋里德下馬◆嫠恚“我們需要生個(gè)火樊展。這事我來辦吧。”
“老頭兒专缠，你可真是個(gè)大傻瓜雷酪。要是這林子里有敵兵，難不成我們要生個(gè)火把他們引過來藤肢？”
“火可以驅(qū)趕走好些敵人太闺，”蓋里德說糯景，“比方說熊嘁圈，冰原狼，還有……還有其他東西蟀淮∽钭。”
魏瑪爵士雙唇緊閉〉』蹋“不準(zhǔn)生火就是不準(zhǔn)生火涨缚。”
雖然蓋里德的臉掩映在風(fēng)帽的陰影里策治，威爾卻看得出他望向騎士的眼神中露出兇光脓魏。他一度擔(dān)心這個(gè)老頭會(huì)拔劍而起。雖說他那劍不長(zhǎng)通惫，外形也丑陋茂翔，劍柄因浸汗過多而褪色，劍刃在多次猛擊后滿是缺口履腋，不過珊燎，萬(wàn)一動(dòng)起手來，威爾可不愿在這位大少爺?shù)男∶舷乱幻X賭注遵湖。
最后悔政，蓋里德低下頭，用比呼吸還輕的聲音嘀咕著：“不生火就不生火延旧∧惫”
洛易斯當(dāng)他已默認(rèn)這個(gè)命令，轉(zhuǎn)過臉去對(duì)威爾說：“帶路吧迁沫∨胱洌”
威爾便帶著他穿過叢林，爬上斜坡弯洗，然后來到那道低矮的山脊前旅急。他剛才就是在那里的一棵哨兵樹下找到偵察的最佳位置。薄薄的積雪下面牡整，地面潮濕泥濘藐吮，極易打滑；此外，被雪掩蓋的石塊和樹根谣辞，也容易把你絆倒迫摔。威爾爬行時(shí)悄無(wú)聲息。在他背后泥从，他卻聽到金屬環(huán)甲滑動(dòng)句占，樹葉也被弄出窸窸窣窣的聲響；當(dāng)長(zhǎng)劍被枝杈纏住躯嫉、漂亮的貂皮披風(fēng)被卡住時(shí)纱烘，那位大人一邊用力撕扯，一邊低聲咒罵祈餐。那棵大哨兵樹就在山脊頂部擂啥，底部枝杈離地僅有一英尺高，威爾知道一定是它帆阳。
威爾滑行到它的密葉底下哺壶，整個(gè)身子平趴在泥濘的雪地上，俯瞰著下面的空地蜒谤。
他的心臟停止了跳動(dòng)山宾，有那么一會(huì)兒，他甚至不敢呼吸了鳍徽。月光撒滿空地资锰，映照出篝火的灰燼，白雪覆蓋的棚屋旬盯、大巖石台妆、尚未全部冰封的小河，所有這一切胖翰，一如幾小時(shí)以前接剩。
那些人卻不見了。所有尸體全部消失了萨咳！
“眾神啊懊缺。”他聽到背后這樣叫道培他。魏瑪?洛易斯爵士揮劍砍斷一根樹枝鹃两，爬到山頂上來。他站在哨兵樹旁邊舀凛，手持長(zhǎng)劍俊扳，披風(fēng)在風(fēng)中起伏，滿天星光襯出他高貴的身影猛遍。他就站在那里馋记，似乎要讓世人都來瞻仰他的英姿号坡。
“趴下梯醒！”威爾壓低聲音，急切地說杜漠。“出事了们拙〖撞觯”
洛易斯并未動(dòng)彈，他看著下面空無(wú)一人的平地豁护，笑了楚里。“威爾猎贴，看來你那些死人轉(zhuǎn)移陣地了班缎。”
威爾說不出話來了她渴。他竭力搜尋合適的字眼达址，卻徒勞枉然。這怎么可能呢趁耗。他的目光在廢棄的營(yíng)地里來回掃視沉唠，最后停在那柄斧頭上。這么一把雙刃大戰(zhàn)斧苛败，竟然還在他上次看到它的位置满葛，未曾有人動(dòng)過。這可是把價(jià)值不菲的兵器啊……
