Finally, despairing of rest, Quentyn Martell made his way to his solar, where he poured himself a cup of wine and drank it in the dark. The taste was sweet solace4 on his tongue, so he lit a candle and poured himself another. Wine will help me sleep, he told himself, but he knew that was a lie.
He stared at the candle for a long time, then put down his cup and held his palm above the flame. It took every bit of will he had to lower it until the fire touched his flesh, and when it did he snatched his hand back with a cry of pain.
“Quentyn, are you mad?”
No, just scared. I do not want to burn. “Gerris?”
“I heard you moving about.”
“I could not sleep.”
“Are burns a cure for that? Some warm milk and a lullaby might serve you well. Or better still, I could take you to the Temple of the Graces and find a girl for you.”
“A whore, you mean.”
“They call them Graces. They come in different colors. The red ones are the only ones who fuck.” Gerris seated himself across the table. “The septas back home should take up the custom, if you ask me. Have you noticed that old septas always look like prunes5? That’s what a life of chastity will do to you.”
Quentyn glanced out at the terrace, where night’s shadows lay thick amongst the trees. He could hear the soft sound of falling water. “Is that rain? Your whores will be gone.”
“Not all of them. There are little snuggeries in the pleasure gardens, and they wait there every night until a man chooses them. Those who are not chosen must remain until the sun comes up, feeling lonely and neglected. We could console them.”
“They could console me, is what you mean.”
“That too.”
“That is not the sort of consolation6 I require.”
“I disagree. Daenerys Targaryen is not the only woman in the world. Do you want to die a man-maid?”
Quentyn did not want to die at all. I want to go back to Yronwood and kiss both of your sisters, marry Gwyneth Yronwood, watch her flower into beauty, have a child by her. I want to ride in tourneys, hawk7 and hunt, visit with my mother in Norvos, read some of those books my father sends me. I want Cletus and Will and Maester Kedry to be alive again. “Do you think Daenerys would be pleased to hear that I had bedded some whore?”
“She might be. Men may be fond of maidens8, but women like a man who knows what he’s about in the bedchamber. It’s another sort of swordplay. Takes training to be good at it.”
The gibe9 stung. Quentyn had never felt so much a boy as when he’d stood before Daenerys Targaryen, pleading for her hand. The thought of bedding her terrified him almost as much as her dragons had. What if he could not please her? “Daenerys has a paramour,” he said defensively. “My father did not send me here to amuse the queen in the bedchamber. You know why we have come.”
“You cannot marry her. She has a husband.”
“She does not love Hizdahr zo Loraq.”
“What has love to do with marriage? A prince should know better. Your father married for love, it’s said. How much joy has he had of that?”
Little and less. Doran Martell and his Norvoshi wife had spent half their marriage apart and the other half arguing. It was the only rash thing his father had ever done, to hear some tell it, the only time he had followed his heart instead of his head, and he had lived to rue10 it. “Not all risks lead to ruin,” he insisted. “This is my duty. My destiny.” You are supposed to be my friend, Gerris. Why must you mock my hopes? I have doubts enough without your throwing oil on the fire of my fear. “This will be my grand adventure.”
“Men die on grand adventures.”
He was not wrong. That was in the stories too. The hero sets out with his friends and companions, faces dangers, comes home triumphant11. Only some of his companions don’t return at all. The hero never dies, though. I must be the hero. “All I need is courage. Would you have Dorne remember me as a failure?”
“Dorne is not like to remember any of us for long.”
Quentyn sucked at the burned spot on his palm. “Dorne remembers Aegon and his sisters. Dragons are not so easily forgotten. They will remember Daenerys as well.”
“Not if she’s died.”
“She lives.” She must. “She is lost, but I can find her.” And when I do, she will look at me the way she looks at her sellsword. Once I have proven myself worthy12 of her.
“From dragonback?”
“I have been riding horses since I was six years old.”
“And you’ve been thrown a time or three.”
“That never stopped me from getting back into the saddle.”
“You’ve never been thrown off a thousand feet above the ground,” Gerris pointed13 out. “And horses seldom turn their riders into charred14 bones and ashes.”
I know the dangers. “I’ll hear no more of this. You have my leave to go. Find a ship and run home, Gerris.” The prince rose, blew the candle out, and crept back to his bed and its sweat-soaked linen sheets. I should have kissed one of the Drinkwater twins, or maybe both of them. I should have kissed them whilst I could. I should have gone to Norvos to see my mother and the place that gave her birth, so she would know that I had not forgotten her. He could hear the rain falling outside, drumming against the bricks.
