恩崔立:"我亲爱的瓦维尔…" [魔晶仆从](页 1) - 文字翻译室 - 龙骑士城堡奇幻论坛奇幻文学,翻译,原创,龙与地下城,冰与火之歌

susefer 发表于 2003-5-1 14:51

恩崔立:"我亲爱的瓦维尔…" [魔晶仆从]

魔晶仆从　　　　第十五章　　　亲爱的瓦维尔　（后半） 我亲爱的瓦维尔， 　　我们分别的时刻到了，对此我很抱歉。我会回想我们谈论过的，我的小朋友。很少有人能被我足够信任，使我能坦诚地说出我的真实所想。我会这么做，最后一次，并不是希望你能给予我任何有关于我道路的建议，只是，这样我会更深切理解我对这些事情的体会……我们的谈话总是美好的，不是吗？ 　　现在回想一下这些讨论，我意识到你并没有提供任何的建议。实际上，你真的很少说话，只是倾听。当我听着我的话语，辨识着它们，解释我的想法，并试着整理它们。你的表情，颔首，或者抬眉，有目地的引导我找到答案，不是吗？ 　　我知道，不是。 　　我知道，这些显然成了乏味的陈述，瓦维尔。我感觉到，可能我的信念与行动建立在并不牢固的的根基上，不断塌陷就像沙漠中的沙子。当我还年轻，我知道所有问题的答案。我活在一个既定的、确认的世界。现在我老了，活了四十年，我唯一了解的，是我并不确定任何事。 　　当个二十岁的年轻人容易多了，只凭着信念在走在这世上容易多了。 　　我想，是仇恨，它驱使我磨练着我黑暗的技能。我的目标，是成为世界上最伟大的战士，使我的名字镌刻进费伦的历史。很多人以为我很虚荣，只是为了使人们仅当提到我的名字时也胆颤心惊。 　　他们并不全错。我们都很自负，不管我们的定义是否相同。但以我来说，更进一步获得我的名声的愿望并不像我的另一个愿望一样强烈，不，不是愿望，是需求，不断完善我的技能的需要。我乐于见到我名声的增长，并不是出于我的骄傲，而是我清楚，这能使我的敌手情感的装甲被恐惧穿透，让我能有成多的优势。 　　颤抖的手并不相信刀刃的真实。 　　我不断朝顶点行进，并不恐惧任何事，它是我生活的信念。但它带给我越来越少的乐趣。 　　这些就像是贫瘠土地上生长的藤蔓般绞缠着我的世界。只当我击败他，他正试着用他的方式向我证明这一切，我才逐渐意识到。崔斯特·杜垩登（我还是恨他！）认为我的生命空虚无意义，是一个圈套，捕捉不到着正的实质与快乐。我从不认同他对我的评价，我只觉得这些无关紧要。他生存的理由从来都基立于他的朋友，他的团体，而我只是为我一个人活着。不管以哪种方式，对我来说都像是游戏，毫无意义，为娱乐众神做的假戏。攀登的高山只是土堆，深涧只是浅溪，一切毫无意义。我恐惧生命的琐碎。 　　或许并不是崔斯特让我看清我脚下流动的沙子。也许是你，瓦维尔，你给了我一些我不曾真正了解到的。 　　朋友？我并不确定我真的了解这概念，但如果我为试着去分类而烦恼，我会把我们相处的时光做为模尺。 　　写这封信也许为了向你至歉。我并不应该提拔夏洛塔·维斯帕到你之上，尽管我相信你已经照我的说的将她折磨死，把她埋得远远的。 　　多少次你询问我的计划是什么，我只是以笑代答，但你要知道，亲爱的瓦维尔，我试图偷取一个强大的神器，在其他人试图染指之前。这是一次冒死的尝试，我知道，但我不得不这么做，这个神器在呼唤我，命令我将它从它当前的，不称职的持有者那里取走。 　　我将拥有它，因为我的能力证明我是最适合的，我会离去，远离这里，或许再也不会回来。 　　再见了，瓦维尔·泰戈维斯，不要把自己置于任何危险中。你不欠我什么，我向你保证，我觉着我欠你一笔债。面前的路漫长充满危险，目标在眼前。成功将使我免受任何伤害。再见了！ 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　－阿恩 －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ The halfling was surprised to see her fingers trembling as she carefully unrolled the note.   "Why Artemis, I did not even know you could write," （一直以为他是文盲） Dwahvel said with a snicker, for the lines on the parchment were beautifully constructed, if a bit spare and efficient for Dwahvel's flamboyant flair. "My dear Dwahvel," she read aloud, and she paused and considered the words, not certain how she should take that greeting. Was it a formal and proper heading, or a sign of true friendship?   It occurred to the halfling then how little she really understood what went on inside of the heart of Artemis Entreri. The assassin had always claimed that his only desire was to be the very best, but if that was true why didn't he put the Crystal Shard to devastating use soon after acquiring it? And Dwahvel knew that he had it. Her contacts at Dallabad had described in detail the tumbling of the crystalline towers, and the flight of a human, Entreri, and a dark elf, whom Dwahvel had to believe must be Jarlaxle.   All indications were that Entreri's plan had succeeded. Even without her eyewitness accounts and despite the well- earned reputations of his adversaries, Dwahvel had never doubted the man.   The halfling moved to her doorway and made certain it was locked. Then she took a seat at her small night table and placed the parchment flat upon it, holding down the ends with paperweights fashioned of huge jewels, and read on, deciding to hold her analysis for the second read through.     My dear Dwahvel,   And so the time has come for us to part ways, and I do so with more than a small measure of regret. I will miss our talks, my little friend. Rarely have I known one I could trust enough to so speak what was truly on my mind. I will do so now, one final time, not in any hopes that you will advise me of my way, but only so that I might more clearly come to understand my own feelings on these matters . . . but that was always the beauty of our talks, was it not?   Now that I consider those discussions, I recognize that you rarely offered any advice. In fact, you rarely spoke at all but simply listened. As I listened to my own words, and in hearing them, in explaining my thoughts and feelings to another, I came to sort them through. Was it your expressions, a simple nod, an arched eyebrow, that led me purposefully down different roads of reasoning?   I know not.   I know not-that has apparently become the litany of my existence, Dwahvel. I feel as if the foundation upon which I have built my beliefs and actions is not a solid thing, but one as shifting as the sands of the desert. When I was younger, I knew all the answers to all the questions. I existed in a world of surety and certainty. Now that I am older, now that I have seen four decades of life, the only thing I know for certain is that I know nothing for certain.   It was so much easier to be a young man of twenty, so much easier to walk the world with a purpose grounded in-   Grounded in hatred, I suppose, and in the need to be the very best at my dark craft. That was my purpose, to be the greatest warrior in all of the world, to etch my name into the histories of Faerun. So many people believed that I wished to achieve that out of simple pride, that I wanted people to tremble at the mere mention of my name for the sake of my vanity.   