“威爾罢屈，站起來嘀韧！“魏瑪?洛易斯爵士命令道：“這里一個(gè)人也沒有，你躲在那下面像什么話儡遮！”
威爾很不情愿地站了起來乳蛾。
魏瑪爵士周身打量著他，心中的不滿溢于言表鄙币∷嘁叮“我可不想第一次帶隊(duì)巡邏就空著手回黑城堡交差。我們一定要找到這些人十嘿∫虿眩”他四下環(huán)顧〖ㄖ裕“爬到樹上去蹦魔〖ぢ剩快∥鹁觯看附近有沒有火光乒躺。”
威爾轉(zhuǎn)身低缩，一句話也沒說嘉冒。反正辯解也沒用。北風(fēng)尚未停歇咆繁，一直撲面吹來讳推。他來到那棵濃蔭如蓋、長(zhǎng)著灰綠葉子的哨兵樹下玩般，開始往上爬银觅。很快，他雙手粘滿樹汁坏为，身影消失在針形的樹葉叢中究驴。心中的恐懼就像胃里怎么也消化不了的一頓飯菜。他小聲向不知名的森林諸神禱告久脯，并從刀鞘中抽出匕首纳胧，用牙齒咬住镰吆，方便雙手攀爬帘撰。冰冷的鐵器使他不再恐慌。
突然万皿，下面的貴族大喊一聲：“誰(shuí)在哪里摧找？”威爾從他的盤問中聽出某種不可預(yù)知的情況。他停止爬動(dòng)牢硅，聽著蹬耘，看著。
樹林給他的答案是：風(fēng)吹樹葉减余，颯颯有聲综苔；冰層在溪流中潺潺涌動(dòng)；一只雪梟在遠(yuǎn)處嗚嗚鳴叫位岔。
異鬼悄無(wú)聲息地來到如筛。
威爾眼角瞄到有個(gè)模糊的影子在林中閃過。他扭過頭來抒抬，瞥見黑暗中有一道白影杨刨，倏忽即逝。樹枝在風(fēng)中輕輕搖擺擦剑，仿佛在用手指互相抓撓妖胀。威爾張了張嘴芥颈，想給下面提個(gè)醒，話語(yǔ)卻好像在喉嚨里凍住了一樣赚抡。他也許看錯(cuò)了爬坑。或許那不過是一只鳥涂臣，或是雪地的反光妇垢，抑或是月光引起的某種幻覺。他究竟看到了什么呢肉康？
“威爾闯估，你在哪兒？”魏瑪爵士向上喊道吼和，“你能看到什么嗎涨薪？”他持劍在手，霎時(shí)警覺起來炫乓，緩緩地兜著圈子刚夺。他肯定和威爾一樣，感到了他們的到來末捣。然而侠姑，他卻什么東西也沒見著÷嶙觯“威爾莽红，說話啊邦邦！怎么會(huì)這么冷的安吁？”
的確很冷。威爾瑟瑟發(fā)抖燃辖，愈發(fā)緊抱樹干鬼店，讓臉?biāo)浪蕾N住哨兵樹。他感覺到了臉頰上甜黏的樹汁黔龟。
一個(gè)身影從密林暗處走了出來妇智，站到洛易斯跟前。它體型高挑氏身，肌膚呈奶白色巍棱；身子雖然瘦削，卻和老骨頭一般硬朗观谦。它的盔甲似乎會(huì)因著身體的移動(dòng)而變換色彩拉盾，時(shí)而如初雪一樣潔白，時(shí)而像暗影般漆黑豁状，整副盔甲渲染成深邃的灰綠色——森林的顏色捉偏。
威爾聽到魏瑪·洛伊斯長(zhǎng)長(zhǎng)地噓了一口氣倒得。“別過來夭禽！”這位貴族發(fā)出警告霞掺，聲音尖細(xì)得像孩子一樣。他把長(zhǎng)長(zhǎng)的貂皮披風(fēng)別到肩后讹躯，讓雙臂可以自由舒展菩彬，同時(shí)雙手執(zhí)劍，準(zhǔn)備投入戰(zhàn)斗潮梯。朔風(fēng)過后骗灶，寒冷刺骨。
