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出版社： Bantam
ISBN：9780553573404
商品编码：10020684280
具体描述
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ISBN:9780553573404
内容介绍 A NEW ORIGINAL SERIES, NOW ON HBO.
Here is the first volume in George R. R. Martin’s magnificent cycle of novels that includes A Clash of Kings and A Storm of Swords. As a whole, this series comprises a genuine masterpiece of modern fantasy, bringing together the best the genre has to offer. Magic, mystery, intrigue, romance, and adventure fill these pages and transport us to a world unlike any we have ever experienced. Already hailed as a classic, George R. R. Martin’s stunning series is destined to stand as one of the great achievements of imaginative fiction.
A GAME OF THRONES
Long ago, in a time forgotten, a preternatural event threw the seasons out of balance. In a land where summers can last decades and winters a lifetime, trouble is brewing. The cold is returning, and in the frozen wastes to the north of Winterfell, sinister and supernatural forces are massing beyond the kingdom’s protective Wall. At the center of the conflict lie the Starks of Winterfell, a family as harsh and unyielding as the land they were born to. Sweeping from a land of brutal cold to a distant summertime kingdom of epicurean plenty, here is a tale of lords and ladies, soldiers and sorcerers, assassins and bastards, who come together in a time of grim omens.
Here an enigmatic band of warriors bear swords of no human metal; a tribe of fierce wildlings carry men off into madness; a cruel young dragon prince barters his sister to win back his throne; and a determined woman undertakes the most treacherous of journeys. Amid plots and counterplots, tragedy and betrayal, victory and terror, the fate of the Starks, their allies, and their enemies hangs perilously in the balance, as each endeavors to win that deadliest of conflicts: the game of thrones.,
作者介绍
From the Hardcover edition.,,
关联推荐 Here is the first volume in George R. R. Martin's magnificent cycle of novels that includes A Clash of Kings and A Storm of Swords. As a whole, this series comprises a genuine masterpiece of modern fantasy, bringing together the best the genre has to offer. Magic, mystery, intrigue, romance, and adventure fill these pages and transport us to a world unlike any we have ever experienced. Already hailed as a classic, George R. R. Martin's stunning series is destined to stand as one of the great achievements of imaginative fiction. A Game of Thrones Long ago, in a time forgotten, a preternatural event threw the seasons out of balance. In a land where summers can last decades and winters a lifetime, trouble is brewing. The cold is returning, and in the frozen wastes to the north of Winterfell, sinister and supernatural forces are massing beyond the kingdom's protective Wall. At the center of the conflict lie the Starks of Winterfell, a family as harsh and unyielding as the land they were born to. Sweeping from a land of brutal cold to a distant summertime kingdom of epicurean plenty, here is a tale of lords and ladies, soldiers and sorcerers, assassins and bastards, who come together in a time of grim omens. Here an enigmatic band of warriors bear swords of no human metal; a tribe of fierce wildlings carry men off into madness; a cruel young dragon prince barters his sister to win back his throne; and a determined woman undertakes the most treacherous of journeys. Amid plots and counterplots, tragedy and betrayal, victory and terror, the fate of the Starks, their allies, and their enemies hangs perilously in the balance, as each endeavors to win that deadliest of conflicts: the game of thrones.暂时没有目录，请见谅！
在线试读 The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer. They set forth at daybreak to see a man beheaded, twenty in all, and Bran rode among them, nervous with excitement. This was the first time he had been deemed old enough to go with his lord father and his brothers to see the king's justice done. It was the ninth year of summer, and the seventh of Bran's life.
The man had been taken outside a small holdfast in the hills. Robb thought he was a wildling, his sword sworn to Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall. It made Bran's skin prickle to think of it. He remembered the hearth tales Old Nan told them. The wildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night, and drank blood from polished horns. And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children.
But the man they found bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting the king's justice was old and scrawny, not much taller than Robb. He had lost both ears and a finger to frostbite, and he dressed all in black, the same as a brother of the Night's Watch, except that his furs were ragged and greasy.
The breath of man and horse mingled, steaming, in the cold morning air as his lord father had the man cut down from the wall and dragged before them. Robb and Jon sat tall and still on their horses, with Bran between them on his pony, trying to seem older than seven, trying to pretend that he'd seen all this before. A faint wind blew through the holdfast gate. Over their heads flapped the banner of the Starks of Winterfell: a grey direwolf racing across an ice-white field.
Bran's father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell.
There were questions asked and answers given there in the chill of morning, but afterward Bran could not recall much of what had been said. Finally his lord father gave a command, and two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard black wood. Lord Eddard Stark dismounted and his ward Theon Greyjoy brought forth the sword. "Ice," that sword was called. It was as wide across as a man's hand, and taller even than Robb. The blade was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like Valyrian steel.
His father peeled off his gloves and handed them to Jory Cassel, the captain of his household guard. He took hold of Ice with both hands and said, "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." He lifted the great sword high above his head.
Bran's bastard brother Jon Snow moved closer. "Keep the pony well in hand," he whispered. "And don't look away. Father will know if you do."
