魔兽争霸官方小说:仇恨之轮-Cycle of Hatred(英文版)- 第2部分

Makes　you　wonder　what　Lady　Proudmoore　was　thinking；　　Margoz　said。　

Erik　frowned。　At　those　words；　the　tavern　suddenly　got　rather　quiet。　Lots　of　people　had　been　muttering　assent　or
disagreement；　either　with　the　sentiments　expressed　or　the　people　expressing　them。　

But　as　soon　as　Margoz　mentioned　Jaina　Proudmoore　worse；　mentioned　her　in　a　disparaging　manner　the　place　
got　quiet。　

Too　quiet。　In　the　three　years　Erik　had　been　a　tavern　owner；　he　learned　that　there　were　two　times　when　you　expected
a　fight　to　break　out：　when　the　place　got　too　loud；　and　when　it　got　too　quiet。　And　the　latter　times　usually　brought　on
the　really　nasty　fights。　

Another　soldier　stood　up　next　to　the　first　one　this　one　was　wider　in　the　shoulders；　and　he　didn　t　talk　much；　but
when　he　did；　it　was　in　a　booming　voice　that　made　the　demon　skull　behind　the　bar　rattle　on　its　mount。　Don　t
nobody　talk　bad　bout　Lady　Proudmoore　　less　he　wants　to　be　livin　　without　teeth。　　

Swallowing　audibly；　Margoz　quickly　said；　I　would　never　dream　of　speaking　of　our　leader　in　anything　but　reverent
tones；　good　sir；　I　promise。　　He　gulped　down　more　of　the　corn　whiskey　than　it　was　advisable　to　drink　in　one　sip；
which　caused　his　eyes　to　greatly　widen。　He　shook　his　head　a　few　times。　

Lady　Proudmoore　s　been　very　good　to　us；　　the　merchant　said。　After　we　drove　back　the　Burning　Legion；　she　made　
us　into　a　munity。　Your　plaints　are　fair；　Margoz；　but　none　of　it　can　be　laid　at　the　lady　s　feet。　I　ve　met　a　few
wizards　in　my　day；　and　most　of　em　aren　t　fit　to　be　scrapings　off　my　sandals。　But　the　lady　s　a　good　one；　and　you　ll
find　no　support　for　disparagements　of　her。　　

It　was　never　my　intent　to　disparage；　good　sir；　　Margoz　said；　still　sounding　a　bit　shaky　from　his　illadvised　gulp　of
corn　whiskey。　But　one　must　wonder　why　no　trade　agreements　have　been　made　to　obtain　this　superior　wood　that
these　fine　gentlemen　have　mentioned。　　He　looked　thoughtful　for　a　second。　Perhaps　she　has　tried；　but　the　orcs
would　not　permit　it。　　

The　captain　swallowed　a　gulp　of　his　ale；　then　said；　　Perhaps　them　orcs　told　her　to　leave　Northwatch。　　
　
We　should　leave　Northwatch；　　the　merchant　said。　The　Barrens　are　neutral　territory；　that　was　agreed　to　from　the　
beginning。　　

The　soldier　stiffened。　You　re　crazy　if　you　think　we　re　givin　　that　up。　　

Margoz　said；　That　is　where　the　orcs　fought　Admiral　Proudmoore。　　

Yes；　an　embarrassment。　As　fine　a　leader　as　Lady　Proudmoore　is；　that　s　how　much　of　an　idiot　her　father　was。　　The　
merchant　shook　his　head。　　That　entire　sordid　incident　should　be　put　out　of　our　heads。　But　it　won　t　be　as　long　as

The　captain　interrupted。　If　n　you　ask　me；　we　need　to　expand　beyond　Northwatch。　　

Sounding　annoyed　though　whether　at　the　interruption　or　the　sentiment；　Erik　neither　knew　nor　cared　the
merchant　said；　Are　you　mad？　　

Are　you？　The　orcs　re　squeezin　　us　out！　They　re　all　over　the　blessed　continent；　and　we　ve　got　Theramore。　It　s　been
three　year　since　the　Burning　Legion　was　sent　off。　Don　t　we　deserve　better　than　to　be　lower　class　in　our　own　land
to　be　confined　to　one　cesspool　of　a　citystate？　　

Theramore　is　as　fine　a　city　as　you　will　see　in　human　lands。　　The　soldier　spoke　the　words　with　a　defensive　pride；
only　to　continue　in　a　more　resigned　tone。　But　it　is　true　that　the　orcs　have　greater　territory。　That　is　why　Northwatch
is　essential　it　allows　us　to　maintain　a　defense　beyond　the　walls　of　Theramore。　　

