grrm.astormofswords-第52节

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ere　ing　after　her；　Anguy　and　Harwin　and　Greenbeard　racing　side　by　side　with　Lem　farther　back；　his　big　yellow　cloak　flapping　behind　him　as　he　rode。　〃Swift　as　a　deer；〃　she　told　her　mount。　〃Run；　now；　run。〃
　Arya　dashed　across　brown　weedy　fields；　through　waist…high　grass　and　piles　of　dry　leaves　that　flurried　and　flew　when　her　horse　galloped　past。　There　were　woods　to　her　left；　she　saw。　I　can　lose　them　there。　A　dry　ditch　ran　along　one　side　of　the　field；　but　she　leapt　it　without　breaking　stride；　and　plunged　in　among　the　stand　of　elm　and　yew　and　birch　trees。　A　quick　peek　back　showed　Anguy　and　Harwin　still　hard　on　her　heels。　Greenbeard　had　fallen　behind；　though；　and　she　could　not　see　Lem　at　all。　〃Faster；〃　she　told　her　horse；　〃you　can；　you　can。〃
　Between　two　elms　she　rode；　and　never　paused　to　see　which　side　the　moss　was　growing　on。　She　leapt　a　rotten　log　and　swung　wide　around　a　monstrous　deadfall；　jagged　with　broken　branches。　Then　up　a　gentle　slope　and　down　the　other　side；　slowing　and　speeding　up　again；　her　horse's　shoes　striking　sparks　off　the　flintstones　underfoot。　At　the　top　of　the　hill　she　glanced　back。　Harwin　had　pushed　ahead　of　Anguy；　but　both　were　ing　hard。　Greenbeard　had　fallen　further　back　and　seemed　to　be　flagging。
　A　stream　barred　her　way。　She　splashed　down　into　it；　through　water　choked　with　wet　brown　leaves。　Some　clung　to　her　horse's　legs　as　they　climbed　the　other　side。　The　undergrowth　was　thicker　here；　the　ground　so　full　of　roots　and　rocks　that　she　had　to　slow；　but　she　kept　as　good　a　pace　as　she　dared。　Another　hill　before　her；　this　one　steeper。　Up　she　went；　and　down　again。　How　big　are　these　woods？　she　wondered。　She　had　the　faster　horse；　she　knew　that；　she　had　stolen　one　of　Roose　Bolton's　best　from　the　stables　at　Harrenhal；　but　his　speed　was　wasted　here。　I　need　to　find　the　fields　again。　I　need　to　find　a　road。　instead　she　found　a　game　trail。　It　was　narrow　and　uneven；　but　it　was　something。　She　raced　along　it；　branches　whipping　at　her　face。　One　snagged　her　hood　and　yanked　it　back；　and　for　half　a　heartbeat　she　feared　they　had　caught　her。　A　vixen　burst　from　the　brush　as　she　passed；　startled　by　the　fury　of　her　flight。　The　game　trail　brought　her　to　another　stream。　Or　was　it　the　same　one？　Had　she　gotten　turned　around？　There　was　no　time　to　puzzle　it　out；　she　could　hear　their　horses　crashing　through　the　trees　behind　her。　Thorns　scratched　at　her　face　like　the　cats　she　used　to　chase　in　King's　Landing。　Sparrows　exploded　from　the　branches　of　an　alder。　But　the　trees　were　thinning　now；　and　suddenly　she　was　out　of　them。　Broad　level　fields　stretched　before　her；　all　weeds　and　wild　wheat；　sodden　and　trampled。　Arya　kicked　her　horse　back　to　a　gallop。　Run；　she　thought；　run　for　Riverrun；　run　for　home。　Had　she　lost　them？　She　took　one　quick　look；　and　there　was　Harwin　six　yards　back　and　gaining。　No；　she　thought；　no；　he　can't；　not　him；　it　isn't　fair。
