-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джордж Мартин
-
- Битва королей
-
- Стр. 17/853
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Again
he
had
to
cross
the
long
gallery
.
A
night
wind
whispered
through
the
great
windows
,
sharp
with
the
smell
of
the
sea
.
Torches
flickered
along
the
walls
of
Dragonstone
,
and
in
the
camp
beyond
,
he
could
see
hundreds
of
cookfires
burning
,
as
if
a
field
of
stars
had
fallen
to
the
earth
.
Above
,
the
comet
blazed
red
and
malevolent
.
I
am
too
old
and
wise
to
fear
such
things
,
the
maester
told
himself
.
The
doors
to
the
Great
Hall
were
set
in
the
mouth
of
a
stone
dragon
.
He
told
the
servants
to
leave
him
outside
.
It
would
be
better
to
enter
alone
;
he
must
not
appear
feeble
.
Leaning
heavily
on
his
cane
,
Cressen
climbed
the
last
few
steps
and
hobbled
beneath
the
gateway
teeth
.
A
pair
of
guardsmen
opened
the
heavy
red
doors
before
him
,
unleashing
a
sudden
blast
of
noise
and
light
.
Cressen
stepped
down
into
the
dragon
’
s
maw
.
Cressen
made
his
way
toward
the
raised
platform
where
the
lords
sat
with
the
king
.
He
had
to
step
wide
around
Patchface
.
Dancing
,
his
bells
ringing
,
the
fool
neither
saw
nor
heard
his
approach
.
As
he
hopped
from
one
leg
to
the
other
,
Patchface
lurched
into
Cressen
,
knocking
his
cane
out
from
under
him
.
They
went
crashing
down
together
amidst
the
rushes
in
a
tangle
of
arms
and
legs
,
while
a
sudden
gale
of
laughter
went
up
around
them
.
No
doubt
it
was
a
comical
sight
.
Patchface
sprawled
half
on
top
of
him
,
motley
fool
’
s
face
pressed
close
to
his
own
.
He
had
lost
his
tin
helm
with
its
antlers
and
bells
.
"
Under
the
sea
,
you
fall
up
,
"
he
declared
.
"
I
know
,
I
know
,
oh
,
oh
,
oh
.
"
Giggling
,
the
fool
rolled
off
,
bounded
to
his
feet
,
and
did
a
little
dance
.
Trying
to
make
the
best
of
it
,
the
maester
smiled
feebly
and
struggled
to
rise
,
but
his
hip
was
in
such
pain
that
for
a
moment
he
was
half
afraid
that
he
had
broken
it
all
over
again
.
He
felt
strong
hands
grasp
him
under
the
arms
and
lift
him
back
to
his
feet
.
"
Thank
you
,
ser
,
"
he
murmured
,
turning
to
see
which
knight
had
come
to
his
aid
.
.
.
"
Maester
,
"
said
Lady
Melisandre
,
her
deep
voice
flavored
with
the
music
of
the
Jade
Sea
.
"
You
ought
take
more
care
.
"
As
ever
,
she
wore
red
head
to
heel
,
a
long
loose
gown
of
flowing
silk
as
bright
as
fire
,
with
dagged
sleeves
and
deep
slashes
in
the
bodice
that
showed
glimpses
of
a
darker
blood
-
red
fabric
beneath
.
Around
her
throat
was
a
red
-
gold
choker
tighter
than
any
maester
’
s
chain
,
ornamented
with
a
single
great
ruby
.
Her
hair
was
not
the
orange
or
strawberry
color
of
common
red
-
haired
men
,
but
a
deep
burnished
copper
that
shone
in
the
light
of
the
torches
.
Even
her
eyes
were
red
.
.
.
but
her
skin
was
smooth
and
white
,
unblemished
,
pale
as
cream
.
Slender
she
was
,
graceful
,
taller
than
most
knights
,
with
full
breasts
and
narrow
waist
and
a
heart
-
shaped
face
.
Men
’
s
eyes
that
once
found
her
did
not
quickly
look
away
,
not
even
a
maester
’
s
eyes
.
Many
called
her
beautiful
.
She
was
not
beautiful
.
She
was
red
,
and
terrible
,
and
red
.
"
I
.
.
.
thank
you
,
my
lady
.
"
"
A
man
your
age
must
look
to
where
he
steps
,
"
Melisandre
said
courteously
.
"
The
night
is
dark
and
full
of
terrors
.
"