異鬼步履輕盈秉馏，繼續(xù)向前挪行耙旦。它手上的長(zhǎng)劍，不同于威爾之前見過的任何刀劍萝究。那種劍鋒免都，人世間的金屬斷不能鑄就。半透明的劍體在月光下熠熠生輝帆竹，晶體部分如此細(xì)薄绕娘，以至于當(dāng)劍平放時(shí)，看起來幾乎和雪地融為一體栽连。此劍周身閃爍著一種詭異的幽藍(lán)光澤险领。說不清是什么原因，反正威爾相信它比如何剃刀都要銳利升酣。
魏瑪爵士勇敢地迎上前去舷暮。“那么噩茄，和我跳支劍舞吧「淳保”他把劍高舉到頂绩聘，一臉的大膽無(wú)畏。不知是因?yàn)閯ι硖睾睦玻€是因?yàn)樘鞖馓湓淦校碾p手在微微抖動(dòng)。不過帜讲，威爾卻覺得衅谷，就在魏瑪爵士主動(dòng)出擊的那個(gè)瞬間，他已經(jīng)不再是一個(gè)少年似将，而是守夜人中的漢子获黔。
異鬼停下腳步蚀苛。威爾看到了它的眼睛，比任何人眼都要深藍(lán)玷氏、似有冰火中燒的眼睛堵未。這對(duì)眼睛鎖定那把高高揚(yáng)起的顫抖著的長(zhǎng)劍，看著月光在那上面不驼荡ィ晃動(dòng)渗蟹。有那么一個(gè)瞬間，威爾甚至對(duì)魏瑪爵士有了信心赞辩。
它們從樹影中悄然現(xiàn)身雌芽。先是兩個(gè)，接著是三個(gè)……四個(gè)……五個(gè)……魏瑪爵士也許已經(jīng)感覺到了隨之而來的寒意辨嗽，但他還未曾看到它們膘怕，也未曾聽到它們的到來。威爾本該喚起他的注意召庞，這是他的職責(zé)所在岛心。然而他一旦出聲，今天就是他的死期篮灼。他哆嗦著抱緊哨兵樹忘古，努力不弄出一點(diǎn)動(dòng)靜。
蒼白的長(zhǎng)劍顫巍巍地指向天空诅诱。
魏瑪爵士手持鋼劍迎上去髓堪。劍鋒與劍鋒相遇，卻聽不到金屬碰撞的響聲娘荡，只有一種位于聽力極限的干旁、仿佛動(dòng)物在痛苦嚎叫的又尖又細(xì)的聲音。洛易斯擋住第二次進(jìn)攻炮沐、第三次進(jìn)攻后争群，被迫退后一步。緊接著又是一陣暴風(fēng)驟雨般的猛攻大年，他再次后退换薄。
在他身后，在他的左右側(cè)翔试，圍觀的異鬼悉數(shù)將他圍住轻要。它們面無(wú)表情地站著，沉默無(wú)語(yǔ)垦缅，修飾于盔甲上的圖案變幻不定冲泥，使得它們幾乎和樹林融為一體。它們始終沒有出手干預(yù)。
兩劍接連碰擊凡恍，威爾直想捂住耳朵志秃。他們搏擊時(shí)發(fā)出的那種奇特尖銳的聲音，讓他痛苦不堪咳焚。幾個(gè)回合下來洽损，魏瑪爵士不停地喘著粗氣，氣息在月光下蒸騰革半。他的劍刃為白霜覆蓋碑定，而異鬼的劍上，卻跳動(dòng)著淡藍(lán)之光又官。
接著揮過來的一劍延刘，洛易斯來不及躲閃。蒼白的利劍咬穿了他胳膊下的鏈甲六敬。年輕貴族痛苦地大叫碘赖，血汩汩地從環(huán)甲間涌出來，在冷冽的空氣中冒著熱氣外构。墜入雪地的血滴普泡，看起來鮮紅似火。他伸出手去拂拭傷口审编，手放下時(shí)撼班，殷紅的鮮血已然將他的鼴鼠皮手套染紅、浸濕垒酬。
異鬼用一種威爾聽不懂的奇怪語(yǔ)言說了些什么砰嘁。它們的嗓音就像是冬天的湖水上冰層開裂；其言辭含譏帶諷勘究。
