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《冰与火之歌》原创中文版来袭,持续更新中……

丸子日迹 2019-09-06 11:45:25

丸子日迹

本期将为大家送上点不一样的东西

《冰与火之歌》原创中文版

特别感谢丸子的朋友P先森为大家带来的原创翻译作品

丸子在文末也为大家准备了对应的英文原著

看故事的同时也可以提高英文阅读水平哦


《冰与火之歌》由美国著名科幻奇幻小说家乔治·R·R·马丁所著,是当代奇幻文学一部影响深远的里程碑式的作品。它于1996年刚一问世,便以别具一格的结构,浩瀚辽阔的视野,错落有致的情节和生动活泼的语言,迅速征服了欧美文坛。迄今,本书已被译为数十种文字,并在各个国家迭获大奖。

本书主要描述了在一片虚构的中世纪大陆上所发生的一系列相互联系的宫廷斗争、疆场厮杀、游历冒险和魔法抗衡的故事,全书七卷(包括未出的各卷)浑然一体,共同组成了一幅壮丽而完整的画卷。

2011年,《冰与火之歌》被编成了电视剧《权力的游戏》。

序  言

《权利的游戏》第一季第一集截图


“我们该回程了”,盖尔德见四周森林渐渐变黑不由催促到,说:“野人都死光了”。

“死人吓着你了?”威玛尔爵士微微一笑。

盖尔德没有接话,他已经五十岁了,见证了不少大人物的来来去去。

最后他还是说到:“死去的人已经死去,于我们已无关系”。

“他们真全死了么?”威玛尔轻轻问道,“我们有什么证据能证明?”

“威尔见到了”,盖尔德说:“如果威尔说他们全死了,那他们就死了。于我而言,他的话就是证据”

威尔就知道他迟早要被卷入他们的争吵中,他只希望这能迟点发生:“我母亲说,亡者是不能再歌唱的”,威尔只插了一句话。

威尔也变得担心起来,他在守夜人的城墙上呆了四年,回忆起他被送到这极北之地时,所有听过的古老故事都跃上心头,他当时被吓得不行——当然过后他也笑过自己当时的表现。他现在是一个百里挑一的游击者,北方人称为鬼林的黑暗森林现在在他面前他也再无半点惧意。

直到今晚,他觉察到了一丝不寻常在这黑暗之后有种东西让他寒毛直竖。九天的骑马赶路,先向北后往西北再向北,离冰墙已经越来越远。他们一行守夜人吃力地跟住一小队野人袭击者。这些天来一天比一天的情况差,今天是最差的。北方吹来一股股冷风,使得树木沙沙作响,犹如生灵。一整天威尔都觉得有什么东西在哪儿看着他。

那东西对他满是敌意,盖尔德也感觉到了。威尔现在只想策马奔驰,头也不回地赶回冰墙内。

这想法当然是不能给你的指挥官说的。尤其像威玛尔这样的指挥官。

威玛尔.罗伊斯原本是一个古老家族众多后嗣中最小的一个。十八岁时他是一个帅小伙,有着灰色的大眼睛,如长刀般修长的身材和优雅。如今他坐在高大的军马上,使得他在坐在载重马上的威尔和盖尔德面前显得犹如高塔。他穿着黑色的皮靴,黑色的羊毛裤子,戴着黑鼹鼠毛制成的手套,穿着一件衬有一层层黑色羊毛和煮过的毛皮、外面套着链甲的又柔软又闪闪发光的大衣。

威玛尔爵士成为一名起誓的守夜人还不足半年,但没人敢说他未适应他的新使命至少从他的行头上看就是如此。他的披风由紫貂皮制成,一如他的荣誉,又黑又软又厚。“我打赌是他亲手杀掉的这些紫貂”,盖尔德曾在酒后对着营房的兄弟们说:“我们无敌的勇士一个一个地拧断了这些小东西的头”。他们听后无不一通大笑。

不得不听令于你曾嘲笑过的人无疑是让人如鲠在喉的,威尔在他的矮壮马上浑身发抖,盖尔德也好不到哪去。

“莫尔蒙要我们跟踪这队野人,我们已经做到了,”盖尔德说,:“这队野人都死了,不会给我们带来任何麻烦了,一路赶来已不容易,但如果下雪,我们就要两周才能回去,现实状况是,下雪都算好的,您可曾见过冰暴,大人?”

这位大人就如没听到他说话一般,他半无聊半无意地看着愈加昏暗的天色。威尔已经和这个骑士大人一起赶了足够远的路——足够到知晓当他这个样子的时候,最好别去打扰他。

“威尔,再告诉我一遍你的所见,我要听所有的细节,别遗漏掉什么。”

威尔在加入守夜人之前是一个猎手,准确地说是一个偷猎者,麦利斯特自由骑手在他们的猎场林里抓住了威尔,当时他正在双手鲜红地给一只雄鹿去皮。于威尔而言,当时就是丢一只手或者披上黑衣变成守夜人的抉择。没人可以如威尔一般在森林里不发一响地潜行,这一点守夜人并没有用多少时间来发现威尔的这一特长。

盖尔德直盯着这位大人,伊蒙学士帮他切除坏死的耳朵后,留下的只有触目的鲜红。

“等凛冬到来时,我们再看看您穿多少能觉着暖和。”他说完重新披上了兜帽。

“那盖尔德说的寒冷?”威尔试着说到。

“威尔,上几周你可曾在冰墙上放哨?”