By the time the hour of the wolf crept upon them, the rain was falling steadily16, slashing17 down in a hard, cold torrent20 that would soon turn the brick streets of Meereen into rivers. The three Dornishmen broke their fast in the predawn chill—a simple meal of fruit and bread and cheese, washed down with goat milk. When Gerris made to pour himself a cup of wine, Quentyn stopped him. “No wine. There will be time enough for drink afterward21.”
“One hopes,” said Gerris.
The big man looked out toward the terrace. “I knew it would rain,” he said in a gloomy tone. “My bones were aching last night. They always ache before it rains. The dragons won’t like this. Fire and water don’t mix, and that’s a fact. You get a good cookfire lit, blazing away nice, then it starts to piss down rain and next thing your wood is sodden22 and your flames are dead.”
Gerris chuckled23. “Dragons are not made of wood, Arch.”
“Some are. That old King Aegon, the randy one, he built wooden dragons to conquer us. That ended bad, though.”
So may this, the prince thought. The follies24 and failures of Aegon the Unworthy did not concern him, but he was full of doubts and misgivings25. The labored26 banter27 of his friends was only making his head ache. They do not understand. They may be Dornish, but I am Dorne. Years from now, when I am dead, this will be the song they sing of me. He rose abruptly28. “It’s time.”
His friends got to their feet. Ser Archibald drained the last of his goat’s milk and wiped the milk mustache from his upper lip with the back of a big hand. “I’ll get our mummer’s garb29.”
He returned with the bundle that they had collected from the Tattered30 Prince at their second meeting. Within were three long hooded31 cloaks made from myriad32 small squares of cloth sewn together, three cudgels, three shortswords, three masks of polished brass33. A bull, a lion, and an ape.
Everything required to be a Brazen34 Beast.
“They may ask for a word,” the Tattered Prince had warned them when he handed over the bundle. “It’s dog.”
“You are certain of that?” Gerris had asked him.
“Certain enough to wager35 a life upon it.”
The prince did not mistake his meaning. “My life.”
“That would be the one.”
“How did you learn their word?”
“We chanced upon some Brazen Beasts and Meris asked them prettily36. But a prince should know better than to pose such questions, Dornish. In Pentos, we have a saying. Never ask the baker37 what went into the pie. Just eat.”
Just eat. There was wisdom in that, Quentyn supposed.
“I’ll be the bull,” Arch announced.
Quentyn handed him the bull mask. “The lion for me.”
“Which makes a monkey out of me.” Gerris pressed the ape mask to his face. “How do they breathe in these things?”
“Just put it on.” The prince was in no mood for japes.
The bundle contained a whip as well—a nasty piece of old leather with a handle of brass and bone, stout38 enough to peel the hide off an ox. “What’s that for?” Arch asked.
“Daenerys used a whip to cow the black beast.” Quentyn coiled the whip and hung it from his belt. “Arch, bring your hammer as well. We may have need of it.”
It was no easy thing to enter the Great Pyramid of Meereen by night. The doors were closed and barred each day at sunset and remained closed until first light. Guards were posted at every entrance, and more guards patrolled the lowest terrace, where they could look down on the street. Formerly39 those guards had been Unsullied. Now they were Brazen Beasts. And that would make all the difference, Quentyn hoped.
The watch changed when the sun came up, but dawn was still half an hour off as the three Dornishmen made their way down the servants’ steps. The walls around them were made of bricks of half a hundred colors, but the shadows turned them all to grey until touched by the light of the torch that Gerris carried. They encountered no one on the long descent. The only sound was the scuff40 of their boots on the worn bricks beneath their feet.
The pyramid’s main gates fronted on Meereen’s central plaza41, but the Dornishmen made their way to a side entrance opening on an alley42. These were the gates that slaves had used in former days as they went about their masters’ business, where smallfolk and tradesmen came and went and made their deliveries.
The doors were solid bronze, closed with a heavy iron bar. Before them stood two Brazen Beasts, armed with cudgels, spears, and short swords. Torchlight glimmered43 off the polished brass of their masks—a rat and a fox. Quentyn gestured for the big man to stay back in the shadows. He and Gerris strode forward together.
“You come early,” the fox said.
