Chapter 34 Chapter Thirty-Three Samwell

In the attic, the woman was giving birth noisily, and the man was dying by the brazier below.Samwell Tarly couldn't tell which frightened him more. They built a pile of furs for poor Baleng and made a good fire, but all he could say was, "It's cold, help me, it's cold." Sam fed him onion soup, but he couldn't swallow it, and the spoon poured it down. As fast as it is, as fast as it leaks from the lips, the juice drips down the chin. "This guy is dead." Custer bit the sausage, and gave Baleng a cold look. "If you ask me, giving him a knife is more kind than pouring soup."

"We didn't ask you." The giant was no more than five feet tall—his real name was Bedwick—but he was irascible. "Killer, did you ask Custer?" Being called by his name, Sam couldn't help shrinking, shaking his head desperately.He scooped up another full spoonful and brought it to Baleng's mouth, trying to carefully pour it in from between his lips. "Food and Fire," said the Giant, "that is all we ask you for. And you won't even give food." "I didn't refuse the fire, and you should be content." Castor was a stocky man, and his sheepskin vest made him look even more menacing—a stinking rag he wore all day and all night.He had a flat nose, drooping lips, and one missing ear, and his matted hair and tangled beard were turning from gray to white, but his gnarled hands were still strong and strong. "I did my best to feed you, you crows are greedy. After all, I am also a man of God, otherwise I would have driven you away. You think we want a guy like him to die on our floor ? You think we want all these mouths, shorty?" the Savage spat. "A raven, a black bird, what good does it bring, eh? Never. Never."

More soup flowed out from the corner of Baleng's mouth, and Sam wiped it for him with his sleeve, while the other party stared back lazily. "Cold," he said weakly again.The Maester might know how to save him, but we don't have a Maester.Nine days ago, Kenji White-eyed chopped off Balam's injured foot, and the pus and blood spurting out made Sam sick, but it was not enough, and it was too late. "It's cold," repeated pale lips. In the hall, more than twenty ragged men in black were scattered on the floor or rough benches, drinking the same thin onion soup and eating pieces of hard bread.Several injuries were more serious than Balen.Furnio had been unconscious for days, and a foul-smelling yellow pus oozed from Sir Byyan's shoulder.When leaving Castle Black, Ranger Bernard Wong brought sacks of Myrfire, mustard paste, garlic powder, tansy, poppy, copperweed, and other medicinal herbs, even sweetsweet, which can give a painless death.But Bernard Wong died on the Fist of the First Men, and no one thought of the medicine to save Maester Aemon.As a chef, Huck knew some herbs, but he also died.It was not enough, therefore, to have only a few stewards left to attend to the wounded.Although it was dry and there was a fire to keep them warm, they needed more food.

We all need more food.For days, people were complaining.Clubfoot Karl repeatedly declared that Castell had secret vaults, and when the Lord Commander couldn't hear, Garth of Oldtown followed suit.Sam wanted to ask for something nutritious for the wounded, but he didn't have the courage to ask.Castor's eyes were cold and vicious, and whenever he looked at Sam, his hands would twitch slightly, as if ready to make a fist at any moment.Does he know what I said to Gilly last time I passed by?Did he beat her to force her to speak? "Cold," said Balen, "help me, it's cold."

Sam himself was cold, though Craster's hall was filled with heat and smoke.He was even more tired, so tired that he was falling apart.He wanted to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he dreamed that the snow was falling, and the dead man came staggeringly, with black hands and bright blue eyes. In the attic, Gilly let out a shuddering cry that echoed in the long, low, windowless hall. "Harder," he heard one of Custer's older wives say, "harder. Harder. Shout out." And she started screaming, startling Sam. Castor turned his head and glared. "Enough!" he shouted upstairs, "Give her a piece of cloth to bite on, or I'll come up and let her taste the slap."

Sam knew he wasn't joking.Custer had nineteen wives, but none of them resisted when he stepped onto the ladder.Just two nights ago, he beat a younger girl severely, and the brother in black didn't intervene either.Of course, there were murmurs. "He'll kill her," Greenaway's Gals said, and Clubfoot Carl laughed, "He doesn't want the sweetie, give it to me." Get up and go out, so you can't hear the sound. "Under his roof, he calls the shots," Ranger Rhoner Harley reminded them all. "Caster is a friend of our Night's Watch." Friends, Sam thought, listening to Gilly's muffled screams.Craster is a villain, ruling his wife and daughters ruthlessly, but his fortress is a rare refuge for the Night's Watch.For example, this time, when the people who survived the heavy snow, ghouls, and severe cold came in dismay, Custer sneered and said, "There are a lot fewer flocks of frozen crows!" Floors, eaves to shelter from the wind and snow, and braziers to dry the body, and his wives also brought glasses of mulled wine to warm everyone's stomachs.He called them "fucking crows," but gave them something to eat, though it wasn't very tasty.

