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- Джордж Мартин
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"
No
word
from
Littlefinger
?
"
"
Perhaps
he
never
reached
Bitterbridge
.
Or
perhaps
he
’
s
died
there
Lord
Tarly
has
seized
Renly
’
s
stores
and
put
a
great
many
to
the
sword
;
Florents
,
chiefly
.
Lord
Caswell
has
shut
himself
up
in
his
castle
.
"
Tyrion
threw
back
his
head
and
laughed
.
Varys
reined
up
,
nonplussed
.
"
My
lord
?
"
"
Don
’
t
you
see
the
jest
,
Lord
Varys
?
"
Tyrion
waved
a
hand
at
the
shuttered
windows
,
at
all
the
sleeping
city
.
"
Storm
’
s
End
is
fallen
and
Stannis
is
coming
with
fire
and
steel
and
the
gods
alone
know
what
dark
powers
,
and
the
good
folk
don
’
t
have
Jaime
to
protect
them
,
nor
Robert
nor
Renly
nor
Rhaegar
nor
their
precious
Knight
of
Flowers
.
Only
me
,
the
one
they
hate
.
"
He
laughed
again
.
"
The
dwarf
,
the
evil
counselor
,
the
twisted
little
monkey
demon
.
I
’
m
all
that
stands
between
them
and
chaos
.
"
"
Tell
Father
I
have
gone
to
make
him
proud
.
"
Her
brother
swung
up
into
his
saddle
,
every
inch
the
lord
in
his
bright
mail
and
flowing
mud
-
and
-
water
cloak
.
A
silver
trout
ornamented
the
crest
of
his
greathelm
,
twin
to
the
one
painted
on
his
shield
.
"
He
was
always
proud
of
you
,
Edmure
.
And
he
loves
you
fiercely
.
Believe
that
.
"
"
I
mean
to
give
him
better
reason
than
mere
birth
.
"
He
wheeled
his
warhorse
about
and
raised
a
hand
.
Trumpets
sounded
,
a
drum
began
to
boom
,
the
drawbridge
descended
in
fits
and
starts
,
and
Ser
Edmure
Tully
led
his
men
out
from
Riverrun
with
lances
raised
and
banners
streaming
.
I
have
a
greater
host
than
yours
,
brother
,
Catelyn
thought
as
she
watched
them
go
.
A
host
of
doubts
and
fears
.
