Thrice longships were sighted by the crow’s nest. Two were well astern, however, and the Cinnamon Wind soon outdistanced them. The third appeared near sunset, to cut them off from Whispering Sound. When they saw her oars6 rising and falling, lashing7 the copper8 waters white, Kojja Mo sent her archers9 to the castles with their great bows of goldenheart that could send a shaft10 farther and truer than even Dornish yew11. She waited till the longship came within two hundred yards before she gave the command to loose. Sam loosed with them, and this time he thought his arrow reached the ship. One volley was all it took. The longship veered12 south in search of tamer prey.
A deep blue dusk was falling as they entered Whispering Sound. Gilly stood beside the prow13 with the babe, gazing up at a castle on the cliffs. “Three Towers,” Sam told her, “the seat of House Costayne.” Etched against the evening stars with torchlight flickering14 from its windows, the castle made a splendid sight, but he was sad to see it. Their voyage was almost at its end.
“It’s very tall,” said Gilly.
“Wait until you see the Hightower.”
Dalla’s babe began to cry. Gilly pulled open her tunic16 and gave the boy her breast. She smiled as he nursed, and stroked his soft brown hair. She has come to love this one as much as the one she left behind, Sam realized. He hoped that the gods would be kind to both of the children.
The ironmen had penetrated17 even to the sheltered waters of Whispering Sound. Come morning, as the Cinnamon Wind continued on toward Oldtown, she began to bump up against corpses18 drifting down to the sea. Some of the bodies carried complements19 of crows, who rose into the air complaining noisily when the swan ship disturbed their grotesquely20 swollen21 rafts. Scorched22 fields and burned villages appeared on the banks, and the shallows and sandbars were strewn with shattered ships. Merchanters and fishing boats were the most common, but they saw abandoned longships too, and the wreckage23 of two big dromonds. One had been burned down to the waterline, whilst the other had a gaping24 splintered hole in her side where her hull25 had been rammed26.
“Battle here,” said Xhondo. “Not so long.”
“Who would be so mad as to raid this close to Oldtown?”
Xhondo pointed27 at a half-sunken longship in the shallows. The remnants of a banner drooped28 from her stern, smoke-stained and ragged29. The charge was one Sam had never seen before: a red eye with a black pupil, beneath a black iron crown supported by two crows. “Whose banner is that?” Sam asked. Xhondo only shrugged30.
The next day was cold and misty31. As the Cinnamon Wind was creeping past another plundered32 fishing village, a war galley33 came sliding from the fog, stroking slowly toward them. Huntress was the name she bore, behind a figurehead of a slender maiden34 clad in leaves and brandishing35 a spear. A heartbeat later, two smaller galleys36 appeared on either side of her, like a pair of matched greyhounds stalking at their master’s heels. To Sam’s relief, they flew King Tommen’s stag-and-lion banner above the stepped white tower of Oldtown, with its crown of flame.
The captain of the Huntress was a tall man in a smoke-grey cloak with a border of red satin flames. He brought his galley in alongside the Cinnamon Wind, raised his oars, and shouted that he was coming aboard. As his crossbowmen and Kojja Mo’s archers eyed each other across the narrow span of water, he crossed over with half a dozen knights38, gave Quhuru Mo a nod, and asked to see his holds. Father and daughter conferred briefly39, then agreed.
“My apologies,” the captain said when his inspection40 was complete. “It grieves me that honest men must suffer such discourtesy, but sooner that than ironmen in Oldtown. Only a fortnight ago some of those bloody41 bastards42 captured a Tyroshi merchantman in the straits. They killed her crew, donned their clothes, and used the dyes they found to color their whiskers half a hundred colors. Once inside the walls they meant to set the port ablaze43 and open a gate from within whilst we fought the fire. Might have worked, but they ran afoul of the Lady of the Tower, and her oarsmaster has a Tyroshi wife. When he saw all the green and purple beards he hailed them in the tongue of Tyrosh, and not one of them had the words to hail him back.”
Sam was aghast. “They cannot mean to raid Oldtown.”