Bran kept his pony well in hand, and did not look away.
His father took off the man's head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow, as red as summerwine. One of the horses reared and had to be restrained to keep from bolting. Bran could not take his eyes off the blood. The snows around the stump drank it eagerly, reddening as he watched.
The head bounced off a thick root and rolled. It came up near Greyjoy's feet. Theon was a lean, dark youth of nineteen who found everything amusing. He laughed, put his boot on the head,and kicked it away.
"Ass," Jon muttered, low enough so Greyjoy did not hear. He put a hand on Bran's shoulder, and Bran looked over at his bastard brother. "You did well," Jon told him solemnly. Jon was fourteen, an old hand at justice.
It seemed colder on the long ride back to Winterfell, though the wind had died by then and the sun was higher in the sky. Bran rode with his brothers, well ahead of the main party, his pony struggling hard to keep up with their horses.
"The deserter died bravely," Robb said. He was big and broad and growing every day, with his mother's coloring, the fair skin, red-brown hair, and blue eyes of the Tullys of Riverrun. "He had courage, at the least."
"No," Jon Snow said quietly. "It was not courage. This one was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark." Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.
Robb was not impressed. "The Others take his eyes," he swore. "He died well. Race you to the bridge?"
"Done," Jon said, kicking his horse forward. Robb cursed and followed, and they galloped off down the trail, Robb laughing and hooting, Jon silent and intent. The hooves of their horses kicked up showers of snow as they went.
Bran did not try to follow. His pony could not keep up. He had seen the ragged man's eyes, and he was thinking of them now. After a while, the sound of Robb's laughter receded, and the woods grew silent again.
That was when Jon reappeared on the crest of the hill before them. He waved and shouted down at them. "Father, Bran, come quickly, see what Robb has found!" Then he was gone again.
Jory rode up beside them. "Trouble, my lord?"
"Beyond a doubt," his lord father said. "Come, let us see what mischief my sons have rooted out now." He sent his horse into a trot. Jory and Bran and the rest came after.
They found Robb on the riverbank north of the bridge, with Jon still mounted beside him. The late summer snows had been heavy this moonturn. Robb stood knee-deep in white, his hood pulled back so the sun shone in his hair. He was cradling something in his arm, while the boys talked in hushed, excited voices.
The riders picked their way carefully through the drifts, groping for solid footing on the hidden, uneven ground. Jory Cassel and Theon Greyjoy were the first to reach the boys. Greyjoy was laughing and joking as he rode. Bran heard the breath go out of him. "Gods!" he exclaimed, struggling to keep control of his horse as he reached for his sword.
Jory's sword was already out. "Robb, get away from it!" he called as his horse reared under him.
Robb grinned and looked up from the bundle in his arms. "She can't hurt you," he said. "She's dead, Jory."
Bran was afire with curiosity by then. He would have spurred the pony faster, but his father made them dismount beside the bridge and approach on foot. Bran jumped off and ran.
By then Jon, Jory, and Theon Greyjoy had all dismounted as well. "What in the seven hells is it?" Greyjoy was saying.
"A wolf," Robb told him.
"A freak," Greyjoy said. "Look at the size of it."
Bran's heart was thumping in his chest as he pushed through a waist-high drift to his brothers' side.
Half-buried in blood stained snow, a huge dark shape slumped in death. Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption clung to it like a woman's perfume. Bran glimpsed blind eyes crawling with maggots, a wide mouth full of yellowed teeth. But it was the size of it that made him gasp. It was bigger than his pony, twice the size of the largest hound in his father's kennel.
"It's no freak," Jon said calmly. "That's a direwolf. They grow larger than the other kind."
Theon Greyjoy said, "There's not been a direwolf sighted south of the Wall in two hundred years."
"I see one now," Jon replied.
Bran tore his eyes away from the monster. That was when he noticed the bundle in Robb's arms. He gave a cry of delight and moved closer. The pup was a tiny ball of grey-black fur, its eyes still closed. It nuzzled blindly against Robb's chest as he cradled it, searching for milk among his leathers, making a sad little whimpery sound. Bran reached out hesitantly. "Go on,"Robb told him. "You can touch him."
Bran gave the pup a quick nervous stroke, then turned as Jon said, "Here you go." His half brother put a second pup into his arms. "There are five of them." Bran sat down in the snow and hugged the wolf pup to his face. Its fur was soft and warm against his cheek.
"Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years," muttered Hullen, the master of horse. "I like it not."
"It is a sign," Jory said.
Father frowned. "This is only a dead animal, Jory," he said. Yet he seemed troubled. Snow crunched under his boots as he moved around the body. "Do we know what killed her?"
"There's something in the throat," Robb told him, proud to have found the answer before his father even asked. "There, just under the jaw."
His father knelt and groped under the beast's head with his hand. He gave a yank and held it up for all to see. A foot of shattered antler, tines snapped off, all wet with blood.
A sudden silence descended over the party. The men looked at the antler uneasily, and no one dared to speak. Even Bran could sense their fear, though he did not understand.
