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- Джордж Мартин
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"
I
know
that
gate
.
It
’
s
guarded
,
same
as
the
rest
.
"
"
So
?
You
won
’
t
forget
the
swords
?
"
"
I
never
said
I
’
d
come
.
"
"
No
.
But
if
you
do
,
you
won
’
t
forget
the
swords
?
"
He
frowned
.
"
No
,
"
he
said
at
last
.
"
I
guess
I
won
’
t
.
"
Arya
reentered
Kingspyre
the
same
way
she
had
left
it
,
and
stole
up
the
winding
steps
listening
for
footfalls
.
In
her
cell
,
she
stripped
to
the
skin
and
dressed
herself
carefully
,
in
two
layers
of
smallclothes
,
warm
stockings
,
and
her
cleanest
tunic
.
It
was
Lord
Bolton
’
s
livery
.
On
the
breast
was
sewn
his
sigil
,
the
flayed
man
of
the
Dreadfort
.
She
tied
her
shoes
,
threw
a
wool
cloak
over
her
skinny
shoulders
,
and
knotted
it
under
her
throat
.
Quiet
as
a
shadow
,
she
moved
back
down
the
stairs
.
Outside
the
lord
’
s
solar
she
paused
to
listen
at
the
door
,
easing
it
open
slowly
when
she
heard
only
silence
.
The
sheepskin
map
was
on
the
table
,
beside
the
remains
of
Lord
Bolton
’
s
supper
.
She
rolled
it
up
tight
and
thrust
it
through
her
belt
.
He
’
d
left
his
dagger
on
the
table
as
well
,
so
she
took
that
too
,
just
in
case
Gendry
lost
his
courage
.
A
horse
neighed
softly
as
she
slipped
into
the
darkened
stables
.
The
grooms
were
all
asleep
.
She
prodded
one
with
her
toe
until
he
sat
up
groggily
and
said
,
"
Eh
?
Whas
?
"
"
Lord
Bolton
requires
three
horses
saddled
and
bridled
.
"
