grrm.astormofswords-第214部分

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　CHAPTER　64
　JON
　
　He　dreamt　he　was　back　in　Winterfell；　limping　past　the　stone　kings　on　their　thrones。　Their　grey　granite　eyes　turned　to　follow　him　as　he　passed；　and　their　grey　granite　fingers　tightened　on　the　hilts　of　the　rusted　swords　upon　their　laps。　You　are　no　Stark；　he　could　hear　them　mutter；　in　heavy　granite　voices。　There　is　no　place　for　you　here。　Go　away。　He　walked　deeper　into　the　darkness。　〃Father？〃　he　called。　〃Bran？　Rickon？〃　No　one　answered。　A　chill　wind　was　blowing　on　his　neck。　〃Uncle？〃　he　called。　〃Uncle　Benjen？　Father？　Please；　Father；　help　me。〃　Up　above　he　heard　drums。　They　are　feasting　in　the　Great　Hall；　but　I　am　not　wele　there。　I　am　no　Stark；　and　this　is　not　my　place。　His　crutch　slipped　and　he　fell　to　his　knees。　The　crypts　were　growing　darker。　A　light　has　gone　out　somewhere。　〃Ygritte？〃　he　whispered。　〃Forgive　me。　Please。〃　But　it　was　only　a　direwolf；　grey　and　ghastly；　spotted　with　blood；　his　golden　eyes　shining　sadly　through　the　dark　。　。　。
　The　cell　was　dark；　the　bed　hard　beneath　him。　His　own　bed；　he　remembered；　his　own　bed　in　his　steward's　cell　beneath　the　Old　Bear's　chambers。　By　rights　it　should　have　brought　him　sweeter　dreams。　Even　beneath　the　furs；　he　was　cold。　Ghost　had　shared　his　cell　before　the　ranging；　warming　it　against　the　chill　of　night。　And　in　the　wild；　Ygritte　had　slept　beside　him。　Both　gone　now　He　had　burned　Ygritte　himself；　as　he　knew　she　would　have　wanted；　and　Ghost　。　。　。　Where　are　you？　Was　he　dead　as　well；　was　that　what　his　dream　had　meant；　the　bloody　wolf　in　the　crypts？　But　the　wolf　in　the　dream　had　been　grey；　not　white。　Grey；　like　Bran's　wolf。　Had　the　Therms　hunted　him　down　and　killed　him　after　Queenscrown？　If　so；　Bran　was　lost　to　him　for　good　and　all。
　Jon　was　trying　to　make　sense　of　that　when　the　horn　blew。
　The　Horn　of　Winter；　he　thought；　still　confused　from　sleep。　But　Mance　never　found　Joramun's　horn；　so　that　couldn't　be。　A　second　blast　followed；　as　long　and　deep　as　the　first。　Jon　had　to　get　up　and　go　to　the　Wall；　he　knew；　but　it　was　so　hard　。　。　。
　He　shoved　aside　his　furs　and　sat。　The　pain　in　his　leg　seemed　duller；　nothing　he　could　not　stand。　He　had　slept　in　his　breeches　and　tunic　and　smallclothes；　for　the　added　warmth；　so　he　had　only　to　pull　on　his　boots　and　don　leather　and　mail　and　cloak。　The　horn　blew　again；　two　long　blasts；　so　he　slung　Longclaw　over　one　shoulder；　found　his　crutch；　and　hobbled　down　the　steps。
　It　was　the　black　of　night　outside；　bitter　cold　and　overcast。　His　brothers　were　spilling　out　of　towers　and　keeps；　buckling　their　swordbelts　and　walking　toward　the　Wall。　Jon　looked　for　Pyp　and　Grenn；　but　could　not　find　them。　Perhaps　one　of　them　was　the　sentry　blowing　the　horn。　It　is　Mance；　he　thought。　He　has　e　at　last。　That　was　good。　We　will　fight　a　battle；　and　then　we'll　rest。　Alive　or　dead；　we'll　rest。
　Where　the　stair　had　been；　only　an　immense　tangle　of　charred　wood　and　broken　ice　remained　below　the　Wall。　The　winch　raised　them　up　now；　but　the　cage　was　only　big　enough　for　ten　men　at　a　time；　and　it　was　already　on　its　way　up　by　the　time　Jon　arrived。　He　would　need　to　wait　for　its　return。　Others　waited　with　him；　Satin；　Mully；　Spare　Boot；　Kegs；　big　blond　Hareth　with　his　buck　teeth。　Everyone　called　him　Horse；　He　had　been　a　stablehand　in　Mole's　Town；　one　of　the　few　moles　who　had　stayed　at　Castle　Black。　The　rest　had　run　back　to　their　fields　and　hovels；　or　their　beds　in　the　underground　brothel。　Horse　wanted　to　take　the　black；　though；　the　great　buck…toothed　fool。　Zei　remained　as　well；　the　whore　who'd　proved　so　handy　with　a　crossbow；　and　Noye　had　kept　three　orphan　boys　whose　father　had　died　on　the　steps。　They　were　young…nine　and　eight　and　five…but　no　one　else　seemed　to　want　them。
　As　they　waited　for　the　cage　to　e　back；　Clydas　brought　them　cups　of　hot　mulled　wine；　while　Three…Finger　Hobb　passed　out　chunks　of　black　bread。　Jon　took　a　heel　from　him　and　gnawed　on　it。
　〃Is　it　Mance　Rayder？〃　Satin　asked　anxiously。