The captain of the Huntress gave him a curious look. “These are no mere44 reavers. The ironmen have always raided where they could. They would strike sudden from the sea, carry off some gold and girls, and sail away, but there were seldom more than one or two longships, and never more than half a dozen. Hundreds of their ships afflict45 us now, sailing out of the Shield Islands and some of the rocks around the Arbor. They have taken Stonecrab Cay, the Isle46 of Pigs, and the Mermaid’s Palace, and there are other nests on Horseshoe Rock and Bastard’s Cradle. Without Lord Redwyne’s fleet, we lack the ships to come to grips with them.”
“What is Lord Hightower doing?” Sam blurted47. “My father always said he was as wealthy as the Lannisters, and could command thrice as many swords as any of Highgarden’s other bannermen.”
“More, if he sweeps the cobblestones,” the captain said, “but swords are no good against the ironmen, unless the men who wield48 them know how to walk on water.”
“The Hightower must be doing something.”
“To be sure. Lord Leyton’s locked atop his tower with the Mad Maid, consulting books of spells. Might be he’ll raise an army from the deeps. Or not. Baelor’s building galleys, Gunthor has charge of the harbor, Garth is training new recruits, and Humfrey’s gone to Lys to hire sellsails. If he can winkle a proper fleet out of his whore of a sister, we can start paying back the ironmen with some of their own coin. Till then, the best we can do is guard the sound and wait for the bitch queen in King’s Landing to let Lord Paxter off his leash49.”
The bitterness of the captain’s final words shocked Sam as much as the things he said. If King’s Landing loses Oldtown and the Arbor, the whole realm will fall to pieces, he thought as he watched the Huntress and her sisters moving off.
It made him wonder if even Horn Hill was truly safe. The Tarly lands lay inland amidst thickly wooded foothills, a hundred leagues northeast of Oldtown and a long way from any coast. They should be well beyond the reach of ironmen and longships, even with his lord father off fighting in the riverlands and the castle lightly held. The Young Wolf had no doubt thought the same was true of Winterfell until the night that Theon Turncloak scaled his walls. Sam could not bear the thought that he might have brought Gilly and her babe all this long way to keep them out of harm, only to abandon them in the midst of war.
He wrestled50 with his doubts through the rest of the voyage, wondering what to do. He could keep Gilly with him in Oldtown, he supposed. The city’s walls were much more formidable than those of his father’s castle, and had thousands of men to defend them, as opposed to the handful Lord Randyll would have left at Horn Hill when he marched to Highgarden to answer his liege lord’s summons. If he did, though, he would need to hide her somehow; the Citadel51 did not permit its novices52 to keep wives or paramours, at least not openly. Besides, if I stay with Gilly very much longer, how will I ever find the strength to leave her? He had to leave her, or desert. I said the words, Sam reminded himself. If I desert, it will mean my head, and how will that help Gilly?
He considered begging Kojja Mo and her father to take the wildling girl with them to the Summer Isles54. That path had its perils55 too, however. When the Cinnamon Wind left Oldtown, she would need to cross the Redwyne Straits again, and this time she might not be so fortunate. What if the wind died, and the Summer Islanders found themselves becalmed? If the tales he’d heard were true, Gilly would be carried off for a thrall56 or salt wife, and the babe was like to be chucked into the sea as a nuisance.
It has to be Horn Hill, Sam finally decided57. Once we reach Oldtown I’ll hire a wagon58 and some horses and take her there myself. That way he could make certain of the castle and its garrison59, and if any part of what he saw or heard gave him pause, he could just turn around and bring Gilly back to Oldtown.
They reached Oldtown on a cold damp morning, when the fog was so thick that the beacon60 of the Hightower was the only part of the city to be seen. A boom stretched across the harbor, linking two dozen rotted hulks. Just behind it stood a line of warships61, anchored by three big dromonds and Lord Hightower’s towering four-decked banner ship, the Honor of Oldtown. Once again the Cinnamon Wind had to submit to inspection. This time it was Lord Leyton’s son Gunthor who came aboard, in a cloth-of-silver cloak and a suit of grey enameled62 scales. Ser Gunthor had studied at the Citadel for several years and spoke63 the Summer Tongue, so he and Qurulu Mo adjourned64 to the captain’s cabin for a privy65 conference.