They were partially right, I suppose. We are all vain, whatever arguments we might make against the definition. For me, though, the desire to further my reputation was not as important as the desire-no, not the desire, but the need- truly to be the very best at my craft. I welcomed the increase in reputation, not for the sake of my pride, but because I knew that having such fear weaving through the emotional armor of my opponents gave me even more of an advantage.   A trembling hand does not thrust the blade true.   I still aspire to the pinnacle, fear not, but only because it offers me some purpose in a life that increasingly brings me no joy.   It seems a strange twist to me that I learned of the barren nature of my world only when I defeated the one person who tried in so many ways to show that very thing to me. Drizzt Do'Urden-how I still hate him!-perceived my life as an empty thing, a hollow trapping with no true benefit and no true happiness. I never really disagreed with his assessment, I merely believed that it did not matter. His reason for living was ever based upon his friends and community, while mine was more a life of the self. Either way, it seems to me as if it is just a play, and a pointless one, an act for the pleasure of the viewing gods, a walk that takes us up hills we perceive as huge, but that are really just little mounds, and through valleys that appear so very deep, but are really nothing at all that truly matters. All the pettiness of life itself is my complaint, I fear.   Or perhaps it was not Drizzt who showed me the shifting sands beneath my feet. Perhaps it was Dwahvel, who gave to me something I've rarely known and never known well.   A friend? I am still not certain that I understand the concept, but if I ever bother to attempt to sort through it, I will use our time together as a model.   Thus, this is perhaps a letter of apology. I should not have forced Sharlotta Vespers upon you, though I trust that you tortured her to death as I instructed and buried her far, far away.   How many times you asked me my plans, and always I merely laughed, but you should know, dear Dwahvel, that my intent is to steal a great and powerful artifact before other interested parties get their hands upon it. It is a desperate attempt, I know, but I cannot help myself, for the artifact calls to me, demands of me that I take it from its current, less-than-able wielder.   So I will have it, because I am indeed the best at my craft, and I will be gone, far, far from this place, perhaps never to return.   Farewell, Dwahvel Tiggerwillies, in whatever venture you attempt. You owe me nothing, I assure you, and yet I feel as if I am in your debt. The road before me is long and fraught with peril, but I have my goal in sight. If I attain it, nothing will truly bring me any harm. Farewell!   -AE     Dwahvel Tiggerwillies pushed aside the parchment and wiped a tear from her eye, and laughed at the absurdity of it all. If anyone had told her months before that she would regret the day Artemis Entreri walked out of her life, she would have laughed at him and called him a fool.   But here it was, a letter as intimate as any of the discussions Dwahvel had shared with Entreri. She found that she missed those discussions already, or perhaps she lamented that there would be no such future talks with the man. None in the near future, at least.   Entreri would also miss those talks by his own words. That struck Dwahvel profoundly. To think that she had so engaged this man-this killer who had secretly ruled Calimport's streets off and on for more than twenty years. Had anyone ever become so close to Artemis Entreri?   None who were still alive, Dwahvel knew.   She reread the ending of the letter, the obvious lies concerning Entreri's intentions. He had taken care not to mention anything that would tell the remaining dark elves that Dwahvel knew anything about them or the stolen artifact, or anything about his proffering of the Crystal Shard. His lie about his instructions concerning Sharlotta certainly added even more security to Dwahvel, buying her, should the need arise, some compassion from the woman and her secret backers.   That thought sent a shudder along Dwahvel's spine. She really didn't want to depend on the compassion of dark elves!   It would not come to that, she realized. Even if the trail led to her and her establishment, she could willingly and eagerly show Sharlotta the letter and Sharlotta would then see her as a valuable asset.　　　　　　　（恩崔立还债了～）   Yes, Artemis Entreri had taken great pains to cover Dwahvel's efforts in the conspiracy, and that, more than any of the kind words he had written to her, revealed to her the depth of their friendship.   "Run far, my friend, and hide in deep holes," she whispered.　　　　　　　　　　　　　　（半身人总建议钻洞去么……）   She gently rerolled the parchment and placed it in one of the drawers of her crafted bureau. The sound of that closing drawer resonated hard against Dwahvel's heart.   She would indeed miss Artemis Entreri.

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恩崔立:&quot;我亲爱的瓦维尔…&quot; [魔晶仆从]

恩崔立:"我亲爱的瓦维尔…" [魔晶仆从]