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- Джордж Мартин
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A
sellsword
stepped
up
beside
him
.
"
We
been
out
.
Three
times
.
Half
our
men
are
killed
or
hurt
.
Wildfire
bursting
all
around
us
,
horses
screaming
like
men
and
men
like
horses
—
"
"
Did
you
think
we
hired
you
to
fight
in
a
tourney
?
Shall
I
bring
you
a
nice
iced
milk
and
a
bowl
of
raspberries
?
No
?
Then
get
on
your
fucking
horse
.
You
too
,
dog
.
"
The
blood
on
Clegane
’
s
face
glistened
red
,
but
his
eyes
showed
white
.
He
drew
his
longsword
.
He
is
afraid
,
Tyrion
realized
,
shocked
.
The
Hound
is
frightened
.
He
tried
to
explain
their
need
.
"
They
’
ve
taken
a
ram
to
the
gate
,
you
can
hear
them
,
we
need
to
disperse
them
—
"
"
Open
the
gates
.
When
they
rush
inside
,
surround
them
and
kill
them
.
"
The
Hound
thrust
the
point
of
his
longsword
into
the
ground
and
leaned
upon
the
pommel
,
swaying
.
"
I
’
ve
lost
half
my
men
.
Horse
as
well
.
I
’
m
not
taking
more
into
that
fire
.
"
Ser
Mandon
Moore
moved
to
Tyrion
’
s
side
,
immaculate
in
his
enameled
white
plate
.
"
The
King
’
s
Hand
commands
you
.
"
"
Bugger
the
King
’
s
Hand
.
"
Where
the
Hound
’
s
face
was
not
sticky
with
blood
,
it
was
pale
as
milk
.
"
Someone
bring
me
a
drink
.
"
A
gold
cloak
officer
handed
him
a
cup
.
Clegane
took
a
swallow
,
spit
it
out
,
flung
the
cup
away
.
"
Water
?
Fuck
your
water
.
Bring
me
wine
.
"
He
is
dead
on
his
feet
.
Tyrion
could
see
it
now
.
The
wound
,
the
fire
.
.
.
he
’
s
done
,
I
need
to
find
someone
else
,
but
who
?
Ser
Mandon
?
He
looked
at
the
men
and
knew
it
would
not
do
.
Clegane
’
s
fear
had
shaken
them
.
Without
a
leader
,
they
would
refuse
as
well
,
and
Ser
Mandon
.
.
.
a
dangerous
man
,
Jaime
said
,
yes
,
but
not
a
man
other
men
would
follow
.
In
the
distance
Tyrion
heard
another
great
crash
.
Above
the
walls
,
the
darkening
sky
was
awash
with
sheets
of
green
and
orange
light
.
How
long
could
the
gate
hold
?