Quentyn shrugged44. “We can leave again, if you like. You’re welcome to stand our watch.” He sounded not at all Ghiscari, he knew; but half the Brazen Beasts were freed slaves, with all manner of native tongues, so his accent went unremarked.
“Bugger that,” the rat remarked.
“Give us the day’s word,” said the fox.
“Dog,” said the Dornishman.
The two Brazen Beasts exchanged a look. For three long heartbeats Quentyn was afraid that something had gone amiss, that somehow Pretty Meris and the Tattered Prince had gotten the word wrong. Then the fox grunted45. “Dog, then,” he said. “The door is yours.” As they moved off, the prince began to breathe again.
They did not have long. The real relief would doubtless turn up shortly. “Arch,” he called, and the big man appeared, the torchlight shining off his bull’s mask. “The bar. Hurry.”
The iron bar was thick and heavy, but well oiled. Ser Archibald had no trouble lifting it. As he was standing46 it on end, Quentyn pulled the doors open and Gerris stepped through, waving the torch. “Bring it in now. Be quick about it.”
The butcher’s wagon47 was outside, waiting in the alley. The driver gave the mule48 a lick and rumbled49 through, iron-rimmed wheels clacking loudly over bricks. The quartered carcass of an ox filled the wagon bed, along with two dead sheep. Half a dozen men entered afoot. Five wore the cloaks and masks of Brazen Beasts, but Pretty Meris had not troubled to disguise herself. “Where is your lord?” he asked Meris.
“I have no lord,” she answered. “If you mean your fellow prince, he is near, with fifty men. Bring your dragon out, and he will see you safe away, as promised. Caggo commands here.”
Ser Archibald was giving the butcher’s wagon the sour eye. “Will that cart be big enough to hold a dragon?” he asked.
“Should. It’s held two oxen.” The Corpsekiller was garbed51 as a Brazen Beast, his seamed, scarred face hidden behind a cobra mask, but the familiar black arakh slung52 at his hip15 gave him away. “We were told these beasts are smaller than the queen’s monster.”
“The pit has slowed their growth.” Quentyn’s readings had suggested that the same thing had occurred in the Seven Kingdoms. None of the dragons bred and raised in the Dragonpit of King’s Landing had ever approached the size of Vhagar or Meraxes, much less that of the Black Dread53, King Aegon’s monster. “Have you brought sufficient chains?”
“How many dragons do you have?” said Pretty Meris. “We have chains enough for ten, concealed54 beneath the meat.”
“Very good.” Quentyn felt light-headed. None of this seemed quite real. One moment it felt like a game, the next like some nightmare, like a bad dream where he found himself opening a dark door, knowing that horror and death waited on the other side, yet somehow powerless to stop himself. His palms were slick with sweat. He wiped them on his legs and said, “There will be more guards outside the pit.”
“We know,” said Gerris.
“We need to be ready for them.”
“We are,” said Arch.
There was a cramp55 in Quentyn’s belly57. He felt a sudden need to move his bowels58, but knew he dare not beg off now. “This way, then.” He had seldom felt more like a boy. Yet they followed; Gerris and the big man, Meris and Caggo and the other Windblown. Two of the sellswords had produced crossbows from some hiding place within the wagon.
Beyond the stables, the ground level of the Great Pyramid became a labyrinth59, but Quentyn Martell had been through here with the queen, and he remembered the way. Under three huge brick arches they went, then down a steep stone ramp56 into the depths, through the dungeons60 and torture chambers61 and past a pair of deep stone cisterns62. Their footsteps echoed hollowly off the walls, the butcher’s cart rumbling63 behind them. The big man snatched a torch down from a wall sconce to lead the way.
At last a pair of heavy iron doors rose before them, rust-eaten and forbidding, closed with a length of chain whose every link was as thick around as a man’s arm. The size and thickness of those doors was enough to make Quentyn Martell question the wisdom of this course. Even worse, both doors were plainly dinted by something inside trying to get out. The thick iron was cracked and splitting in three places, and the upper corner of the left-hand door looked partly melted.
Four Brazen Beasts stood guarding the door. Three held long spears; the fourth, the serjeant, was armed with short sword and dagger64. His mask was wrought65 in the shape of a basilisk’s head. The other three were masked as insects.
Locusts66, Quentyn realized. “Dog,” he said.
The serjeant stiffened68.
That was all it took for Quentyn Martell to realize that something had gone awry69. “Take them,” he croaked70, even as the basilisk’s hand darted72 for his shortsword.
