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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 322/751
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"
The
gods
alone
know
,
"
the
first
voice
said
.
Arya
could
see
a
wisp
of
grey
smoke
drifting
up
off
the
torch
,
writhing
like
a
snake
as
it
rose
.
"
The
fools
tried
to
kill
his
son
,
and
what
's
worse
,
they
made
a
mummer
's
farce
of
it
.
He
's
not
a
man
to
put
that
aside
.
I
warn
you
,
the
wolf
and
lion
will
soon
be
at
each
other
's
throats
,
whether
we
will
it
or
no
.
"
"
Too
soon
,
too
soon
,
"
the
voice
with
the
accent
complained
.
"
What
good
is
war
now
?
We
are
not
ready
.
Delay
.
"
"
As
well
bid
me
stop
time
.
Do
you
take
me
for
a
wizard
?
"
The
other
chuckled
.
"
No
less
.
"
Flames
licked
at
the
cold
air
.
The
tall
shadows
were
almost
on
top
of
her
.
An
instant
later
the
man
holding
the
torch
climbed
into
her
sight
,
his
companion
beside
him
.
Arya
crept
back
away
from
the
well
,
dropped
to
her
stomach
,
and
flattened
herself
against
the
wall
.
She
held
her
breath
as
the
men
reached
the
top
of
the
steps
.
"
What
would
you
have
me
do
?
"
asked
the
torchbearer
,
a
stout
man
in
a
leather
half
cape
.
Even
in
heavy
boots
,
his
feet
seemed
to
glide
soundlessly
over
the
ground
.
A
round
scarred
face
and
a
stubble
of
dark
beard
showed
under
his
steel
cap
,
and
he
wore
mail
over
boiled
leather
,
and
a
dirk
and
shortsword
at
his
belt
.
It
seemed
to
Arya
there
was
something
oddly
familiar
about
him
.
"
If
one
Hand
can
die
,
why
not
a
second
?
"
replied
the
man
with
the
accent
and
the
forked
yellow
beard
.
"
You
have
danced
the
dance
before
,
my
friend
.
"
He
was
no
one
Arya
had
ever
seen
before
,
she
was
certain
of
it
.
Grossly
fat
,
yet
he
seemed
to
walk
lightly
,
carrying
his
weight
on
the
balls
of
his
feet
as
a
water
dancer
might
.
His
rings
glimmered
in
the
torchlight
,
red-gold
and
pale
silver
,
crusted
with
rubies
,
sapphires
,
slitted
yellow
tiger
eyes
.
Every
finger
wore
a
ring
;
some
had
two
.
"
Before
is
not
now
,
and
this
Hand
is
not
the
other
,
"
the
scarred
man
said
as
they
stepped
out
into
the
hall
.
Still
as
stone
,
Arya
told
herself
,
quiet
as
a
shadow
.
Blinded
by
the
blaze
of
their
own
torch
,
they
did
not
see
her
pressed
flat
against
the
stone
,
only
a
few
feet
away
.
"
Perhaps
so
,
"
the
forked
beard
replied
,
pausing
to
catch
his
breath
after
the
long
climb
.
"
Nonetheless
,
we
must
have
time
.
The
princess
is
with
child
.
The
khal
will
not
bestir
himself
until
his
son
is
born
.
You
know
how
they
are
,
these
savages
.
"
The
man
with
the
torch
pushed
at
something
.
Arya
heard
a
deep
rumbling
.
