Ⅲ 冰雨的风暴 Chapter0 序章

PROLOGUE

天灰灰的，冷得怕人，狗闻不到气味。

The day was grey and bitter cold, and the dogs would not take the scent.

黑色的大母狗嗅嗅熊的踪迹，缩了回去，夹着尾巴躲进狗群里。这群狗凄惨地蜷缩在河岸边，任凭寒风抽打。风钻过层层羊毛和皮衣，齐特也觉得冷，该死的寒气对人对狗都一样，可他却不得不待在原地。想到这里，他的嘴扭成一团，满脸疖子因恼怒而发红。我本该安安全全留在长城，照料那群臭乌鸦，为伊蒙老师傅生火才对。琼恩·雪诺这狗杂种为安插他的胖子朋友山姆·塔利，抢了我的位子，才害我落到这步田地！妈的，跟这群猎狗一块儿呆在鬼影森林深处，卵蛋都快冻掉了。

The big black bitch had taken one sniff at the bear tracks, backed off, and skulked back to the pack with her tail between her legs. The dogs huddled together miserably on the riverbank as the wind snapped at them. Chett felt it too, biting through his layers of black wool and boiled leather. It was too bloody cold for man or beast, but here they were. His mouth twisted, and he could almost feel the boils that covered his cheeks and neck growing red and angry. I should be safe back at the Wall, tending the bloody ravens and making fires for old Maester Aemon. It was the bastard Jon Snow who had taken that from him, him and his fat friend Sam Tarly. It was their fault he was here, freezing his bloody balls off with a pack of hounds deep in the haunted forest.

“七层地狱！”他猛地拽住狗的缰绳，“闻啊，杂种！这是熊的痕迹，还想不想吃肉？快闻！”狗们却缩得更紧，并发出哀鸣。齐特用短鞭在它们头上虚劈，惹得那头黑母狗对他咆哮。“狗肉不比熊肉差，”他警告她，吐息出口，立即结霜。

“Seven hells.” He gave the leashes a hard yank to get the dogs’ attention. “Track, you bastards. That’s a bear print. You want some meat or no? Find!” But the hounds only huddled closer, whining. Chett snapped his short lash above their heads, and the black bitch snarled at him. “Dog meat would taste as good as bear,” he warned her, his breath frosting with every word.

姐妹男拉克环抱胳膊，手掌插在腋窝，尽管戴着厚厚的黑羊毛手套，还在不停抱怨指头冻得厉害。“该死，冷得要命，怎么打猎啊？”他说，“去他妈的熊，不值得我们冻坏身子。”

Lark the Sisterman stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his hands tucked up into his armpits. He wore black wool gloves, but he was always complaining how his fingers were frozen. “It’s too bloody cold to hunt,” he said. “Bugger this bear, he’s not worth freezing over.”

“俺不能空手回去，拉克，”一脸棕色摞腮胡的小保罗低吼，“司令大人会不高兴的。”壮汉的鼻涕在扁扁的狮子鼻下结冰，穿大皮手套的巨手紧攥着一根长矛。

“We can’t go back emptyhand, Lark,” rumbled Small Paul through the brown whiskers that covered most of his face. “The Lord Commander wouldn’t like that.” There was ice under the big man’s squashed pug nose, where his snot had frozen. A huge hand in a thick fur glove clenched tight around the shaft of a spear.

“熊老也去他妈的，”身材消瘦，眼神游离不定的姐妹男应道，“记得吗，莫尔蒙明天就完蛋了，谁关心他高不高兴？”

“Bugger that Old Bear too,” said the Sisterman, a thin man with sharp features and nervous eyes. “Mormont will be dead before daybreak, remember? Who cares what he likes?”

小保罗眨眨小小的黑眼珠。或许他又健忘了，齐特心想，这人蠢得什么都记不清。“俺为啥要杀熊老？为啥不把他扔下不管，俺自己跑掉？”

Small Paul blinked his black little eyes. Maybe he had forgotten, Chett thought; he was stupid enough to forget most anything. “Why do we have to kill the Old Bear? Why don’t we just go off and let him be?”

“你以为他会扔下我们不管？”拉克道，“他会追捕我们到死！想被抓吗，大呆瓜？”

“You think he’ll let us be?” said Lark. “He’ll hunt us down. You want to be hunted, you great muttonhead?”

“不，”小保罗说，“俺不要，俺不要。”

“No,” said Small Paul. “I don’t want that. I don’t.”

“所以你会动手？”拉克问。

“So you’ll kill him?” said Lark.

“对的。”巨汉用长矛在结冰的河岸上一顿。“俺懂。他不能来抓俺。”

“Yes.” The huge man stamped the butt of his spear on the frozen riverbank. “I will. He shouldn’t hunt us.”

姐妹男从腋窝下抽出手掌，望向齐特，“依我看，为保险，干脆把当官的全宰掉。”

The Sisterman took his hands from his armpits and turned to Chett. “We need to kill all the officers, I say.”

齐特受够了他的建议。“完全没必要。我们的目标只是熊老，影子塔的副指挥班恩，葛鲁布和阿桑——他们懂绘图，真不走运——以及两个追踪能手戴文与巴棱，嗯，外加管乌鸦的猪头爵士。这就够了。趁他们睡着时，悄悄干，千万不能出声，否则死定了。我们都死定了。”他的疖子因恼怒而发光。“把自个儿份内的事做好，你和你表哥们千万不能失误。保罗，一定记清楚，是第三哨，不是第二哨。”

Chett was sick of hearing it. “We been over this. The Old Bear dies, and Blane from the Shadow Tower. Grubbs and Aethan as well, their ill luck for drawing the watch, Dywen and Bannen for their tracking, and Ser Piggy for the ravens. That’s all. We kill them quiet, while they sleep. One scream and we’re wormfood, every one of us.” His boils were red with rage. “Just do your bit and see that your cousins do theirs. And Paul, try and remember, it’s third watch, not second.”

“第三哨，”喘着霜气的摞腮胡大汉应道，“俺和软足一起动手。俺记得到，齐特。”

“Third watch,” the big man said, through hair and frozen snot. “Me and Softfoot. I remember, Chett.”