He was quick, that serjeant. The big man was quicker. He flung the torch at the nearest locust67, reached back, and unslung his warhammer. The basilisk’s blade had scarce slipped from its leather sheath when the hammer’s spike73 slammed into his temple, crunching74 through the thin brass of his mask and the flesh and bone beneath. The serjeant staggered sideways half a step before his knees folded under him and he sank down to the floor, his whole body shaking grotesquely75.
Quentyn stared transfixed, his belly roiling76. His own blade was still in its sheath. He had not so much as reached for it. His eyes were locked on the serjeant dying before him, jerking. The fallen torch was on the floor, guttering77, making every shadow leap and twist in a monstrous78 mockery of the dead man’s shaking. The prince never saw the locust’s spear coming toward him until Gerris slammed into him, knocking him aside. The spearpoint grazed the cheek of the lion’s head he wore. Even then the blow was so violent it almost tore the mask off. It would have gone right through my throat, the prince thought, dazed.
Gerris cursed as the locusts closed around him. Quentyn heard the sound of running feet. Then the sellswords came rushing from the shadows. One of the guards glanced at them just long enough for Gerris to get inside his spear. He drove the point of his sword under the brass mask and up through the wearer’s throat, even as the second locust sprouted79 a crossbow bolt from his chest.
The last locust dropped his spear. “Yield. I yield.”
“No. You die.” Caggo took the man’s head off with one swipe of his arakh, the Valyrian steel shearing80 through flesh and bone and gristle as if they were so much suet. “Too much noise,” he complained. “Any man with ears will have heard.”
“Dog,” Quentyn said. “The day’s word was supposed to be dog. Why wouldn’t they let us pass? We were told …”
“You were told your scheme was madness, have you forgotten?” said Pretty Meris. “Do what you came to do.”
The dragons, Prince Quentyn thought. Yes. We came for the dragons. He felt as though he might be sick. What am I doing here? Father, why? Four men dead in as many heartbeats, and for what? “Fire and blood,” he whispered, “blood and fire.” The blood was pooling at his feet, soaking into the brick floor. The fire was beyond those doors. “The chains … we have no key …”
Arch said, “I have the key.” He swung his warhammer hard and fast. Sparks flew when the hammmerhead struck the lock. And then again, again, again. On his fifth swing the lock shattered, and the chains fell away in a rattling81 clatter82 so loud Quentyn was certain half the pyramid must have heard them. “Bring the cart.” The dragons would be more docile83 once fed. Let them gorge84 themselves on charred mutton.
Archibald Yronwood grasped the iron doors and pulled them apart. Their rusted85 hinges let out a pair of screams, for all those who might have slept through the breaking of the lock. A wash of sudden heat assaulted them, heavy with the odors of ash, brimstone, and burnt meat.
It was black beyond the doors, a sullen86 stygian darkness that seemed alive and threatening, hungry. Quentyn could sense that there was something in that darkness, coiled and waiting. Warrior87, grant me courage, he prayed. He did not want to do this, but he saw no other way. Why else would Daenerys have shown me the dragons? She wants me to prove myself to her. Gerris handed him a torch. He stepped through the doors.
The green one is Rhaegal, the white Viserion, he reminded himself. Use their names, command them, speak to them calmly but sternly. Master them, as Daenerys mastered Drogon in the pit. The girl had been alone, clad in wisps of silk, but fearless. I must not be afraid. She did it, so can I. The main thing was to show no fear. Animals can smell fear, and dragons … What did he know of dragons? What does any man know of dragons? They have been gone from the world for more than a century.
The lip of the pit was just ahead. Quentyn edged forward slowly, moving the torch from side to side. Walls and floor and ceiling drank the light. Scorched88, he realized. Bricks burned black, crumbling89 into ash. The air grew warmer with every step he took. He began to sweat.
Two eyes rose up before him.
Bronze, they were, brighter than polished shields, glowing with their own heat, burning behind a veil of smoke rising from the dragon’s nostrils90. The light of Quentyn’s torch washed over scales of dark green, the green of moss91 in the deep woods at dusk, just before the last light fades. Then the dragon opened its mouth, and light and heat washed over them. Behind a fence of sharp black teeth he glimpsed the furnace glow, the shimmer92 of a sleeping fire a hundred times brighter than his torch. The dragon’s head was larger than a horse’s, and the neck stretched on and on, uncoiling like some great green serpent as the head rose, until those two glowing bronze eyes were staring down at him.