His father tossed the antler to the side and cleansed his hands in the snow. "I'm surprised she lived long enough to whelp," he said. His voice broke the spell.
"Maybe she didn't," Jory said. "I've heard tales . . . maybe the bitch was already dead when the pups came."
"Born with the dead," another man put in. "Worse luck."
"No matter," said Hullen. "They be dead soon enough too."
Bran gave a wordless cry of dismay.
"The sooner the better," Theon Greyjoy agreed. He drew his sword. "Give the beast here, Bran."
The little thing squirmed against him, as if it heard and understood. "No!" Bran cried out fiercely. "It's mine."
"It be a mercy to kill them," Hullen said.
Bran looked to his lord father for rescue, but got only a frown, a furrowed brow. "Hullen speaks truly, son. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation."
"No!" He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he looked away. He did not want to cry in front of his father.
"Lord Stark," Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran looked at him with desperate hope. "There are five pups," he told Father. "Three male, two female."
"What of it, Jon?"
"You have five true born children," Jon said. "Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord."
Bran saw his father's face change, saw the other men exchange glances. He loved Jon with all his heart at that moment. Even at seven, Bran understood what his brother had done. The count had come right only because Jon had omitted himself. He had included the girls, included even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastard who bore the surname Snow, the name that custom decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to be born with no name of their own.
Their father understood as well. "You want no pup for yourself, Jon?" he asked softly.
"The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark," Jon pointed out. "I am no Stark, Father."
Their lord father regarded Jon thoughtfully. Robb rushed into the silence he left. "I will nurse him myself, Father," he promised. "I will soak a towel with warm milk, and give him suck from that."
"Me too!" Bran echoed.
The lord weighed his sons long and carefully with his eyes. "Easy to say, and harder to do. I will not have you wasting the servants' time with this. If you want these pups, you will feed them yourselves. Is that understood?"
Bran nodded eagerly. The pup squirmed in his grasp, lickedat his face with a warm tongue.
It was not until they were mounted and on their way that Bran allowed himself to taste the sweet air of victory. By then, his pup was snuggled inside his leathers, warm against him, safe for the long ride home. Bran was wondering what to name him.
Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.
"What is it, Jon?" their lord father asked.
"Can't you hear it?"
Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.
"There," Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.
"He must have crawled away from the others," Jon said.
"Or been driven away," their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey. His eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who had died that morning. Bran thought it curious that this pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others were still blind.
"An albino," Theon Greyjoy said with wry amusement. "This one will die even faster than the others."
Jon Snow gave his father's ward a long, chilling look. "I think not, Greyjoy," he said. "This one belongs to me."——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
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发货时间公告：
现货商品 ：周一至周五下单48小时内出货。
北上广深及江浙沪市区内一般2-5天到货，其他地区一般3-7天到货。我司使用中通和Z物流多库房就近出货（无法接受挑选物流公司望理解），包裹在运送途中不显示运单号。抵达目的地城市之后，会在派件当天显示物流单号，还请广大客户知晓！耐心等待包裹哦！两种快递的查询方式如下：
Z物流查询网站：https://www.kuaidi100.com/all/yamaxunwuliu.shtml
中通快递：https://www.kuaidi100.com/all/zt.shtml
预售商品：到货时间请参考“商品副标题”和内页说明。
预订商品：该类是为顾客从海外特别 订购的，正常情况30-60天内发货，付款24小时后因海外已转接安排空运流程，无法退货和取消。请务必知悉！
（海外预定对接出版社库存实时发生变动，可能会发生海外出版社库存无法满足的情况，因海外库存为不可控因素，如库存无法满足，商家会尽快联系客户取消订单，请确保联系电话和短信的通畅。带来不便还请广大客户理解和配合，感谢。）
在线客服：每天上午9:00-晚间22:00（双休日、节假日也有值班客服哦，如遇吃饭离开，还请耐心等待）。疑难问题请在工作日9:00-17:00联系售后客服处理。
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
ISBN:9780553573404
内容介绍 A NEW ORIGINAL SERIES, NOW ON HBO.
Here is the first volume in George R. R. Martin’s magnificent cycle of novels that includes A Clash of Kings and A Storm of Swords. As a whole, this series comprises a genuine masterpiece of modern fantasy, bringing together the best the genre has to offer. Magic, mystery, intrigue, romance, and adventure fill these pages and transport us to a world unlike any we have ever experienced. Already hailed as a classic, George R. R. Martin’s stunning series is destined to stand as one of the great achievements of imaginative fiction.
A GAME OF THRONES
Long ago, in a time forgotten, a preternatural event threw the seasons out of balance. In a land where summers can last decades and winters a lifetime, trouble is brewing. The cold is returning, and in the frozen wastes to the north of Winterfell, sinister and supernatural forces are massing beyond the kingdom’s protective Wall. At the center of the conflict lie the Starks of Winterfell, a family as harsh and unyielding as the land they were born to. Sweeping from a land of brutal cold to a distant summertime kingdom of epicurean plenty, here is a tale of lords and ladies, soldiers and sorcerers, assassins and bastards, who come together in a time of grim omens.