今晚没有月光，经过精心设计，他们这伙人中有八个在第三哨站卫兵，还有两个照料马。这是最好的机会。野人们就要到了。齐特希望在他们到来前逃得远远的。他要活下去。

The moon would be black tonight, and they had jiggered the watches so as to have eight of their own standing sentry, with two more guarding the horses. It wasn’t going to get much riper than that. Besides, the wildlings could be upon them any day now. Chett meant to be well away from here before that happened. He meant to live.

三百名守夜人弟兄骑行向北，其中两百来自黑城堡，另一百来自影子塔。这是几代人中规模最大的一次巡逻，几乎动用了守夜人军团三分之一的兵力。出发时，原本是为找寻班扬·史塔克、威玛·罗伊斯及其他失踪游骑兵的下落，并侦察野人们迁离村子的原因。现在可好，他们和出发时一样对史塔克和罗伊斯的去向毫无所知，倒是明白了野人们的所在——他们爬上高耸的雪山，那遭天谴的霜雪之牙。他们在那儿待到世界末日也不干齐特的事。

Three hundred sworn brothers of the Night’s Watch had ridden north, two hundred from Castle Black and another hundred from the Shadow Tower. It was the biggest ranging in living memory, near a third of the Watch’s strength. They meant to find Ben Stark, Ser Waymar Royce, and the other rangers who’d gone missing, and discover why the wildlings were leaving their villages. Well, they were no closer to Stark and Royce than when they’d left the Wall, but they’d learned where all the wildlings had gone—up into the icy heights of the godsforsaken Frostfangs. They could squat up there till the end of time and it wouldn’t prick Chett’s boils none.

但事与愿违。他们来了。顺着乳河下来了。

But no. They were coming down. Down the Milkwater.

齐特抬眼望着眼前的河流。石岸结了冰，乳白色的水长年不歇地从霜雪之牙上流淌而下。曼斯·雷德和他的野人大军正顺着这条河流往下走。三天前，索伦·斯莫伍德快马加鞭地赶回来，向熊老报告侦查结果，他手下的白眼肯基则把消息透漏给其他人。“大队人马还没出山，但已经在途中。”肯基边用篝火暖手边说，“前锋是‘狗头’哈犸，麻脸婊子。刺棒爬到营地边的树上，透过火光看见了她，筋斗琼这傻瓜想直接放箭去射，幸亏斯莫伍德头脑清醒。”

Chett raised his eyes and there it was. The river’s stony banks were bearded by ice, its pale milky waters flowing endlessly down out of the Frostfangs. And now Mance Rayder and his wildlings were flowing down the same way. Thoren Smallwood had returned in a lather three days past. While he was telling the Old Bear what his scouts had seen, his man Kedge Whiteye told the rest of them. “They’re still well up the foothills, but they’re coming,” Kedge said, warming his hands over the fire. “Harma the Dogshead has the van, the poxy bitch. Goady crept up on her camp and saw her plain by the fire. That fool Tumberjon wanted to pick her off with an arrow, but Smallwood had better sense.”

齐特啐了口唾沫，“他们有多少，算过吗？”

Chett spat. “How many were there, could you tell?”

“很多很多。或许两万，或许三万，来不及仔细计算。哈犸的前锋有五百人，全都有马。”

“Many and more. Twenty, thirty thousand, we didn’t stay to count. Harma had five hundred in the van, every one ahorse.”

篝火旁的人们交换着不安的眼神。从前，看到一打骑马的野人都是件稀罕事，五百……

The men around the fire exchanged uneasy looks. It was a rare thing to find even a dozen mounted wildlings, and five hundred …

“斯莫伍德派巴棱和我抄远路绕开敌人前锋，前去打探主力，”肯基续道，“他们的队伍无边无际，移动时像结冻的河流，十分缓慢，一天只走四、五里，但决不像要返回村子的样子。人群里一半多是女人和小孩，牲口吆喝在前面，有山羊、绵羊、拖雪橇的野牛等等。他们赶着大车，推着小车，装满大捆毛皮、大片的肉、成笼的鸡、块块黄油，总而言之，带上了每件该死的家什。骡子和马驮得那么多，教你看了都为动物心痛。女人们背得也一样多。”

“Smallwood sent Bannen and me wide around the van to catch a peek at the main body,” Kedge went on. “There was no end of them. They’re moving slow as a frozen river, four, five miles a day, but they don’t look like they mean to go back to their villages neither. More’n half were women and children, and they were driving their animals before them, goats, sheep, even aurochs dragging sledges. They’d loaded up with bales of fur and sides of meat, cages of chickens, butter churns and spinning wheels, every damn thing they own. The mules and garrons was so heavy laden you’d think their backs would break. The women as well.”

“他们顺着乳河走？”姐妹男拉克问。

“And they follow the Milkwater?” Lark the Sisterman asked.

“我觉得不会错，不对吗？”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

乳河会带他们经过先民拳峰，经过这座上古时代的环形堡垒，经过守夜人的营地。稍有理智的人都明白应该立刻拔营，退回长城，熊老却报之以更多的尖桩、陷坑和蒺藜。对一支大军而言，管什么用呢？如果赖着不走，迟早全军覆没。

The Milkwater would take them past the Fist of the First Men, the ancient ringfort where the Night’s Watch had made its camp. Any man with a thimble of sense could see that it was time to pull up stakes and fall back on the Wall. The Old Bear had strengthened the Fist with spikes and pits and caltrops, but against such a host all that was pointless. If they stayed here, they would be engulfed and overwhelmed.

索伦·斯莫伍德居然还想主动出击，仿佛是嫌死得不够快！“美女”唐纳·希山是马拉多·洛克爵士的侍从，他说前天晚上斯莫伍德去了洛克的帐篷。马拉多从前和奥廷·威勒斯老爵士想法一致，力主退兵，但斯莫伍德竭力游说。“塞外之王不知我们的方位如此靠北，”美女唐纳复述，“他的队伍固然庞大，但不过是些乌合之众，只好浪费粮食，许多人连长剑握哪头都不知道。一次突袭就足以让他们嚎叫着滚回茅屋里，再待个五十年。”

And Thoren Smallwood wanted to attack. Sweet Donnel Hill was squire to Ser Mallador Locke, and the night before last Smallwood had come to Locke’s tent. Ser Mallador had been of the same mind as old Ser Ottyn Wythers, urging a retreat on the Wall, but Smallwood wanted to convince him otherwise. “This King-beyond-the-Wall will never look for us so far north,” Sweet Donnel reported him saying. “And this great host of his is a shambling horde, full of useless mouths who won’t know what end of a sword to hold. One blow will take all the fight out of them and send them howling back to their hovels for another fifty years.”