We are guests, Sam reminded himself, and he is host.Gilly was his daughter, his wife.Under his roof, he calls the shots. When Gilly came to ask for help when she first arrived at Craster's Fortress, Sam gave her his black cloak so that she could hide her stomach when she went to find Jon Snow.A sworn knight is supposed to protect women and children, isn't he?There are only a few of our brothers in black who are knights, but... we all swore, Sam thought, that we are shields to guard the kingdom.A woman is always a woman, even the wildlings.We should help her, save her.Gilly was worried about the baby, she was afraid of having a boy.Craster would raise his daughter to be his wife, but there were neither men nor boys in his fort.Gilly tells Jon that Craster dedicated his son to God.The gods have mercy, give her a daughter, Sam prayed.

Up in the attic, Gilly stifled a scream. "Okay," said a woman, "harder, quicker. Oh, I see his head." Hers, Sam thought bitterly, hers, hers. "It's cold," Balen said weakly, "help me, it's so cold." Sam put down the bowl and spoon, covered his dying brother with an extra layer of fur, and added firewood to the brazier.Gilly let out a scream, then gasped.Craster gnawed at a hard black sausage—he kept it for himself and his wives, not the Night's Watch. "Woman," he grumbled, "for that virtue...not as good as that fat sow I used to be, who gave birth to a litter of eight and didn't make a sound." As he chewed, he turned his head and squinted at Sam contemptuously. As fat as you, little killer." After speaking, he laughed.

It was too much, so Sam staggered away from the brazier and stepped awkwardly around the crowd of people sleeping or sitting or dying on the hard mud floor, and headed out.Dizzy with smoke and screams and groans, he ducked and lifted the buckskin that Castor had used as a door into the afternoon light. The weather was gloomy, but just after coming out of the dark hall, the light still blinded him.The surrounding trees were covered with snow, and the golden-brown hills were also covered with a carpet of snow, but not as much as the previous few days.The storm was over, and the day at Craster's Keep was... not quite warm, but not so cold.Sam heard the soft tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick of the water as the ice crystals hanging over the edge of the thick thatched roof melted.He took a shaky breath and looked around.

To the west, One-Armed Oro and Tim Stone were walking along a row of hitched horses, watering the surviving mounts. Downwind, other brethren were slaughtering and skinning animals that were too weak to walk any longer.Spearmen and archers patrolled behind the embankment—Caster's only defense—watched warily out into the woods.Thick blue-gray smoke rose from a dozen fire pits, and in the distance echoed the sound of logging, gathering firewood to keep the braziers burning overnight.Night is a scary time, dark, cold. They had not been attacked since arriving at Craster's Keep, neither by ghouls nor by White Walkers.Castor said that was impossible. "God-worshipers needn't worry about that. We told Mance Rayder that once when he came over to sniff at our house. Like a crow lighting a fire. Let me tell you, when the white cold god comes, these will not help at all. At that time, there is only worship of the gods and offering sacrifices."

