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- Джордж Мартин
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A
field
had
been
cleared
off
,
fences
and
galleries
and
tilting
barriers
thrown
up
.
Hundreds
were
gathered
to
watch
,
perhaps
thousands
.
From
the
looks
of
the
grounds
,
torn
and
muddy
and
littered
with
bits
of
dinted
armor
and
broken
lances
,
they
had
been
at
it
for
a
day
or
more
,
but
now
the
end
was
near
.
Fewer
than
a
score
of
knights
remained
ahorse
,
charging
and
slashing
at
each
other
as
watchers
and
fallen
combatants
cheered
them
on
.
She
saw
two
destriers
collide
in
full
armor
,
going
down
in
a
tangle
of
steel
and
horseflesh
.
"
A
tourney
,
"
Hal
Mollen
declared
.
He
had
a
penchant
for
loudly
announcing
the
obvious
.
"
Oh
,
splendid
,
"
Ser
Wendel
Manderly
said
as
a
knight
in
a
rainbow
-
striped
cloak
wheeled
to
deliver
a
backhand
blow
with
a
long
-
handled
axe
that
shattered
the
shield
of
the
man
pursuing
him
and
sent
him
reeling
in
his
stirrups
.
The
press
in
front
of
them
made
further
progress
difficult
.
"
Lady
Stark
,
"
Ser
Colen
said
,
"
if
your
men
would
be
so
good
as
to
wait
here
,
I
’
ll
present
you
to
the
king
.
"
"
As
you
say
.
"
She
gave
the
command
,
though
she
had
to
raise
her
voice
to
be
heard
above
the
tourney
din
.
Ser
Colen
walked
his
horse
slowly
through
the
throngs
,
with
Catelyn
riding
in
his
wake
.
A
roar
went
up
from
the
crowd
as
a
helmetless
red
-
bearded
man
with
a
griffin
on
his
shield
went
down
before
a
big
knight
in
blue
armor
.
His
steel
was
a
deep
cobalt
,
even
the
blunt
morningstar
he
wielded
with
such
deadly
effect
,
his
mount
barded
in
the
quartered
sun
-
and
-
moon
heraldry
of
House
Tarth
.
"
Red
Ronnet
’
s
down
,
gods
be
damned
,
"
a
man
cursed
.
"
Loras
’
ll
do
for
that
blue
—
"
a
companion
answered
before
a
roar
drowned
out
the
rest
of
his
words
.
Another
man
was
fallen
,
trapped
beneath
his
injured
horse
,
both
of
them
screaming
in
pain
.
Squires
rushed
out
to
aid
them
.
This
is
madness
,
Catelyn
thought
.
Real
enemies
on
every
side
and
half
the
realm
in
flames
,
and
Renly
sits
here
playing
at
war
like
a
boy
with
his
first
wooden
sword
.
The
lords
and
ladies
in
the
gallery
were
as
engrossed
in
the
melee
as
the
men
on
the
ground
.
Catelyn
marked
them
well
.
Her
father
had
oft
treated
with
the
southron
lords
,
and
not
a
few
had
been
guests
at
Riverrun
.
She
recognized
Lord
Mathis
Rowan
,
stouter
and
more
florid
than
ever
,
the
golden
tree
of
his
House
spread
across
his
white
doublet
.
