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