优先遵循ANK汉化
骨头，第二部
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2022-08-08更新
最新编辑:Lu_23333
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更新日期：2022-08-08
最新编辑：Lu_23333
骨头，第二部
“还有更可怕的？”葛拉兹难以置信。“以波耶西亚之名，这故事怎么可能更骇人？”
“那只是他唬人的花招”休马拉语气嘲弄，再要了两马克杯的葛福，也替葛拉兹点了一玻璃杯的飞令。“一个以食人族、虐待奴隶和腐烂动物尸体再利用为主角的故事，能可怕到哪里去？”
“你少惹我”霍格德咆哮道，对于听众竟然不捧他场感到很不高兴。“我刚才说到哪里了？”
“厄斯力·翁的堡垒被野蛮的食人族诺德人包围”休马拉面无表情地回答。“因为死了一堆人，但还是取不到水，他要名字很怪、叫做葛奇仕的护甲师做出前所未见的骨模盔甲，让奴隶穿了去取水，终于有一个成功取水回来”
这唯一的一壶水（霍格德把椅子往后拉，继续说故事），厄斯力·翁喝了大半，剩下一些给他亲爱的护甲师，再留最后几滴给还活着的几十个奴隶。这些水当然不足以让他们保持健康和安适。他们需要另一次远征，但现在只剩一副骨模，因为只有一个奴隶活着回来。
“经过诺德人的密集攻击，十八个穿着你非凡盔甲的奴隶只有一个生还”厄斯力·翁对葛奇仕说。“而他带回来的水只够一个人喝。以数学计算，包括你我，堡垒内目前还有五十六个人，我们需要五十四副骨模，既然我们已经有一副了，你只需要再做五十三副。然后估计会有三个人回来，把这三壶水给我、你，和最强壮的那个人喝。我不知道接下来会怎么样，但我们如果再等下去，很快就没有足够的奴隶出去取水了”
“我明白”葛奇仕抽噎着说。“但我要怎么做盔甲？第一批骨模已经把家畜的骨头都用光了”
厄斯力·翁依然下了一道命令，而葛奇仕也只能战战兢兢地服从。在十八个小时内——
“你所谓‘厄斯力·翁依然下了一道命令，而葛奇仕也只能战战兢兢地服从’是什么意思？”休马拉发问。“他下了什么命令？”
“好戏在后头”霍格德露出微笑。“我必须选择要透漏什么情节，又该暂时隐瞒哪些部分。高明的说书人都是这样的”
十八个小时之内，葛奇仕替奴隶做好了五十三套骨模盔甲（霍格德继续说，毫不介意刚才被打断）。这次他迳自要奴隶练习使用盔甲，甚至还给他们更多的训练时间。他们不只练习如何快速移动和停止，也练习调整余光好及时看见挥击而来的木棒并闪避，以及哪里是盔甲最坚固的点——胸部和腹部的中心——他们该怎么克服本能的闪躲反应，摆好位置用这两点去抵挡木棒攻击打击。这些奴隶甚至有机会分两队打了一场模拟战斗，才被派去面对食人族。
奴隶的表现非常出色。只有十五人立刻被杀和吃掉，到达河边时也只有十个被杀死吃掉。从这里开始情势渐渐违背了厄斯力·翁的计划。二十一个奴隶从河边取了水，不过因为被诺德人阻挡，只有八人回到堡垒。幸存率比预期更高，但厄斯力·翁却对这样的忠诚感到不悦。
“你们真的不想逃走吗？”他从堡垒上大叫。
最后，他终于允许幸存者进来。三人在等待城门开启时被杀，两个在快要踏入院子时死去，一个发了疯，又笑又跳地绕着圈子，而后突然倒地。这表示他们有五壶水，可以给四个人喝：两个幸存的奴隶、厄斯力·翁和葛奇仕。身为领主，厄斯力·翁拿了多出来的一壶水，但他采取民主的方式，与其他人平分。
葛拉兹皱起眉头。“没错，这故事越来越可怕了”
“等着瞧”霍格德微笑。
第二天早上（霍格德继续），厄斯力·翁在完全寂静的堡垒中醒来。走廊无人呻吟，院子里也没有工作劳动的声响。他穿好衣服，巡视一圈，整座堡垒看来净空了。厄斯力·翁下楼来到护甲师的房间，但他的门锁着。
“开门”厄斯力·翁很有耐心地说。“我们必须讨论一下。五十四个奴隶里有三十人顺利去到河边取水。我得承认有些人逃走了，另外有些因为我必须纠正他们的浮躁而丢了性命，但就数学上来说，存活率是百分之五十五。如果，你和我跟剩下的两个奴隶去河边，我们两个应该可以幸存”