Gilly had mentioned the White Cold God too, and she told them what Craster offered to his god.Sam almost wanted to kill him after hearing this.There is no law beyond the Wall, he reminded himself, and Craster is a friend of our Night's Watch. There was a sporadic applause from behind the stick-and-earth hall, and Sam went to check.There was wet mud and slush underfoot, and sad Eddie insisted it was Custer's shit.It was stickier than shit, though, and it clung to Sam's boots so hard he felt one was about to come loose. Beside the vegetable garden and the empty sheepfold, a dozen brothers in black were shooting arrows at the target, which they made with hay and straw.The slender, blond steward known as Belle Donna just shot an arrow, barely missing the bull's-eye fifty yards away. "Come on, old man," he said. "Okay. Just watch." Ulmah bent over, stepped to the starting point, and drew an arrow from the quiver at his waist.The man had a gray beard and flabby skin and limbs, but had been a bandit in his youth, a member of the notorious Brotherhood of the Kingswood.He claimed to have shot an arrow through the hand of White Bull, Captain of the Kingsguard, in order to steal a kiss from a Dorne princess. What I like to show off is still that kiss. He nocks and draws the bow, smooth as summer silk, and shoots.It turned out to be an inch closer than Donna Hisham. "How's it going, boy?" he asked, stepping back. "It's not bad," said the young man reluctantly. "The crosswind will help. It's very windy when I shoot the arrow." "You should think carefully before shooting these shots. Boy, your eyes are good and your hands are steady, but you are still a little bit worse than the heroes of the Brotherhood of the Kingswood. My kung fu was taught by the 'Fletcher' Dick himself, There's no better archer in the world than him. Did I tell you about old Dick, eh?" "You've told it three hundred times." Everyone at Castle Black had heard Ulma tell of the great bandits of yore: Simon Toyne and the Laughing Knight, Oswain the Three-Hanged, "The White Hart" "Wenda, Dick the Fletcher, Ben "Potbellied" and others.To avoid having to listen to it again, Belle Donna looks around and finds Sam standing in the mud. "Killer," he called, "come here and show us how you kill White Walkers." He raised his tall yew-wood longbow. Sam flushed. "Not with arrows, but with daggers, Dragonglass..." He knew what would happen if he picked up the longbow: he would miss the target, let the arrow fly over the embankment and into the woods, and everyone would laugh. "Never mind," said Alan of Rosby, another good archer, "it's nice to see a killer shoot an arrow. Isn't it, fellas?" He couldn't face them: the mocking smile, the mean words, the scorn in their eyes.Sam turned and went back the same way, but his right foot sank deep into the mud, and he pulled out his boot.He had to kneel down and pull it out, listening to laughter in his ears.By the time he got away, the melted snow had seeped between his toes, and layers of socks were useless.I'm a piece of shit, he thought miserably, and my father was right.So many good people have died, I have no right to live. Grant was tending the fire pit south of the small gate of the fort, stripped naked and chopping wood, his face flushed from the exertion and dripping with sweat.Seeing Sam puffing up, he grinned and said, "The White Walker pulled your boots off, killer?" How about you? ... "It's because of the mud. Please don't call me that." "Why?" Grant sounded puzzled. "It's a good name, and you deserve it." Pyp used to tease Grenn about his skin being thicker than a city wall, so Sam had to explain patiently. "It's just another way of calling me a coward," he said, standing on his left foot and twisting his right into his muddy boot. "They used it to make fun of me like they used 'Giant' to make fun of Bedwick." "But he's not a giant," Grant said, "and Paul isn't 'small' at all. Well, maybe he wasn't big when he was a kid, but he's definitely not small when he grows up. But you did kill the White Walkers, so it doesn't matter. the same." "I just... I never... I was terrified!" "Me too. Pyp says I'm too stupid to be afraid, but I'm just as scared as anyone else." Grant stooped to pick up a splintered piece of wood and threw it into the fire