![[現貨]英文原版小說 A Game of Thrones冰與火之歌捲1權利的遊戲](https://pic.windowsfront.com/10020684280/5b3dca46Nad1009f0.png)
店鋪： 中圖上海圖書專營店
齣版社： Bantam
ISBN：9780553573404
商品編碼：10020684280
具體描述
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（海外預定對接齣版社庫存實時發生變動，可能會發生海外齣版社庫存無法滿足的情況，因海外庫存為不可控因素，如庫存無法滿足，商傢會盡快聯係客戶取消訂單，請確保聯係電話和短信的通暢。帶來不便還請廣大客戶理解和配閤，感謝。）
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——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
ISBN:9780553573404
內容介紹 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.,
作者介紹
From the Hardcover edition.,,
關聯推薦 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.暫時沒有目錄，請見諒！
在綫試讀 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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原版小說大多采用環保再生紙，環保紙特點：微黃（無漂白、更護眼）、紙質略薄、輕便 。原版小說大多為小開本便於攜帶，字體小絕非質量問題。請知悉！如有必需，我司可嚮平颱齣示海外齣版社提供的齣貨發票。相信消費者們雪亮的眼睛，請不要主觀誹謗我們是盜版 。我司商品100%為正版！
發貨時間公告：
現貨商品 ：周一至周五下單48小時內齣貨。
北上廣深及江浙滬市區內一般2-5天到貨，其他地區一般3-7天到貨。我司使用中通和Z物流多庫房就近齣貨（無法接受挑選物流公司望理解），包裹在運送途中不顯示運單號。抵達目的地城市之後，會在派件當天顯示物流單號，還請廣大客戶知曉！耐心等待包裹哦！兩種快遞的查詢方式如下：
Z物流查詢網站：https://www.kuaidi100.com/all/yamaxunwuliu.shtml
中通快遞：https://www.kuaidi100.com/all/zt.shtml
預售商品：到貨時間請參考“商品副標題”和內頁說明。
預訂商品：該類是為顧客從海外特彆 訂購的，正常情況30-60天內發貨，付款24小時後因海外已轉接安排空運流程，無法退貨和取消。請務必知悉！
（海外預定對接齣版社庫存實時發生變動，可能會發生海外齣版社庫存無法滿足的情況，因海外庫存為不可控因素，如庫存無法滿足，商傢會盡快聯係客戶取消訂單，請確保聯係電話和短信的通暢。帶來不便還請廣大客戶理解和配閤，感謝。）
在綫客服：每天上午9:00-晚間22:00（雙休日、節假日也有值班客服哦，如遇吃飯離開，還請耐心等待）。疑難問題請在工作日9:00-17:00聯係售後客服處理。
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
ISBN:9780553573404
內容介紹 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.,
作者介紹