魏瑪·洛易斯爵士怒氣終于上來了矮湘，他大喊一聲：“為了羅伯特！”然后雙手握住結(jié)滿霜花的長(zhǎng)劍口糕，咆哮著沖上前去缅阳。他使出全身力氣，一直從側(cè)翼展開攻擊走净，只顧沒命地四下?lián)]舞券时。異鬼卻幾乎懶得接招。
兩鋒相交伏伯，鋼劍頃刻碎裂。
一聲慘叫在夜幕下的森林里回蕩捌袜。洛易斯的長(zhǎng)劍破裂為成百上千塊碎片说搅，如針雨一般紛紛落下。洛易斯跪倒在地虏等，不停地尖叫弄唧。血從他的指縫間冒了出來适肠。
圍觀的異鬼一擁而上，似乎接收到了某種信號(hào)候引。在死一般的寂靜中侯养，刀劍揮起又落下。這是一場(chǎng)冷酷的殘殺澄干，蒼白的劍鋒一次次劃開鏈甲逛揩，仿佛那只是蠶絲。威爾閉上了眼睛麸俘。他聽著那些銳利似冰錐的說笑聲從遠(yuǎn)處傳來辩稽。
過了好長(zhǎng)一段時(shí)間，他才鼓起勇氣延赌，再次睜開眼來泞坦。下面的山脊上担租，異鬼已經(jīng)走空。
月亮緩緩地爬過黑暗的天幕喷众；他呆在樹上，還是不敢好好地喘口氣紧憾。最后到千，待他爬下樹時(shí)，肌肉痙攣稻励，手指也凍麻了父阻。
洛易斯的尸體臉朝下趴在雪地上，一只手臂向外伸著望抽。厚實(shí)的黑貂皮披風(fēng)已被砍碎成了十幾片加矛。看到他凄慘地陳尸于此煤篙，方才發(fā)覺他有多么的年輕斟览。說到底不過是個(gè)大男孩罷了。
他在幾英尺外找到斷劍的殘骸辑奈。那一截劍尖苛茂，不單布滿裂痕，而且形狀扭曲鸠窗，好像遭到雷擊的樹干一樣妓羊。威爾跪在地上，謹(jǐn)慎地環(huán)顧四周稍计，隨后一把抓起劍尖躁绸。這塊碎劍可以作為這一切的證明，蓋里德會(huì)明白這劍是怎么回事，要是他不知道净刮，那“熊老”莫蒙特或者埃蒙學(xué)士必定曉得剥哑。蓋里德這會(huì)兒還守著馬匹等著他們吧？他得趕緊回去淹父。
威爾站起來株婴。魏瑪·洛易斯爵士佇立在他對(duì)面。
他那身漂亮的衣服已然支離破碎暑认，臉也被糟蹋掉了困介。劍片刺穿了他左眼的白色瞳孔。
他右眼睜開穷吮，瞳孔燃著藍(lán)光逻翁，盯著威爾。
短劍從威爾乏力的手中脫落捡鱼。他閉上雙眼八回，做起禱告。一雙優(yōu)雅修長(zhǎng)的手掠過他的臉頰驾诈，緊接著便掐住了他的喉嚨缠诅。那是一雙用最好的鼴鼠皮手套包裹的手，沾滿粘稠的血塊乍迄，通體冰冷管引。
與原譯對(duì)比截圖摘錄
附上原文： ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? PROLOGUE
“We should start back,” Gared urged as the woods began to grow dark around them. “The wildlings are dead.”
“Do the dead frighten you?” Ser Waymar Royce asked with just the hint of a smile.
