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- Джордж Мартин
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"
You
heard
me
.
So
perhaps
you
had
best
pray
again
,
Sansa
,
and
for
a
different
outcome
.
The
Starks
will
have
no
joy
from
the
fall
of
House
Lannister
,
I
promise
you
.
"
She
reached
out
and
touched
Sansa
’
s
hair
,
brushing
it
lightly
away
from
her
neck
.
The
slot
in
his
helm
limited
Tyrion
’
s
vision
to
what
was
before
him
,
but
when
he
turned
his
head
he
saw
three
galleys
beached
on
the
tourney
grounds
,
and
a
fourth
,
larger
than
the
others
,
standing
well
out
into
the
river
,
firing
barrels
of
burning
pitch
from
a
catapult
.
"
Wedge
,
"
Tyrion
commanded
as
his
men
streamed
out
of
the
sally
port
.
They
formed
up
in
spearhead
,
with
him
at
the
point
.
Ser
Mandon
Moore
took
the
place
to
his
right
,
flames
shimmering
against
the
white
enamel
of
his
armor
,
his
dead
eyes
shining
passionlessly
through
his
helm
.
He
rode
a
coal
-
black
horse
barded
all
in
white
,
with
the
pure
white
shield
of
the
Kingsguard
strapped
to
his
arm
.
On
the
left
,
Tyrion
was
surprised
to
see
Podrick
Payne
,
a
sword
in
his
hand
.
"
You
’
re
too
young
,
"
he
said
at
once
.
"
Go
back
.
"
"
I
’
m
your
squire
,
my
lord
.
"
Tyrion
could
spare
no
time
for
argument
.
"
With
me
,
then
.
Stay
close
.
"
He
kicked
his
horse
into
motion
.
They
rode
knee
to
knee
,
following
the
line
of
the
looming
walls
.
Joffrey
’
s
standard
streamed
crimson
and
gold
from
Ser
Mandon
’
s
staff
,
stag
and
lion
dancing
hoof
to
paw
.
They
went
from
a
walk
to
a
trot
,
wheeling
wide
around
the
base
of
the
tower
.
Arrows
darted
from
the
city
walls
while
stones
spun
and
tumbled
overhead
,
crashing
down
blindly
onto
earth
and
water
,
steel
and
flesh
.
Ahead
loomed
the
King
’
s
Gate
and
a
surging
mob
of
soldiers
wrestling
with
a
huge
ram
,
a
shaft
of
black
oak
with
an
iron
head
.
Archers
off
the
ships
surrounded
them
,
loosing
their
shafts
at
whatever
defenders
showed
themselves
on
the
gatehouse
walls
.
"
Lances
,
"
Tyrion
commanded
.
He
sped
to
a
canter
.
The
ground
was
sodden
and
slippery
,
equal
parts
mud
and
blood
.
His
stallion
stumbled
over
a
corpse
,
his
hooves
sliding
and
churning
the
earth
,
and
for
an
instant
Tyrion
feared
his
charge
would
end
with
him
tumbling
from
the
saddle
before
he
even
reached
the
foe
,
but
somehow
he
and
his
horse
both
managed
to
keep
their
balance
.
Beneath
the
gate
men
were
turning
,
hurriedly
trying
to
brace
for
the
shock
.
Tyrion
lifted
his
axe
and
shouted
,
"
King
’
s
Landing
!
"
Other
voices
took
up
the
cry
,
and
now
the
arrowhead
flew
,
a
long
scream
of
steel
and
silk
,
pounding
hooves
and
sharp
blades
kissed
by
fire
.
Ser
Mandon
dropped
the
point
of
his
lance
at
the
last
possible
instant
,
and
drove
Joffrey
’
s
banner
through
the
chest
of
a
man
in
a
studded
jerkin
,
lifting
him
full
off
his
feet
before
the
shaft
snapped
.
Ahead
of
Tyrion
was
a
knight
whose
surcoat
showed
a
fox
peering
through
a
ring
of
flowers
.
Florent
was
his
first
thought
,
but
helmless
ran
a
close
second
.
He
smashed
the
man
in
the
face
with
all
the
weight
of
axe
and
arm
and
charging
horse
,
taking
off
half
his
head
.
The
shock
of
impact
numbed
his
shoulder
.
Shagga
would
laugh
at
me
,
he
thought
,
riding
on
.
A
spear
thudded
against
his
shield
.
Pod
galloped
beside
him
,
slashing
down
at
every
foe
they
passed
.
Dimly
,
he
heard
cheers
from
the
men
on
the
walls
.