三百对三万，齐特只能称其为疯狂，更疯狂的是马拉多爵士居然动了心，还随斯莫伍德一起晋见熊老，同声附和。“若我们犹豫不决，机会就随之而逝，再也等不到了，”斯莫伍德对每个人反复解释。为反驳他，奥廷·威勒斯声称，“我们是守护王国的坚盾，不能盲目地扔下盾牌。”索伦·斯莫伍德则回击，“最好的防守是迅捷地干掉敌人，而非缩在盾牌后面。”

Three hundred against thirty thousand. Chett called that rank madness, and what was madder still was that Ser Mallador had been persuaded, and the two of them together were on the point of persuading the Old Bear. “If we wait too long, this chance may be lost, never to come again,” Smallwood was saying to anyone who would listen. Against that, Ser Ottyn Wythers said, “We are the shield that guards the realms of men. You do not throw away your shield for no good purpose,” but to that Thoren Smallwood said, “In a swordfight, a man’s surest defense is the swift stroke that slays his foe, not cringing behind a shield.”

但无论斯莫伍德还是威勒斯都没有决定权，决定权属于总司令，莫尔蒙要等其他两队斥候返回后再作决定，其中包括攀登巨人梯的贾曼·布克威尔，以及侦查风声峡的断掌科林和琼恩·雪诺。毫无疑问，布克威尔和科林都遇到了麻烦，多半是死了。齐特在脑海中描绘出一幅图画：琼恩·雪诺孤零零地冻在荒凉的山头上，一支野人的长矛穿透了杂种的屁股。想到这里，他笑了。希望他们把那头该死的狼也宰掉。

Neither Smallwood nor Wythers had the command, though. Lord Mormont did, and Mormont was waiting for his other scouts, for Jarman Buckwell and the men who’d climbed the Giant’s Stair, and for Qhorin Halfhand and Jon Snow, who’d gone to probe the Skirling Pass. Buckwell and the Halfhand were late in returning, though. Dead, most like. Chett pictured Jon Snow lying blue and frozen on some bleak mountaintop with a wildling spear up his bastard’s arse. The thought made him smile. I hope they killed his bloody wolf as well.

“这里没熊，”他突然下了结论，“不过是条过时痕迹，没意思。我们回去。”狗们慌不可奈地拉拽，想走的心情比他还急，或许以为回去就会开饭吧，齐特又忍不住笑了。他已把猎狗饿了三天，目的就是要让它们因饥饿而疯狂。今晚，遁入黑暗之前，他将在马群前把它们放掉，而美女唐纳·希山和畸足卡尔会砍断马缰。整个拳峰将布满咆哮的猎狗和恐慌的坐骑，冲撞营火，跳跃环墙，踏平营帐。在混乱的掩护下，十四个兄弟的失踪要很久才能发现。

“There’s no bear here,” he decided abruptly. “Just an old print, that’s all. Back to the Fist.” The dogs almost yanked him off his feet, as eager to get back as he was. Maybe they thought they were going to get fed. Chett had to laugh. He hadn’t fed them for three days now, to turn them mean and hungry. Tonight, before slipping off into the dark, he’d turn them loose among the horse lines, after Sweet Donnel Hill and Clubfoot Karl cut the tethers. They’ll have snarling hounds and panicked horses all over the Fist, running through fires, jumping the ringwall, and trampling down tents. With all the confusion, it might be hours before anyone noticed that fourteen brothers were missing.

拉克想将密谋集团扩大一倍——你能指望这个浑身臭鱼味的傻瓜有什么好主意？找错一个人，没弄明白怎么回事就脑袋搬家了。不，十四是个好数字，既保证人手充足，又保证守秘。其中大多数人由齐特亲自挑选招募，小保罗就是成果之一——他身为长城上最壮的人，虽然动作比僵死的蜗牛还慢，却能活生生抱碎野人的脊梁。短刃也加入进来，他得名于自己拿手的武器。还有被弟兄们称作软足的灰色小个子，年轻时干过上百个女人，常吹嘘说在那话儿插进去之前她们根本没发觉他的到来。

Lark had wanted to bring in twice that number, but what could you expect from some stupid fishbreath Sisterman? Whisper a word in the wrong ear and before you knew it you’d be short a head. No, fourteen was a good number, enough to do what needed doing but not so many that they couldn’t keep the secret. Chett had recruited most of them himself. Small Paul was one of his; the strongest man on the Wall, even if he was slower than a dead snail. He’d once broken a wildling’s back with a hug. They had Dirk as well, named for his favorite weapon, and the little grey man the brothers called Softfoot, who’d raped a hundred women in his youth, and liked to boast how none had ever seen nor heard him until he shoved it up inside them.

计划由齐特制订，这是聪明人的差事。他在老师傅伊蒙身边干过整整四年呢，之后才被杂种琼恩·雪诺用他的肥猪朋友顶掉。今夜，宰掉山姆威尔·塔利以前，他打算在猪头爵士耳边低语一句：“替我向雪诺大人致意，”跟着才割他的喉咙，让血从层层脂肪里喷出。齐特熟悉乌鸦，不会惹出不必要的麻烦，他也了解塔利，只须匕首轻轻一捅，这胆小鬼就会尿湿裤子哭着求饶。让他求饶，没用。割了他喉咙，再打开笼子放走乌鸦，确保讯息不会送回长城。与此同时，软足和小保罗合力对付熊老，短刃负责班恩，拉克和他表哥们的目标是巴棱和戴文，以杜绝可能的追踪。密谋者们在山下储备了两周的食物，而美女唐纳·希山与畸足卡尔会带走足够的马匹。莫尔蒙死后，指挥权交到奥廷·威勒斯爵士手中，这没用的老头，胆小如鼠。他将在日落前逃回长城，不会浪费一个人用于追捕。