　Both　horses　were　lathered　and　flagging　by　the　time　he　came　up　beside　her；　reached　over；　and　grabbed　her　bridle。　Arya　was　breathing　hard　herself　then。　She　knew　the　fight　was　done。　〃You　ride　like　a　northman；　milady；〃　Harwin　said　when　he'd　drawn　them　to　a　halt。　〃Your　aunt　was　the　same。　Lady　Lyanna。　But　my　father　was　master　of　horse；　remember。〃
　The　look　she　gave　him　was　full　of　hurt。　〃I　thought　you　were　my　father's　man。〃
　〃Lord　Eddard's　dead；　milady。　I　belong　to　the　lightning　lord　now；　and　to　my　brothers。〃
　〃What　brothers？〃　Old　Hullen　had　fathered　no　other　sons　that　Arya　could　remember。
　〃Anguy；　Lem；　Tom　o'　Sevens；　Jack　and　Greenbeard；　all　of　them。　We　mean　your　brother　Robb　no　ill；　milady　。　。　。　but　it's　not　him　we　fight　for。　He　has　an　army　all　his　own；　and　many　a　great　lord　to　bend　the　knee。　The　smallfolk　have　only　us。〃　He　gave　her　a　searching　look。　〃Can　you　understand　what　I　am　telling　you？〃
　〃Yes。〃　That　he　was　not　Robb's　man；　she　understood　well　enough。　And　that　she　was　his　captive。　I　could　have　stayed　with　Hot　Pie。　We　could　have　taken　the　little　boat　and　sailed　it　up　to　Riverrun。　She　had　been　better　off　as　Squab。　No　one　would　take　Squab　captive；　or　Nan；　or　Weasel；　or　Arry　the　orphan　boy。　I　was　a　wolf；　she　thought；　but　now　I'm　just　some　stupid　little　lady　again。
　〃Will　you　ride　back　peaceful　now；〃　Harwin　asked　her；　〃or　must　I　tie　you　up　and　throw　you　across　your　horse？〃
　〃I'll　ride　peaceful；〃　she　said　sullenly。　For　now。
　
　CHAPTER　18
　SAMWELL
　
　Sobbing；　Sam　took　another　step。　This　is　the　last　one；　the　very　last；　I　can't　go　on；　I　can't。　But　his　feet　moved　again。　One　and　then　the　other。　They　took　a　step；　and　then　another；　and　he　thought；　They're　not　my　feet；　they're　someone　else's；　someone　else　is　walking；　it　can't　be　me。
　When　he　looked　down　he　could　see　them　stumbling　through　the　snow；　shapeless　things；　and　clumsy。　His　boots　had　been　black；　he　seemed　to　remember；　but　the　snow　had　caked　around　them；　and　now　they　were　misshapen　white　balls。　Like　two　clubfeet　made　of　ice。
　It　would　not　stop；　the　snow。　The　drifts　were　up　past　his　knees；　and　a　crust　covered　his　lower　legs　like　a　pair　of　white　greaves。　His　steps　were　dragging；　lurching。　The　heavy　pack　he　carried　made　him　look　like　some　monstrous　hunchback。　And　he　was　tired；　so　tired。　I　can't　go　on。　Mother　have　mercy；　I　can't。
　Every　fourth　or　fifth　step　he　had　to　reach　down　and　tug　up　his　swordbelt。　He　had　lost　the　sword　on　the　Fist；　but　the　scabbard　still　weighed　down　the　belt。　He　did　have　two　knives；　the　dragonglass　dagger　Jon　had　given　him　and　the　steel　one　he　cut　his　meat　with。　All　that　weight　dragged　heavy；　and　his　belly　was　so　big　and　round　that　if　he　forgot　to　tug　the　belt　slipped　right　off　and　tangled　round　his　ankles；　no　matter　how　tight　he　cinched　it。　He　had　tried　belting　it　above　his　belly　once；　but　then　it　came　almost　to　his　armpits。　Grenn　had　laughed　himself　sick　at　the　sight　of　it；　and　Dolorous　Edd　had　said；　〃I　knew　a　man　once　who　wore　his　sword　on　a　chain　around　his　neck　like　that。　One　day　he　stumbled；　and　the　hilt　went　up　his　nose。〃
　Sam　was　stumbling　himself。　There　were　rocks　beneath　the　snow；　and　the　roots　of　trees；　and　sometimes　deep　holes　in　the　frozen　ground。　Black　Bernarr　had　stepped　in　one　and　broken　his　ankle　three　days　past；　or　maybe　four；　or　。　。　。　he　did　not　know　how　long　it　had　been；　truly。　The　Lord　mander　had　put　Bernarr　on　a　horse　after　that。