“齐利安和盖罗昨晚穿着他们的盔甲离开了”葛奇仕从门后喊道。
“齐利安和盖罗是谁？”
“剩下的两个奴隶！他们不再‘剩下’了！”
“唉，这可麻烦了”厄斯力·翁说。“但我们还是要继续。就数学上来说——”
“我昨晚听到一些声音”葛奇仕发出古怪的哀鸣。“像脚步声，但又不一样，在墙壁来回穿梭。还有说话声，听起来很奇怪，好像他们的下巴不太能动，但是我听出一个人的声音”
厄斯力·翁叹着气迎合他可怜的护甲师。“哦，那是谁？”
“庞尼克”
“庞尼克是谁？”
“我们的水被诺德人下毒时死掉的一个奴隶。很多很多死去而且尸首被我们利用的奴隶之一。他生前是个从不抱怨的好人，所以我才特别注意到他的声音”葛奇仕开始啜泣。“我听得懂他的话”
“他说什么？”厄斯力·翁叹着气问。
“‘把我的骨头还给我！’”葛奇仕尖叫。安静片刻后，又传来歇斯底里的啜泣声。
“我就猜是这样”休马拉大笑。
看来护甲师一时也派不上用场（霍格德有点不高兴被打扰，但还是继续），所以厄斯力·翁脱下一名死去奴隶的骨模盔甲，自己穿上。他在院子里练习，对自己毫无困难便适应这中等重量的盔甲感到自豪不已。他出拳、佯攻、闪躲、冲刺、转身、跳跃，而且到处跑动，练习了好几个小时。等他终于觉得累了，便到树荫下打个盹。
国王的号角声突然将他吵醒。时间已是晚上，他一时还以为自己在作梦。那个警示音再度出现，虽然很远但很清楚，厄斯力·翁跳起来跑到堡垒城墙上。他看到国王特使和其武力坚强的护卫队正从几里之外逐渐靠近。他们提早来了！围在城下的食人族诺德人惊恐地面面相望。他们或许是野蛮人，但他们知道更强的军队正在靠近。
厄斯力·翁欢欣鼓舞地冲下楼梯，跑去葛奇仕的房间。房门依然锁着。他敲着门，好言相劝、大声命令，而后恐吓威胁。最后他找到一把钥匙，那是少数逃过火熔命运的小块金属之一。
葛奇仕似乎在睡觉，但等厄斯力·翁靠近，他注意到护甲师的嘴巴和眼睛都张得好大，手臂不自然地叠在身后。再仔细一看，护甲师显然已经死了。不仅如此，他的脸和整副身躯已经凹陷，好像被清空了的猪膀胱。
有东西从墙壁穿出，听起来像脚步声……但是黏黏的。厄斯力·翁处变不惊地转身面对。
起先，那只像是墙缝里冒出的泡泡。接着肉色的凝胶物逐渐扩大，越来越像人脸的一部份。一张软绵绵、无形无状的脸，有对低垂的眉毛和没牙的松弛下巴。接着，身体的其余部分也从墙缝里逐渐渗出来，简直是只有肌肉和血液的软皮囊。厄斯力·翁身后和旁边纷纷有所动静，越来越多奴隶从墙缝里冒出来。他们包围住他，伸出手来。
“还我们”庞尼克呻吟，他的舌头从垂挂的下巴掉出来。“还我们骨头来”
厄斯力·翁开始脱下骨模，扔在地上。一百个、或许更多的形体，涌进了小房间。
“这些不够”
国王特使抵达厄斯力·翁的城门时，食人族已经跑光了。特使团并不喜欢出巡，所以决定从最讨厌的诸侯开始，这样旅程就能愉快收尾。他们大老远便已发出警告，但是城门竟然没有开。厄斯力·翁的堡垒一点声音也无。
他们花了好几小时才得以进门。要不是特使团带了几个提供娱乐的特技人员，说不定还得拖更久。堡垒好像唱空城计，他们搜索了每个角落，最后来到护甲师的房间。
堡垒的主人好像一件长袍那般，被摺叠得整整齐齐放在那里，双腿在头的后方，双手在腿的后方。身体里面一根骨头也没有。
“你的故事从一开始就全是胡说”休马拉嚷道。“现在更是无法成立。如果发明骨模的护甲师在把制作方法告诉别人之前就已经死了，骨模怎么可能又被制造出来？”
“我只说这是骨模第一次被打造出来，我可没说这是人们初次学会这种手艺”
“那有人第一次把这种手艺教导给某人，又是什么时候？”葛拉兹问。
“那个呀，我的朋友”霍格德露出可恶的微笑。“就留待另一个夜晚吧”
Bone, Part II
"What do you mean the story gets more appalling?" Garaz was incredulous. "How in Boethiah's name could it get more appalling?"