pit. "I used to be afraid of Jon, afraid to practice martial arts with him, because he moves too fast and he fights like he wants to kill me." The damp new wood fell into the flames, and smoke rose. "I never said these words. Sometimes I feel that everyone is just pretending to be fearless, and no one is really brave. Maybe pretending to be brave will become brave, I don't think so. I know. Anyway, what does it matter if they call 'killer' if they want?" "Yeah, but you don't like Sir Alliser calling you 'Ben-Bull,' either." "Yeah, he always said I was big and stupid." Grant scratched his beard. "But if Pyp calls me a 'stupid cow', that's all right, and neither are you or Jon. Look, a cow is a fierce, strong beast, so there's nothing wrong with it, and I'm big and growing. How about you? , don't you want to be 'Killer' Sam instead of Ser Piggy?" "Why can't I just be Samwell Tarly?" He sat down heavily on a wet log that Glenn hadn't split. "Longjing killed it. It wasn't me, it was Longjing who did it." He had told them, he had told them all.But he knew that many people didn't believe it.Short Blade took out his dagger, "I have an iron guy, why do I need glass?" Black Bernard and the three Gals clearly expressed doubts about the whole story, while Raleigh of Sister Fort was straight-forward, "It is likely that you turned towards the rustling The rattling bushes stabbed, happened to kill little shit Paul, and made up a lie." But Devon and a dour Eddie mean business, and they take Sam and Grenn to meet the Commander-in-Chief.Although Mormont frowned and asked pointed questions throughout the lecture, he was careful not to miss any possible gains.He wants Sam to hand over all the dragonglass in the bag, even though it's not much.Whenever Sam thought of the batch of dragonglass buried under the Fist of the First Men and was discovered by Jon, he wanted to cry.There are not only dagger blades and spear points, but also at least two or three hundred arrowheads.Jon made a dagger each for himself, Sam, and Lord Commander Mormont, and gave Sam a spear point, a broken horn, and some arrowheads, and Grenn grabbed a handful of arrowheads, too, and nothing more. So now there was only Mormont's dagger, the dagger that Sam had given to Grenn, plus nineteen arrows and a hardwood spear bound with a black dragonglass.The spears were exchanged during sentry shifts, and Mormont distributed arrows to his best archers. "Nag" Bill, "Grey Feather" Gals, Rona Harley, "Beauty" Donna Hills and Rosby's Alan each had three, and Ulmer had four.But even if they hit it, they can only quickly use the Rockets.At the Fist of the First Men, the people fired hundreds of rockets, but they couldn't stop the wights' attack. It wasn't enough, Sam thought. Craster's embankment and wet mud and slush would not slow the wights, not even the steep slopes of the Fist of the First Men.They still climbed tenaciously and poured into the ring wall.This time the ghouls will find that what greets them is no longer three hundred well-disciplined and well-organized brothers, but forty-one survivors, nine of whom are seriously injured and unable to participate in the battle.A total of more than sixty people fought out from the Fist of the First Men, and forty-four people fled back to Custer's fortress through the snowstorm. In the past few days, three more people died of serious injuries, and Baleng will soon be the fourth. "You think the ghouls are gone?" Sam asked Grant. "Why don't they kill us all?" "I think they only come when it's cold." "Yes," said Sam, "but does the cold bring the wights, or the wights bring the cold?" "Who cares about it?" Grenn's ax smashed the sawdust everywhere, "Anyway, ghosts must be cold, that's the key. Hey, now that they know that dragon crystals are their nemesis, maybe they don't dare to come at all, maybe they don't dare to come now. Scared to death!" Sam hopes that he can trust his friend's words, but in his opinion, if a person dies, there will be no fear and pain, just as there is no responsibility and love.His hands were crossed over his knees, sweat breaking out from under the layers of wool, leather and fur.Yes, the dragonglass dagger could melt that pale thing in the woods... but Glenn meant it as if it could melt ghouls, too.We don't know, he thought, we