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- Джордж Мартин
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The
next
day
,
dawn
broke
as
they
were
crossing
a
cracked
and
fissured
plain
of
hard
red
earth
.
Dany
was
about
to
command
them
to
make
camp
when
her
outriders
came
racing
back
at
a
gallop
.
"
A
city
,
Khaleesi
,
"
they
cried
.
"
A
city
pale
as
the
moon
and
lovely
as
a
maid
.
An
hour
’
s
ride
,
no
more
.
"
"
Show
me
,
"
she
said
.
When
the
city
appeared
before
her
,
its
walls
and
towers
shimmering
white
behind
a
veil
of
heat
,
it
looked
so
beautiful
that
Dany
was
certain
it
must
be
a
mirage
.
"
Do
you
know
what
place
this
might
be
?
Ser
Jorah
.
"
The
exile
knight
gave
a
weary
shake
of
the
head
.
"
No
,
my
queen
.
I
have
never
traveled
this
far
east
.
"
The
distant
white
walls
promised
rest
and
safety
,
a
chance
to
heal
and
grow
strong
,
and
Dany
wanted
nothing
so
much
as
to
rush
toward
them
.
Instead
she
turned
to
her
bloodriders
.
"
Blood
of
my
blood
,
go
ahead
of
us
and
learn
the
name
of
this
city
,
and
what
manner
of
welcome
we
should
expect
.
"
"
Ai
,
Khaleesi
,
"
said
Aggo
.
Her
riders
were
not
long
in
returning
.
Rakharo
swung
down
from
his
saddle
.
From
his
medallion
belt
hung
the
great
curving
arakh
that
Dany
had
bestowed
on
him
when
she
named
him
bloodrider
.
"
This
city
is
dead
,
Khaleesi
.
Nameless
and
godless
we
found
it
,
the
gates
broken
,
only
wind
and
flies
moving
through
the
streets
.
"
Jhiqui
shuddered
.
"
When
the
gods
are
gone
,
the
evil
ghosts
feast
by
night
.
Such
places
are
best
shunned
.
It
is
known
.
"
"
It
is
known
,
"
Irri
agreed
.