"It's a ruse," Xiomara scoffed, ordering two more mugs of greef and a glass of flin for Garaz. "How much worse can a tale get which prominently features cannibalism, abuse of slaves, and the regular placement of rotting animal carcasses?"
"Don't you dare dare me," growled Hallgerd, annoyed by his listeners' lack of appreciation of his prose styling. "Remind me where we were?"
"Arslic Oan is the owner of a stronghold under siege by savage, cannibalistic Nords," said Xiomara, keeping a straight face. "After a lot of deaths and several unsuccessful attempts to get water, he had his armorer with the unlikely name of Gorkith outfit his slaves with the first ever bonemold armor. One of them finally makes it back with some water."
It was only one jarful of water (said Hallgerd, pulling back in his chair and continuing the tale), and Arslic Oan drank most of it, passing the remains to his dear armorer Gorkith and the last dribbles to the few dozen slaves who still lived. It was hardly enough to sustain health and well-being. Another expedition was necessary, but they had only one suit of bonemold left, as there was only one survivor of the trip.
"One out of eighteen slaves made it through the gauntlet of Nords wearing that marvelous bonemold armor of yours," said Arslic Oan to Gorkith. "And one can only carry back enough water for one. Therefore, mathematically, as we have, counting you and me, fifty-six remaining people at the stronghold, we need armor for fifty-four. Since we already have one, you only need to make fifty-three to make the total. That way, three will make it back, with enough water for you and me and whoever's in the best condition to partake. I don't know what we'll do after that, but if we wait, we won't have enough slaves to fetch even a couple days' worth of water."
"I understand," whimpered Gorkith. "But how am I going to make the armor? I used all the livestock bones to make the first batch of bonemold."
Arslic Oan gave an order which Gorkith fearfully complied with. In eighteen hours -
"What do you mean 'Arslic Oan gave an order which Gorkith fearfully complied with'?" asked Xiomara. "What was the order?"
"All will be clear," smiled Hallgerd. "I have to chose what to reveal and what to conceal. Such is the way of the tale teller."
In eighteen hours, Gorkith had fifty-three suits of bonemail (said Hallgerd, continuing, not really minding the interruption) prepared for the slaves. Without prompting, he ordered the slaves to practice using the armor, and even allowed them more training time than their predecessors. They not only learned how to move and stop quickly in bonemold, but how to adjust their peripheral vision to see a blow before it came, and to sway to dodge, and where the sturdiest reinforcement points on the arm were -- the center of the chest and the abdomen -- and how to position themselves to take blows there, against their natural instincts. The slaves even had time for a mock battle before being sent out among the cannibals.
The slaves handled themselves admirably. Very few, just fifteen slaves, were killed and eaten out right. Only ten were killed and eaten when they reached the river. That was when things did not go according to Arslic Oan's plans. Twenty-one slaves with jars of water took off for the hills. Only eight returned to the castle, largely because they were blocked by the cannibal Nords. It was a larger percentage than he had anticipated surviving, but Arslic Oan felt righteous indignation at the paucity of loyalty.
"Are you absolutely certain you wouldn't rather flee?" he hollered from the battlements.
Finally, he allowed the survivors in. Three had been killed waiting for the gate to open. Two more died almost upon stepping into the courtyard. One was delirious, walking around in circles, laughing and dancing before suddenly collapsing. That meant five jars of water for four people, the two surviving slaves, Arslic Oan, and Gorkith. As the lord of the manor, Arslic Oan took the extra jar, but he was democratic with the others.
"You're quite correct," frowned Garaz. "This story is getting more and more appalling."
"Just wait," smiled Hallgerd.
The next morning (Hallgerd continued) Arslic Oan awoke to a perfectly still and quiet stronghold. There was no murmuring in the corridors, no sound of hard labor in the courtyard. He dressed and surveyed the scene. It appeared that the fortress was utterly deserted. Arslic Oan walked down to the armorer's quarters, but the door was locked.