Sam used the time to explain his plans to Gilly. “First the Citadel, to present Jon’s letters and tell them of Maester Aemon’s death. I expect the archmaesters will send a cart for his body. Then I will arrange for horses and a wagon to take you to my mother at Horn Hill. I will be back as soon as I can, but it may not be until the morrow.”
“The morrow,” she repeated, and gave him a kiss for luck.
At length Ser Gunthor reemerged and gave the signal for the chain to be opened so the Cinnamon Wind could slip through the boom to dock. Sam joined Kojja Mo and three of her archers near the gangplank as the swan ship was tying up, the Summer Islanders resplendent in the feathered cloaks they only wore ashore67. He felt a shabby thing beside them in his baggy68 blacks, faded cloak, and salt-stained boots. “How long will you remain in port?”
“Two days, ten days, who can say? However long it takes to empty our holds and fill them again.” Kojja grinned. “My father must visit the grey maesters as well. He has books to sell.”
“Can Gilly stay aboard till I return?”
“Gilly can stay as long as she likes.” She poked69 Sam in the belly70 with a finger. “She does not eat so much as some.”
“I’m not so fat as I was before,” Sam said defensively. The passage south had seen to that. All those watches, and nothing to eat but fruit and fish. Summer Islanders loved fruit and fish.
Sam followed the archers across the plank66, but once ashore they parted company and went their separate ways. He hoped he still remembered the way to the Citadel. Oldtown was a maze71, and he had no time for getting lost.
The day was damp, so the cobblestones were wet and slippery underfoot, the alleys37 shrouded72 in mist and mystery. Sam avoided them as best he could and stayed on the river road that wound along beside the Honeywine through the heart of the old city. It felt good to have solid ground beneath his feet again instead of a rolling deck, but the walk made him feel uncomfortable all the same. He could feel eyes on him, peering down from balconies and windows, watching him from the darkened doorways74. On the Cinnamon Wind he had known every face. Here, everywhere he turned he saw another stranger. Even worse was the thought of being seen by someone who knew him. Lord Randyll Tarly was known in Oldtown, but little loved. Sam did not know which would be worse: to be recognized by one of his lord father’s enemies or by one of his friends. He pulled his cloak up and quickened his pace.
The gates of the Citadel were flanked by a pair of towering green sphinxes with the bodies of lions, the wings of eagles, and the tails of serpents. One had a man’s face, one a woman’s. Just beyond stood Scribe’s Hearth75, where Oldtowners came in search of acolytes76 to write their wills and read their letters. Half a dozen bored scribes sat in open stalls, waiting for some custom. At other stalls books were being bought and sold. Sam stopped at one that offered maps, and looked over a hand-drawn78 map of Citadel to ascertain79 the shortest way to the Seneschal’s Court.
The path divided where the statue of King Daeron the First sat astride his tall stone horse, his sword lifted toward Dorne. A seagull was perched on the Young Dragon’s head, and two more on the blade. Sam took the left fork, which ran beside the river. At the Weeping Dock, he watched two acolytes help an old man into a boat for the short voyage to the Bloody Isle. A young mother climbed in after him, a babe not much older than Gilly’s squalling in her arms. Beneath the dock, some cook’s boys waded81 in the shallows, gathering82 frogs. A stream of pink-cheeked novices hurried by him toward the septry. I should have come here when I was their age, Sam thought. If I had run off and taken a false name, I could have disappeared amongst the other novices. Father could have pretended that Dickon was his only son. I doubt he would even have troubled to search for me, unless I took a mule83 to ride. Then he would have hunted me down, but only for the mule.
Outside the Seneschal’s Court, the rectors were locking an older novice53 into the stocks. “Stealing food from the kitchens,” one explained to the acolytes who were waiting to pelt84 the captive with rotting vegetables. They all gave Sam curious looks as he strode past, his black cloak billowing behind him like a sail.
Beyond the doors he found a hall with a stone floor and high, arched windows. At the far end a man with a pinched face sat upon a raised dais, scratching in a ledger85 with a quill86. Though the man was clad in a maester’s robe, there was no chain about his neck. Sam cleared his throat. “Good morrow.”
The man glanced up and did not appear to approve of what he saw. “You smell of novice.”
“I hope to be one soon.” Sam drew out the letters Jon Snow had given him. “I came from the Wall with Maester Aemon, but he died during the voyage. If I could speak with the Seneschal . . .”
