魔兽争霸官方小说:仇恨之轮-Cycle of Hatred(英文版)-第15章
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Strov arrived early； taking a seat in the corner； wanting to blend into the background of the tavern and people
watch。 After a few hours； he decided that he had no desire to ever patronize this establishment again。 The table was
filthy； and the stool he sat on was uneven and rocked on the unswept floor。 He got his first drink a watery ale at
the bar； and no attempt had been made to refill it。 It amazed Strov that the owner could stay in business。
On top of that； Strov found the demon skull behind the bar to be incredibly disturbing。 It was as if the thing were
staring right at him the entire time。 Although； thinking on it； he could see how the presence of that skull looming
over everyone in the tavern would drive people to drink more； so he supposed that； at least； was a sound business
decision。
Manuel came in with a bunch of men who； like him； were burly and loud and wearing only sleeveless shirts and
loose cotton pants。 Strov s brother earned his daily bread loading and unloading ships docked in Theramore； and
then spent most of it either at dice or in this tavern。 It was work that challenged only the body； not the mind； which
was why it had held no interest for Strov； but held plenty for the much less imaginative Manuel。 Strov s older
brother wasn t one to think overmuch on things。 Even the soldier s training Strov had received when he enlisted
would have been too taxing for him。 He preferred the simplicity of being told to take a box from one place and put
it in another place。 Anything more than that like the intricacies of fighting with a sword gave him a headache。
As the dockworkers made their way inside the bar； Manuel said； Find a table； fellas； I ll be orderin the drinks。
First round on you？ one of his coworkers asked with a grin。
You wish we ll divvy up later。 Manuel laughed and walked up to the bar。 Strov noted that his brother didn t
move in a straight line to the bar； but instead took an odd angle so he had to squeeze in between two other people in
order to stand at the bar。 Evenin ； Erik； he said to the barkeep。
The barkeep just nodded。
Two ales； one corn whiskey； one wine； and a boar s grog。
Strov smiled。 Manuel always had a weakness for boar s grog； which was of course the most expensive item in the
tavern。 This was one of several reasons why he still lived with their parents while Strov had his own place。
The usual； Erik said。 in up。
As Erik went to put the order together； Manuel turned to look at the man seated next to him。 He d arrived after
Strov did； but was already on his third corn whiskey。 Hey； Manuel said； you re Margoz； right？
The man just looked up and stared blankly at Manuel。
You re with them Burning Blade folk； right？ Had a fella in here awhile back； was lookin for recruits。 You re with
em； yeah？
Dunno what you re talking about。 Margoz s words were sufficiently slurred that his consonants barely qualified
as such。 Scuse me。
Margoz then got off his stool； stumbled to the floor； got up while refusing assistance from Manuel； and then walked
very slowly and unsteadily toward the door。
A moment later； after Manuel gave him a look and a nod； Strov abandoned his longempty mug and also exited
onto the streets of Theramore。
The cobblestone streets that formed a lattice amid the buildings of Theramore were designed to provide reinforced
ground for people； mounts； and wheeled conveyances to travel without risking getting mired in the swampy ground
the city had been built on。 Most people walked on them rather than the muck and grass on either side； which meant
the thoroughfares were so crowded that Strov could follow Margoz without fear of being noticed。
After Margoz bumped into four different people； two of whom actively tried to avoid him； Strov realized that they
could have been alone on the street for all it mattered。 Margoz was so drunk he wouldn t have noticed a dragon
following him down the street。
Still； Strov refused to let his training go to waste； so he kept a good distance behind and rarely looked right at the
target； though he kept him in his peripheral vision。
They soon arrived at a small adobe structure near the docks。 This particular house was constructed of the cheaper
material rather than wood or stone； indicating that very poor people indeed lived here。 If this Margoz was a
fisherman； as Manuel thought； he was obviously a bad one； as it took a true lack of skill to not succeed as a
fisherman on an island on the coast of the Great Sea。 The nearest cesspool was poorly concealed； and Strov almost
gagged from the odor of waste in the air。
Margoz entered the building； which was probably originally constructed as a fourroom house； but now had each
room rented out to a different tenant。 Strov took up position behind a tree across the way from it。
Three of the rooms already had lanterns burning。 The fourth lit up about half a minute after Margoz entered。 Strov
casually walked across the way and then stood near Margoz s window； making as if to urinate on the wall。 He made