Here an enigmatic band of warriors bear swords of no human metal; a tribe of fierce wildlings carry men off into madness; a cruel young dragon prince barters his sister to win back his throne; and a determined woman undertakes the most treacherous of journeys. Amid plots and counterplots, tragedy and betrayal, victory and terror, the fate of the Starks, their allies, and their enemies hangs perilously in the balance, as each endeavors to win that deadliest of conflicts: the game of thrones.,
作者介绍
George R. R. Martin sold his first story in 1971 and has been writing professionally ever since. He has written fantasy, horror, and science fiction, and for his sins spent ten years in Hollywood as a writer/producer, working on The Twilight Zone, Beauty and the Beast, and various feature films and pilots that were never made. In the mid-nineties he returned to prose, his first love, and began work on his epic fantasy series A Song of Ice and Fire. He has been in the Seven Kingdoms ever since. Whenever he’s allowed to leave, he returns to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where he lives with the lovely Parris.
From the Hardcover edition.,,
关联推荐 Here is the first volume in George R. R. Martin's magnificent cycle of novels that includes A Clash of Kings and A Storm of Swords. As a whole, this series comprises a genuine masterpiece of modern fantasy, bringing together the best the genre has to offer. Magic, mystery, intrigue, romance, and adventure fill these pages and transport us to a world unlike any we have ever experienced. Already hailed as a classic, George R. R. Martin's stunning series is destined to stand as one of the great achievements of imaginative fiction. A Game of Thrones Long ago, in a time forgotten, a preternatural event threw the seasons out of balance. In a land where summers can last decades and winters a lifetime, trouble is brewing. The cold is returning, and in the frozen wastes to the north of Winterfell, sinister and supernatural forces are massing beyond the kingdom's protective Wall. At the center of the conflict lie the Starks of Winterfell, a family as harsh and unyielding as the land they were born to. Sweeping from a land of brutal cold to a distant summertime kingdom of epicurean plenty, here is a tale of lords and ladies, soldiers and sorcerers, assassins and bastards, who come together in a time of grim omens. Here an enigmatic band of warriors bear swords of no human metal; a tribe of fierce wildlings carry men off into madness; a cruel young dragon prince barters his sister to win back his throne; and a determined woman undertakes the most treacherous of journeys. Amid plots and counterplots, tragedy and betrayal, victory and terror, the fate of the Starks, their allies, and their enemies hangs perilously in the balance, as each endeavors to win that deadliest of conflicts: the game of thrones.暂时没有目录，请见谅！
在线试读 The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer. They set forth at daybreak to see a man beheaded, twenty in all, and Bran rode among them, nervous with excitement. This was the first time he had been deemed old enough to go with his lord father and his brothers to see the king's justice done. It was the ninth year of summer, and the seventh of Bran's life.
The man had been taken outside a small holdfast in the hills. Robb thought he was a wildling, his sword sworn to Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall. It made Bran's skin prickle to think of it. He remembered the hearth tales Old Nan told them. The wildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night, and drank blood from polished horns. And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children.
But the man they found bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting the king's justice was old and scrawny, not much taller than Robb. He had lost both ears and a finger to frostbite, and he dressed all in black, the same as a brother of the Night's Watch, except that his furs were ragged and greasy.
The breath of man and horse mingled, steaming, in the cold morning air as his lord father had the man cut down from the wall and dragged before them. Robb and Jon sat tall and still on their horses, with Bran between them on his pony, trying to seem older than seven, trying to pretend that he'd seen all this before. A faint wind blew through the holdfast gate. Over their heads flapped the banner of the Starks of Winterfell: a grey direwolf racing across an ice-white field.
Bran's father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest. He had taken off Father's face, Bran thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell.
There were questions asked and answers given there in the chill of morning, but afterward Bran could not recall much of what had been said. Finally his lord father gave a command, and two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard black wood. Lord Eddard Stark dismounted and his ward Theon Greyjoy brought forth the sword. "Ice," that sword was called. It was as wide across as a man's hand, and taller even than Robb. The blade was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like Valyrian steel.
His father peeled off his gloves and handed them to Jory Cassel, the captain of his household guard. He took hold of Ice with both hands and said, "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." He lifted the great sword high above his head.
Bran's bastard brother Jon Snow moved closer. "Keep the pony well in hand," he whispered. "And don't look away. Father will know if you do."
Bran kept his pony well in hand, and did not look away.
His father took off the man's head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow, as red as summerwine. One of the horses reared and had to be restrained to keep from bolting. Bran could not take his eyes off the blood. The snows around the stump drank it eagerly, reddening as he watched.
The head bounced off a thick root and rolled. It came up near Greyjoy's feet. Theon was a lean, dark youth of nineteen who found everything amusing. He laughed, put his boot on the head,and kicked it away.
"Ass," Jon muttered, low enough so Greyjoy did not hear. He put a hand on Bran's shoulder, and Bran looked over at his bastard brother. "You did well," Jon told him solemnly. Jon was fourteen, an old hand at justice.