don't know anything.I wish Jon was here.He liked Gulen, but he couldn't share the other's way of thinking.Jon won't call me a killer, and I can talk to him about Gilly's baby.But Jon left with Qhorin Halfhand and was never heard from again.He also has a dragonglass dagger, is it useful?Had he frozen to death in a ravine somewhere...or worse, the living dead? He didn't understand why the gods took Jon Snow and Balen away, but left him cowardly and clumsy.He should have died on the Fist of the First Men, where he peed his pants three times and lost his sword; and he would have died later in the forest if little Paul hadn't held him.I wish it was all a dream and I'd wake up soon.How nice it would be to wake up on the Fist of the First Men and find all the brothers still around, even Jon and Ghost.Of course, it would be better to wake up in Castle Black behind the Wall, and go to the great hall to drink a bowl of wheat and cheese soup made by Threefinger Harb, with a tablespoon of butter and a dollop of honey.Thinking of this, his empty stomach growled. "Snow." Sam looked up and saw Lord Lord Commander Mormont's crow circling the fire pit, its broad black wings beating the air. "Snow," cried the bird, "Snow, Snow." Where the crow flew, Mormont went.The Lord Commander did appear on horseback under the tree, flanked by old Devon and the fox-faced ranger Rona Harley, who had been promoted to succeed Thoren Smallwood.The spearman who guarded the gate asked loudly, and the old bear responded violently, "Seven hells, who do you think I am? The white ghost gouged your eyes?" He rode between the two gate poles, with a ram's head on one side , on the other side is a bear head.Then he took the rein, raised his hand, and whistled, and the crow flapped away at the call. "My lord," Sam heard Rona Harkley say, "we have but twenty-two horses, and I doubt half of them will reach the Wall." "I know," grumbled Mormont, "but we must go anyway, and Craster has ordered eviction." He glanced west, where the sun was obscured by clouds. "The gods give us some relief, but for how long?" Mormont jumped from the saddle, startling his raven into the air again.He saw Sam and yelled, "Tully!" "Me?" Sam stood up in embarrassment. "Me?" The crow landed on the old man's head. "I?" "Isn't your name Tully? Is there a brother of yours here? Yes, it's you. Shut up and come with me." "Following you?" he shrieked involuntarily. Lord Commander Mormont gave him a sharp look. "You're a man of the Night's Watch, don't pee your pants every time you look at me. Come with me, do you hear me?" His boots creaked in the mud, and Sam had to hurry to keep up. "I'm thinking about your dragon crystal." "That's not mine," Sam said. "Well, Jon Snow's dragonglass. Why have two dragonglass daggers if we really need them? Every sworn brother on the Wall should have one." "we do not know……" "We don't know! We must have known before. Tarly, the Night's Watch has forgotten its true mission. This seven-hundred-foot-high Wall was never built to keep wild men in furs from stealing girls. The night is coming, we are the strong shield to protect the kingdom... After all, the first duty of the night watchman is to resist other aliens, not to defend against wildlings. After countless centuries, Tully, hundreds of years, thousands of years, we have ignored True enemies, now that they're back, we don't know what to do with them. Was dragonglass made by dragons, as folklore says?" "I-maesters don't think so," stammered Sam. "The maesters say it's forged with fire deep in the heart of the earth, and they call it obsidian." Mormont snorted. "They can call it lemon pie, but if it kills the White Walkers, I want more." Sam hesitated. "Jon found a lot, under the Fist of the First Men. Hundreds of arrowheads, and spear points..." "I know all this, but it doesn't help. To get to the Fist of the First Men, we need to be equipped with weapons that we don't have, and those weapons are only available on that damned Fist. And there are wildlings in the middle. No, We'll have to get dragonglass elsewhere." With so much going on, he had almost forgotten about the wildlings. "The children of the forest use dragonglass swords," he said. "They know where to find obsidian." "The Children of the Forest are dead," said Mormont