sure to stumble as he approached； so that any passersby would assume he was drunk。 It wasn t all that unusual late
at night to see drunks relieving themselves on whatever surface presented itself。
From Margoz s room； Strov heard the words： Galtak Ered nash。 Ered nash ban galar。 Ered nash havik yrthog。
Galtak Ered nash。
Strov started。 He didn t recognize the rest of it； but the first and last part were things the orcs who attacked them at
Northwatch had said。
Pleased with himself for having rightly made this connection； Strov continued listening。
Then his entire face scrunched up in revulsion at the sudden stink of sulfur。 On the face of it； sulfur should have
been more pleasant； or at least less revolting； than the cesspool s overwhelming odor。 But there was something
wrong something evil about this smell。 Margoz s words had sounded like an incantation； and now this。 Not only
was magic afoot； but Strov was willing to bet his sword that it was demonic magic。
M sorry； sir； I didn mean to Margoz paused。 Yeah； I realize y don wanna be bothered less it s important；
but it s been months； sir； and m still in is same hole。 I jus wanna know Another pause。 Well； it s importan t
me！ And wha s more； people keep talkin t me； like I can help em or somethin 。
Strov couldn t hear the other half of the conversation； which meant that either Margoz was crazy and was talking to
himself which Strov had to admit was likely； especially given his inebriated state or the other half of the
conversation was meant for Margoz s ears only。
I dunno whatcher talkin bout。 Nobody didn
got eyes n the back a my head！
Another pause。 Well； how s I s posed t know that？ Huh？ I ain t
What Strov knew about demons was mostly how to kill them； but this odd onesided conversation definitely had the
stink of demon to Strov and not just because of the sulfur。
He did up his pants。 At this point； he had enough to report to Colonel Lorena。 Besides； he didn t much like the idea
of being this close to a demon。
Turning around； he found himself facing absolute darkness。
What the ？ He whirled around； but there was only darkness behind him as well。 Theramore had pletely
disappeared。
I do not like spies。
Strov didn t so much hear the voice as feel it in his very bones。 It was as if someone had sewn his eyes shut； only
his eyes were open； but he couldn t see anything。
No； it wasn t just sight that had gone quiet。 The darkness extended to his other senses。 He could no longer hear the
bustle of Theramore； nor taste the salty air； nor feel the breeze wafting in off the Great Sea。
And the only thing he smelled now was sulfur。
Why do you spy on my minion？
Strov said nothing。 He wasn t sure he was capable of speech； and even if he was； he would never give up
information to a creature such as this。
I do not have time to play these games。 It seems you must simply die。
The darkness caved in on Strov。 His body grew cold； the blood freezing in his veins； his mind screaming in sudden；
terrifying agony。
The last thought Strov had was hope that Manuel wouldn t blow Strov s entire pension on boar s grog…。
Eleven
M uzzlecrank used to like being a goblin bruiser。 Truly； it had been easy work when he first signed up。 Bruisers
enforced the peace in Ratchet； and the pay was good。 Muzzlecrank s shifts were spent wandering up and down his
section of the pier at Ratchet； beating up the occasional drunk or vagabond； taking bribes from shipmasters moving
contraband； arresting the ones who were too stupid or too cheap to pay bribes； and generally getting to meet all
manner of people。
Muzzlecrank had always thought of himself as a people person。 Ratchet was a neutral port goblins as a rule did
not take sides in the numerous conflicts that ravaged the land and as a result； pretty much every type of creature
you were like to find in the world came through at some point or other。 Elves； dwarves； humans； orcs； trolls； ogres；
even the occasional gnome it was the crossroads of Kalimdor。 Muzzlecrank always liked seeing the different
interactions； whether it was dwarves shipping construction materials to elves； elves shipping jewelry to humans；
orcs shipping crops to elves； humans shipping fish to ogres； or trolls shipping weapons to pretty much anyone。
Lately； though； things had gotten somewhat less pleasant。 Especially between the humans and the orcs which was
problematic insofar as the most mon patrons of Ratchet were those two races。 Ratchet was right at Durotar s
southernmost border； and was the nearest port to Theramore as well。
Just last week； he had had to break up a fight between an orc sailor and a human merchant。 The former had
apparently stepped on the latter s toe and the human took umbrage。 Muzzlecrank had been forced to break them up
before the orc beat the human into a pulp； which hadn t been any fun at all。 Muzzlecrank preferred to get into fights
with vagabonds and drunks because they were kind enough not to fight back。 Fightingmad orcs were another kettle
of grease entirely； and Muzzlecrank preferred to