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.,,
關聯推薦 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.暫時沒有目錄，請見諒！
在綫試讀 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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沉浸式奇幻史詩：《迷霧之城》 類型： 史詩奇幻、架空曆史、陰謀權謀 作者： 埃莉諾·凡·德·梅爾（Eleanor van der Meer） --- 一、 序章：風暴之地的黎明 《迷霧之城》的故事，發生在一片名為“維斯特拉”（Vestra）的古老大陸上。這裏，群山如巨龍般橫亙，河流奔騰著流嚮未知的海洋，而人類文明，則在永恒的黃昏與突如其來的烈日之間掙紮求存。維斯特拉並非一個統一的國傢，而是由七個主要王國構成的鬆散聯盟，彼此之間素有齟齬，共同維係著脆弱的和平。 故事的焦點，首先集中在位於大陸西北角的“鐵杉王國”（The Kingdom of Hemlock）。鐵杉王國以其堅韌的礦工和不屈的戰士聞名，但如今，這個王國正麵臨一場靜默的瘟疫——“灰影病”。這種病癥並非奪人性命，而是緩慢地抽乾感染者的情感與記憶，使他們變成如同行屍走肉般的“空殼人”。 我們的主角，卡萊布·維斯帕裏安（Caleb Vesperian），是鐵杉王國最受尊敬的王室學者兼皇傢檔案保管員。他身形瘦削，眼中總是閃爍著探究的光芒，對古老符文和失落曆史的理解，遠超當世任何人。卡萊布的平靜生活，隨著他偶然發現一份被層層加密的羊皮捲軸而被徹底打破。這份捲軸，記錄瞭一種早已被視為神話的遠古儀式——“喚醒沉眠之錨”。 --- 二、 權力的漩渦與失落的信物 捲軸的秘密指嚮瞭維斯特拉大陸的中心——傳說中由第一位國王親手建造的“浮空之城”——亞瑟裏姆（Aetherium）。亞瑟裏姆並非一座實體城邦，而是一個漂浮在雲層之上的巨型魔法結構，它控製著維斯特拉的季風和氣候，也是維係七國平衡的關鍵所在。然而，三百年前，亞瑟裏姆神秘墜落，留下的隻有傳說和一座位於大陸中央的巨大環形廢墟。 卡萊布發現，“喚醒沉眠之錨”需要集齊三件失落的“秩序信物”。這三件信物，分彆藏匿於三個互相敵對的勢力手中： 1. “馭風者的權杖”： 傳聞被極南之地崇尚武力的“赤焰部族”擁有，他們信奉力量至上，對魔法和學識嗤之以鼻。 2. “沉默之鏡”： 據說被深居於地下的“影織者公會”掌控，這是一個由精通幻術和滲透的刺客構成的神秘組織。 3. “永恒之鑰”： 這是最難以捉摸的一件，被認為被封印在北境冰原之下，由一群被世人遺忘的冰霜守衛守護。 卡萊布的發現，很快引起瞭宮廷中陰暗勢力的注意。攝政王奧古斯丁，一個錶麵溫和、實則野心勃勃的貴族，他樂於看到鐵杉王國衰弱，並暗中與影織者公會勾結，意圖利用灰影病來鞏固自己的統治。奧古斯丁深知，如果有人能重新啓動亞瑟裏姆，那麼控製天空，就等於控製瞭整個維斯特拉。 --- 三、 冒險與結盟：穿梭於敵對國度 為瞭阻止奧古斯丁的陰謀，卡萊布不得不踏上危險的旅程。他身邊隻有兩位意外的同伴： 1. 莉安娜·布萊剋伍德（Lianna Blackwood）： 一位被流放的前皇傢禁衛軍隊長。她因一次政治失誤而濛受不白之冤，身手矯健，對權力階層深惡痛絕。她與卡萊布的知識和理論形成瞭完美的互補，是行動上的絕對保障。 2. 澤弗（Zephyr）： 一個身世成謎的流浪者，來自遙遠的東方沙漠部落。他精通追蹤和生存技巧，似乎對維斯特拉的曆史有著異乎尋常的瞭解，並且擁有一種與自然元素溝通的微弱能力。 他們的首次目標是南方，尋找赤焰部族的“馭風者的權杖”。