Green, the prince thought, his scales are green. “Rhaegal,” he said. His voice caught in his throat, and what came out was a broken croak71. Frog, he thought, I am turning into Frog again. “The food,” he croaked, remembering. “Bring the food.”
The big man heard him. Arch wrestled93 one of the sheep off the wagon by two legs, then spun94 and flung it into the pit.
Rhaegal took it in the air. His head snapped round, and from between his jaws95 a lance of flame erupted, a swirling96 storm of orange-and-yellow fire shot through with veins97 of green. The sheep was burning before it began to fall. Before the smoking carcass could strike the bricks, the dragon’s teeth closed round it. A nimbus of flames still flickered98 about the body. The air stank99 of burning wool and brimstone. Dragonstink.
“I thought there were two,” the big man said.
Viserion. Yes. Where is Viserion? The prince lowered his torch to throw some light into the gloom below. He could see the green dragon ripping at the smoking carcass of the sheep, his long tail lashing18 from side to side as he ate. A thick iron collar was visible about his neck, with three feet of broken chain dangling100 from it. Shattered links were strewn across the floor of the pit amongst the blackened bones—twists of metal, partly melted. Rhaegal was chained to the wall and floor the last time I was here, the prince recalled, but Viserion hung from the ceiling. Quentyn stepped back, lifted the torch, craned his head back.
For a moment he saw only the blackened arches of the bricks above, scorched by dragonflame. A trickle101 of ash caught his eye, betraying movement. Something pale, half-hidden, stirring. He’s made himself a cave, the prince realized. A burrow102 in the brick. The foundations of the Great Pyramid of Meereen were massive and thick to support the weight of the huge structure overhead; even the interior walls were three times thicker than any castle’s curtain walls. But Viserion had dug himself a hole in them with flame and claw, a hole big enough to sleep in.
And we’ve just woken him. He could see what looked like some huge white serpent uncoiling inside the wall, up where it curved to become the ceiling. More ash went drifting downward, and a bit of crumbling brick fell away. The serpent resolved itself into a neck and tail, and then the dragon’s long horned head appeared, his eyes glowing in the dark like golden coals. His wings rattled103, stretching.
All of Quentyn’s plans had fled his head. He could hear Caggo Corpsekiller shouting to his sellswords. The chains, he is sending for the chains, the Dornish prince thought. The plan had been to feed the beasts and chain them in their torpor105, just as the queen had done. One dragon, or preferably both.
“More meat,” Quentyn said. Once the beasts were fed they will become sluggish106. He had seen it work with snakes in Dorne, but here, with these monsters … “Bring … bring …”
Viserion launched himself from the ceiling, pale leather wings unfolding, spreading wide. The broken chain dangling from his neck swung wildly. His flame lit the pit, pale gold shot through with red and orange, and the stale air exploded in a cloud of hot ash and sulfur107 as the white wings beat and beat again.
A hand seized Quentyn by the shoulder. The torch spun from his grip to bounce across the floor, then tumbled into the pit, still burning. He found himself face-to-face with a brass ape. Gerris. “Quent, this will not work. They are too wild, they …”
The dragon came down between the Dornishmen and the door with a roar that would have sent a hundred lions running. His head moved side to side as he inspected the intruders—Dornishmen, Windblown, Caggo. Last and longest the beast stared at Pretty Meris, sniffing108. The woman, Quentyn realized. He knows that she is female. He is looking for Daenerys. He wants his mother and does not understand why she’s not here.
Quentyn wrenched109 free of Gerris’s grip. “Viserion,” he called. The white one is Viserion. For half a heartbeat he was afraid he’d gotten it wrong. “Viserion,” he called again, fumbling110 for the whip hanging from his belt. She cowed the black one with a whip. I need to do the same.
The dragon knew his name. His head turned, and his gaze lingered on the Dornish prince for three long heartbeats. Pale fires burned behind the shining black daggers111 of his teeth. His eyes were lakes of molten gold, and smoke rose from his nostrils.
“Down,” Quentyn said. Then he coughed, and coughed again.
The air was thick with smoke and the sulfur stench was choking.
Viserion lost interest. The dragon turned back toward the Windblown and lurched toward the door. Perhaps he could smell the blood of the dead guards or the meat in the butcher’s wagon. Or perhaps he had only now seen that the way was open.