Besides；　　the　first　mate　said　with　a　laugh　into　his　ale　mug；　the　orcs　don　t　like　us　there。　That　s　reason　enough　to
keep　it；　y　　ask　me。　　

Nobody　asked　you；　　the　merchant　said　snidely。　

The　other　man　at　the　bar　Erik　had　wandered　downbar　a　bit；　and　now　saw　that　it　was　that　bookkeeper　who　worked
the　docks　said；　Maybe　someone　should。　The　orcs　act　as　if　they　own　Kalimdor；　and　we　re　just　visiting。　But　this　is
our　home；　too；　and　it　s　time　we　acted　like　it。　Orcs　aren　t　humans；　aren　t　even　from　this　world。　What　right　do　they　
have　to　dictate　how　we　live　our　lives？　　

They　have　the　right　to　live　their　lives；　don　t　they？　　the　merchant　asked。　

Nodding；　the　soldier　said；　I　d　say　they　earned　that　when　they　fought　the　Burning　Legion。　Weren　t　for　them…　　He　
gulped　down　the　remainder　of　his　wine；　then　slid　the　mug　toward　Erik。　Get　me　an　ale。　　

Erik　hesitated。　He　had　already　started　reaching　for　the　grog　bottle。　This　soldier　had　been　ing　into　the
Demonsbane　ever　since　Erik　opened　the　place；　and　he　d　never　drunk　anything　save　grog。　

But　that　threeyearlong　patronage　had　earned　him　the　right　not　to　be　questioned。　Besides；　as　long　as　he　was　paying；
he　could　drink　soapy　water　for　all　Erik　cared。　

Fact　is；　　the　captain　said；　this　is　our　world；　by　right　of　birth。　Them　orcs　are　just　guests　in　our　home；　and　it　s　high
time　they　started　actin　　like　it！　　

The　conversation　went　on　from　there。　Erik　served　a　few　more　drinks；　tossed　a　few　mugs　into　the　basin　to　be　cleaned
later；　and　only　after　he　gave　the　merchant　another　ale　did　he　realize　that　Margoz；　who　started　the　whole
conversation；　had　left。　

He　hadn　t　even　left　a　tip。　Erik　shook　his　head　in　disgust；　the　fisherman　s　name　already　falling　out　of　his　head。　

But　he　d　remember　the　face。　And　probably　spit　in　the　bastard　s　drink　next　time　he　came　in　having　only　one　drink
and　then　starting　trouble。　Erik　hated　troublemakers　like　that　in　his　place。　Just　hated　it。　
　
More　people　started　plaining　about　the　orcs。　One　person　the　bruiser　next　to　the　soldier　slammed　his　ale　mug　
on　the　bar　so　hard　that　it　spattered　his　drink　on　the　demon　skull。　Sighing；　Erik　grabbed　a　rag　and　wiped　it　off。　



There　was　a　time　when　Margoz　would　have　been　too　scared　to　walk　the　darkened　streets　of　Theramore　alone。　

True；　crime　was　not　a　major　concern　in　so　closed　a　munity　as　Theramore　everyone　knew　most　everyone　else；
and　if　they　didn　t；　they　knew　someone　else　who　did　so　criminal　acts　were　rare　enough。　Those　that　were　
mitted　were　generally　punished　quickly　and　brutally　by　Lady　Proudmoore　s　soldiers。　

Still；　Margoz　had　always　been　small　and　weak；　and　the　big　and　strong　tended　to　prey　on　the　small　and　weak；　so
Margoz　generally　avoided　walking　around　alone　at　night。　You　never　knew　what　big　and　strong　person　was　lurking　
to　show　how　big　and　strong　he　was　by　beating　up　on　a　lesser　target。　Many　times；　Margoz　had　been　that　target。　He　
soon　learned　that　it　was　best　to　do　what　they　said　and　make　them　happy　in　order　to　avoid　the　violence。　

But　Margoz　no　longer　had　that　fear。　Or　any　other　kind　of　fear。　Now　he　had　a　patron。　True；　Margoz　had　to　do　his
bidding；　also；　but　this　time　the　reward　was　power　and　wealth。　In　the　old　days；　the　reward　was　not　being　beaten
within　an　inch　of　his　life。　Maybe　it　was　exchanging　one　type　of　gutcrippling　fear　for　another；　but　Margoz　thought
this　was　working　out　better　for　him。　

