魔兽争霸官方小说:仇恨之轮-Cycle of Hatred(英文版)-第14部分

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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　stay　as　far　away　from　them　as　possible。　

Fights　like　that　usually　meant　that　he　had　to　draw　his　gun；　and　every　time　he　did　that　he　ran　the　risk　of　someone　
figuring　out　that　he　was　really　bad　at　using　the　stupid　thing。　Oh　sure；　he　could　fire　it　easily　enough　any　idiot　could
do　that；　just　point　and　pull　the　trigger；　and　a　pressed　air　burst　sent　a　　out　to　snare　whatever　you　were　
shooting　at　but　his　aim　was　lousy；　and　the　　always　missed　the　target　and　usually　made　a　big　mess。　Luckily；　the
site　of　a　bruiser　pointing　a　gun　with　a　giant　muzzle　at　you　was　enough　to　stop　most　fights　or　at　least　slow　them
down　long　enough　for　reinforcements　to　arrive。　
　
Since　then；　no　more　actual　fights　had　broken　out；　but　there　were　a　lot　more　terse　words　and　heated　exchanges
happening。　It　had　gotten　to　the　point　where　many　of　the　merchant　ships　were　now　ing　into　Ratchet　with　armed
escorts　the　orc　vessels　with　warriors　from　rimmar；　the　human　ships　with　soldiers　from　Northwatch。　

Muzzlecrank　s　beat　was　the　northernmost　section　of　the　pier；　a　section　that　had　twenty　berths。　As　Muzzlecrank
wandered　down　the　woodenplanked　pier；　he　saw　that　fifteen　of　the　twenty　docks　were　filled；　but　things　were　
mostly　quiet。　This　was　a　huge　relief。　The　sun　shone　down　on　his　face；　warming　him　in　his　mail　armor。　Perhaps
today　would　be　a　good　day。　

After　a　few　minutes；　the　sun　went　away。　Muzzlecrank　glanced　up　to　see　that　several　clouds　had　rolled　in；　and　it
looked　likely　to　rain　soon。　Muzzlecrank　sighed　he　hated　rain。　

As　he　neared　the　end　of　the　dock；　he　saw　a　human　and　an　orc　having　an　animated　conversation。　Muzzlecrank　didn　t
like　the　look　of　this。　Animated　conversations　between　humans　and　orcs　these　days　tended　to　end　in　violence。　

He　moved　in　closer。　The　human　s　boat　was　docked　right　next　to　the　orc　s；　in　the　two　northernmost　berths。
Muzzlecrank　recognized　the　orc　as　Captain　Klatt　of　the　Raknor；　a　merchant　who　served　as　the　dealer　of　crops　from
the　farmers　in　the　Razor　Hill　region。　Though　he　could　not　remember　the　human　s　name；　Muzzlecrank　knew　his　ship
was　a　fishing　trawler　called　the　Passion　s　Reward　for　some　odd　reason。　Muzzlecrank　had　never　understood　human
naming　conventions。　Klatt　had　named　the　Raknor　after　his　brother；　who　died　fighting　the　Burning　Legion；　but　he　
hadn　t　the　first　clue　what　the　name　Passion　s　Reward　had　to　do　with　anything；　least　of　all　fishing。　

The　exchange　was　a　mon　one。　Farming　was　difficult　in　the　Dustwallow　Marshes　where　humans　had　settled　on
Kalimdor；　but　there　was　plenty　of　fishing。　Razor　Hill；　meanwhile；　was　too　far　inland　for　fishing　to　be　practical　so
humans　often　traded　their　surplus　catches　for　the　orcs　　surplus　crops。　

I　will　not　trade　you　my　finest　salmon　for　this　refuse！　　

Muzzlecrank　sighed。　Obviously　today　trade　was　not　going　to　go　well。　

Klatt　stomped　his　foot。　Refuse？　You　lyin　　little　twerp　these　are　our　best　crops！　　

A　sad　mentary　on　your　farming；　　the　human　said　dryly。　That　fruit　looks　as　though　it　was　stepped　on　by　an
ogre　smells　like　it；　too。　　

I　ain　t　gonna　stand　here　and　be　insulted　by　a　human！　　

The　human　drew　himself　up　to　full　height；　which　made　him　e　up　to　the　orc　s　shoulders。　You　re　not　the　one　
being　insulted　here。　I　ve　brought　you　my　finest　catch；　and　you　offer　me　the　bottom　of　the　barrel　in　exchange。　　

Your　salmon　ain　t　fit　for　mulch！　　

Too　late；　Muzzlecrank　noticed　that　the　human　was　armed　with　what　looked　like　a　longsword　while　Klatt　was
weaponless。　Assuming　the　human　was　skilled　in　the　blade　s　use；　it　negated　whatever　advantage　Klatt　s　size　gave　
him　in　a　fight。　

And　your　fruit　isn　t　fit　for　dogs！　　

Coward！　　

Muzzlecrank　winced　at　Klatt　s　words。　Coward　　was　the　biggest　insult　any　orc　could　deliver。　

Filthy　greenskin！　I　ve　half　a　mind　to
　
Whatever　the　human　had　half　a　mind　to　do　was　lost　as　Klatt　charged　him。　The　human　was　unable　to　unsheathe　his
longsword　in　time；　and　the　two　of　them　rolled　across　the　dock；　Klatt　pummeling　the　human。　

Wondering　how；　precisely；　he　was　supposed　to　break　this　up；　he　was　relieved　of　immediate　action　by　the　human　s
escort。　Three　guar