The plan was Chett’s. He was the clever one; he’d been steward to old Maester Aemon for four good years before that bastard Jon Snow had done him out so his job could be handed to his fat pig of a friend. When he killed Sam Tarly tonight, he planned to whisper, “Give my love to Lord Snow,” right in his ear before he sliced Ser Piggy’s throat open to let the blood come bubbling out through all those layers of suet. Chett knew the ravens, so he wouldn’t have no trouble there, no more than he would with Tarly. One touch of the knife and that craven would piss his pants and start blubbering for his life. Let him beg, it won’t do him no good. After he opened his throat, he’d open the cages and shoo the birds away, so no messages reached the Wall. Softfoot and Small Paul would kill the Old Bear, Dirk would do Blane, and Lark and his cousins would silence Bannen and old Dywen, to keep them from sniffing after their trail. They’d been caching food for a fortnight, and Sweet Donnel and Clubfoot Karl would have the horses ready. With Mormont dead, command would pass to Ser Ottyn Wythers, an old done man, and failing. He’ll be running for the Wall before sundown, and he won’t waste no men sending them after us neither.

三人穿越树林，狗们迫不及待。拳峰渐渐在绿丛中露出头来。天色阴暗，熊老下令燃起火把，插在包围陡峭多石的山峰顶端的环墙上，形成巨型火环。一行人涉过小溪，溪水寒冷彻骨，表面是块块浮冰。“我要去海边，”姐妹男拉克吐露，“和表哥们一起去。我们打算造条船，航回三姐妹群岛的家里。”

The dogs pulled at him as they made their way through the trees. Chett could see the Fist punching its way up through the green. The day was so dark that the Old Bear had the torches lit, a great circle of them burning all along the ringwall that crowned the top of the steep stony hill. The three of them waded across a brook. The water was icy cold, and patches of ice were spreading across its surface. “I’m going to make for the coast,” Lark the Sisterman confided. “Me and my cousins. We’ll build us a boat, sail back home to the Sisters.”

回家，他们会把你当逃兵，砍掉你的蠢头颅，齐特心想。一旦发誓，便永不能脱离守夜人军团，否则无论躲到七国何处，都会遭遇捕杀。

And at home they’ll know you for deserters and lop off your fool heads, thought Chett. There was no leaving the Night’s Watch, once you said your words. Anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, they’d take you and kill you.

独臂奥罗打算航往泰洛西，他说在那儿做点小偷小摸不会冒被斩手的危险，跟骑士的老婆上床也不会被送来冻掉一生。齐特想跟他走，问题是自己对潮湿夸张的自由贸易城邦口语一窍不通。再说不会做生意，待在泰洛西干啥？齐特生于女巫沼泽，他父亲终其一生都在别人田地里翻掘搜寻水蛭，工作前先脱个精光，跨下围一块厚皮革涉进污水烂泥，等爬回来时，从脚踝到乳头都会吸满水蛭。通常，他让齐特负责把虫子弄掉。记得有一回，一条虫子牢牢吸在男孩手掌上，齐特极端厌恶地压扁了它，因此被父亲打个半死——一打水蛭可以在学士哪儿换一个铜板呢。

Ollo Lophand now, he was talking about sailing back to Tyrosh, where he claimed men didn’t lose their hands for a bit of honest thievery, nor get sent off to freeze their life away for being found in bed with some knight’s wife. Chett had weighed going with him, but he didn’t speak their wet girly tongue. And what could he do in Tyrosh? He had no trade to speak of, growing up in Hag’s Mire. His father had spent his life grubbing in other men’s fields and collecting leeches. He’d strip down bare but for a thick leather clout, and go wading in the murky waters. When he climbed out he’d be covered from nipple to ankle. Sometimes he made Chett help pull the leeches off. One had attached itself to his palm once, and he’d smashed it against a wall in revulsion. His father beat him bloody for that. The maesters bought the leeches at twelve-for-a-penny.

拉克高兴的话就回家去吧，该死的泰洛西人也一样，齐特哪儿也不去。如果这辈子不用见到女巫沼泽，就真他妈的该谢天谢地。他中意的是卡斯特的堡垒。卡斯特住在那里，俨然是个领主老爷，为啥不能学他的样？真有趣，水蛭人的儿子齐特，有朝一日成为住城堡的领主大人，他的纹章将是粉红底色上的一打水蛭。为啥只当领主？也许某天还可以当国王呢。曼斯·雷德不也是从乌鸦开始发迹的？我可以当个他那样的王，拥有无数妻妾。卡斯特有十九个老婆，还不算那些没睡过的小女儿。这群女人中虽有一半像卡斯特一样又老又丑，但没关系，可以让老的去做饭打扫、拔萝卜和喂猪，让年轻的替我暖被子生小孩。卡斯特？哼，他有意见，我就让小保罗给他来次拥抱！

Lark could go home if he liked, and the damn Tyroshi too, but not Chett. If he never saw Hag’s Mire again, it would be too bloody soon. He had liked the look of Craster’s Keep, himself. Craster lived high as a lord there, so why shouldn’t he do the same? That would be a laugh. Chett the leechman’s son, a lord with a keep. His banner could be a dozen leeches on a field of pink. But why stop at lord? Maybe he should be a king. Mance Rayder started out a crow. I could be a king same as him, and have me some wives. Craster had nineteen, not even counting the young ones, the daughters he hadn’t gotten around to bedding yet. Half them wives were as old and ugly as Craster, but that didn’t matter. The old ones Chett could put to work cooking and cleaning for him, pulling carrots and slopping pigs, while the young ones warmed his bed and bore his children. Craster wouldn’t object, not once Small Paul gave him a hug.