Gared did not rise to the bait. He was an old man, past fifty, and he had seen the lordlings come and go. “Dead is dead,” he said. “We have no business with the dead.”
“Are they dead?” Royce asked softly. “What proof have we?”
“Will saw them,” Gared said. “If he says they are dead, that’s proof enough for me.”
Will had known they would drag him into the quarrel sooner or later. He wished it had been later rather than sooner. “My mother told me that dead men sing no songs,” he put in.
“My wet nurse said the same thing, Will,” Royce replied. “Never believe anything you hear at a woman’s tit. There are things to be learned even from the dead.” His voice echoed, too loud in the twilit forest.
“We have a long ride before us,” Gared pointed out. “Eight days, maybe nine. And night is falling.”
Ser Waymar Royce glanced at the sky with disinterest. “It does that every day about this time. Are you unmanned by the dark, Gared?”
Will could see the tightness around Gared’s mouth, the barely suppressed anger in his eyes under the thick black hood of his cloak. Gared had spent forty years in the Night’s Watch, man and boy, and he was not accustomed to being made light of. Yet it was more than that. Under the wounded pride, Will could sense something else in the older man. You could taste it; a nervous tension that came perilous close to fear.
Will shared his unease. He had been four years on the Wall. The first time he had been sent beyond, all the old stories had come rushing back, and his bowels had turned to water. He had laughed about it afterward. He was a veteran of a hundred rangings by now, and the endless dark wilderness that the southron called the haunted forest had no more terrors for him.
Until tonight. Something was different tonight. There was an edge to this darkness that made his hackles rise. Nine days they had been riding, north and northwest and then north again, farther and farther from the Wall, hard on the track of a band of wildling raiders. Each day had been worse than the day that had come before it. Today was the worst of all. A cold wind was blowing out of the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things. All day, Will had felt as though something were watching him, something cold and implacable that loved him not. Gared had felt it too. Will wanted nothing so much as to ride hellbent for the safety of the Wall, but that was not a feeling to share with your commander.
Especially not a commander like this one.
Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife. Mounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their smaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Ser Waymar had been a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch for less than half a year, but no one could say he had not prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his wardrobe was concerned.
His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin. “Bet he killed them all himself, he did,” Gared told the barracks over wine, “twisted their little heads off, our mighty warrior.” They had all shared the laugh.
It is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your cups, Will reflected as he sat shivering atop his garron. Gared must have felt the same.
“Mormont said as we should track them, and we did,” Gared said. “They’re dead. They shan’t trouble us no more. There’s hard riding before us. I don’t like this weather. If it snows, we could be a fortnight getting back, and snow’s the best we can hope for. Ever seen an ice storm, my lord?”
The lordling seemed not to hear him. He studied the deepening twilight in that half-bored, half-distracted way he had. Will had ridden with the knight long enough to understand that it was best not to interrupt him when he looked like that. “Tell me again what you saw, Will. All the details. Leave nothing out.”
Will had been a hunter before he joined the Night’s Watch. Well, a poacher in truth. Mallister freeriders had caught him red-handed in the Mallisters’ own woods, skinning one of the Mallisters’ own bucks, and it had been a choice of putting on the black or losing a hand. No one could move through the woods as silent as Will, and it had not taken the black brothers long to discover his talent.
“The camp is two miles farther on, over that ridge, hard beside a stream,” Will said. “I got close as I dared. There’s eight of them, men and women both. No children I could see. They put up a lean-to against the rock. The snow’s pretty well covered it now, but I could still make it out. No fire burning, but the firepit was still plain as day. No one moving. I watched a long time. No living man ever lay so still.”
“Did you see any blood?”
“Well, no,” Will admitted.
“Did you see any weapons?”
“Some swords, a few bows. One man had an axe. Heavy-looking, double-bladed, a cruel piece of iron. It was on the ground beside him, right by his hand.”
“Did you make note of the position of the bodies?”
Will shrugged. “A couple are sitting up against the rock. Most of them on the ground. Fallen, like.”
“Or sleeping,” Royce suggested.