Quentyn heard the sellswords shouting. Caggo was calling for the chains, and Pretty Meris was screaming at someone to step aside. The dragon moved awkwardly on the ground, like a man scrabbling on his knees and elbows, but quicker than the Dornish prince would have believed. When the Windblown were too late to get out of his way, Viserion let loose with another roar. Quentyn heard the rattle104 of chains, the deep thrum of a crossbow.
“No,” he screamed, “no, don’t, don’t,” but it was too late. The fool was all that he had time to think as the quarrel caromed off Viserion’s neck to vanish in the gloom. A line of fire gleamed in its wake—dragon’s blood, glowing gold and red.
The crossbowman was fumbling for another quarrel as the dragon’s teeth closed around his neck. The man wore the mask of a Brazen Beast, the fearsome likeness112 of a tiger. As he dropped his weapon to try and pry113 apart Viserion’s jaws, flame gouted from the tiger’s mouth. The man’s eyes burst with soft popping sounds, and the brass around them began to run. The dragon tore off a hunk of flesh, most of the sellsword’s neck, then gulped114 it down as the burning corpse50 collapsed115 to the floor.
The other Windblown were pulling back. This was more than even Pretty Meris had the stomach for. Viserion’s horned head moved back and forth116 between them and his prey117, but after a moment he forgot the sellswords and bent118 his neck to tear another mouthful from the dead man. A lower leg this time.
Quentyn let his whip uncoil. “Viserion,” he called, louder this time. He could do this, he would do this, his father had sent him to the far ends of the earth for this, he would not fail him. “VISERION!” He snapped the whip in the air with a crack that echoed off the blackened walls.
The pale head rose. The great gold eyes narrowed. Wisps of smoke spiraled upward from the dragon’s nostrils.
“Down,” the prince commanded. You must not let him smell your fear. “Down, down, down.” He brought the whip around and laid a lash19 across the dragon’s face. Viserion hissed119.
And then a hot wind buffeted120 him and he heard the sound of leathern wings and the air was full of ash and cinders121 and a monstrous roar went echoing off the scorched and blackened bricks and he could hear his friends shouting wildly. Gerris was calling out his name, over and over, and the big man was bellowing122, “Behind you, behind you, behind you!”
Quentyn turned and threw his left arm across his face to shield his eyes from the furnace wind. Rhaegal, he reminded himself, the green one is Rhaegal.
When he raised his whip, he saw that the lash was burning. His hand as well. All of him, all of him was burning.
Oh, he thought. Then he began to scream.
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1
eel
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| n.鳗鲡 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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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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19
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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23
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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33
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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34
brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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35
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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36
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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37
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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40
scuff
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| v. 拖着脚走；磨损 | |
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41
plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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42
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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43
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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45
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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46
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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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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48
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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49
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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50
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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51
garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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53
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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54
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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55
cramp
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| n.痉挛；[pl.](腹)绞痛；vt.限制，束缚 | |
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56
ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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57
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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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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60
dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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61
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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62
cisterns
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| n.蓄水池，储水箱( cistern的名词复数 )；地下储水池 | |
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63
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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64
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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65
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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66
locusts
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| n.蝗虫( locust的名词复数 )；贪吃的人；破坏者；槐树 | |
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67
locust
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| n.蝗虫；洋槐，刺槐 | |
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68
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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69
awry
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| adj.扭曲的，错的 | |
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70
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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71
croak
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| vi.嘎嘎叫，发牢骚 | |
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72
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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73
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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74
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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75
grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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76
roiling
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| v.搅混（液体）( roil的现在分词 )；使烦恼；使不安；使生气 | |
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77
guttering
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| n.用于建排水系统的材料；沟状切除术；开沟 | |
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78
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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79
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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80
shearing
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| n.剪羊毛，剪取的羊毛v.剪羊毛( shear的现在分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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81
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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82
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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83
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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84
gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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85
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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87
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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88
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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89
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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90
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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91
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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92
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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93
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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94
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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95
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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96
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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97
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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98
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
stank
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| n. (英)坝，堰，池塘 动词stink的过去式 | |
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100
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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101
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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102
burrow
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| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
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103
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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104
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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105
torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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106
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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107
sulfur
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| n.硫，硫磺（=sulphur） | |
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108
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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109
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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110
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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111
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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112
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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113
pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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114
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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115
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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116
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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117
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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118
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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119
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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120
buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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121
cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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122
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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