齐特唯一上过的女人是鼹鼠镇的妓女。年轻时，村里的少女们只消看见他的脸，看见那些疖子和粉瘤，立马就会作呕地跑开。最过分的是邋遢的贝莎，她能为女巫沼泽中每个男孩张开大腿，他以为自己也行。那天，他化了整整一上午去摘野花，因为她喜欢花儿。结果呢，结果她一个劲儿嘲笑他的脸，还说宁愿爬进一个装满他父亲捉的水蛭的被窝也不和他睡。匕首插进胸膛时，她的笑容凝固了，多甜美的表情啊，所以他把匕首抽出来又捅了一次。后来他在七泉附近被捕，老侯爵瓦德·佛雷不屑出席审判，只派来私生子瓦德·河文。齐特记得的下一件事就是被一身臭气的黑衣恶魔尤伦押往长城，为那甜美的片刻，他们夺走了他的一生。

The only women Chett had ever known were the whores he’d bought in Mole’s Town. When he’d been younger, the village girls took one look at his face, with its boils and its wen, and turned away sickened. The worst was that slattern Bessa. She’d spread her legs for every boy in Hag’s Mire so he’d figured why not him too? He even spent a morning picking wildflowers when he heard she liked them, but she’d just laughed in his face and told him she’d crawl in a bed with his father’s leeches before she’d crawl in one with him. She stopped laughing when he put his knife in her. That was sweet, the look on her face, so he pulled the knife out and put it in her again. When they caught him down near Sevenstreams, old Lord Walder Frey hadn’t even bothered to come himself to do the judging. He’d sent one of his bastards, that Walder Rivers, and the next thing Chett had known he was walking to the Wall with that foul-smelling black devil Yoren. To pay for his one sweet moment, they took his whole life.

现在他要把一切夺回来，包括卡斯特的女人。那个凶蛮的老野人做得对：想要哪个女人就动手，决不要忸扭捏捏送什么花，好让她关注你的疖子！齐特决心不犯同样的错误。

But now he meant to take it back, and Craster’s women too. That twisted old wildling has the right of it. If you want a woman to wife you take her, and none of this giving her flowers so that maybe she don’t notice your bloody boils. Chett didn’t mean to make that mistake again.

我能成功，他向自己保证过上百遍。只要干净利落地逃掉，就赢了一大半。奥廷爵士将朝南直奔影子塔，那是返回长城最短的路径。他不会来抓我们，威勒斯不会，他只会逃命。索伦·斯莫伍德呢，大概会继续鼓吹出击，可奥廷爵士出了名的谨慎，而他才是头。其实说穿了，只要我们逃掉，这些又有什么打紧，斯莫伍德想打就打，关我屁事？全部送命最好，那样别人多半会认为我们也一块儿牺牲了。这是个新点子，很有吸引力。要让斯莫伍德获得指挥权……就得同时干掉奥廷爵士和马拉多·洛克爵士，但这两人日夜有侍卫守护……不行，风险太大。

It would work, he promised himself for the hundredth time. So long as we get away clean. Ser Ottyn would strike south for the Shadow Tower, the shortest way to the Wall. He won’t bother with us, not Wythers, all he’ll want is to get back whole. Thoren Smallwood now, he’d want to press on with the attack, but Ser Ottyn’s caution ran too deep, and he was senior. It won’t matter anyhow. Once we’re gone, Smallwood can attack anyone he likes. What do we care? If none of them ever returns to the Wall, no one will ever come looking for us, they’ll think we died with the rest. That was a new thought, and for a moment it tempted him. But they would need to kill Ser Ottyn and Ser Mallador Locke as well to give Smallwood the command, and both of them were well-attended day and night … no, the risk was too great.

“齐特，”他们在哨兵树和士卒松下的石头小径艰难行进，小保罗开口道，“鸟儿怎么办？”

“Chett,” said Small Paul as they trudged along a stony game trail through sentinels and soldier pines, “what about the bird?”

“该死，什么鸟儿？”这呆瓜居然关心什么鸟儿。

“What bloody bird?” The last thing he needed now was some mutton-head going on about a bird.

“熊老的乌鸦，”小保罗说，“俺杀了他，以后谁喂他的鸟儿呢？”

“The Old Bear’s raven,” Small Paul said. “If we kill him, who’s going to feed his bird?”

“他妈的谁管这破烂事？你高兴连它一起宰了便是。”

“Who bloody well cares? Kill the bird too if you like.”

“俺不是不敢杀鸟儿，”大汉道，“可那是只会说话的鸟儿，好希奇哟。但要不杀它，它说出俺做的事儿咋办呢？”

“I don’t want to hurt no bird,” the big man said. “But that’s a talking bird. What if it tells what we did?”

姐妹男拉克笑出声来。“小保罗，脸皮比城墙还厚，”他嘲弄。

Lark the Sisterman laughed. “Small Paul, thick as a castle wall,” he mocked.

“你闭嘴，”小保罗凶狠地吼道。

“You shut up with that,” said Small Paul dangerously.

“保罗，”大汉发怒前，齐特发了话，“看到躺在血泊中、喉咙敞开的老头子，不需鸟儿说话，谁都明白这是谋杀。”

“Paul,” said Chett, before the big man got too angry, “when they find the old man lying in a pool of blood with his throat slit, they won’t need no bird to tell them someone killed him.”

小保罗思考了一阵齐特的话。“对的，”他承认，“可俺能留下那只鸟儿吗？俺喜欢它。”

Small Paul chewed on that a moment. “That’s true,” he allowed. “Can I keep the bird, then? I like that bird.”

“它是你的了，”齐特赶紧宣布，为了让他闭嘴。

“He’s yours,” said Chett, just to shut him up.

“很好，咱们哪天没饭吃了，还有个东西应急咧，”拉克评论。

“We can always eat him if we get hungry,” offered Lark.

小保罗的声调又阴沉下来，“最好别来吃我的鸟儿，拉克，最好别来。”

Small Paul clouded up again. “Best not try and eat my bird, Lark. Best not.”

齐特听到丛林那头的声音。“你两个都给我闭嘴，快到拳峰了。”

Chett could hear voices drifting through the trees. “Close your bloody mouths, both of you. We’re almost to the Fist.”

走出树林时，他们位于山峰西麓，于是绕路往南寻找更便利的上山途径。林边有十来个守夜人练习弓箭。人们在树干上绘着靶子，瞄准它们射击。“看哪，”拉克说，“一头拿弓箭的肥猪。”

They emerged near the west face of the hill, and walked around south where the slope was gentler. Near the edge of the forest a dozen men were taking archery practice. They had carved outlines on the trunks of trees, and were loosing shafts at them. “Look,” said Lark. “A pig with a bow.”