petulantly. "The First Men killed with bronze swords, and the Andals continued with iron swords. How could a dragonglass dagger—" Castor came out from behind the buckskin door, and Old Xiong stopped talking immediately.The Savage smiled, showing a mouthful of rotten brown teeth. "I have a son." "Son," said Mormont's crow hoarsely. "Son, son, son." The Commander-in-Chief was expressionless. "Congratulations." "Oh, is it? To me, it would be nice for you and your people to get out. I think it's time." "Wait for our wounded to recover..." "The best they can do is this, old crow, we know each other very well. Those who are going to die, have a good time, damn it, just slit their throats and it's over. If you can't bear it, just leave people behind and let me take care of it." Lord Commander Mormont was furious. "Thorn Smallwood assured me that you were a friend of the Night's Watch—" "Yes," Castor said, "I've given all I could, but winter is coming, and now that girl has given me another yelping mouth." "We can take him," a voice shrieked. Castor turned his head, eyes narrowed, and spat at Sam's feet. "What did you say, killer?" Sam's mouth opened and closed. "I...I...I just said...if you don't want him...you can't feed him...winter is coming, we...we can take him away and..." "He is my son, my flesh and blood. Do you think I will give him to the crow?" "I just wanted to..." You had no sons, you left them all, and Gilly said you left them in the woods, and that's why you only had a wife and a daughter who would be a wife. "Shut up, Sam," Lord Commander Mormont said. "You've said enough. Too much. Go in." "M-Master-" "Go in!" Blushing, Sam pushed the buckskin away and went back into the dark hall.Mormont followed. "Do you have any brains?" The old man lowered his angry voice, "Even if Casterken gave us the child, he would die before reaching the Great Wall. With such heavy snow, how do you ask us to take care of the newborn, huh? Can the milk feed him? Are you going to abduct his mother too?" "She wanted to go," said Sam, "she begged me..." Mormont held up a hand. "Don't let me hear about it again, Tully, as I said, don't think of Custer's wife." "She's his daughter," said Sam feebly. "Go and take care of Baleng, come on, don't make me angry." "Yes, my lord." Sam hurried away trembling. When he came to the brazier, he found that the giant was covering Balen's head with a fur cloak. "He said he was cold," said the little man. "I hope he's gone to a warm place, I really do." "His wound..." said Sam. "Fuck the wound." Short Blade poked the corpse with his foot. "He's just missing a foot. There used to be a lame man in my village who lived to be forty-nine." "He's cold," said Sam, "he says he's cold." "He didn't eat," said Dagger. "Not good. That bastard Craster starved him to death." Sam looked around uneasily. Castor hadn't returned, and if he had, the situation might have been more unpleasant.The wildling hated bastards, though the rangers said he was a wildling himself, fathered by a dead crow and mother by a female wildling. "Caster needs someone to support him," said the giant. "There are so many women, and he has tried his best to support us." "Believe in ghosts! When we're gone, he'll open a keg of mead, sit down and enjoy ham and honey, and laugh at us starving in the snow. He's a damned wildling bandit, that's all, no vigil at all. friend of man." He kicked Balen's corpse. "If you don't believe me, just ask him." At sunset, they cremated the ranger's body in the pit of Grant's earlier.Tim Stone and Gars of Oldtown lifted the naked body, grabbed one end each, shook it twice, and flung it into the flames.The brethren divided Balon's clothes, weapons, armor, and other items.At Castle Black, the Night's Watch had full ceremonies for burying the dead, but it was urgent and the ashes would not be resurrected as wights. "His name is Balen," said Lord Commander Mormont, engulfed in flames. "Brave and strong, and a rare ranger. From... where did he come from?" "White Harbor," someone said. Mormont nodded. "He came to us from White Harbor, and he did his duty as he always did. No matter how far the road was, or how hard the battle was, he kept his oath with all his strength. We shall rarely see such a man again." "His watch will not rest until