　Sobbing；　Sam　took　another　step。　It　felt　more　like　he　was　falling　down　than　walking；　falling　endlessly　but　never　hitting　the　ground；　just　falling　forward　and　forward。　I　have　to　stop；　it　hurts　too　much。　I'm　so　cold　and　tired；　I　need　to　sleep；　just　a　little　sleep　beside　a　fire；　and　a　bite　to　eat　that　isn't　frozen。
　But　if　he　stopped　he　died。　He　knew　that。　They　all　knew　that；　the　few　who　were　left。　They　had　been　fifty　when　they　fled　the　Fist；　maybe　more；　but　some　had　wandered　off　in　the　snow；　a　few　wounded　had　bled　to　death　。　。　。　and　sometimes　Sam　heard　shouts　behind　him；　from　the　rear　guard；　and　once　an　awful　scream。　When　he　heard　that　he　had　run；　twenty　yards　or　thirty；　as　fast　and　as　far　as　he　could；　his　half…frozen　feet　kicking　up　the　snow；　He　would　be　running　still　if　his　legs　were　stronger。　They　are　behind　us；　they　are　still　behind　us；　they　are　taking　us　one　by　one。
　Sobbing；　Sam　took　another　step。　He　had　been　cold　so　long　he　was　forgetting　what　it　was　like　to　feel　warm。　He　wore　three　pairs　of　hose；　two　layers　of　smallclothes　beneath　a　double　lambswool　tunic；　and　over　that　a　thick　quilted　coat　that　padded　him　against　the　cold　steel　of　his　chainmail。　Over　the　hauberk　he　had　a　loose　surcoat；　over　that　a　triplethick　cloak　with　a　bone　button　that　fastened　tight　under　his　chins。　Its　hood　flopped　forward　over　his　forehead。　Heavy　fur　mitts　covered　his　hands　over　thin　wool…and…leather　gloves；　a　scarf　was　wrapped　snugly　about　the　lower　half　of　his　face；　and　he　had　a　tight…fitting　fleece…lined　cap　to　pull　down　over　his　ears　beneath　the　hood。　And　still　the　cold　was　in　him。　His　feet　especially。　He　couldn't　even　feel　them　now；　but　only　yesterday　they　had　hurt　so　bad　he　could　hardly　bear　to　stand　on　them；　let　alone　walk。　Every　step　made　him　want　to　scream。　Was　that　yesterday？　He　could　not　remember。　He　had　not　slept　since　the　Fist；　not　once　since　the　horn　had　blown。　Unless　it　was　while　he　was　walking。　Could　a　man　walk　while　he　was　sleeping？　Sam　did　not　know；　or　else　he　had　forgotten。
　Sobbing；　he　took　another　step。　The　snow　swirled　down　around　him。　Sometimes　it　fell　from　a　white　sky；　and　sometimes　from　a　black；　but　that　was　all　that　remained　of　day　and　night。　He　wore　it　on　his　shoulders　like　a　second　cloak；　and　it　piled　up　high　atop　the　pack　he　carried　and　made　it　even　heavier　and　harder　to　bear。　The　small　of　his　back　hurt　abominably；　as　if　someone　had　shoved　a　knife　in　there　and　was　wiggling　it　back　and　forth　with　every　step。　His　shoulders　were　in　agony　from　the　weight　of　the　mail。　He　would　have　given　most　anything　to　take　it　off；　but　he　was　afraid　to。　Anyway　he　would　have　needed　to　remove　his　cloak　and　surcoat　to　get　at　it；　and　then　the　cold　would　have　him。
　If　only　I　was　stronger　。　。　。　He　wasn't；　though；　and　it　was　no　good　wishing。　Sam　was　weak；　and　fat；　so　very　fat；　he　could　hardly　bear　his　own　weight；　the　mail　was　much　too　much　for　him。　It　felt　as　though　it　was　rubbing　his　shoulders　raw；　despite　the　layers　of　cloth　and　quilt　between　the　steel　and　skin。　The　only　th