没错，离他们最近的射手正是猪头爵士本人，这个窃取了他在伊蒙学士身边职位的胖子。只消看到山姆威尔·塔利，他就气不打一处来。在他眼中，侍侯伊蒙学士是世上最便宜的工作。老盲人很和善，而克莱达斯总是抢着做工，因此齐特的任务十分简单：清扫鸦巢、生起炉火、准备便餐……伊蒙又从不打他。死胖子，凭什么把我排挤出去？凭你出身高贵，懂得认字儿？妈的，杀他之前，得让他好好瞧瞧我的匕首。“你们先走，”他告诉两名同伴，“我去瞧瞧。”狗们还在拽，盼望赶紧回去，盼望山顶的食物。齐特抬起靴尖给了母狗一脚，让它们平静了些。

Sure enough, the nearest bowman was Ser Piggy himself, the fat boy who had stolen his place with Maester Aemon. Just the sight of Samwell Tarly filled him with anger. Stewarding for Maester Aemon had been as good a life as he’d ever known. The old blind man was undemanding, and Clydas had taken care of most of his wants anyway. Chett’s duties were easy: cleaning the rookery, a few fires to build, a few meals to fetch … and Aemon never once hit him. Thinks he can just walk in and shove me out, on account of being highborn and knowing how to read. Might be I’ll ask him to read my knife before I open his throat with it. “You go on,” he told the others, “I want to watch this.” The dogs were pulling, anxious to go with them, to the food they thought would be waiting at the top. Chett kicked the bitch with the toe of his boot, and that settled them down some.

他躲在林子里看胖子摆弄一根和他一般高的长弓，那张红通通的圆脸因专注而扭曲。塔利身前的地上插着三枝箭。他搭箭拉弓，用了好长时间瞄准后才发射。箭只在绿丛中不见踪影。齐特纵声大笑，直笑得干呕。

He watched from the trees as the fat boy wrestled with a longbow as tall as he was, his red moon face screwed up with concentration. Three arrows stood in the ground before him. Tarly nocked and drew, held the draw a long moment as he tried to aim, and let fly. The shaft vanished into the greenery. Chett laughed loudly, a snort of sweet disgust.

“这枝是一定找不到了，又会怪到我头上的。”艾迪森·托勒特宣布，这位郁郁寡欢的灰发侍从人称忧郁的艾迪。“自打我弄丢了马，什么东西不见了他们都要找上门来，似乎这之间有什么联系似的。它是白的雪也是白的，还要我怎么说呢？”

“We’ll never find that one, and I’ll be blamed,” announced Edd Tollett, the dour grey-haired squire everyone called Dolorous Edd. “Nothing ever goes missing that they don’t look at me, ever since that time I lost my horse. As if that could be helped. He was white and it was snowing, what did they expect?”

“风吹走了那枝箭，”葛兰道，这是雪诺大人另一位朋友，“握紧弓把，山姆。”

“The wind took that one,” said Grenn, another friend of Lord Snow’s. “Try to hold the bow steady, Sam.”

“它好重，”胖子抱怨，不过还是取出第二枝箭。这次射得很高，穿过了目标上方十尺处的树冠。

“It’s heavy,” the fat boy complained, but he pulled the second arrow all the same. This one went high, sailing through the branches ten feet above the target.

“我确信你打掉了一片叶子，”忧郁的艾迪说，“树叶已经落得够快了，没必要帮忙，”他叹道，“大家都明白落叶后面紧跟着什么。诸神在上，这里好冷。试试最后那枝，山姆，我的舌头快冻在口腔顶上了。”

“I believe you knocked a leaf off that tree,” said Dolorous Edd. “Fall is falling fast enough, there’s no need to help it.” He sighed. “And we all know what follows fall. Gods, but I am cold. Shoot the last arrow, Samwell, I believe my tongue is freezing to the roof of my mouth.”

猪头爵士放低长弓，看样子马上就得痛哭流涕。“太难了。”

Ser Piggy lowered the bow, and Chett thought he was going to start bawling. “It’s too hard.”

“搭箭，拉弓，放，”葛兰说，“继续。”

“Notch, draw, and loose,” said Grenn. “Go on.”

胖子忠实地拔出最后那枝箭，搭在长弓上，拉起，发射。这次他完成得很迅速，不像前两次那么眯着眼睛痛苦地瞄准。箭矢击中炭笔勾勒的人形胸膛下方，颤动不休。“我打中他了！”猪头爵士惊讶地喊，“葛兰，看到了吗？艾迪，看哪，我打中他了！”

Dutifully, the fat boy plucked his final arrow from the earth, notched it to his longbow, drew, and released. He did it quickly, without squinting along the shaft painstakingly as he had the first two times. The arrow struck the charcoal outline low in the chest and hung quivering. “I hit him.” Ser Piggy sounded shocked. “Grenn, did you see? Edd, look, I hit him!”

“对，穿过了肋骨。”葛兰说。

“Put it between his ribs, I’d say,” said Grenn.

“我杀了他？”胖子想弄清楚。

“Did I kill him?” the fat boy wanted to know.

托勒特耸耸肩，“也许戳穿了肺，如果他有肺的话。基本上，树木是没有，这是自然规律。”他从山姆手中接过长弓，“我见过更糟的射击，是的，噢，自己也出过嗅。”

Tollett shrugged. “Might have punctured a lung, if he had a lung. Most trees don’t, as a rule.” He took the bow from Sam’s hand. “I’ve seen worse shots, though. Aye, and made a few.”

猪头爵士一脸喜色。你还以为他真干出了什么大事！不过当他瞧见齐特和他的狗，笑容却立即收敛，并很快消失了。

Ser Piggy was beaming. To look at him you’d think he’d actually done something. But when he saw Chett and the dogs, his smile curled up and died squeaking.