It seemed colder on the long ride back to Winterfell, though the wind had died by then and the sun was higher in the sky. Bran rode with his brothers, well ahead of the main party, his pony struggling hard to keep up with their horses.
"The deserter died bravely," Robb said. He was big and broad and growing every day, with his mother's coloring, the fair skin, red-brown hair, and blue eyes of the Tullys of Riverrun. "He had courage, at the least."
"No," Jon Snow said quietly. "It was not courage. This one was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark." Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.
Robb was not impressed. "The Others take his eyes," he swore. "He died well. Race you to the bridge?"
"Done," Jon said, kicking his horse forward. Robb cursed and followed, and they galloped off down the trail, Robb laughing and hooting, Jon silent and intent. The hooves of their horses kicked up showers of snow as they went.
Bran did not try to follow. His pony could not keep up. He had seen the ragged man's eyes, and he was thinking of them now. After a while, the sound of Robb's laughter receded, and the woods grew silent again.
That was when Jon reappeared on the crest of the hill before them. He waved and shouted down at them. "Father, Bran, come quickly, see what Robb has found!" Then he was gone again.
Jory rode up beside them. "Trouble, my lord?"
"Beyond a doubt," his lord father said. "Come, let us see what mischief my sons have rooted out now." He sent his horse into a trot. Jory and Bran and the rest came after.
They found Robb on the riverbank north of the bridge, with Jon still mounted beside him. The late summer snows had been heavy this moonturn. Robb stood knee-deep in white, his hood pulled back so the sun shone in his hair. He was cradling something in his arm, while the boys talked in hushed, excited voices.
The riders picked their way carefully through the drifts, groping for solid footing on the hidden, uneven ground. Jory Cassel and Theon Greyjoy were the first to reach the boys. Greyjoy was laughing and joking as he rode. Bran heard the breath go out of him. "Gods!" he exclaimed, struggling to keep control of his horse as he reached for his sword.
Jory's sword was already out. "Robb, get away from it!" he called as his horse reared under him.
Robb grinned and looked up from the bundle in his arms. "She can't hurt you," he said. "She's dead, Jory."
Bran was afire with curiosity by then. He would have spurred the pony faster, but his father made them dismount beside the bridge and approach on foot. Bran jumped off and ran.
By then Jon, Jory, and Theon Greyjoy had all dismounted as well. "What in the seven hells is it?" Greyjoy was saying.
"A wolf," Robb told him.
"A freak," Greyjoy said. "Look at the size of it."
Bran's heart was thumping in his chest as he pushed through a waist-high drift to his brothers' side.
Half-buried in blood stained snow, a huge dark shape slumped in death. Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption clung to it like a woman's perfume. Bran glimpsed blind eyes crawling with maggots, a wide mouth full of yellowed teeth. But it was the size of it that made him gasp. It was bigger than his pony, twice the size of the largest hound in his father's kennel.
"It's no freak," Jon said calmly. "That's a direwolf. They grow larger than the other kind."
Theon Greyjoy said, "There's not been a direwolf sighted south of the Wall in two hundred years."
"I see one now," Jon replied.
Bran tore his eyes away from the monster. That was when he noticed the bundle in Robb's arms. He gave a cry of delight and moved closer. The pup was a tiny ball of grey-black fur, its eyes still closed. It nuzzled blindly against Robb's chest as he cradled it, searching for milk among his leathers, making a sad little whimpery sound. Bran reached out hesitantly. "Go on,"Robb told him. "You can touch him."
Bran gave the pup a quick nervous stroke, then turned as Jon said, "Here you go." His half brother put a second pup into his arms. "There are five of them." Bran sat down in the snow and hugged the wolf pup to his face. Its fur was soft and warm against his cheek.
"Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years," muttered Hullen, the master of horse. "I like it not."
"It is a sign," Jory said.
Father frowned. "This is only a dead animal, Jory," he said. Yet he seemed troubled. Snow crunched under his boots as he moved around the body. "Do we know what killed her?"
"There's something in the throat," Robb told him, proud to have found the answer before his father even asked. "There, just under the jaw."
His father knelt and groped under the beast's head with his hand. He gave a yank and held it up for all to see. A foot of shattered antler, tines snapped off, all wet with blood.
A sudden silence descended over the party. The men looked at the antler uneasily, and no one dared to speak. Even Bran could sense their fear, though he did not understand.
His father tossed the antler to the side and cleansed his hands in the snow. "I'm surprised she lived long enough to whelp," he said. His voice broke the spell.
"Maybe she didn't," Jory said. "I've heard tales . . . maybe the bitch was already dead when the pups came."
"Born with the dead," another man put in. "Worse luck."
"No matter," said Hullen. "They be dead soon enough too."
Bran gave a wordless cry of dismay.
"The sooner the better," Theon Greyjoy agreed. He drew his sword. "Give the beast here, Bran."
The little thing squirmed against him, as if it heard and understood. "No!" Bran cried out fiercely. "It's mine."
"It be a mercy to kill them," Hullen said.