A　salty　breeze　wafted　through　the　air；　blowing　in　off　the　port。　Margoz　inhaled　deeply；　the　scent　of　the　water　
invigorating　him。　He　spoke　at　least　partly　true　in　the　Demonsbane：　he　was　a　fisherman；　though　never　a　particularly　
successful　one。　However；　he　did　not　fight　against　the　Burning　Legion　as　he　claimed；　but　instead　came　here　after
they　d　been　driven　back。　He　d　hoped　to　have　more　opportunities　here　than　he　d　had　at　Kul　Tiras。　It　wasn　t　his　fault　
that　the　s　were　substandard　they　were　all　he　could　afford；　but　tell　the　dock　authority　that　and　see　where　it　got
you。　

Where　it　got　him；　mostly；　was　beaten　up。　

So　he　came　to　Kalimdor；　following　the　rush　of　people　hoping　to　provide　services　for　the　humans　who　lived　there　
under　Lady　Proudmoore。　But　Margoz　hadn　t　been　the　only　fisherman　to　ply　his　trade；　nor　was　he　anywhere　near　the　
best。　

Before　his　patron　arrived；　Margoz　was　close　to　destitute。　He　wasn　t　even　catching　enough　to　feed　himself；　much
less　sell；　and　he　was　seriously　considering　just　grabbing　his　boat　s　anchor　and　jumping　off　the　side　with　it。　Put
himself　out　of　his　misery。　

But　then　his　patron　arrived；　and　everything　got　better。　

Margoz　soon　arrived　at　his　modest　apartment。　His　patron　hadn　t　let　him　move　to　better　acmodations；　despite　his
pleading　the　patron　called　it　whining；　and　unseemly　regarding　the　lack　of　good　ventilation；　the　poor　furnishings；
and　the　rats。　But　his　patron　assured　him　that　such　a　sudden　change　in　his　status　would　draw　attention；　and　for　now；
he　was　to　remain　unnoticed。　

Until　tonight；　when　he　was　instructed　to　go　to　the　Demonsbane　and　start　sowing　antiorc　sentiments。　In　the　old
days；　he　never　would　have　dared　to　set　foot　in　such　a　place。　The　types　of　people　who　liked　to　beat　him　up　usually　
congregated　in　large　groups　in　taverns；　and　he　preferred　to　avoid　them　for　that　reason。　

Or；　rather；　used　to　prefer　to　avoid　them。　

He　entered　his　room。　A　pallet　that　was　no　thinner　than　a　slice　of　bread；　a　burlap　sheet　that　itched　so　much　he　only　
used　it　when　the　winter　got　particularly　cold；　and　even　then　it　was　a　difficult　choice；　a　lantern；　and　precious　little
else。　A　rat　scurried　across　into　one　of　the　many　cracks　in　the　wall。　
　
Sighing；　he　knew　what　needed　to　be　done　next。　Besides　the　inability　to　move　to　better　quarters；　the　thing　Margoz　
hated　most　about　his　dealings　with　his　patron　was　the　odor　he　carried　with　him　afterwards。　It　was　some　kind　of　side
effect　of　the　magic　at　his　patron　s　mand；　but　whatever　the　reason；　it　annoyed　Margoz。　

Still；　it　was　worth　it　for　the　power。　And　the　ability　to　walk　the　streets　and　drink　in　the　Demonsbane　without　fear　of
physical　reprisal。　

Shoving　his　hand　past　his　collar　to　reach　under　his　shirt；　Margoz　pulled　out　the　necklace　with　the　silver　pendant
shaped　like　a　sword　afire。　Clutching　the　sword　so　tightly　that　he　felt　the　edges　dig　into　his　palm；　he　spoke　the　words
whose　meaning　he　d　never　learned；　but　which　filled　him　with　an　unspeakable　dread　every　time　he　said　them：
Galtak　Ered　nash。　Ered　nash　ban　galar。　Ered　nash　havik　yrthog。　Galtak　Ered　nash。　　

The　stink　of　sulfur　started　to　permeate　the　small　room。　This　was　the　part　Margoz　hated。　

Galtak　Ered　nash。　You　have　done　as　I　manded？　　

Yes；　sir。　　Margoz　was　embarrassed　to　realize　that　his　voice　was　getting　squeaky。　Clearing　his　throat；　he　tried　to
deepen　his　tone。　I　did　as　you　asked。　As　soon　as　I　mentioned　difficulties　with　the　orcs；　virtually　t