-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джордж Мартин
-
- Битва королей
-
- Стр. 225/853
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Joffrey
the
Illborn
,
"
one
of
the
Cerwyn
knights
growled
.
"
Small
wonder
he
’
s
faithless
,
with
the
Kingslayer
for
a
father
.
"
"
Aye
,
"
said
another
,
"
the
gods
hate
incest
.
Look
how
they
brought
down
the
Targaryens
.
"
For
a
moment
Bran
felt
as
though
he
could
not
breathe
.
A
giant
hand
was
crushing
his
chest
.
He
felt
as
though
he
was
falling
,
and
clutched
desperately
at
Dancer
’
s
reins
.
His
terror
must
have
shown
on
his
face
.
"
Bran
?
"
Cley
Cerwyn
said
"
Are
you
unwell
?
It
’
s
only
another
king
.
"
"
Robb
will
beat
him
too
.
"
He
turned
Dancer
’
s
head
toward
the
stables
,
oblivious
to
the
puzzled
stares
the
Cerwyns
gave
him
.
His
blood
was
roaring
in
his
ears
,
and
had
he
not
been
strapped
onto
his
saddle
he
might
well
have
fallen
.
That
night
Bran
prayed
to
his
father
’
s
gods
for
dreamless
sleep
.
If
the
gods
heard
,
they
mocked
his
hopes
,
for
the
nightmare
they
sent
was
worse
than
any
wolf
dream
.
"
Fly
or
die
!
"
cried
the
three
-
eyed
crow
as
it
pecked
at
him
.
He
wept
and
pleaded
but
the
crow
had
no
pity
.
It
put
out
his
left
eye
and
then
his
right
,
and
when
he
was
blind
in
the
dark
it
pecked
at
his
brow
,
driving
its
terrible
sharp
beak
deep
into
his
skull
.
He
screamed
until
he
was
certain
his
lungs
must
burst
.
The
pain
was
an
axe
splitting
his
head
apart
,
but
when
the
crow
wrenched
out
its
beak
all
slimy
with
bits
of
bone
and
brain
,
Bran
could
see
again
.
What
he
saw
made
him
gasp
in
fear
.
He
was
clinging
to
a
tower
miles
high
,
and
his
fingers
were
slipping
,
nails
scrabbling
at
the
stone
,
his
legs
dragging
him
down
,
stupid
useless
dead
legs
.
"
Help
me
!
"
he
cried
.
A
golden
man
appeared
in
the
sky
above
him
and
pulled
him
up
.
"
The
things
I
do
for
love
,
"
he
murmured
softly
as
he
tossed
him
out
kicking
into
empty
air
.
"
I
do
not
sleep
as
I
did
when
I
was
younger
,
"
Grand
Maester
Pycelle
told
him
,
by
way
of
apology
for
the
dawn
meeting
.
"
I
would
sooner
be
up
,
though
the
world
be
dark
,
than
lie
restless
abed
,
fretting
on
tasks
undone
,
"
he
said
—
though
his
heavy
-
lidded
eyes
made
him
look
half
-
asleep
as
he
said
it
.
In
the
airy
chambers
beneath
the
rookery
,
his
girl
served
them
boiled
eggs
,
stewed
plums
,
and
porridge
,
while
Pycelle
served
the
pontifications
.
"
In
these
sad
times
,
when
so
many
hunger
,
I
think
it
only
fitting
to
keep
my
table
spare
.
"