“Your name?”
“Samwell. Samwell Tarly.”
The man wrote the name in his ledger and waved his quill at a bench along the wall. “Sit. You’ll be called when wanted.”
Sam took a seat on the bench.
Others came and went. Some delivered messages and took their leave. Some spoke to the man on the dais and were sent through the door behind him and up a turnpike stair. Some joined Sam on the benches, waiting for their names to be called. A few of those who were summoned had come in after him, he was almost certain. After the fourth or fifth time that happened, he rose and crossed the room again. “How much longer will it be?”
“The Seneschal is an important man.”
“I came all the way from the Wall.”
“Then you will have no trouble going a bit farther.” He waved his quill. “To that bench just there, beneath the window.”
Sam returned to the bench. Another hour passed. Others entered, spoke to the man on the dais, waited a few moments, and were ushered87 onward88. The gatekeeper did not so much as glance at Sam in all that time. The fog outside grew thinner as the day wore on, and pale sunlight slanted89 down through the windows. He found himself watching dust motes90 dance in the light. A yawn escaped him, then another. He picked at a broken blister92 on his palm, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
He must have drowsed. The next he knew, the man behind the dais was calling out a name. Sam came lurching to his feet, then sat back down again when he realized it was not his name.
“You need to slip Lorcas a penny, or you’ll be waiting here three days,” a voice beside him said. “What brings the Night’s Watch to the Citadel?”
The speaker was a slim, slight, comely93 youth, clad in doeskin breeches and a snug94 green brigandine with iron studs. He had skin the color of a light brown ale and a cap of tight black curls that came to a widow’s peak above his big black eyes. “The Lord Commander is restoring the abandoned castles,” Sam explained. “We need more maesters, for the ravens95 . . . did you say, a penny?”
“A penny will serve. For a silver stag Lorcas will carry you up to the Seneschal on his back. He has been fifty years an acolyte77. He hates novices, particularly novices of noble birth.”
“How could you tell I was of noble birth?”
“The same way you can tell that I’m half Dornish.” The statement was delivered with a smile, in a soft Dornish drawl.
Sam fumbled96 for a penny. “Are you a novice?”
“An acolyte. Alleras, by some called Sphinx.”
The name gave Sam a jolt97. “The sphinx is the riddle98, not the riddler99,” he blurted. “Do you know what that means?”
“No. Is it a riddle?”
“I wish I knew. I’m Samwell Tarly. Sam.”
“Well met. And what business does Samwell Tarly have with Archmaester Theobald?”
“Is he the Seneschal?” said Sam, confused. “Maester Aemon said his name was Norren.”
“Not for the past two turns. There is a new one every year. They fill the office by lot from amongst the archmaesters, most of whom regard it as a thankless task that takes them away from their true work. This year the black stone was drawn by Archmaester Walgrave, but Walgrave’s wits are prone100 to wander, so Theobald stepped up and said he’d serve his term. He’s a gruff man, but a good one. Did you say Maester Aemon?”
“Aye.”
“Aemon Targaryen?”
“Once. Most just called him Maester Aemon. He died during our voyage south. How is it that you know of him?”
“How not? He was more than just the oldest living maester. He was the oldest man in Westeros, and lived through more history than Archmaester Perestan has ever learned. He could have told us much and more about his father’s reign101, and his uncle’s. How old was he, do you know?”
“One hundred and two.”
“What was he doing at sea, at his age?”
Sam chewed on the question for a moment, wondering how much he ought to say. The sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler. Could Maester Aemon have meant this Sphinx? It seemed unlikely. “Lord Commander Snow sent him away to save his life,” he began, hesitantly. He spoke awkwardly of King Stannis and Melisandre of Asshai, intending to stop at that, but one thing led to another and he found himself speaking of Mance Rayder and his wildlings, king’s blood and dragons, and before he knew what was happening, all the rest came spilling out; the wights at the Fist of First Men, the Other on his dead horse, the murder of the Old Bear at Craster’s Keep, Gilly and their flight, Whitetree and Small Paul, Coldhands and the ravens, Jon’s becoming lord commander, the Blackbird, Dareon, Braavos, the dragons Xhondo saw in Qarth, the Cinnamon Wind and all that Maester Aemon whispered toward the end. He held back only the secrets that he was sworn to keep, about Bran Stark102 and his companions and the babes Jon Snow had swapped103. “Daenerys is the only hope,” he concluded. “Aemon said the Citadel must send her a maester at once, to bring her home to Westeros before it is too late.”