“Fallen,” Will insisted. “There’s one woman up an ironwood, half-hid in the branches. A far-eyes.” He smiled thinly. “I took care she never saw me. When I got closer, I saw that she wasn’t moving neither.” Despite himself, he shivered.
“You have a chill?” Royce asked.
“Some,” Will muttered. “The wind, m’lord.”
The young knight turned back to his grizzled man-at-arms. Frostfallen leaves whispered past them, and Royce’s destrier moved restlessly. “What do you think might have killed these men, Gared?” Ser Waymar asked casually. He adjusted the drape of his long sable cloak.
“It was the cold,” Gared said with iron certainty. “I saw men freeze last winter, and the one before, when I was half a boy. Everyone talks about snows forty foot deep, and how the ice wind comes howling out of the north, but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up on you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp your feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don’t have the strength to fight it. It’s easier just to sit down or go to sleep. They say you don’t feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy, and everything starts to fade, and then it’s like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful, like.”
“Such eloquence, Gared,” Ser Waymar observed. “I never suspected you had it in you.”
“I’ve had the cold in me too, lordling.” Gared pulled back his hood, giving Ser Waymar a good long look at the stumps where his ears had been. “Two ears, three toes, and the little finger off my left hand. I got off light. We found my brother frozen at his watch, with a smile on his face.”
Ser Waymar shrugged. “You ought dress more warmly, Gared.”
Gared glared at the lordling, the scars around his ear holes flushed red with anger where Maester Aemon had cut the ears away. “We’ll see how warm you can dress when the winter comes.” He pulled up his hood and hunched over his garron, silent and sullen.
“If Gared said it was the cold . . . ” Will began.
“Have you drawn any watches this past week, Will?”
“Yes, m’lord.” There never was a week when he did not draw a dozen bloody watches. What was the man driving at?
“And how did you find the Wall?”
“Weeping,” Will said, frowning. He saw it clear enough, now that the lordling had pointed it out. “They couldn’t have froze. Not if the Wall was weeping. It wasn’t cold enough.”
Royce nodded. “Bright lad. We’ve had a few light frosts this past week, and a quick flurry of snow now and then, but surely no cold fierce enough to kill eight grown men. Men clad in fur and leather, let me remind you, with shelter near at hand, and the means of making fire.” The knight’s smile was cocksure. “Will, lead us there. I would see these dead men for myself.”
And then there was nothing to be done for it. The order had been given, and honor bound them to obey.
Will went in front, his shaggy little garron picking the way carefully through the undergrowth. A light snow had fallen the night before, and there were stones and roots and hidden sinks lying just under its crust, waiting for the careless and the unwary. Ser Waymar Royce came next, his great black destrier snorting impatiently. The warhorse was the wrong mount for ranging, but try and tell that to the lordling. Gared brought up the rear. The old man-at-arms muttered to himself as he rode.
Twilight deepened. The cloudless sky turned a deep purple, the color of an old bruise, then faded to black. The stars began to come out. A half-moon rose. Will was grateful for the light.
“We can make a better pace than this, surely,” Royce said when the moon was full risen.
“Not with this horse,” Will said. Fear had made him insolent. “Perhaps my lord would care to take the lead?”
Ser Waymar Royce did not deign to reply.
Somewhere off in the wood a wolf howled.
Will pulled his garron over beneath an ancient gnarled ironwood and dismounted.
“Why are you stopping?” Ser Waymar asked.
“Best go the rest of the way on foot, m’lord. It’s just over that ridge.”
Royce paused a moment, staring off into the distance, his face reflective. A cold wind whispered through the trees. His great sable cloak stirred behind like something half-alive.
“There’s something wrong here,” Gared muttered.
The young knight gave him a disdainful smile. “Is there?”
“Can’t you feel it?” Gared asked. “Listen to the darkness.”
Will could feel it. Four years in the Night’s Watch, and he had never been so afraid. What was it?