在穿越被稱為“低語沼澤”的危險地帶時，他們不僅要躲避奧古斯丁派齣的追捕者，還要應對沼澤中那些被失衡的魔法能量扭麯的生物。 在赤焰部族的營地裏，卡萊布必須通過一場考驗，這不是力量的比試，而是對“秩序”的理解。他必須用古老的語言，嚮部族首領闡釋亞瑟裏姆墜落的真正原因——那並非天災，而是權力失衡導緻的“係統崩潰”。莉安娜則必須在部族之間的傳統角鬥場上，以智慧而非蠻力，為卡萊布爭取到說話的機會。 --- 四、 潛入深淵：影織者的遊戲 集齊第一件信物後，旅程轉嚮地下。影織者公會的總部位於一座被永恒黑暗籠罩的地下城——“黑曜石樞紐”。這裏的空氣中彌漫著謊言與幻覺。 卡萊布和同伴們需要潛入公會最核心的圖書館，那裏收藏著關於“沉默之鏡”的真相。公會的首領“夜鶯”是一位精通心理操控的大師。她不直接與人交手，而是利用人們內心最深的恐懼和渴望來瓦解他們。 在地下城的迷宮中，卡萊布的知識受到瞭極大的考驗。他必須分辨齣哪些是真實的幻象，哪些是影織者為瞭保護信物而設置的邏輯陷阱。莉安娜則必須麵對自己被流放的痛苦記憶，抵抗“夜鶯”試圖將她變成雙麵間諜的誘惑。澤弗的力量，在這裏錶現為對“真實”的感知力，他能嗅齣謊言的氣味，指引夥伴穿越迷霧。 最終，他們發現“沉默之鏡”並非一個物體，而是一種記錄瞭維斯特拉所有曆史謊言的魔法矩陣。集齊它，意味著他們必須承擔起嚮世界揭示真相的重擔。 --- 五、 冰原上的抉擇與古老盟約的重現 最後，旅程指嚮瞭北境的“霜凍之脊”。這裏的冰霜守衛並非嗜血的怪物，而是三百年前亞瑟裏姆墜落的直接見證者。他們看守的“永恒之鑰”，代錶著“犧牲與平衡”的原則。 在冰原上，卡萊布不僅要麵對極端的自然環境，還要麵對一位古老盟約的繼承人——伊索爾德（Isolde）。伊索爾德的族人世代守護著這個秘密，他們懷疑所有來自南方文明的人類都是腐敗的根源。 卡萊布必須說服伊索爾德，鐵杉王國目前的統治者已經被陰謀腐蝕，而恢復亞瑟裏姆，並非是為瞭重建舊日的輝煌，而是為瞭防止“灰影病”擴散至整個大陸。在冰雪的考驗中，澤弗展現瞭他真正的身份——他是一個失散的、擁有純淨元素之力的後裔，他的血脈與冰霜守衛的盟約息息相關。 --- 六、 高潮：重鑄秩序 當三件信物匯閤，卡萊布一行人終於迴到瞭亞瑟裏姆的墜落地。攝政王奧古斯丁和他的影織者爪牙也趕到瞭那裏，企圖奪取信物，將亞瑟裏姆的力量據為己有，以達到完全控製維斯特拉的目的。 最終決戰並非純粹的武力對抗，而是一場關於“魔法理論”與“政治野心”的較量。卡萊布必須在奧古斯丁啓動毀滅性儀式之前，用三件信物重新校準亞瑟裏姆的核心——一個巨大的能量樞紐。 這場校準儀式，要求他不僅要運用淵博的古代知識，還要在極短時間內做齣關於維斯特拉未來走嚮的決定：是恢復到三百年前的舊有平衡，還是利用新知識創造一個更公平的結構？ 莉安娜與澤弗則負責拖住奧古斯丁及其精銳部隊。莉安娜必須麵對自己過去犯下的錯誤，用行動證明她的忠誠；澤弗則需要引動地脈之力，暫時壓製影織者的幻術。 尾聲：新紀元的開端 隨著卡萊布完成“喚醒沉眠之錨”的最後一步，亞瑟裏姆雖然沒有重新升空，但其核心能量被成功穩定。灰影病停止瞭蔓延，奧古斯丁的陰謀被徹底揭穿。 維斯特拉大陸並未立刻迎來黃金時代，但和平的基石已然奠定。卡萊布、莉安娜和澤弗，成為瞭新時代的奠基人。他們深知，維護這來之不易的平衡，將是比集齊信物更漫長、更艱巨的挑戰。維斯特拉的未來，不再由神話決定，而是由那些敢於直麵曆史真相、並為之奮鬥的人所書寫。 本書細緻描繪瞭權力如何在知識的盲區滋生，以及真正的勇氣，往往藏在書捲與堅定的信念之中。它探討瞭曆史的重量、盟約的意義，以及在麵對宏大災難時，個體如何通過智慧與閤作，改變既定的命運。
用戶評價
評分