death, and it will end in this," the brothers in black solemnly chanted in unison. "His watch shall not end until he dies, at Uth," repeated Mormont. "It's over," cried his crow, "it's over." The smoke hurt Sam's eyes and made him sick.He looked at the fire, as if he saw Balen sitting up, fisting his hands, fighting against the flames that engulfed him, but it was only for a moment, and soon the swirling smoke covered everything.But worst of all was the smell.It might have been bearable if it had been an unpleasant stench, but the burning brother smelled so much like roast pork that it made Sam salivate and the bird keep yelling "Over, over."It was so horrible that he ran to the back of the hall and vomited in the gutter. He was kneeling in the mud when sad Eddie came. "Bug digging, Sam? Still uncomfortable?" "Uncomfortable," Sam explained weakly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That smell..." "Didn't expect Baleng to taste so good," Eddie's voice was as surly as ever. "I almost cut a piece of his meat. If we had applesauce, I might really do it. Pork and applesauce are delicious." Ai Dee unbuttoned his belt and pulled out his lifeblood. "You'd better not die, Sam, or I'm afraid I can't take it. Your oil sizzles, much more than Balang, and I've never been able to resist sizzle oil." He sighed, yellow urine spilling Out of an arc, steaming. "We set off on horseback at dawn, did you hear? Old Xiong said that we have to go whether it is sunny or snowing." Whether it was sunny or snowy, Sam looked up to the sky worriedly. "Snowing?" he shrieked. "We... ride off? Everyone?" "Well, not everyone, some unlucky ones have to walk on planks." He shook himself. "Davin said that we have to learn to ride dead horses, just like the White Walkers. This will save supplies. Let me ask you, how much can a dead horse eat?" Eddie re-tied his belt. "I don't like the idea that once they figure out how to harness a dead horse, it's the next person. Likely I'll be the first. 'Eddie,' they'll say, 'death isn't about lying still Excuse me, get up, take this spear, you stand guard tonight.' Well, I shouldn't be so pessimistic, maybe I'll die before they find out." Maybe we're all going to die sooner than we think, Sam thought, getting up in embarrassment. Castor, learning that his unsavory guests were leaving the next day, almost immediately softened up, at least more so than ever. "It's time," he said, "as I said, you don't belong here. But I'll send you off respectably, with a feast, oh, a meal. I'll let the wives roast the horses you killed, and find some more Beer and bread." He smiled, showing rotten brown teeth. "There's nothing better than beer and horsemeat. Eat what you can't ride, that's what makes sense." His wife and daughter dragged out benches and long wooden tables and were busy cooking and serving.Sam could hardly tell the women apart except Gilly.Some were old, some young, some just children, but most of them were both Castor's daughters and his wives, and they all looked a little alike.As they walked back and forth to work, they talked to each other in low tones, but never to the man in black. Custer has only one chair.There he sat, in a sleeveless sheepskin vest, thick arms covered in white fur, and a twisted gold bracelet on one wrist.Lord Commander Mormont sat to his right, at the head of the bench, while the brothers huddled knee to knee; a dozen remained outside, guarding the wicket and tending the fire pit. Sam found a place between Grenn and Orphan Oss, his stomach growling.The smell of Craster's wives turning the horse meat over the fire, dripping with fat, made his mouth water, but also reminded him of Balen.As hungry as he was, Sam knew that if he took a bite, he would vomit.How could the poor horses who had carried them so far, out of misery, eat such a faithful steed?The women brought onions and he eagerly grabbed one.Half of it was rotten and blackened, he cut it off with a dagger, and ate the good half alive.There was also bread, but there were only two of them.The woman only shook her head as Ulma continued to beg.This is where the trouble begins. "Two?" grumbled the clubfoot Carl on the bench. "Are you women crazy? We need more bread!" Lord Commander Mormont shot him a sharp look. "You take whatever the master