“Wind. Trees rustling. A wolf. Which sound is it that unmans you so, Gared?” When Gared did not answer, Royce slid gracefully from his saddle. He tied the destrier securely to a low-hanging limb, well away from the other horses, and drew his longsword from its sheath. Jewels glittered in its hilt, and the moonlight ran down the shining steel. It was a splendid weapon, castle-forged, and new-made from the look of it. Will doubted it had ever been swung in anger.
“The trees press close here,” Will warned. “That sword will tangle you up, m’lord. Better a knife.”
“If I need instruction, I will ask for it,” the young lord said. “Gared, stay here. Guard the horses.”
Gared dismounted. “We need a fire. I’ll see to it.”
“How big a fool are you, old man? If there are enemies in this wood, a fire is the last thing we want.”
“There’s some enemies a fire will keep away,” Gared said. “Bears and direwolves and . . . and other things . . . ”
Ser Waymar’s mouth became a hard line. “No fire.”
Gared’s hood shadowed his face, but Will could see the hard glitter in his eyes as he stared at the knight. For a moment he was afraid the older man would go for his sword. It was a short, ugly thing, its grip discolored by sweat, its edge nicked from hard use, but Will would not have given an iron bob for the lordling’s life if Gared pulled it from its scabbard.
Finally Gared looked down. “No fire,” he muttered, low under his breath.
Royce took it for acquiescence and turned away. “Lead on,” he said to Will.
Will threaded their way through a thicket, then started up the slope to the low ridge where he had found his vantage point under a sentinel tree. Under the thin crust of snow, the ground was damp and muddy, slick footing, with rocks and hidden roots to trip you up. Will made no sound as he climbed. Behind him, he heard the soft metallic slither of the lordling’s ringmail, the rustle of leaves, and muttered curses as reaching branches grabbed at his longsword and tugged on his splendid sable cloak.
The great sentinel was right there at the top of the ridge, where Will had known it would be, its lowest branches a bare foot off the ground. Will slid in underneath, flat on his belly in the snow and the mud, and looked down on the empty clearing below.
His heart stopped in his chest. For a moment he dared not breathe. Moonlight shone down on the clearing, the ashes of the firepit, the snow-covered lean-to, the great rock, the little half-frozen stream. Everything was just as it had been a few hours ago.
They were gone. All the bodies were gone.
“Gods!” he heard behind him. A sword slashed at a branch as Ser Waymar Royce gained the ridge. He stood there beside the sentinel, longsword in hand, his cloak billowing behind him as the wind came up, outlined nobly against the stars for all to see.
“Get down!” Will whispered urgently. “Something’s wrong.”
Royce did not move. He looked down at the empty clearing and laughed. “Your dead men seem to have moved camp, Will.”
Will’s voice abandoned him. He groped for words that did not come. It was not possible. His eyes swept back and forth over the abandoned campsite, stopped on the axe. A huge double-bladed battle-axe, still lying where he had seen it last, untouched. A valuable weapon . . .
“On your feet, Will,” Ser Waymar commanded. “There’s no one here. I won’t have you hiding under a bush.”
Reluctantly, Will obeyed.
Ser Waymar looked him over with open disapproval. “I am not going back to Castle Black a failure on my first ranging. We will find these men.” He glanced around. “Up the tree. Be quick about it. Look for a fire.”
Will turned away, wordless. There was no use to argue. The wind was moving. It cut right through him. He went to the tree, a vaulting grey-green sentinel, and began to climb. Soon his hands were sticky with sap, and he was lost among the needles. Fear filled his gut like a meal he could not digest. He whispered a prayer to the nameless gods of the wood, and slipped his dirk free of its sheath. He put it between his teeth to keep both hands free for climbing. The taste of cold iron in his mouth gave him comfort.
Down below, the lordling called out suddenly, “Who goes there?” Will heard uncertainty in the challenge. He stopped climbing; he listened; he watched.
The woods gave answer: the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of the stream, a distant hoot of a snow owl.
The Others made no sound.
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all?
“Will, where are you?” Ser Waymar called up. “Can you see anything?” He was turning in a slow circle, suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. “Answer me! Why is it so cold?”