從純粹的文學性角度來看，作者的文字功底極其深厚，尤其是在描繪那些充滿異域風情的場景時，筆觸細膩而富有畫麵感。無論是北境的冰雪覆蓋，還是南方溫暖的港口城市，你幾乎能聞到空氣中的味道，感受到皮膚上拂過的微風。但更讓我印象深刻的是其語言中蘊含的冷峻和諷刺意味。它沒有過多華麗的辭藻去粉飾太平，而是用一種近乎殘酷的寫實手法，揭示瞭權力運作的本質。那種不加修飾的對話，往往一針見血地刺穿瞭貴族階層的虛僞麵具。閱讀這種語言，就像是剝開一層層包裝，直抵事物最核心的真相，雖然過程可能有些寒冷，但獲得的洞察卻是無比清晰和透徹的。這種文學質感，使得這本書超越瞭單純的娛樂範疇，具備瞭持久的討論價值。
評分這本書的裝幀設計簡直是藝術品！拿到手的時候就忍不住多看瞭一會兒。封麵那種略帶粗糲感的紙張，配上那燙金的字體，散發著一種古老史詩的氣息，讓人一眼就能感受到它蘊含的厚重曆史感。內頁的排版也處理得非常考究，字體大小適中，行間距拿捏得恰到好處，即便是長時間閱讀，眼睛也不會感到太大的疲勞。我特彆留意瞭裝訂工藝，翻閱時非常順暢，完全沒有那種新書特有的僵硬感，而且感覺它能經受住反復閱讀的考驗，這對於一本我打算珍藏的書來說太重要瞭。要知道，一本好書，它的“物理存在感”也同樣重要，它不僅僅是文字的載體，更是一種可以觸摸和感受的體驗。很多時候，我甚至會因為一本實體書的質感而更願意拿起它來閱讀，而不是去麵對冰冷的電子屏幕。這本書的外觀完全達到瞭我的預期，甚至有所超越，它完美地烘托齣瞭故事本身那種磅礴大氣的基調。
評分當我沉浸在這些宏大的敘事結構中時，我不得不驚嘆於作者構建世界的精妙程度。這不是那種綫性發展的簡單故事，它更像是一張錯綜復雜的掛毯，每一條絲綫都代錶著一個傢族、一個陰謀、或者一段曆史的碎片。初讀時，人物眾多，關係盤根錯節，確實需要集中注意力去梳理“誰效忠於誰”“誰和誰有舊怨”。但一旦適應瞭這種信息密度，你會發現每一個看似不經意的對話，每一個看似無關緊要的地理描述，都在為後續的巨大事件埋下伏筆。那種“原來如此！”的頓悟感，是閱讀其他許多作品時難以體會的。它考驗著讀者的耐心，但絕對迴報以最豐厚的智力滿足感。這種敘事上的“不迎閤”，反而成瞭它最吸引人的魅力所在，它尊重讀者的理解能力，讓你感覺自己是真正參與到這場權謀博弈中的一員，而不是一個被動接受故事的旁觀者。
評分我必須承認，一開始接觸這套書時，我有點被它龐大的世界觀和眾多的傢族關係嚇退瞭，感覺像是要啃下一塊巨大的硬骨頭。但一旦下定決心跨過最初的門檻，隨後的閱讀體驗就像是坐上瞭一列加速的列車，根本停不下來。每一個章節的結尾都設計得極為巧妙，常常是一個突發事件、一句意味深長的話，或者一個懸而未決的危機，讓你産生一種強烈的“我必須知道下一頁發生瞭什麼”的驅動力。這完全不同於那種平鋪直敘的故事，它的節奏感控製得爐火純青，在緊張的政治角力與短暫的平靜敘事之間進行著完美的切換。這種令人欲罷不能的閱讀體驗，讓那些漫長的夜晚變得飛快，犧牲瞭睡眠時間卻換來瞭巨大的精神滿足，坦白說，這種“上癮性”是很多作品夢寐以求卻難以達到的境界。
評分這本書的角色塑造簡直是教科書級彆的，完全顛覆瞭我對傳統奇幻小說中“絕對正義”與“純粹邪惡”的刻闆印象。這裏沒有臉譜化的英雄或惡棍，每個人物都行走在灰色地帶，他們的動機復雜、充滿矛盾，而且往往是環境與命運共同作用下的産物。你會發現自己在一頁之內，對某個角色的行為感到憤慨，而在下一頁又因為他展現齣的脆弱或堅韌而産生強烈的共情。這種人性深處的挖掘，使得每一次抉擇都充滿瞭份量感。閱讀的過程中，我常常停下來思考，如果是我處於那個絕境，我會做齣怎樣的選擇？這種強烈的代入感和道德上的拉扯，讓故事的張力達到瞭極緻。它讓你明白，在生存麵前，所謂的榮譽和忠誠，有時不過是奢侈的裝飾品，而人性的光輝與陰暗，往往隻在一念之間。
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