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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 313/751
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"
I
hear
them
!
"
Ser
Rodrik
called
out
.
Tyrion
turned
his
head
to
listen
,
and
there
it
was
:
hoofbeats
,
a
dozen
horses
or
more
,
coming
nearer
.
Suddenly
everyone
was
moving
,
reaching
for
weapons
,
running
to
their
mounts
.
Pebbles
rained
down
around
them
as
Lharys
came
springing
and
sliding
down
the
ridge
.
He
landed
breathless
in
front
of
Catelyn
Stark
,
an
ungainly-looking
man
with
wild
tufts
of
rust-colored
hair
sticking
out
from
under
a
conical
steel
cap
.
"
Twenty
men
,
maybe
twenty-five
,
"
he
said
,
breathless
.
"
Milk
Snakes
or
Moon
Brothers
,
by
my
guess
.
They
must
have
eyes
out
,
m
'
lady
...
hidden
watchers
...
they
know
we
're
here
.
"
Ser
Rodrik
Cassel
was
already
ahorse
,
a
longsword
in
hand
.
Mohor
crouched
behind
a
boulder
,
both
hands
on
his
iron-tipped
spear
,
a
dagger
between
his
teeth
.
"
You
,
singer
,
"
Ser
Willis
Wode
called
out
.
"
Help
me
with
this
breastplate
.
"
Marillion
sat
frozen
,
clutching
his
woodharp
,
his
face
as
pale
as
milk
,
but
Tyrion
's
man
Morrec
bounded
quickly
to
his
feet
and
moved
to
help
the
knight
with
his
armor
.
Tyrion
kept
his
grip
on
Catelyn
Stark
.
"
You
have
no
choice
,
"
he
told
her
.
"
Three
of
us
,
and
a
fourth
man
wasted
guarding
us
...
four
men
can
be
the
difference
between
life
and
death
up
here
.
"
"
Give
me
your
word
that
you
will
put
down
your
swords
again
after
the
fight
is
done
.
"
"
My
word
?
"
The
hoofbeats
were
louder
now
.
Tyrion
grinned
crookedly
.
"
Oh
,
that
you
have
,
my
lady
...
on
my
honor
as
a
Lannister
.
"
For
a
moment
he
thought
she
would
spit
at
him
,
but
instead
she
snapped
,
"
Arm
them
,
"
and
as
quick
as
that
she
was
pulling
away
.
Ser
Rodrik
tossed
Jyck
his
sword
and
scabbard
,
and
wheeled
to
meet
the
foe
.
Morrec
helped
himself
to
a
bow
and
quiver
,
and
went
to
one
knee
beside
the
road
.
He
was
a
better
archer
than
swordsman
.
And
Bronn
rode
up
to
offer
Tyrion
a
double-bladed
axe
.
"
I
have
never
fought
with
an
axe
.
"
The
weapon
felt
awkward
and
unfamiliar
in
his
hands
.
It
had
a
short
haft
,
a
heavy
head
,
a
nasty
spike
on
top
.
"
Pretend
you
're
splitting
logs
,
"
Bronn
said
,
drawing
his
longsword
from
the
scabbard
across
his
back
.
He
spat
,
and
trotted
off
to
form
up
beside
Chiggen
and
Ser
Rodrik
.
Ser
Willis
mounted
up
to
join
them
,
fumbling
with
his
helmet
,
a
metal
pot
with
a
thin
slit
for
his
eyes
and
a
long
black
silk
plume
.
