-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джордж Мартин
-
- Битва королей
-
- Стр. 272/853
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
"
Can
you
walk
?
"
He
sounded
concerned
.
"
No
,
"
said
Lommy
.
"
You
got
to
carry
me
.
"
"
Think
so
?
"
The
man
lifted
his
spear
casually
and
drove
the
point
through
the
boy
’
s
soft
throat
.
Lommy
never
even
had
time
to
yield
again
.
He
jerked
once
,
and
that
was
all
When
the
man
pulled
his
spear
loose
,
blood
sprayed
out
in
a
dark
fountain
.
"
Carry
him
,
he
says
,
"
he
muttered
,
chuckling
.
They
had
warned
him
to
dress
warmly
.
Tyrion
Lannister
took
them
at
their
word
.
He
was
garbed
in
heavy
quilted
breeches
and
a
woolen
doublet
,
and
over
it
all
he
had
thrown
the
shadowskin
cloak
he
had
acquired
in
the
Mountains
of
the
Moon
.
The
cloak
was
absurdly
long
,
made
for
a
man
twice
his
height
.
When
he
was
not
ahorse
,
the
only
way
to
wear
the
thing
was
to
wrap
it
around
him
several
times
,
which
made
him
look
like
a
ball
of
striped
fur
.
Even
so
,
he
was
glad
he
had
listened
.
The
chill
in
the
long
dank
vault
went
bone
-
deep
.
Timett
had
chosen
to
retreat
back
up
to
the
cellar
after
a
brief
taste
of
the
cold
below
.
They
were
somewhere
under
the
hill
of
Rhaenys
,
behind
the
Guildhall
of
the
Alchemists
.
The
damp
stone
walls
were
splotchy
with
niter
,
and
the
only
light
came
from
the
sealed
iron
-
and
-
glass
oil
lamp
that
Hallyne
the
Pyromancer
carried
so
gingerly
.
Gingerly
indeed
.
.
.
and
these
would
be
the
ginger
jars
.
Tyrion
lifted
one
for
inspection
.
It
was
round
and
ruddy
,
a
fat
clay
grapefruit
.
A
little
big
for
his
hand
,
but
it
would
fit
comfortably
in
the
grip
of
a
normal
man
,
he
knew
.
The
pottery
was
thin
,
so
fragile
that
even
he
had
been
warned
not
to
squeeze
too
tightly
,
lest
he
crush
it
in
his
fist
.
The
clay
felt
roughened
,
pebbled
.
Hallyne
told
him
that
was
intentional
.
"
A
smooth
pot
is
more
apt
to
slip
from
a
man
’
s
grasp
.
"
The
wildfire
oozed
slowly
toward
the
lip
of
the
jar
when
Tyrion
tilted
it
to
peer
inside
.
The
color
would
be
a
murky
green
,
he
knew
,
but
the
poor
light
made
that
impossible
to
confirm
.
"
Thick
,
"
he
observed
.
"
That
is
from
the
cold
,
my
lord
,
"
said
Hallyne
,
a
pallid
man
with
soft
damp
hands
and
an
obsequious
manner
.
He
was
dressed
in
striped
black
-
and
-
scarlet
robes
trimmed
with
sable
,
but
the
fur
looked
more
than
a
little
patchy
and
moth
-
eaten
.
"
As
it
warms
,
the
substance
will
flow
more
easily
,
like
lamp
oil
.
"