Alleras listened intently. He blinked from time to time, but he never laughed and never interrupted. When Sam was done he touched him lightly on the forearm with a slim brown hand and said, “Save your penny, Sam. Theobald will not believe half of that, but there are those who might. Will you come with me?”
“Where?”
“To speak with an archmaester.”
You must tell them, Sam, Maester Aemon had said. You must tell the archmaesters. “Very well.” He could always return to the Seneschal on the morrow, with a penny in his hand. “How far do we have to go?”
“Not far. The Isle of Ravens.”
They did not need a boat to reach the Isle of Ravens; a weathered wooden drawbridge linked it to the eastern bank. “The Ravenry is the oldest building at the Citadel,” Alleras told him, as they crossed over the slow-flowing waters of the Honeywine. “In the Age of Heroes it was supposedly the stronghold of a pirate lord who sat here robbing ships as they came down the river.”
Moss104 and creeping vines covered the walls, Sam saw, and ravens walked its battlements in place of archers. The drawbridge had not been raised in living memory.
It was cool and dim inside the castle walls. An ancient weirwood filled the yard, as it had since these stones had first been raised. The carved face on its trunk was grown over by the same purple moss that hung heavy from the tree’s pale limbs. Half of the branches seemed dead, but elsewhere a few red leaves still rustled105, and it was there the ravens liked to perch80. The tree was full of them, and there were more in the arched windows overhead, all around the yard. The ground was speckled by their droppings. As they crossed the yard, one flapped overhead and he heard the others quorking to each other. “Archmaester Walgrave has his chambers106 in the west tower, below the white rookery,” Alleras told him. “The white ravens and the black ones quarrel like Dornishmen and Marchers, so they keep them apart.”
“Will Archmaester Walgrave understand what I am telling him?” wondered Sam. “You said his wits were prone to wander.”
“He has good days and bad ones,” said Alleras, “but it is not Walgrave you’re going to see.” He opened the door to the north tower and began to climb. Sam clambered up the steps behind him. There were flutterings and mutterings from above, and here and there an angry scream, as the ravens complained of being woken.
At the top of the steps, a pale blond youth about Sam’s age sat outside a door of oak and iron, staring intently into a candle flame with his right eye. His left was hidden beneath a fall of ash blond hair. “What are you looking for?” Alleras asked him. “Your destiny? Your death?”
The blond youth turned from the candle, blinking. “Naked women,” he said. “Who’s this now?”
“Samwell. A new novice, come to see the Mage.”
“The Citadel is not what it was,” complained the blond. “They will take anything these days. Dusky dogs and Dornishmen, pig boys, cripples, cretins, and now a black-clad whale. And here I thought leviathans were grey.” A half cape91 striped in green and gold draped one shoulder. He was very handsome, though his eyes were sly and his mouth cruel.
Sam knew him. “Leo Tyrell.” Saying the name made him feel as if he were still a boy of seven, about to wet his smallclothes. “I am Sam, from Horn Hill. Lord Randyll Tarly’s son.”
“Truly?” Leo gave him another look. “I suppose you are. Your father told us all that you were dead. Or was it only that he wished you were?” He grinned. “Are you still a craven?”
“No,” lied Sam. Jon had made it a command. “I went beyond the Wall and fought in battles. They call me Sam the Slayer107.” He did not know why he said it. The words just tumbled out.
Leo laughed, but before he could reply the door behind him opened. “Get in here, Slayer,” growled108 the man in the doorway73. “And you, Sphinx. Now.”
“Sam,” said Alleras, “this is Archmaester Marwyn.”
Marwyn wore a chain of many metals around his bull’s neck. Save for that, he looked more like a dockside thug than a maester. His head was too big for his body, and the way it thrust forward from his shoulders, together with that slab109 of jaw110, made him look as if he were about to tear off someone’s head. Though short and squat111, he was heavy in the chest and shoulders, with a round, rock-hard ale belly straining at the laces of the leather jerkin he wore in place of robes. Bristly white hair sprouted112 from his ears and nostrils113. His brow beetled114, his nose had been broken more than once, and sourleaf had stained his teeth a mottled red. He had the biggest hands that Sam had ever seen.