Bran looked to his lord father for rescue, but got only a frown, a furrowed brow. "Hullen speaks truly, son. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation."
"No!" He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he looked away. He did not want to cry in front of his father.
"Lord Stark," Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran looked at him with desperate hope. "There are five pups," he told Father. "Three male, two female."
"What of it, Jon?"
"You have five true born children," Jon said. "Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord."
Bran saw his father's face change, saw the other men exchange glances. He loved Jon with all his heart at that moment. Even at seven, Bran understood what his brother had done. The count had come right only because Jon had omitted himself. He had included the girls, included even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastard who bore the surname Snow, the name that custom decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to be born with no name of their own.
Their father understood as well. "You want no pup for yourself, Jon?" he asked softly.
"The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark," Jon pointed out. "I am no Stark, Father."
Their lord father regarded Jon thoughtfully. Robb rushed into the silence he left. "I will nurse him myself, Father," he promised. "I will soak a towel with warm milk, and give him suck from that."
"Me too!" Bran echoed.
The lord weighed his sons long and carefully with his eyes. "Easy to say, and harder to do. I will not have you wasting the servants' time with this. If you want these pups, you will feed them yourselves. Is that understood?"
Bran nodded eagerly. The pup squirmed in his grasp, lickedat his face with a warm tongue.
It was not until they were mounted and on their way that Bran allowed himself to taste the sweet air of victory. By then, his pup was snuggled inside his leathers, warm against him, safe for the long ride home. Bran was wondering what to name him.
Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.
"What is it, Jon?" their lord father asked.
"Can't you hear it?"
Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.
"There," Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.
"He must have crawled away from the others," Jon said.
"Or been driven away," their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey. His eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who had died that morning. Bran thought it curious that this pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others were still blind.