“是的,大人”。没有哪一周威尔能逃离那该死的执勤放哨。问这个是个什么意思嘛。

“你看到冰墙在怎样?”

“慢慢融化。”威尔皱着眉头说。他清楚的看到冰墙表面缓慢融化着,想到这里,他明白了威玛尔的意思了,“他们不可能冻死,既然冰墙还在融化,那就证明不够冷。”

威玛尔爵士点了点头,“聪明,这几周确实有几次霜冻,也有几次暴风雪,但毫无疑问的是不至于冻死8个身穿毛皮和羽绒衣服的成年人”。威玛尔继续分析道:“身边就是棚子居所,还有生火的办法”。他脸上满是自信的微笑:“威尔,带我们去,我要亲眼看看这些死人。”

到这个时候也没什么能拒绝的了,既然命令已经下达,守夜人的荣誉使得他们必须执行。

威尔在最前方带路,他的蓬松矮壮马小心翼翼地穿过灌木丛,昨晚下了电雪,雪面下可能就是石头树根或者水坑,等待着粗心的人中招。

威玛尔爵士紧跟在后,他的大军马不耐烦的打着鼻响。战马是不合适做侦查和游击用的。

暮色慢慢更深了,无云的夜空呈现出深紫色,一如淤伤的颜色。随后转至黑色,星星开始出来,一轮半月慢慢升起,威尔看到变亮月光后感到了一丝心安。

未完待续……

英文原版


 PROLOGUE

   We should start back,” Gared urged as the woods began to grow dark around them. “The wildlings are dead.”

   “Do the dead frighten you?” Ser Waymar Royce asked with just the hint of a smile.

   Gared did not rise to the bait. He was an old man, past fifty, and he had seen the lordlings come and go. “Dead is dead,” he said. “We have no business with the dead.”

   “Are they dead?” Royce asked softly. “What proof have we?”

   “Will saw them,” Gared said. “If he says they are dead, that’s proof enough for me.”

   Will had known they would drag him into the quarrel sooner or later. He wished it had been later rather than sooner. “My mother told me that dead men sing no songs,” he put in.

   “My wet nurse said the same thing, Will,” Royce replied. “Never believe anything you hear at a woman’s tit. There are things to be learned even from the dead.” His voice echoed, too loud in the twilit forest.

   “We have a long ride before us,” Gared pointed out. “Eight days, maybe nine. And night is falling.”

   Ser Waymar Royce glanced at the sky with disinterest. “It does that every day about this time. Are you unmanned by the dark, Gared?”

   Will could see the tightness around Gared’s mouth, the barely suppressed anger in his eyes under the thick black hood of his cloak. Gared had spent forty years in the Night’s Watch, man and boy, and he was not accustomed to being made light of. Yet it was more than that. Under the wounded pride, Will could sense something else in the older man. You could taste it; a nervous tension that came perilous close to fear.

   Will shared his unease. He had been four years on the Wall. The first time he had been sent beyond, all the old stories had come rushing back, and his bowels had turned to water. He had laughed about it afterward. He was a veteran of a hundred rangings by now, and the endless dark wilderness that the southron called the haunted forest had no more terrors for him.

   Until tonight. Something was different tonight. There was an edge to this darkness that made his hackles rise. Nine days they had been riding, north and northwest and then north again, farther and farther from the Wall, hard on the track of a band of wildling raiders. Each day had been worse than the day that had come before it. Today was the worst of all. A cold wind was blowing out of the north, and it made the trees rustle like living things. All day, Will had felt as though something were watching him, something cold and implacable that loved him not. Gared had felt it too. Will wanted nothing so much as to ride hellbent for the safety of the Wall, but that was not a feeling to share with your commander.

   Especially not a commander like this one.

   Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife. Mounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their smaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Ser Waymar had been a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch for less than half a year, but no one could say he had not prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his wardrobe was concerned.

   His cloak was his crowning glory; sable, thick and black and soft as sin. “Bet he killed them all himself, he did,” Gared told the barracks over wine, “twisted their little heads off, our mighty warrior.” They had all shared the laugh.

   It is hard to take orders from a man you laughed at in your cups, Will reflected as he sat shivering atop his garron. Gared must have felt the same.

   “Mormont said as we should track them, and we did,” Gared said. “They’re dead. They shan’t trouble us no more. There’s hard riding before us. I don’t like this weather. If it snows, we could be a fortnight getting back, and snow’s the best we can hope for. Ever seen an ice storm, my lord?”

   The lordling seemed not to hear him. He studied the deepening twilight in that half-bored, half-distracted way he had. Will had ridden with the knight long enough to understand that it was best not to interrupt him when he looked like that. “Tell me again what you saw, Will. All the details. Leave nothing out.”