“你打中了一棵树，”齐特说，“若换作曼斯·雷德的手下呢？他们不会呆站着，伸出枝叶沙沙作响，噢，不会的。他们会扑过来，在你耳边尖叫，让你尿裤子，我敢打赌！他们会用斧子砍进这对小小的猪眼睛之间，你这辈子最后听到的声音将是头骨破碎的轰鸣。”

“You hit a tree,” Chett said. “Let’s see how you shoot when it’s Mance Rayder’s lads. They won’t stand there with their arms out and their leaves rustling, oh no. They’ll come right at you, screaming in your face, and I bet you’ll piss those breeches. One o’ them will plant his axe right between those little pig eyes. The last thing you’ll hear will be the thunk it makes when it bites into your skull.”

胖子浑身发抖。忧郁的艾迪把手放在他肩上。“兄弟，”他庄重地说，“你发生的事不意味着山姆威尔会重演。”

The fat boy was shaking. Dolorous Edd put a hand on his shoulder. “Brother,” he said solemnly, “just because it happened that way for you doesn’t mean Samwell will suffer the same.”

“什么，托勒特？”

“What are you talking about, Tollett?”

“砍碎你头骨的斧子，你的脑浆难道不是有一半流到地上教狗吃了？”

“The axe that split your skull. Is it true that half your wits leaked out on the ground and your dogs ate them?”

大蠢材葛兰乐了，连山姆威尔都挤出一点微弱的笑容。齐特踢着最近的狗，拉起绳子，调头去爬山。尽管笑，猪头爵士，到晚上看谁笑到最后。他想把托勒特也干掉。阴沉的马脸蠢货，没你好果子吃。

The big lout Grenn laughed, and even Samwell Tarly managed a weak little smile. Chett kicked the nearest dog, yanked on their leashes, and started up the hill. Smile all you want, Ser Piggy. We’ll see who laughs tonight. He only wished he had time to kill Tollett as well. Gloomy horsefaced fool, that’s what he is.

即使从拳峰这头，踏在最平缓的山坡上，攀登依旧艰辛。刚到山腰，狗们又开始咆哮拖拉，大概以为终于要开饭了。他让它们尝了尝靴子的滋味，还给那头又丑又大居然敢反咬他的狗一顿鞭子。栓好它们，他立即跑去报告。“痕迹正如巨人报告的那样，可狗闻不到什么，”他在莫尔蒙的黑色大帐篷前对总司令说，“或许给河流冲刷过，也或许只是过时的痕迹。”

The climb was steep, even on this side of the Fist, which had the gentlest slope. Partway up the dogs started barking and pulling at him, figuring that they’d get fed soon. He gave them a taste of his boot instead, and a crack of the whip for the big ugly one that snapped at him. Once they were tied up, he went to report. “The prints were there like Giant said, but the dogs wouldn’t track,” he told Mormont in front of his big black tent. “Down by the river like that, could be old prints.”

“遗憾，”秃顶的莫尔蒙司令满脸杂乱的灰胡子，声音跟神情一样疲惫，“吃点鲜肉可以改善大家的生活。”他肩上的乌鸦边点头边复诵，“鲜肉，鲜肉。鲜肉。”

“A pity.” Lord Commander Mormont had a bald head and a great shaggy grey beard, and sounded as tired as he looked. “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.”

咱们可以把那些该死的狗烤了，齐特心想，幸好在熊老遣散之前管住了嘴巴。这是我最后一次向这家伙低头，他满意地认定。回来的路上越来越冷，狗们在坚实的冻土上凄楚地挤作一团，齐特有些渴望爬进它们中间。他压下念头，找来一块羊毛围巾裹脸，只在嘴边留出一道小缝。不断走动似乎会好过点，于是他嚼上一片酸叶子，绕着环墙缓缓踱步，不时和站岗的弟兄分两口，倾听他们说话。白天站哨的没一个参加他的密谋，虽然如此，多听听别人的想法总没错。

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 sworn 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.

绝大多数人的想法就是天真他妈的冷。

Mostly what they were thinking was that it was bloody cold.

人影变长，寒风渐强。风钻过环墙的石缝，发出高亢尖细的声响。“我讨厌这声音，”小个子巨人说，“让我想起哭闹着要奶喝的婴儿。”

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.”

他踱回狗群旁，拉克正等他。“当官的又被召进熊老帐篷里，似乎在激烈争论。”

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.”

“那是他们的事，”齐特说，“他们出身高贵——班恩除外——可以用言语代替美酒沉醉其中。”

“That’s what they do,” said Chett. “They’re highborn, all but Blane, they get drunk on words instead of wine.”

拉克神秘兮兮地凑过来。“大呆瓜在盘算那只鸟，”他告诫，四下斜倪确保没人靠近，“刚才还问能不能为这臭东西预备些玉米。”

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.”

“乌鸦，”齐特说，“可以吃尸体。”

“It’s a raven,” said Chett. “It eats corpses.”

拉克咧嘴一笑，“也许，他的？”

Lark grinned. “His, might be?”

或是你的。照齐特看，大汉比拉克更有用。“别再惹小保罗。你干你的，他干他的。”

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.”

等他终于摆脱姐妹男，坐下来磨剑时，树间只剩最后几缕阳光。戴着手套工作真他妈不容易，可又不能摘下来。天这么冷，那个蠢才敢赤手空拳触摸钢铁立即就会失去一片皮肤。

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.

太阳终于沉没，狗们呜咽不止。他给了它们清水和又一阵咒骂，“再等半晚，你们就可以开野餐去了。”这时他闻到饭香。

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.

齐特从厨子哈克那里领到自己那份硬面包、蚕豆和培根汤。戴文也在篝火边，“林子里太安静，”老林务官说，“河边没有青蛙，树上没有猫头鹰，没见过这么死气沉沉的森林。”

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.”

“你这牙齿的声音才死气沉沉咧。”哈克道。

“Them teeth of yours sound pretty dead,” said Hake.

戴文的木假牙劈啪作响，“连狼也找不到，以前是有的，现在却没了。依你看，它们会上哪儿去？”

Dywen clacked his wooden teeth. “No wolves neither. There was, before, but no more. Where’d they go, you figure?”

“比这儿暖和的地方，”齐特说。

“Someplace warm,” said Chett.