When Sam hesitated, one of those hands grabbed him by the arm and yanked him through the door. The room beyond was large and round. Books and scrolls115 were everywhere, strewn across the tables and stacked up on the floor in piles four feet high. Faded tapestries116 and ragged maps covered the stone walls. A fire was burning in the hearth, beneath a copper kettle. Whatever was inside of it smelled burned. Aside from that, the only light came from a tall black candle in the center of the room.
The candle was unpleasantly bright. There was something queer about it. The flame did not flicker15, even when Archmaester Marwyn closed the door so hard that papers blew off a nearby table. The light did something strange to colors too. Whites were bright as fresh-fallen snow, yellow shone like gold, reds turned to flame, but the shadows were so black they looked like holes in the world. Sam found himself staring. The candle itself was three feet tall and slender as a sword, ridged and twisted, glittering black. “Is that . . . ?”
“. . . obsidian,” said the other man in the room, a pale, fleshy, pasty-faced young fellow with round shoulders, soft hands, close-set eyes, and food stains on his robes.
“Call it dragonglass.” Archmaester Marwyn glanced at the candle for a moment. “It burns but is not consumed.”
“What feeds the flame?” asked Sam.
“What feeds a dragon’s fire?” Marwyn seated himself upon a stool. “All Valyrian sorcery was rooted in blood or fire. The sorcerers of the Freehold could see across mountains, seas, and deserts with one of these glass candles. They could enter a man’s dreams and give him visions, and speak to one another half a world apart, seated before their candles. Do you think that might be useful, Slayer?”
“We would have no more need of ravens.”
“Only after battles.” The archmaester peeled a sourleaf off a bale, shoved it in his mouth, and began to chew it. “Tell me all you told our Dornish sphinx. I know much of it and more, but some small parts may have escaped my notice.”
He was not a man to be refused. Sam hesitated a moment, then told his tale again as Marywn, Alleras, and the other novice listened. “Maester Aemon believed that Daenerys Targaryen was the fulfillment of a prophecy . . . her, not Stannis, nor Prince Rhaegar, nor the princeling whose head was dashed against the wall.”
“Born amidst salt and smoke, beneath a bleeding star. I know the prophecy.” Marwyn turned his head and spat117 a gob of red phlegm onto the floor. “Not that I would trust it. Gorghan of Old Ghis once wrote that a prophecy is like a treacherous118 woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is . . . and then her teeth snap t and your moans turn to screams. That is the nature of prophecy, said Gorghan. Prophecy will bite your prick119 off every time.” He chewed a bit. “Still . . .”
Alleras stepped up next to Sam. “Aemon would have gone to her if he had the strength. He wanted us to send a maester to her, to counsel her and protect her and fetch her safely home.”
“Did he?” Archmaester Marwyn shrugged. “Perhaps it’s good that he died before he got to Oldtown. Elsewise the grey sheep might have had to kill him, and that would have made the poor old dears wring120 their wrinkled hands.”
“Kill him?” Sam said, shocked. “Why?”
“If I tell you, they may need to kill you too.” Marywn smiled a ghastly smile, the juice of the sourleaf running red between his teeth. “Who do you think killed all the dragons the last time around? Gallant121 dragonslayers armed with swords?” He spat. “The world the Citadel is building has no place in it for sorcery or prophecy or glass candles, much less for dragons. Ask yourself why Aemon Targaryen was allowed to waste his life upon the Wall, when by rights he should have been raised to archmaester. His blood was why. He could not be trusted. No more than I can.”
“What will you do?” asked Alleras, the Sphinx.
“Get myself to Slaver’s Bay, in Aemon’s place. The swan ship that delivered Slayer should serve my needs well enough. The grey sheep will send their man on a galley, I don’t doubt. With fair winds I should reach her first.” Marwyn glanced at Sam again, and frowned. “You . . . you should stay and forge your chain. If I were you, I would do it quickly. A time will come when you’ll be needed on the Wall.” He turned to the pasty-faced novice. “Find Slayer a dry cell. He’ll sleep here, and help you tend the ravens.”