"An albino," Theon Greyjoy said with wry amusement. "This one will die even faster than the others."
Jon Snow gave his father's ward a long, chilling look. "I think not, Greyjoy," he said. "This one belongs to me."——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
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沉浸式奇幻史诗：《迷雾之城》 类型： 史诗奇幻、架空历史、阴谋权谋 作者： 埃莉诺·凡·德·梅尔（Eleanor van der Meer） --- 一、 序章：风暴之地的黎明 《迷雾之城》的故事，发生在一片名为“维斯特拉”（Vestra）的古老大陆上。这里，群山如巨龙般横亘，河流奔腾着流向未知的海洋，而人类文明，则在永恒的黄昏与突如其来的烈日之间挣扎求存。维斯特拉并非一个统一的国家，而是由七个主要王国构成的松散联盟，彼此之间素有龃龉，共同维系着脆弱的和平。 故事的焦点，首先集中在位于大陆西北角的“铁杉王国”（The Kingdom of Hemlock）。铁杉王国以其坚韧的矿工和不屈的战士闻名，但如今，这个王国正面临一场静默的瘟疫——“灰影病”。这种病症并非夺人性命，而是缓慢地抽干感染者的情感与记忆，使他们变成如同行尸走肉般的“空壳人”。 我们的主角，卡莱布·维斯帕里安（Caleb Vesperian），是铁杉王国最受尊敬的王室学者兼皇家档案保管员。他身形瘦削，眼中总是闪烁着探究的光芒，对古老符文和失落历史的理解，远超当世任何人。卡莱布的平静生活，随着他偶然发现一份被层层加密的羊皮卷轴而被彻底打破。这份卷轴，记录了一种早已被视为神话的远古仪式——“唤醒沉眠之锚”。 --- 二、 权力的漩涡与失落的信物 卷轴的秘密指向了维斯特拉大陆的中心——传说中由第一位国王亲手建造的“浮空之城”——亚瑟里姆（Aetherium）。亚瑟里姆并非一座实体城邦，而是一个漂浮在云层之上的巨型魔法结构，它控制着维斯特拉的季风和气候，也是维系七国平衡的关键所在。然而，三百年前，亚瑟里姆神秘坠落，留下的只有传说和一座位于大陆中央的巨大环形废墟。 卡莱布发现，“唤醒沉眠之锚”需要集齐三件失落的“秩序信物”。这三件信物，分别藏匿于三个互相敌对的势力手中： 1. “驭风者的权杖”： 传闻被极南之地崇尚武力的“赤焰部族”拥有，他们信奉力量至上，对魔法和学识嗤之以鼻。 2. “沉默之镜”： 据说被深居于地下的“影织者公会”掌控，这是一个由精通幻术和渗透的刺客构成的神秘组织。 3. “永恒之钥”： 这是最难以捉摸的一件，被认为被封印在北境冰原之下，由一群被世人遗忘的冰霜守卫守护。 卡莱布的发现，很快引起了宫廷中阴暗势力的注意。摄政王奥古斯丁，一个表面温和、实则野心勃勃的贵族，他乐于看到铁杉王国衰弱，并暗中与影织者公会勾结，意图利用灰影病来巩固自己的统治。奥古斯丁深知，如果有人能重新启动亚瑟里姆，那么控制天空，就等于控制了整个维斯特拉。 --- 三、 冒险与结盟：穿梭于敌对国度 为了阻止奥古斯丁的阴谋，卡莱布不得不踏上危险的旅程。他身边只有两位意外的同伴： 1. 莉安娜·布莱克伍德（Lianna Blackwood）： 一位被流放的前皇家禁卫军队长。她因一次政治失误而蒙受不白之冤，身手矫健，对权力阶层深恶痛绝。她与卡莱布的知识和理论形成了完美的互补，是行动上的绝对保障。 2. 泽弗（Zephyr）： 一个身世成谜的流浪者，来自遥远的东方沙漠部落。他精通追踪和生存技巧，似乎对维斯特拉的历史有着异乎寻常的了解，并且拥有一种与自然元素沟通的微弱能力。 他们的首次目标是南方，寻找赤焰部族的“驭风者的权杖”。在穿越被称为“低语沼泽”的危险地带时，他们不仅要躲避奥古斯丁派出的追捕者，还要应对沼泽中那些被失衡的魔法能量扭曲的生物。 在赤焰部族的营地里，卡莱布必须通过一场考验，这不是力量的比试，而是对“秩序”的理解。他必须用古老的语言，向部族首领阐释亚瑟里姆坠落的真正原因——那并非天灾，而是权力失衡导致的“系统崩溃”。莉安娜则必须在部族之间的传统角斗场上，以智慧而非蛮力，为卡莱布争取到说话的机会。 --- 四、 潜入深渊：影织者的游戏 集齐第一件信物后，旅程转向地下。影织者公会的总部位于一座被永恒黑暗笼罩的地下城——“黑曜石枢纽”。这里的空气中弥漫着谎言与幻觉。 卡莱布和同伴们需要潜入公会最核心的图书馆，那里收藏着关于“沉默之镜”的真相。公会的首领“夜莺”是一位精通心理操控的大师。她不直接与人交手，而是利用人们内心最深的恐惧和渴望来瓦解他们。 在地下城的迷宫中，卡莱布的知识受到了极大的考验。他必须分辨出哪些是真实的幻象，哪些是影织者为了保护信物而设置的逻辑陷阱。莉安娜则必须面对自己被流放的痛苦记忆，抵抗“夜莺”试图将她变成双面间谍的诱惑。泽弗的力量，在这里表现为对“真实”的感知力，他能嗅出谎言的气味，指引伙伴穿越迷雾。 最终，他们发现“沉默之镜”并非一个物体，而是一种记录了维斯特拉所有历史谎言的魔法矩阵。集齐它，意味着他们必须承担起向世界揭示真相的重担。 --- 五、 冰原上的抉择与古老盟约的重现 最后，旅程指向了北境的“霜冻之脊”。这里的冰霜守卫并非嗜血的怪物，而是三百年前亚瑟里姆坠落的直接见证者。他们看守的“永恒之钥”，代表着“牺牲与平衡”的原则。 在冰原上，卡莱布不仅要面对极端的自然环境，还要面对一位古老盟约的继承人——伊索尔德（Isolde）。