gives you, and then express your gratitude. Do you want to go outside to blow some snow?" "We'll be going soon." Clubfoot Karl didn't flinch from the old bear's anger. "I want to eat what Craster has hidden, my lord." Castor's eyes narrowed. "I've given you crows enough. I've got these women to feed." The short blade poked a piece of horse meat. "That's right, so you've admitted to the secret cellar. No wonder, otherwise, how would you spend the winter?" "I'm a godly man..." Castor explained. "You're a miser," said Karl, "a liar." "Ham," said Gals of Oldtown, in a reverent tone, "there were pigs last time we came. I bet he hid the ham. Prosciutto, gammon, and bacon." "Sausage," Shortblade said, "long black sausages, hard as rock, that can be stored for years. I'll bet he's got a hundred of them hanging in the cellar." "Oats," said One-Armed Oro, "corn, barley." "Corn," flapped Mormont's crow, "corn, corn, corn, corn, corn." "Enough," Lord Commander Mormont said over the hoarse cry of the bird, "quiet, all quiet, I don't want to hear that again." "Apples," said Gals of Greenaway, "bucket after barrel of autumn apples, crisp and delicious. There's an apple tree out there, I see it." "Dried berries. Cabbage. Pine nuts." "Corn. Corn. Corn." "Salt mutton. There's a mutton pen here. He's got barrels of mutton, you know." At this moment, Custer looked like he was about to spit at everyone.Lord Commander Mormont stood up. "Quiet, I don't want to hear such words again." "Then stuff the bread in your ears, old man." Clubfoot Carl pushed off the table and stood up, "Or have you fucking swallowed the goddamned bread crumbs already?" Sam saw that Old Bear blushed. "Have you forgotten who I am? Sit down! Eat and be quiet. This is an order." No one spoke.Nobody moved.All eyes were on the Commander-in-Chief and the big clubfoot Ranger, who were also staring at each other across the table.It seemed to Sam that Karl had given in first and was about to sit down reluctantly... … Craster stood up with an ax in his hand, a large black iron ax that Mormont had given him as a guest. “不行，”他低吼，“你不能坐，说我是吝啬鬼的人不配睡我的屋檐，吃我的东西。滚出去，跛子。还有你，你，你。”他将斧子依次指向短刃和两个加尔斯。 “空着肚子睡外面冰冷的雪地去，你们这些混蛋，否则……” “该死的杂种！”山姆听见其中一个加尔斯咒道，但没看清是哪一个。 “谁叫我杂种？”卡斯特怒吼，他左手一扫，将盘子、马肉和酒杯推下桌子，右手操起斧头。 “大家都知道，”卡尔回答。 卡斯特的动作快得让山姆无法相信，他手持斧头跃过桌子。一个女人尖叫起来，奥斯和格林纳威的加尔斯拔出匕首，卡尔则跌跌撞撞向后退去，绊到躺在地上的伤员拜延爵士。卡斯特一边恶狠狠地咒骂，一边朝他扑来，不料遭殃的却是自己。短刃鬼魅般出击，抓住野人的头发，将他脑袋往后一提，匕首在咽喉划开一道长长的口子，从左耳直到右耳。然后他粗暴地一推，野人向前扑倒，脸朝下砸在拜延爵士身上。拜延痛苦地嘶叫，而卡斯特浸泡在自己的鲜血中，斧子从指间滑落。卡斯特的两个老婆开始哀嚎，第三个在咒骂，第四个冲向美女唐纳，试图抠出他的眼睛。他将她击倒在地。总司令阴沉地站在卡斯特的尸体前，怒火沸腾。“诸神会诅咒我们，”他大喊，“客人在主人的厅堂里将主人谋杀，这是滔天恶行。根据宾客权利，根据世间的法则——” “长城之外没有律法，老家伙，记得吗？”短刃抓住卡斯特一位老婆的胳膊，用带血的匕首尖抵住她下巴。“把秘密地窖的所在告诉我们，否则你的下场就跟他一样，婆娘。” “放开她。”莫尔蒙跨前一步，“我要砍了你的头，你——”格林纳威的加尔斯挡在前面，独臂奥罗也走过来。两人手里都操着刀。“闭嘴，”奥罗警告。但总司令毫不畏惧地抓向他的匕首。奥罗只有一只手，但这只手非常快。他挣脱老人的抓握，将匕首捅进莫尔蒙的肚子，拔出时刀刃上沾满红色的鲜血。接着，一切变得疯狂起来。 良久，很久很久之后，山姆发现自己盘坐于地，莫尔蒙的脑袋靠在膝盖上。他不记得是怎样变成这个姿势，也不记得熊老被刺后的其他事情。似乎格林纳威的加尔斯杀了旧镇的加尔斯，却不知为何缘故。姐妹堡的罗利爬上梯子，想尝尝卡斯特的老婆们，结果从阁楼上摔下来，摔断了脖子。葛兰…… 葛兰朝他大喊，扇他的耳光，然后跟巨人、忧郁的艾迪等一起跑了。卡斯特还压在拜延爵士身上，但受伤的骑士已不再呻吟。四个黑衣人坐在长凳上吃烤马肉，奥罗则就着桌子干一个哭泣的女人。 “塔利。”熊老试图讲话，血从嘴里淌下来，流进胡子里。“塔利，去。去。” “去哪里，大人？”他有气无力地应道。我没害怕。这是一种奇怪的感觉。“我无处可去。” “长城。去长城。快。” “快，”乌鸦叫道，“快。快。”鸟儿从老人的胳膊走到胸口，啄下一根胡子。 “你必须去。去告诉他们。” “告诉他们什么，大人？”山姆礼貌地问。 “一切。先民拳峰。野人。龙晶。这里。一切。”他的呼吸很浅，声音如同耳语。“告诉我儿子。乔拉。告诉他，穿上黑衣。我的遗愿。我的临终遗愿。” “遗愿？”乌鸦昂起头，黑色的眼珠闪闪发光。“玉米？”鸟儿问。 “我没有玉米，”莫尔蒙虚弱地说。“告诉乔拉。原谅他。我儿子。拜托你。去吧。” “太远了，大人，”山姆道，“我根本到不了长城。”他如此疲惫，只想睡觉，狠狠地睡，永远不要醒来。而他知道，只需留在这里，过不多久，短刃、独臂奥罗或畸足卡尔就会烦他，前来杀他，从而了解他的心愿。“我宁愿留在您身边。瞧，我不害怕了。我不害怕您，或者……任何东西。” “你应该害怕，”一个女人说。 三个卡斯特的老婆站在他面前。其中两位是形容枯槁的老妇，他不认识，但吉莉在中间，全身裹着兽皮，怀抱一捆白色和棕色的毛皮，定是她儿子的襁褓。“我们奉命不得与卡斯特的女人讲话，”山姆告诉她们，“这是总司令大人的命令。” “他的命令到此为止，”右边的老妇说。 “最黑的乌鸦们正在地窖狼吞虎咽，”左边的老妇说，“或在阁楼上干年轻女人。但他们很快会回来，你得赶在他们回来之前离开。马儿都跑了，好在妲娅逮住两匹。” “你说你会帮我，”吉莉提醒他。 “我说琼恩会帮你。琼恩很勇敢，是个优秀的战士，但我想他已经死了。我，我只是个胆小鬼，又胖又笨。看看我，你就明白了。况且莫尔蒙大人受了伤，你们没发现吗？我不能离开总司令大人。“ “孩子，”另一位老妇说，“那只老乌鸦已经死在你眼前。瞧。” 莫尔蒙的头仍在他膝上，但眼睛直勾勾地瞪着前方，嘴唇也不再动弹。他的乌鸦昂头嘶叫，然后看着山姆，“玉米？” “没有。他没有玉米。”山姆合上熊老的眼睛，试图说些祷词，却死活也想不出一句，“圣母慈悲。圣母慈悲。圣母慈悲。” “你的圣母帮不了你，”左边的老妇说，“这个死去的老头也不能。拿着他的剑，穿上他暖和的毛皮大斗篷，骑上他的战马，走吧。” “这女孩没撒谎，”右边的老妇说，“她是我女儿，我早已把她揍得不会说谎。你说你会帮她，就按芬妮说的去做，小子。带上这女孩，动作快。” “快，”乌鸦道，“快，快，快。” “去哪儿？”山姆疑惑地问，“我带她去哪儿？” “去暖和的地方，”两个老妇齐声道。 吉莉在哭。“求求你，救救我和孩子，求求你。我可以做你老婆，就像做卡斯特的老婆那样。求求你，乌鸦爵士，他是个男孩，妮拉算得很准，你不把他带走的话，他们会。” “他们？”山姆道，乌鸦昂起黑色的脑袋重复，“他们。他们。他们。” “他的哥哥，”左边的老妇说，“卡斯特的儿子们。白色寒神正在外面，乌鸦，我打骨头里感觉得到，这身可怜的老骨头从不骗人。卡斯特的儿子们就快来了。”