It was cold. Shivering, Will clung more tightly to his perch. His face pressed hard against the trunk of the sentinel. He could feel the sweet, sticky sap on his cheek.
A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk. Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took.
Will heard the breath go out of Ser Waymar Royce in a long hiss. “Come no farther,” the lordling warned. His voice cracked like a boy’s. He threw the long sable cloak back over his shoulders, to free his arms for battle, and took his sword in both hands. The wind had stopped. It was very cold.
The Other slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none that Will had ever seen. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was alive with moonlight, translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed almost to vanish when seen edge-on. There was a faint blue shimmer to the thing, a ghost-light that played around its edges, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.
Ser Waymar met him bravely. “Dance with me then.” He lifted his sword high over his head, defiant. His hands trembled from the weight of it, or perhaps from the cold. Yet in that moment, Will thought, he was a boy no longer, but a man of the Night’s Watch.
The Other halted. Will saw its eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice. They fixed on the longsword trembling on high, watched the moonlight running cold along the metal. For a heartbeat he dared to hope.
They emerged silently from the shadows, twins to the first. Three of them . . . four . . . five . . . Ser Waymar may have felt the cold that came with them, but he never saw them, never heard them. Will had to call out. It was his duty. And his death, if he did. He shivered, and hugged the tree, and kept the silence.
The pale sword came shivering through the air.
Ser Waymar met it with steel. When the blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal; only a high, thin sound at the edge of hearing, like an animal screaming in pain. Royce checked a second blow, and a third, then fell back a step. Another flurry of blows, and he fell back again.
Behind him, to right, to left, all around him, the watchers stood patient, faceless, silent, the shifting patterns of their delicate armor making them all but invisible in the wood. Yet they made no move to interfere.
Again and again the swords met, until Will wanted to cover his ears against the strange anguished keening of their clash. Ser Waymar was panting from the effort now, his breath steaming in the moonlight. His blade was white with frost; the Other’s danced with pale blue light.
Then Royce’s parry came a beat too late. The pale sword bit through the ringmail beneath his arm. The young lord cried out in pain. Blood welled between the rings. It steamed in the cold, and the droplets seemed red as fire where they touched the snow. Ser Waymar’s fingers brushed his side. His moleskin glove came away soaked with red.
The Other said something in a language that Will did not know; his voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter lake, and the words were mocking.
Ser Waymar Royce found his fury. “For Robert!” he shouted, and he came up snarling, lifting the frost-covered longsword with both hands and swinging it around in a flat sidearm slash with all his weight behind it. The Other’s parry was almost lazy.
When the blades touched, the steel shattered.
A scream echoed through the forest night, and the longsword shivered into a hundred brittle pieces, the shards scattering like a rain of needles. Royce went to his knees, shrieking, and covered his eyes. Blood welled between his fingers.
The watchers moved forward together, as if some signal had been given. Swords rose and fell, all in a deathly silence. It was cold butchery. The pale blades sliced through ringmail as if it were silk. Will closed his eyes. Far beneath him, he heard their voices and laughter sharp as icicles.
When he found the courage to look again, a long time had passed, and the ridge below was empty.
He stayed in the tree, scarce daring to breathe, while the moon crept slowly across the black sky. Finally, his muscles cramping and his fingers numb with cold, he climbed down.
Royce’s body lay facedown in the snow, one arm outflung. The thick sable cloak had been slashed in a dozen places. Lying dead like that, you saw how young he was. A boy.
He found what was left of the sword a few feet away, the end splintered and twisted like a tree struck by lightning. Will knelt, looked around warily, and snatched it up. The broken sword would be his proof. Gared would know what to make of it, and if not him, then surely that old bear Mormont or Maester Aemon. Would Gared still be waiting with the horses? He had to hurry.
Will rose. Ser Waymar Royce stood over him.
His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye.
The right eye was open. The pupil burned blue. It saw.
The broken sword fell from nerveless fingers. Will closed his eyes to pray. Long, elegant hands brushed his cheek, then tightened around his throat. They were gloved in the finest moleskin and sticky with blood, yet the touch was icy cold.
