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- Джордж Мартин
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"
My
lord
,
"
he
announced
gravely
,
"
this
is
crude
work
at
best
.
There
is
no
art
to
it
.
Suitable
labor
for
common
smiths
,
no
doubt
,
for
men
who
bend
horseshoes
and
hammer
out
kettles
,
but
I
am
a
master
armorer
,
as
it
please
my
lord
.
This
is
no
work
for
me
,
nor
my
fellow
masters
.
We
make
swords
as
sharp
as
song
,
armor
such
as
a
god
might
wear
.
Not
this
.
"
Tyrion
tilted
his
head
to
the
side
and
gave
the
man
a
dose
of
his
mismatched
eyes
.
"
What
is
your
name
,
master
armorer
?
"
"
Salloreon
,
as
it
please
my
lord
.
If
the
King
’
s
Hand
will
permit
,
I
should
be
most
honored
to
forge
him
a
suit
of
armor
suitable
to
his
House
and
high
office
.
"
Two
of
the
others
sniggered
,
but
Salloreon
plunged
ahead
,
heedless
.
"
Plate
and
scale
,
I
think
.
The
scales
gilded
bright
as
the
sun
,
the
plate
enameled
a
deep
Lannister
crimson
.
I
would
suggest
a
demon
’
s
head
for
a
helm
,
crowned
with
tall
golden
horns
.
When
you
ride
into
battle
,
men
will
shrink
away
in
fear
.
"
A
demon
’
s
head
,
Tyrion
thought
ruefully
,
now
what
does
that
say
of
me
?
"
Master
Salloreon
,
I
plan
to
fight
the
rest
of
my
battles
from
this
chair
.
It
’
s
links
I
need
,
not
demon
horns
.
So
let
me
put
it
to
you
this
way
.
You
will
make
chains
,
or
you
will
wear
them
.
The
choice
is
yours
.
"
He
rose
,
and
took
his
leave
with
nary
a
backward
glance
.
Bronn
was
waiting
by
the
gate
with
his
litter
and
an
escort
of
mounted
Black
Ears
.
"
You
know
where
we
’
re
bound
,
"
Tyrion
told
him
.
He
accepted
a
hand
up
into
the
litter
.
He
had
done
all
he
could
to
feed
the
hungry
city
—
he
’
d
set
several
hundred
carpenters
to
building
fishing
boats
in
place
of
catapults
,
opened
the
kingswood
to
any
hunter
who
dared
to
cross
the
river
,
even
sent
gold
cloaks
foraging
to
the
west
and
south
—
yet
he
still
saw
accusing
eyes
everywhere
he
rode
.
The
litter
’
s
curtains
shielded
him
from
that
,
and
besides
gave
him
leisure
to
think
.
As
they
wound
their
slow
way
down
twisty
Shadowblack
Lane
to
the
foot
of
Aegon
’
s
High
Hill
,
Tyrion
reflected
on
the
events
of
the
morning
.
His
sister
’
s
ire
had
led
her
to
overlook
the
true
significance
of
Stannis
Baratheon
’
s
letter
.
Without
proof
,
his
accusations
were
nothing
;
what
mattered
was
that
he
had
named
himself
a
king
.
And
what
will
Renly
make
of
that
?
They
could
not
both
sit
the
Iron
Throne
.
Idly
,
he
pushed
the
curtain
back
a
few
inches
to
peer
out
at
the
streets
.
Black
Ears
rode
on
both
sides
of
him
,
their
grisly
necklaces
looped
about
their
throats
,
while
Bronn
went
in
front
to
clear
the
way
.
He
watched
the
passersby
watching
him
,
and
played
a
little
game
with
himself
,
trying
to
sort
the
informers
from
the
rest
.
The
ones
who
look
the
most
suspicious
are
likely
innocent
,
he
decided
.
It
’
s
the
ones
who
look
innocent
I
need
to
beware
.
His
destination
was
behind
the
hill
of
Rhaenys
,
and
the
streets
were
crowded
.
Almost
an
hour
had
passed
before
the
litter
swayed
to
a
stop
.
Tyrion
was
dozing
,
but
he
woke
abruptly
when
the
motion
ceased
,
rubbed
the
sand
from
his
eyes
,
and
accepted
Bronn
’
s
hand
to
climb
down
.
The
house
was
two
stories
tall
,
stone
below
and
timber
above
.
A
round
turret
rose
from
one
corner
of
the
structure
.
Many
of
the
windows
were
leaded
.
Over
the
door
swung
an
ornate
lamp
,
a
globe
of
gilded
metal
and
scarlet
glass
.