“B-b-but,” Sam sputtered122, “the other archmaesters . . . the Seneschal . . . what should I tell them?”
“Tell them how wise and good they are. Tell them that Aemon commanded you to put yourself into their hands. Tell them that you have always dreamed that one day you might be allowed to wear the chain and serve the greater good, that service is the highest honor, and obedience123 the highest virtue124. But say nothing of prophecies or dragons, unless you fancy poison in your porridge.” Marwyn snatched a stained leather cloak off a peg125 near the door and tied it tight. “Sphinx, look after this one.”
“I will,” Alleras answered, but the archmaester was already gone. They heard his boots stomping126 down the steps.
“Where has he gone?” asked Sam, bewildered.
“To the docks. The Mage is not a man who believes in wasting time.” Alleras smiled. “I have a confession127. Ours was no chance encounter, Sam. The Mage sent me to snatch you up before you spoke to Theobald. He knew that you were coming.”
“How?”
Alleras nodded at the glass candle.
Sam stared at the strange pale flame for a moment, then blinked and looked away. Outside the window it was growing dark.
“There’s an empty sleeping cell under mine in the west tower, with steps that lead right up to Walgrave’s chambers,” said the pasty-faced youth. “If you don’t mind the ravens quorking, there’s a good view of the Honeywine. Will that serve?”
“I suppose.” He had to sleep somewhere.
“I will bring you some woolen128 coverlets. Stone walls turn cold at night, even here.”
“My thanks.” There was something about the pale, soft youth that he misliked, but he did not want to seem discourteous129, so he added, “My name’s not Slayer, truly. I’m Sam. Samwell Tarly.”
“I’m Pate,” the other said, “like the pig boy.”
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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8
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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9
archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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11
yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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12
veered
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| v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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13
prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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14
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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15
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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16
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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17
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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18
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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19
complements
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| 补充( complement的名词复数 )； 补足语； 补充物； 补集（数） | |
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20
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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21
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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22
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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23
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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24
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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25
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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26
rammed
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| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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27
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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28
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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30
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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31
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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32
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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34
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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35
brandishing
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| v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 )；炫耀 | |
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36
galleys
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| n.平底大船，战舰( galley的名词复数 )；（船上或航空器上的）厨房 | |
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37
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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38
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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39
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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40
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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41
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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42
bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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43
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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44
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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45
afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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46
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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47
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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49
leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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50
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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51
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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52
novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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53
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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54
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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55
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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56
thrall
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| n.奴隶；奴隶制 | |
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57
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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58
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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59
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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60
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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61
warships
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| 军舰，战舰( warship的名词复数 )； 舰只 | |
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62
enameled
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| 涂瓷釉于，给…上瓷漆，给…上彩饰( enamel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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64
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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66
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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67
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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68
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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69
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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70
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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71
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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72
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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73
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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74
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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75
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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76
acolytes
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| n.助手( acolyte的名词复数 )；随从；新手；（天主教）侍祭 | |
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77
acolyte
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| n.助手，侍僧 | |
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78
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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79
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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80
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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81
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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83
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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84
pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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85
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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86
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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87
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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89
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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90
motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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91
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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92
blister
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| n.水疱；(油漆等的)气泡；v.(使)起泡 | |
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93
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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94
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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95
ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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96
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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97
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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98
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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99
riddler
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| n.出迷(语)的人 | |
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100
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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101
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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102
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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103
swapped
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| 交换（工作）( swap的过去式和过去分词 )； 用…替换，把…换成，掉换（过来） | |
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104
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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105
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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107
slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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108
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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109
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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110
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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111
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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112
sprouted
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| v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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113
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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114
beetled
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| v.快速移动( beetle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
scrolls
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| n.（常用于录写正式文件的）纸卷( scroll的名词复数 )；卷轴；涡卷形（装饰）；卷形花纹v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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116
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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117
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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118
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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119
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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120
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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121
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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122
sputtered
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| v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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123
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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124
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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125
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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126
stomping
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的现在分词 ) | |
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127
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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128
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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129
discourteous
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| adj.不恭的，不敬的 | |
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