-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джордж Мартин
-
- Битва королей
-
- Стр. 485/853
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Now
they
know
I
mean
what
I
say
.
Lord
Balon
might
have
given
him
the
command
,
but
Theon
knew
that
some
of
his
men
saw
only
a
soft
boy
from
the
green
lands
when
they
looked
at
him
.
"
Anyone
else
have
a
thirst
?
"
No
one
replied
.
"
Good
.
"
He
kicked
at
Benfred
’
s
fallen
banner
,
clutched
in
the
dead
hand
of
the
squire
who
’
d
borne
it
.
A
rabbitskin
had
been
tied
below
the
flag
.
Why
rabbitskins
?
he
had
meant
to
ask
,
but
being
spat
on
had
made
him
forget
his
questions
.
He
tossed
his
bow
back
to
Wex
and
strode
off
,
remembering
how
elated
he
’
d
felt
after
the
Whispering
Wood
,
and
wondering
why
this
did
not
taste
as
sweet
.
Tallhart
,
you
bloody
overproud
fool
,
you
never
even
sent
out
a
scout
.
They
’
d
been
joking
and
even
singing
as
they
’
d
come
on
,
the
three
trees
of
Tallhart
streaming
above
them
while
rabbitskins
flapped
stupidly
from
the
points
of
their
lances
.
The
archers
concealed
behind
the
gorse
had
spoiled
the
song
with
a
rain
of
arrows
,
and
Theon
himself
had
led
his
men
-
at
-
arms
out
to
finish
the
butcher
’
s
work
with
dagger
,
axe
,
and
warhammer
.
He
had
ordered
their
leader
spared
for
questioning
.
Only
he
had
not
expected
it
to
be
Benfred
Tallhart
.
His
limp
body
was
being
dragged
from
the
surf
when
Theon
returned
to
his
Sea
Bitch
.
The
masts
of
his
longships
stood
outlined
against
the
sky
along
the
pebbled
beach
.
Of
the
fishing
village
,
nothing
remained
but
cold
ashes
that
stank
when
it
rained
.
The
men
had
been
put
to
the
sword
,
all
but
a
handful
that
Theon
had
allowed
to
flee
to
bring
the
word
to
Torrhen
’
s
Square
.
Their
wives
and
daughters
had
been
claimed
for
salt
wives
,
those
who
were
young
enough
and
fair
.
The
crones
and
the
ugly
ones
had
simply
been
raped
and
killed
,
or
taken
for
thralls
if
they
had
useful
skills
and
did
not
seem
likely
to
cause
trouble
.
Theon
had
planned
that
attack
as
well
,
bringing
his
ships
up
to
the
shore
in
the
chill
darkness
before
the
dawn
and
leaping
from
the
prow
with
a
longaxe
in
his
hand
to
lead
his
men
into
the
sleeping
village
.
He
did
not
like
the
taste
of
any
of
this
,
but
what
choice
did
he
have
?
His
thrice
-
damned
sister
was
sailing
her
Black
Wind
north
even
now
,
sure
to
win
a
castle
of
her
own
.
Lord
Balon
had
let
no
word
of
the
hosting
escape
the
Iron
Islands
,
and
Theon
’
s
bloody
work
along
the
Stony
Shore
would
be
put
down
to
sea
raiders
out
for
plunder
.
The
northmen
would
not
realize
their
true
peril
,
not
until
the
hammers
fell
on
Deepwood
Motte
and
Moat
Cailin
.
And
after
all
is
done
and
won
,
they
will
make
songs
for
that
bitch
Asha
,
and
forget
that
I
was
even
here
.
That
is
,
if
he
allowed
it
.
Dagmer
Cleftjaw
stood
by
the
high
carved
prow
of
his
longship
,
Foamdrinker
.
Theon
had
assigned
him
the
task
of
guarding
the
ships
;
otherwise
men
would
have
called
it
Dagmer
’
s
victory
,
not
his
.
A
more
prickly
man
might
have
taken
that
for
a
slight
,
but
the
Cleftjaw
had
only
laughed
.
"
The
day
is
won
,
"
Dagmer
called
down
.
"
And
yet
you
do
not
smile
,
boy
.
The
living
should
smile
,
for
the
dead
cannot
.
"
He
smiled
himself
to
show
how
it
was
done
.
It
made
for
a
hideous
sight
.
Under
a
snowy
-
white
mane
of
hair
,
Dagmer
Cleftjaw
had
the
most
gut
-
churning
scar
Theon
had
ever
seen
,
the
legacy
of
the
longaxe
that
had
near
killed
him
as
a
boy
.
The
blow
had
splintered
his
jaw
,
shattered
his
front
teeth
,
and
left
him
four
lips
where
other
men
had
but
two
.
A
shaggy
beard
covered
his
cheeks
and
neck
,
but
the
hair
would
not
grow
over
the
scar
,
so
a
shiny
seam
of
puckered
,
twisted
flesh
divided
his
face
like
a
crevasse
through
a
snowfield
.
"
We
could
hear
them
singing
,
"
the
old
warrior
said
.
"
It
was
a
good
song
,
and
they
sang
it
bravely
.
"