伊索尔德的族人世代守护着这个秘密，他们怀疑所有来自南方文明的人类都是腐败的根源。 卡莱布必须说服伊索尔德，铁杉王国目前的统治者已经被阴谋腐蚀，而恢复亚瑟里姆，并非是为了重建旧日的辉煌，而是为了防止“灰影病”扩散至整个大陆。在冰雪的考验中，泽弗展现了他真正的身份——他是一个失散的、拥有纯净元素之力的后裔，他的血脉与冰霜守卫的盟约息息相关。 --- 六、 高潮：重铸秩序 当三件信物汇合，卡莱布一行人终于回到了亚瑟里姆的坠落地。摄政王奥古斯丁和他的影织者爪牙也赶到了那里，企图夺取信物，将亚瑟里姆的力量据为己有，以达到完全控制维斯特拉的目的。 最终决战并非纯粹的武力对抗，而是一场关于“魔法理论”与“政治野心”的较量。卡莱布必须在奥古斯丁启动毁灭性仪式之前，用三件信物重新校准亚瑟里姆的核心——一个巨大的能量枢纽。 这场校准仪式，要求他不仅要运用渊博的古代知识，还要在极短时间内做出关于维斯特拉未来走向的决定：是恢复到三百年前的旧有平衡，还是利用新知识创造一个更公平的结构？ 莉安娜与泽弗则负责拖住奥古斯丁及其精锐部队。莉安娜必须面对自己过去犯下的错误，用行动证明她的忠诚；泽弗则需要引动地脉之力，暂时压制影织者的幻术。 尾声：新纪元的开端 随着卡莱布完成“唤醒沉眠之锚”的最后一步，亚瑟里姆虽然没有重新升空，但其核心能量被成功稳定。灰影病停止了蔓延，奥古斯丁的阴谋被彻底揭穿。 维斯特拉大陆并未立刻迎来黄金时代，但和平的基石已然奠定。卡莱布、莉安娜和泽弗，成为了新时代的奠基人。他们深知，维护这来之不易的平衡，将是比集齐信物更漫长、更艰巨的挑战。维斯特拉的未来，不再由神话决定，而是由那些敢于直面历史真相、并为之奋斗的人所书写。 本书细致描绘了权力如何在知识的盲区滋生，以及真正的勇气，往往藏在书卷与坚定的信念之中。它探讨了历史的重量、盟约的意义，以及在面对宏大灾难时，个体如何通过智慧与合作，改变既定的命运。
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从纯粹的文学性角度来看，作者的文字功底极其深厚，尤其是在描绘那些充满异域风情的场景时，笔触细腻而富有画面感。无论是北境的冰雪覆盖，还是南方温暖的港口城市，你几乎能闻到空气中的味道，感受到皮肤上拂过的微风。但更让我印象深刻的是其语言中蕴含的冷峻和讽刺意味。它没有过多华丽的辞藻去粉饰太平，而是用一种近乎残酷的写实手法，揭示了权力运作的本质。那种不加修饰的对话，往往一针见血地刺穿了贵族阶层的虚伪面具。阅读这种语言，就像是剥开一层层包装，直抵事物最核心的真相，虽然过程可能有些寒冷，但获得的洞察却是无比清晰和透彻的。这种文学质感，使得这本书超越了单纯的娱乐范畴，具备了持久的讨论价值。
评分这本书的角色塑造简直是教科书级别的，完全颠覆了我对传统奇幻小说中“绝对正义”与“纯粹邪恶”的刻板印象。这里没有脸谱化的英雄或恶棍，每个人物都行走在灰色地带，他们的动机复杂、充满矛盾，而且往往是环境与命运共同作用下的产物。你会发现自己在一页之内，对某个角色的行为感到愤慨，而在下一页又因为他展现出的脆弱或坚韧而产生强烈的共情。这种人性深处的挖掘，使得每一次抉择都充满了份量感。阅读的过程中，我常常停下来思考，如果是我处于那个绝境，我会做出怎样的选择？这种强烈的代入感和道德上的拉扯，让故事的张力达到了极致。它让你明白，在生存面前，所谓的荣誉和忠诚，有时不过是奢侈的装饰品，而人性的光辉与阴暗，往往只在一念之间。
评分我必须承认，一开始接触这套书时，我有点被它庞大的世界观和众多的家族关系吓退了，感觉像是要啃下一块巨大的硬骨头。但一旦下定决心跨过最初的门槛，随后的阅读体验就像是坐上了一列加速的列车，根本停不下来。每一个章节的结尾都设计得极为巧妙，常常是一个突发事件、一句意味深长的话，或者一个悬而未决的危机，让你产生一种强烈的“我必须知道下一页发生了什么”的驱动力。这完全不同于那种平铺直叙的故事，它的节奏感控制得炉火纯青，在紧张的政治角力与短暂的平静叙事之间进行着完美的切换。这种令人欲罢不能的阅读体验，让那些漫长的夜晚变得飞快，牺牲了睡眠时间却换来了巨大的精神满足，坦白说，这种“上瘾性”是很多作品梦寐以求却难以达到的境界。
评分这本书的装帧设计简直是艺术品！拿到手的时候就忍不住多看了一会儿。封面那种略带粗粝感的纸张，配上那烫金的字体，散发着一种古老史诗的气息，让人一眼就能感受到它蕴含的厚重历史感。内页的排版也处理得非常考究，字体大小适中，行间距拿捏得恰到好处，即便是长时间阅读，眼睛也不会感到太大的疲劳。我特别留意了装订工艺，翻阅时非常顺畅，完全没有那种新书特有的僵硬感，而且感觉它能经受住反复阅读的考验，这对于一本我打算珍藏的书来说太重要了。要知道，一本好书，它的“物理存在感”也同样重要，它不仅仅是文字的载体，更是一种可以触摸和感受的体验。很多时候，我甚至会因为一本实体书的质感而更愿意拿起它来阅读，而不是去面对冰冷的电子屏幕。这本书的外观完全达到了我的预期，甚至有所超越，它完美地烘托出了故事本身那种磅礴大气的基调。
评分当我沉浸在这些宏大的叙事结构中时，我不得不惊叹于作者构建世界的精妙程度。这不是那种线性发展的简单故事，它更像是一张错综复杂的挂毯，每一条丝线都代表着一个家族、一个阴谋、或者一段历史的碎片。初读时，人物众多，关系盘根错节，确实需要集中注意力去梳理“谁效忠于谁”“谁和谁有旧怨”。但一旦适应了这种信息密度，你会发现每一个看似不经意的对话，每一个看似无关紧要的地理描述，都在为后续的巨大事件埋下伏笔。那种“原来如此！”的顿悟感，是阅读其他许多作品时难以体会的。它考验着读者的耐心，但绝对回报以最丰厚的智力满足感。这种叙事上的“不迎合”，反而成了它最吸引人的魅力所在，它尊重读者的理解能力，让你感觉自己是真正参与到这场权谋博弈中的一员，而不是一个被动接受故事的旁观者。
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