   Will had been a hunter before he joined the Night’s Watch. Well, a poacher in truth. Mallister freeriders had caught him red-handed in the Mallisters’ own woods, skinning one of the Mallisters’ own bucks, and it had been a choice of putting on the black or losing a hand. No one could move through the woods as silent as Will, and it had not taken the black brothers long to discover his talent.

   “The camp is two miles farther on, over that ridge, hard beside a stream,” Will said. “I got close as I dared. There’s eight of them, men and women both. No children I could see. They put up a lean-to against the rock. The snow’s pretty well covered it now, but I could still make it out. No fire burning, but the firepit was still plain as day. No one moving. I watched a long time. No living man ever lay so still.”

   “Did you see any blood?”

   “Well, no,” Will admitted.

   “Did you see any weapons?”

   “Some swords, a few bows. One man had an axe. Heavy-looking, double-bladed, a cruel piece of iron. It was on the ground beside him, right by his hand.”

   “Did you make note of the position of the bodies?”

   Will shrugged. “A couple are sitting up against the rock. Most of them on the ground. Fallen, like.”

   “Or sleeping,” Royce suggested.

   “Fallen,” Will insisted. “There’s one woman up an ironwood, half-hid in the branches. A far-eyes.” He smiled thinly. “I took care she never saw me. When I got closer, I saw that she wasn’t moving neither.” Despite himself, he shivered.

   “You have a chill?” Royce asked.

   “Some,” Will muttered. “The wind, m’lord.”

   The young knight turned back to his grizzled man-at-arms. Frostfallen leaves whispered past them, and Royce’s destrier moved restlessly. “What do you think might have killed these men, Gared?” Ser Waymar asked casually. He adjusted the drape of his long sable cloak.

   “It was the cold,” Gared said with iron certainty. “I saw men freeze last winter, and the one before, when I was half a boy. Everyone talks about snows forty foot deep, and how the ice wind comes howling out of the north, but the real enemy is the cold. It steals up on you quieter than Will, and at first you shiver and your teeth chatter and you stamp your feet and dream of mulled wine and nice hot fires. It burns, it does. Nothing burns like the cold. But only for a while. Then it gets inside you and starts to fill you up, and after a while you don’t have the strength to fight it. It’s easier just to sit down or go to sleep. They say you don’t feel any pain toward the end. First you go weak and drowsy, and everything starts to fade, and then it’s like sinking into a sea of warm milk. Peaceful, like.”

   “Such eloquence, Gared,” Ser Waymar observed. “I never suspected you had it in you.”

   “I’ve had the cold in me too, lordling.” Gared pulled back his hood, giving Ser Waymar a good long look at the stumps where his ears had been. “Two ears, three toes, and the little finger off my left hand. I got off light. We found my brother frozen at his watch, with a smile on his face.”

   Ser Waymar shrugged. “You ought dress more warmly, Gared.”

   Gared glared at the lordling, the scars around his ear holes flushed red with anger where Maester Aemon had cut the ears away. “We’ll see how warm you can dress when the winter comes.” He pulled up his hood and hunched over his garron, silent and sullen.

   “If Gared said it was the cold?.?.?.?” Will began.

   “Have you drawn any watches this past week, Will?”

   “Yes, m’lord.” There never was a week when he did not draw a dozen bloody watches. What was the man driving at?

   “And how did you find the Wall?”

   “Weeping,” Will said, frowning. He saw it clear enough, now that the lordling had pointed it out. “They couldn’t have froze. Not if the Wall was weeping. It wasn’t cold enough.”

   Royce nodded. “Bright lad. We’ve had a few light frosts this past week, and a quick flurry of snow now and then, but surely no cold fierce enough to kill eight grown men. Men clad in fur and leather, let me remind you, with shelter near at hand, and the means of making fire.” The knight’s smile was cocksure. “Will, lead us there. I would see these dead men for myself.”

   And then there was nothing to be done for it. The order had been given, and honor bound them to obey.

   Will went in front, his shaggy little garron picking the way carefully through the undergrowth. A light snow had fallen the night before, and there were stones and roots and hidden sinks lying just under its crust, waiting for the careless and the unwary. Ser Waymar Royce came next, his great black destrier snorting impatiently. The warhorse was the wrong mount for ranging, but try and tell that to the lordling. Gared brought up the rear. The old man-at-arms muttered to himself as he rode.

   Twilight deepened. The cloudless sky turned a deep purple, the color of an old bruise, then faded to black. The stars began to come out. A half-moon rose. Will was grateful for the light.

    To be continued……



P先森是“权利的游戏”的忠实粉丝,他说原著比剧看得更加过瘾,情节也更加丰满细腻,于是诞生了翻译原著并分享给更多人的想法。但因为P先森工作实在太忙,只能不定期更新,希望大家能够理解!

本期内容是P先森的原创翻译,未经他本人授权不得转载、摘编或利用其他方式使用上述作品,否则将追究其相关法律责任。


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