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- Джордж Мартин
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The
bear
is
all
in
black
,
Arya
thought
.
Like
Yoren
.
She
filled
Roose
Bolton
’
s
cup
,
and
did
not
spill
a
drop
.
In
this
city
of
splendors
,
Dany
had
expected
the
House
of
the
Undying
Ones
to
be
the
most
splendid
of
all
,
but
she
emerged
from
her
palanquin
to
behold
a
grey
and
ancient
ruin
.
Long
and
low
,
without
towers
or
windows
,
it
coiled
like
a
stone
serpent
through
a
grove
of
black
-
barked
trees
whose
inky
blue
leaves
made
the
stuff
of
the
sorcerous
drink
the
Qartheen
called
shade
of
the
evening
.
No
other
buildings
stood
near
.
Black
tiles
covered
the
palace
roof
,
many
fallen
or
broken
;
the
mortar
between
the
stones
was
dry
and
crumbling
.
She
understood
now
why
Xaro
Xhoan
Daxos
called
it
the
Palace
of
Dust
.
Even
Drogon
seemed
disquieted
by
the
sight
of
it
.
The
black
dragon
hissed
,
smoke
seeping
out
between
his
sharp
teeth
.
"
Blood
of
my
blood
,
"
Jhogo
said
in
Dothraki
,
"
this
is
an
evil
place
,
a
haunt
of
ghosts
and
maegi
.
See
how
it
drinks
the
morning
sun
?
Let
us
go
before
it
drinks
us
as
well
.
"
Ser
Jorah
Mormont
came
up
beside
them
.
"
What
power
can
they
have
if
they
live
in
that
?
"
"
Heed
the
wisdom
of
those
who
love
you
best
,
"
said
Xaro
Xhoan
Daxos
,
lounging
inside
the
palanquin
.
"
Warlocks
are
bitter
creatures
who
eat
dust
and
drink
of
shadows
.
They
will
give
you
naught
.
They
have
naught
to
give
.
"
Aggo
put
a
hand
on
his
arakh
.
"
Khaleesi
,
it
is
said
that
many
go
into
the
Palace
of
Dust
,
but
few
come
out
.
"
"
It
is
said
,
"
Jhogo
agreed
.
"
We
are
blood
of
your
blood
,
"
said
Aggo
,
"
sworn
to
live
and
die
as
you
do
.
Let
us
walk
with
you
in
this
dark
place
,
to
keep
you
safe
from
harm
.
"