"Open up," said Arslic Oan, patiently. "We need to speak. Thirty out of fifty-four slaves successfully made it to the river and gathered water. Admittedly, some then fled, and a couple didn't survive because I needed to correct their fickleness, but mathematically, that's a fifty-five percent survival rate. If you and I and the two remaining slaves made the next run to the river, we two should survive."
"Zilian and Gelo left last night with their armor," cried Gorklith through the door.
"Who are Zilian and Gelo?"
"The two remaining slaves! They don't remain anymore!"
"Well, that's vexing," said Arslic Oan. "Still we must continue on. Mathematically--"
"I heard something last night," whimpered Gorklith in a funny voice. "Like footsteps, only different, and they were moving through the walls. And there were voices too. They sounded strange, like they couldn't move their jaws very well, but I knew one."
Arslic Oan sighed, humoring his poor armorer: "And who was it?"
"Ponik."
"And who is Ponik?"
"One of the slaves that died when the Nords poisoned our water. One of the many, many slaves that died, and we made use of. He was always a nice, uncomplaining fellow, that's why I noticed his voice above all the others," Gorklith began to sob. "I understood what he was saying."
"Which was what?" asked Arslic Oan with a sigh.
"'Give me back my bones!'" Gorklith's voice shrieked. There was silence for a moment, and then more hysterical sobbing.
"I saw that coming," laughed Xiomara.
There was nothing more to be done with the armorer for the time being (said Hallgerd, a trifle annoyed at the regular interruptions), so Arslic Oan stripped one of the dead slaves of his suit of bonemold and put it on. He practiced in the courtyard, impressing himself with his natural comfortably with medium weight armor. For hours, he boxed, feinted, dodged, sprinted, skipped, jumped, and generally cavorted about. When he felt tired, he retired to the shade and took a nap.
The sound of the king's trumpet woke him with a start. Night had fallen, and for a moment, he thought he had been dreaming. Then the alarum sounded again, far in the distance, but clear. Arslic Oan leapt to his feet and ran to the ramparts. Several miles away, he could see the emissaries and their vast and well-armed escort approach. They were there early! The cannibal Nords below looked at one another with consternation. Savages they might be, but they knew when a superior force was approaching.
Arslic Oan joyously dashed down the stairs to Gorklith's chamber. The door was still locked. He beat on it, cajoling, demanding, threatening. Finally, he found a key, one of the few scraps of metal that had not been smelted days before.
Gorklith appeared to be sleeping, but as Arslic Oan approached, he noticed that the armorer's mouth and eyes were wide open and his arms were folded unnaturally behind his back. On closer inspection, the armorer was obviously dead. What was more, his face and whole body were sunken, like an empty pig's bladder.
Something moved through the walls, like a footfall only... squishy. Arslic Oan expertly and gracefully turned to face it, completely in balance.
At first, it seemed like nothing more than a bubble expanding through one of the cracks in the stone. As more of the flesh-colored gelatinous matter emerged, it more clearly resembled part of a face. A flaccid, almost shapeless face with a low brow and a slack, toothless jaw. The rest of the body oozed out of the crack, a soft bag of muscle and blood. Behind Arslic Oan and to the side, there was more movement, more slaves welling up through the cracks in the stone. They were all around him, reaching out.
"Give us," moaned Ponik, his tongue rolling about his hanging jaw. "Give us back our bones."
Arslic Oan began to rip off his bonemold, throwing it to the floor. A hundred figures, more, pooled into the small chamber.
"That's not enough."
The cannibals had cleared away by the time the king's emissaries arrived at Arslic Oan's gates. They had not been looking forward to this visit. It was best, they though philosophically, to begin with the worst of the king's noblemen, so to end their trip well. They sounded the alarum once again, but the gates did not open. There was no sound from Arslic Oan's stronghold.
It took a few hours to gain access. If the emissaries had not brought a professional acrobat with them for entertainment, it might have taken longer. The place seemed to be abandoned. They searched every room, until finally they came to the armorer's.
There they found the master of the manor, folded neatly, legs behind his head, arms behind the legs, like a fine gown. Not a bone in his body.
"The first part of your story was complete nonsense," cried Xiomara. "But now it doesn't hold true on any level. How could bonemold be made again if the armorer who invented it died before he could tell anyone how he did it?"
"I said that this was the first time it was created, not the first time people learned the craft."
"And when did someone first teach someone else the craft?" asked Garaz.
"That, my friends," replied Hallgerd with a sinister smile. "Is a tale for another night."
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