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- Джордж Мартин
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There
was
a
tone
in
his
voice
Theon
did
not
like
,
no
more
than
he
liked
the
insolent
way
the
Dreadfort
men
were
looking
at
him
.
"
She
was
what
was
promised
.
"
"
She
smells
of
dogshit
.
I
’
ve
had
enough
of
bad
smells
,
as
it
happens
.
I
think
I
’
ll
have
your
bed
-
warmer
instead
.
What
do
you
call
her
?
Kyra
?
"
"
Are
you
mad
?
"
Theon
said
angrily
"
I
’
ll
have
you
—
"
The
Bastard
’
s
backhand
caught
him
square
,
and
his
cheekbone
shattered
with
a
sickening
crunch
beneath
the
lobstered
steel
.
The
world
vanished
in
a
red
roar
of
pain
.
Sometime
later
,
Theon
found
himself
on
the
ground
.
He
rolled
onto
his
stomach
and
swallowed
a
mouthful
of
blood
.
Close
the
gates
!
he
tried
to
shout
,
but
it
was
too
late
.
The
Dreadfort
men
had
cut
down
Red
Rolfe
and
Kenned
,
and
more
were
pouring
through
,
a
river
of
mail
and
sharp
swords
.
There
was
a
ringing
in
his
ears
,
and
horror
all
around
him
.
Black
Lorren
had
his
sword
out
,
but
there
were
already
four
of
them
pressing
in
on
him
.
He
saw
Ulf
go
down
with
a
crossbow
bolt
through
the
belly
as
he
ran
for
the
Great
Hall
.
Maester
Luwin
was
trying
to
reach
him
when
a
knight
on
a
warhorse
planted
a
spear
between
his
shoulders
,
then
swung
back
to
ride
over
him
.
Another
man
whipped
a
torch
round
and
round
his
head
and
then
lofted
it
toward
the
thatched
roof
of
the
stables
.
"
Save
me
the
Freys
,
"
the
Bastard
was
shouting
as
the
flames
roared
upward
,
"
and
burn
the
rest
.
Burn
it
,
burn
it
all
.
"
The
last
thing
Theon
Greyjoy
saw
was
Smiler
,
kicking
free
of
the
burning
stables
with
his
mane
ablaze
,
screaming
,
rearing
.
.
.
He
dreamed
of
a
cracked
stone
ceiling
and
the
smells
of
blood
and
shit
and
burnt
flesh
.
The
air
was
full
of
acrid
smoke
.
Men
were
groaning
and
whimpering
all
around
him
,
and
from
time
to
time
a
scream
would
pierce
the
air
,
thick
with
pain
.
When
he
tried
to
move
,
he
found
that
he
had
fouled
his
own
bedding
.
The
smoke
in
the
air
made
his
eyes
water
.
Am
I
crying
?
He
must
not
let
his
father
see
.
He
was
a
Lannister
of
Casterly
Rock
.
A
lion
,
I
must
be
a
lion
,
live
a
lion
,
die
a
lion
.
He
hurt
so
much
,
though
.
Too
weak
to
groan
,
he
lay
in
his
own
filth
and
shut
his
eyes
.
Nearby
someone
was
cursing
the
gods
in
a
heavy
,
monotonous
voice
.
He
listened
to
the
blasphemies
and
wondered
if
he
was
dying
.
After
a
time
the
room
faded
.
He
found
himself
outside
the
city
,
walking
through
a
world
without
color
.
Ravens
soared
through
a
grey
sky
on
wide
black
wings
,
while
carrion
crows
rose
from
their
feasts
in
furious
clouds
wherever
he
set
his
steps
.
White
maggots
burrowed
through
black
corruption
.
The
wolves
were
grey
,
and
so
were
the
silent
sisters
;
together
they
stripped
the
flesh
from
the
fallen
.
There
were
corpses
strewn
all
over
the
tourney
fields
.
The
sun
was
a
hot
white
penny
,
shining
down
upon
the
grey
river
as
it
rushed
around
the
charred
bones
of
sunken
ships
.
From
the
pyres
of
the
dead
rose
black
columns
of
smoke
and
white
-
hot
ashes
.
My
work
,
thought
Tyrion
Lannister
.
They
died
at
my
command
.
At
first
there
was
no
sound
in
the
world
,
but
after
a
time
he
began
to
hear
the
voices
of
the
dead
,
soft
and
terrible
.