　〃We　can　hope　so。〃　There　were　worse　things　than　wildlings　in　the　dark。　Jon　remembered　the　words　the　wildling　king　had　spoken　on　the　Fist　of　the　First　Men；　as　they　stood　amidst　that　pink　snow。　When　the　dead　walk；　walls　and　stakes　and　swords　mean　nothing。　You　cannot　fight　the　dead；　Jon　Snow　No　man　knows　that　half　so　well　as　me。　just　thinking　of　it　made　the　wind　seem　a　little　colder。
　Finally　the　cage　came　clanking　back　down；　swaying　at　the　end　of　the　long　chain；　and　they　crowded　in　silently　and　shut　the　door。
　Mully　yanked　the　bell　rope　three　times。　A　moment　later　they　began　to　rise；　by　fits　and　starts　at　first；　then　more　smoothly。　No　one　spoke。　At　the　top　the　cage　swung　sideways　and　they　clambered　out　one　by　one。　Horse　gave　Jon　a　hand　down　onto　the　ice。　The　cold　hit　him　in　the　teeth　like　a　fist。
　A　line　of　fires　burned　along　the　top　of　the　Wall；　contained　in　iron　baskets　on　poles　taller　than　a　man。　The　cold　knife　of　the　wind　stirred　and　swirled　the　flames；　so　the　lurid　orange　light　was　always　shifting。　Bundles　of　quarrels；　arrows；　spears；　and　scorpion　bolts　stood　ready　on　every　hand。　Rocks　were　piled　ten　feet　high；　big　wooden　barrels　of　pitch　and　lamp　oil　lined　up　beside　them。　Bowen　Marsh　had　left　Castle　Black　well　supplied　in　everything　save　men。　The　wind　was　whipping　at　the　black　cloaks　of　the　scarecrow　sentinels　who　stood　along　the　ramparts；　spears　in　hand。　〃I　hope　it　wasn't　one　of　them　who　blew　the　horn；〃　Jon　said　to　Donal　Noye　when　he　limped　up　beside　him。
　〃Did　you　hear　that？〃　Noye　asked。
　There　was　the　wind；　and　horses；　and　something　else。　〃A　mammoth；〃　Jon　said。　〃That　was　a　mammoth。〃
　The　armorer's　breath　was　frosting　as　it　blew　from　his　broad；　flat　nose。　North　of　the　Wall　was　a　sea　of　darkness　that　seemed　to　stretch　forever。　Jon　could　make　out　the　faint　red　glimmer　of　distant　fires　moving　through　the　wood。　it　was　Mance；　certain　as　sunrise。　The　Others　did　not　light　torches。
　〃How　do　we　fight　them　if　we　can't　see　them？〃　Horse　asked。
　Donal　Noye　turned　toward　the　two　great　trebuchets　that　Bowen　Marsh　had　restored　to　working　order。　〃Give　me　light！〃　he　roared。
　Barrels　of　pitch　were　loaded　hastily　into　the　slings　and　set　afire　with　a　torch。　The　wind　fanned　the　flames　to　a　brisk　red　fury。　〃NOW！〃　Noye　bellowed。　The　counterweights　plunged　downward；　the　throwing　arms　rose　to　thud　against　the　padded　crossbars。　The　burning　pitch　went　tumbling　through　the　darkness；　casting　an　eerie　flickering　light　upon　the　ground　below。　Jon　caught　a　glimpse　of　mammoths　moving　ponderously　through　the　half…light；　and　just　as　quickly　lost　them　again。　A　dozen；　maybe　more。　The　barrels　struck　the　earth　and　burst。　They　heard　a　deep　bass　trumpeting；　and　a　giant　roared　something　in　the　Old　Tongue；　his　voice　an　ancient　thunder　that　sent　shivers　up　Jon's　spine。
　〃Again！〃　Noye　shouted；　and　the　trebuchets　were　loaded　once　more。　Two　more　barrels　of　burning　pitch　went　crackling　through　the　gloom　to　e　crashing　down　amongst　the　foe。　This　time　one　of　them　struck　a　dead　tree；　enveloping　it　in　flame。　Not　a　dozen　mammoths；　Jon　saw；　a　hundred。
　He　stepped　to　the　edge　of　the　precipice。　Careful；　he　reminded　himself。
　It　is　a　long　way　down。　Red　Alyn　sounded　his　sentry's　horn　once　more；　Aaaaahoooooooooooooooooooooooooo；　aaaaahoooooooooooooooooooo。　And　now　the　wildlings　answered；　not　with　one　horn　but　with　a　dozen；　and　with　drums　and　pipes　as　well。　We　are　e；　they　seemed　to　say；　we　are　e　to　break　your　Wall；　to　take　your　lands　and　steal　your　daughters。　The　wind　howled；　the　trebuchets　creaked　and　thumped；　the　barrels　flew。　Behind　the　giants　and　the　mammoths；　Jon　saw　men　advancing　on　the　Wall　with　bows　and　axes。　Were　there　twenty　or　twenty　thousand？　In　the　dark　there　was　no　way　to　tell。　This　is　a　battle　of　blind　men；　but　Mance　has　a　few　thousand　more　of　them　than　we　do。
　〃The　gate！〃　Pyp　cried　out。　〃They're　at　the　GATE〃
　The　Wall　was　too　big　to　be　stormed　by　any　conventional　means；　too　high　for　ladders　or　siege　towers；　too　thick　for　battering　rams。　No　catapult　could　throw　a　stone　large　enough　to　breach　it；　and　if　you　tried　to　set　it　on　fire；　the　icemelt　would　quench　the　flames。　You　could　climb　over；　as　the　raiders　did　near　Greyguard；　but　only　if　you　were　strong　and　fit　and　sure…handed；　and　even　then　you　might　end　up　like　Jarl；　impaled　on　a　tree。　They　must　take　the　gate；　or　they　cannot　pass。