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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 759/853
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Madness
followed
.
His
horse
had
broken
a
leg
and
was
screaming
horribly
.
Somehow
he
managed
to
draw
his
dagger
,
and
slit
the
poor
creature
’
s
throat
.
The
blood
gushed
out
in
a
scarlet
fountain
,
drenching
his
arms
and
chest
.
He
found
his
feet
again
and
lurched
to
the
rail
,
and
then
he
was
fighting
,
staggering
and
splashing
across
crooked
decks
awash
with
water
.
Men
came
at
him
.
Some
he
killed
,
some
he
wounded
,
and
some
went
away
,
but
always
there
were
more
.
He
lost
his
knife
and
gained
a
broken
spear
,
he
could
not
have
said
how
.
He
clutched
it
and
stabbed
,
shrieking
curses
.
Men
ran
from
him
and
he
ran
after
them
,
clambering
up
over
the
rail
to
the
next
ship
and
then
the
next
.
His
two
white
shadows
were
always
with
him
;
Balon
Swann
and
Mandon
Moore
,
beautiful
in
their
pale
plate
.
Surrounded
by
a
circle
of
Velaryon
spearmen
,
they
fought
back
to
back
;
they
made
battle
as
graceful
as
a
dance
.
His
own
killing
was
a
clumsy
thing
.
He
stabbed
one
man
in
the
kidney
when
his
back
was
turned
,
and
grabbed
another
by
the
leg
and
upended
him
into
the
river
.
Arrows
hissed
past
his
head
and
clattered
off
his
armor
;
one
lodged
between
shoulder
and
breastplate
,
but
he
never
felt
it
.
A
naked
man
fell
from
the
sky
and
landed
on
the
deck
,
body
bursting
like
a
melon
dropped
from
a
tower
.
His
blood
spattered
through
the
slit
of
Tyrion
’
s
helm
.
Stones
began
to
plummet
down
,
crashing
through
the
decks
and
turning
men
to
pulp
,
until
the
whole
bridge
gave
a
shudder
and
twisted
violently
underfoot
,
knocking
him
sideways
.
Suddenly
the
river
was
pouring
into
his
helm
.
He
ripped
it
off
and
crawled
along
the
listing
deck
until
the
water
was
only
neck
-
deep
.
A
groaning
filled
the
air
,
like
the
death
cries
of
some
enormous
beast
,
The
ship
,
he
had
time
to
think
,
the
ship
’
s
about
to
tear
loose
.
The
broken
galleys
were
ripping
apart
,
the
bridge
breaking
apart
.
No
sooner
had
he
come
to
that
realization
than
he
heard
a
sudden
crack
,
loud
as
thunder
,
the
deck
lurched
beneath
him
,
and
he
slid
back
down
into
the
water
.
The
list
was
so
steep
he
had
to
climb
back
up
,
hauling
himself
along
a
snapped
line
inch
by
bloody
inch
.
Out
of
the
corner
of
his
eye
,
he
saw
the
hulk
they
’
d
been
tangled
with
drifting
downstream
with
the
current
,
spinning
slowly
as
men
leapt
over
her
side
.
Some
wore
Stannis
’
s
flaming
heart
,
some
Joffrey
’
s
stag
-
and
-
lion
,
some
other
badges
,
but
it
seemed
to
make
no
matter
.
Fires
were
burning
upstream
and
down
.
On
one
side
of
him
was
a
raging
battle
,
a
great
confusion
of
bright
banners
waving
above
a
sea
of
struggling
men
,
shield
walls
forming
and
breaking
,
mounted
knights
cutting
through
the
press
,
dust
and
mud
and
blood
and
smoke
.
On
the
other
side
,
the
Red
Keep
loomed
high
on
its
hill
,
spitting
fire
.
They
were
on
the
wrong
sides
,
though
.
For
a
moment
Tyrion
thought
he
was
going
mad
,
that
Stannis
and
the
castle
had
traded
places
.
How
could
Stannis
cross
to
the
north
bank
?
Belatedly
he
realized
that
the
deck
was
turning
,
and
somehow
he
had
gotten
spun
about
,
so
castle
and
battle
had
changed
sides
.
Battle
,
what
battle
,
if
Stannis
hasn
’
t
crossed
who
is
he
fighting
?
Tyrion
was
too
tired
to
make
sense
of
it
.
His
shoulder
ached
horribly
,
and
when
he
reached
up
to
rub
it
he
saw
the
arrow
,
and
remembered
.
I
have
to
get
off
this
ship
.
Downstream
was
nothing
but
a
wall
of
fire
,
and
if
the
wreck
broke
loose
the
current
would
take
him
right
into
it
.
Someone
was
calling
his
name
faintly
through
the
din
of
battle
.
Tyrion
tried
to
shout
back
.
"
Here
!
Here
,
I
’
m
here
,
help
me
!
"
His
voice
sounded
so
thin
he
could
scarcely
hear
himself
.
He
pulled
himself
up
the
slanting
deck
,
and
grabbed
for
the
rail
.
The
hull
slammed
into
the
next
galley
over
and
rebounded
so
violently
he
was
almost
knocked
into
the
water
.
Where
had
all
his
strength
gone
?
It
was
all
he
could
do
to
hang
on
.
"
MY
LORD
!
TAKE
MY
HAND
!
MY
LORD
TYRION
!
"
There
on
the
deck
of
the
next
ship
,
across
a
widening
gulf
of
black
water
,
stood
Ser
Mandon
Moore
,
a
hand
extended
.
Yellow
and
green
fire
shone
against
the
white
of
his
armor
,
and
his
lobstered
gauntlet
was
sticky
with
blood
,
but
Tyrion
reached
for
it
all
the
same
,
wishing
his
arms
were
longer
.
It
was
only
at
the
very
last
,
as
their
fingers
brushed
across
the
gap
,
that
something
niggled
at
him
.
.
.
Ser
Mandon
was
holding
out
his
left
hand
,
why
.
.
.
Was
that
why
he
reeled
backward
,
or
did
he
see
the
sword
after
all
?
He
would
never
know
.
The
point
slashed
just
beneath
his
eyes
,
and
he
felt
its
cold
hard
touch
and
then
a
blaze
of
pain
.
His
head
spun
around
as
if
he
’
d
been
slapped
.
The
shock
of
the
cold
water
was
a
second
slap
more
jolting
than
the
first
.
He
flailed
for
something
to
grab
on
to
,
knowing
that
once
he
went
down
he
was
not
like
to
come
back
up
.
Somehow
his
hand
found
the
splintered
end
of
a
broken
oar
.
Clutching
it
tight
as
a
desperate
lover
,
he
shinnied
up
foot
by
foot
.
His
eyes
were
full
of
water
,
his
mouth
was
full
of
blood
,
and
his
head
throbbed
horribly
.
Gods
give
me
strength
to
reach
the
deck
.
.
.
There
was
nothing
else
,
only
the
oar
,
the
water
,
the
deck
.