篝火旁坐着一打兄弟，其中有四个参加了他的密谋。他边吃边眯眼依次打量每个家伙，看看有没有谁露出马脚。短刃十分平静，默默坐着磨剑，一如既往；亲爱的唐纳·希山继续说他的低级玩笑。他有白洁的牙齿，肥厚的红嘴唇，黄头发梳成时髦的样式披在肩膀。他爱宣称自己是兰尼斯特家的私生子，说不定真是，但齐特看中的并非面貌或出身，选唐纳·希山是因为他靠得住。

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.

对林务官索伍德他可没那么有信心，此人的鼾声本来比干的活儿出名，可现在他表现得如此焦躁，让人觉得他是再也不会打呼噜了。马斯林更糟，寒风在呼啸，齐特却能看到他脸上不断淌下汗水，火光下汗珠闪烁，活像潮湿的小钻石。他也不吃东西，只呆呆瞪着汤碗，仿佛饭香让人作呕似的。我得看紧这家伙，齐特心想。

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.

“集合！”十几个声音同时叫喊，顿时传遍山顶营地的每个角落，“守夜人军团的汉子们！到中央营火边集合！”

“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!”

齐特皱紧眉头，几口灌下菜汤，加入其他人的行列。

Frowning, Chett finished his soup and followed the rest.

熊老挺立在火堆前，在他身后，斯莫伍德、洛克、威勒斯和班恩站成一列。莫尔蒙身披厚实的黑毛皮斗篷，乌鸦栖息在肩上，整理着黑羽毛。不会是好事。齐特挤在黄伯纳和某个来自影子塔的弟兄之间。除开森林里的哨兵和围墙上的守卫外所有人都到齐之后，莫尔蒙清清喉咙，吐了口唾沫，水星子还没到地面就结了冰。“弟兄们，”他说，“守夜人军团的汉子们！”

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 Bernarr 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.”

“汉子！”他的乌鸦尖叫，“汉子！汉子！”

“Men!” his raven screamed. “Men! Men!”

“野人们出发了，正顺着乳河走出山区，索伦确信敌军前锋将于十天后抵达这里。他们中最有经验的掠袭者在狗头哈犸的率领下组成先锋部队，剩下的要么作后卫，要么护卫曼斯·雷德本人，要么就是为保卫漫长的队伍而分散开来。敌人赶着牛、骡子、马……但牲口不够，多数人只能步行，没有武装，未经训练，就连拥有的武器也多半是兽骨、石器，并非钢铁。此外，他们还拖带着妇女、儿童、成群的山羊和绵羊……一切一切所拥有的东西。总而言之，虽然敌人为数众多，却易受打击……他们甚至不知我们的存在——至少我们如此祈祷。”

“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 company 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.”

他们不知才怪！齐特心想，你这该死、愚昧的老白痴，他们当然知道，这跟太阳会升起一样明显！断掌科林没回来，不是吗？贾曼·布克威尔也没回来，不是吗？只要他们两队人中任一个给野人逮住，妈的，我们早暴露了。

They know, thought Chett. You bloody old pus bag, they know, certain as sunrise. Qhorin Halfhand hasn’t come back, has he? Nor Jarman Buckwell. If any of them got caught, you know damned well the wildlings will have wrung a song or two out of them by now.

斯莫伍德迈步向前。“曼斯·雷德打算冲破长城，将血腥的战争带给七大王国，很好，我们以其人之道还治其人之身，明天就把战争带给他。”

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.”

“黎明时分，我们全力进发。”人群开始窃窃私语，熊老续道。“先向北，接着转向西，绕个大弯。等回头时，哈犸的前锋早该越过了拳峰。霜雪之牙脚下有很多可供埋伏的曲折小峡谷。敌人的队伍绵延无数里，咱们就从多个方向同时袭击，让他们以为我们有三千人，而不只三百。”

“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.”

“毕其功于一役，在敌人骑兵返回前撤退，”索伦·斯莫伍德说，“他们要追，就让他们追个痛快，我们正好绕回去攻击队伍另一头。烧掉车子，驱散牲口，尽可能屠杀他们的人。如果办得到的话，最好干掉曼斯·雷德本人。只要能逼他们各自逃命，滚回茅屋山洞去，就算大功告成：即便事有不顺，咱们也可以在去长城的途中不断骚扰对方，让他们用无数尸首作路标。”

“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.”

“可他们人多势众，”齐特身后的某人说。

“There are thousands,” someone called from behind Chett.

“我们是去送死。”这是马斯林的声音，虚弱而恐慌。

“We’ll die.” That was Maslyn’s voice, green with fear.

“送死，”莫尔蒙的乌鸦一边尖叫，一边拍打黑色的翅膀，“送死，送死，送死。”

“Die,” screamed Mormont’s raven, flapping its black wings. “Die, die, die.”

“我们中许多人会死，”莫尔蒙道，“也许集体殉职。可正如一千年前另一位总司令所说，这不正是人们要我们披上黑衣的原因吗？牢记你们的誓言，弟兄们。我们是黑暗中的利剑，长城上的守卫……”

“Many of us,” the Old Bear said. “Mayhaps even all of us. But as another Lord Commander 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 …”

“抵御寒冷的烈焰。”马拉多·洛克爵士拔出长剑。

“The fire that burns against the cold.” Ser Mallador Locke drew his longsword.

“破晓时分的光线，”其他人回应，又有几把长剑出鞘。

“The light that brings the dawn,” others answered, and more swords were pulled from scabbards.

接着所有人都拔剑而出。将近三百柄长剑高举在空中，三百个嗓音在高喊：“唤醒眠者的号角！守护王国的坚盾！”齐特别无选择，只能跟着一起喊。空气因为人们的吐息而迷雾腾腾，钢铁辉映着火光。他欣慰地发现拉克、畸足以及美女唐纳·希山都参加进来，假装自己也是大笨蛋们中的一员。太好了。计划就要进行，没有招来多余的关注。

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.

喊声停歇时，他又一次听到刺穿环墙的寒风呼啸。火炬摇摆不定，似乎连它们也觉得冷，在突来的死寂中，乌鸦一遍一遍地呱呱高叫：“送死。”

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 come 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 coming 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 Half-hand 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 chainmail 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.