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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 347/751
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"
And
I
charge
you
to
bring
the
prisoner
a
cup
of
wine
and
a
nicely
crisped
capon
,
before
he
dies
of
hunger
,
"
Lannister
said
.
"
A
girl
would
be
pleasant
as
well
,
but
I
suppose
that
's
too
much
to
ask
of
you
.
"
The
sellsword
Bronn
laughed
aloud
.
Lord
Nestor
ignored
the
banter
.
"
As
you
say
,
my
lady
,
so
it
will
be
done
.
"
Only
then
did
he
look
at
the
dwarf
.
"
See
our
lord
of
Lannister
to
a
tower
cell
,
and
bring
him
meat
and
mead
.
"
Catelyn
took
her
leave
of
her
uncle
and
the
others
as
Tyrion
Lannister
was
led
off
,
then
followed
the
bastard
girl
through
the
castle
.
Two
mules
were
waiting
in
the
upper
bailey
,
saddled
and
ready
.
Mya
helped
her
mount
one
while
a
guardsman
in
a
sky-blue
cloak
opened
the
narrow
postern
gate
.
Beyond
was
dense
forest
of
pine
and
spruce
,
and
the
mountain
like
a
black
wall
,
but
the
steps
were
there
,
chiseled
deep
into
the
rock
,
ascending
into
the
sky
.
"
Some
people
find
it
easier
if
they
close
their
eyes
,
"
Mya
said
as
she
led
the
mules
through
the
gate
into
the
dark
wood
.
"
When
they
get
frightened
or
dizzy
,
sometimes
they
hold
on
to
the
mule
too
tight
.
They
do
n't
like
that
.
"
"
I
was
born
a
Tully
and
wed
to
a
Stark
,
"
Catelyn
said
.
"
I
do
not
frighten
easily
.
Do
you
plan
to
light
a
torch
?
"
The
steps
were
black
as
pitch
.
The
girl
made
a
face
.
"
Torches
just
blind
you
.
On
a
clear
night
like
this
,
the
moon
and
the
stars
are
enough
.
Mychel
says
I
have
the
eyes
of
the
owl
.
"
She
mounted
and
urged
her
mule
up
the
first
step
.
Catelyn
's
animal
followed
of
its
own
accord
.
"
You
mentioned
Mychel
before
,
"
Catelyn
said
.
The
mules
set
the
pace
,
slow
but
steady
.
She
was
perfectly
content
with
that
.
"
Mychel
's
my
love
,
"
Mya
explained
.
"
Mychel
Redfort
.
He
's
squire
to
Ser
Lyn
Corbray
.
We
're
to
wed
as
soon
as
he
becomes
a
knight
,
next
year
or
the
year
after
.
"
She
sounded
so
like
Sansa
,
so
happy
and
innocent
with
her
dreams
.
Catelyn
smiled
,
but
the
smile
was
tinged
with
sadness
.
The
Redforts
were
an
old
name
in
the
Vale
,
she
knew
,
with
the
blood
of
the
First
Men
in
their
veins
.
His
love
she
might
be
,
but
no
Redfort
would
ever
wed
a
bastard
.
His
family
would
arrange
a
more
suitable
match
for
him
,
to
a
Corbray
or
a
Waynwood
or
a
Royce
,
or
perhaps
a
daughter
of
some
greater
house
outside
the
Vale
.
If
Mychel
Redfort
laid
with
this
girl
at
all
,
it
would
be
on
the
wrong
side
of
the
sheet
.
The
ascent
was
easier
than
Catelyn
had
dared
hope
.
The
trees
pressed
close
,
leaning
over
the
path
to
make
a
rustling
green
roof
that
shut
out
even
the
moon
,
so
it
seemed
as
though
they
were
moving
up
a
long
black
tunnel
.
But
the
mules
were
surefooted
and
tireless
,
and
Mya
Stone
did
indeed
seem
blessed
with
night-eyes
.
They
plodded
upward
,
winding
their
way
back
and
forth
across
the
face
of
the
mountain
as
the
steps
twisted
and
turned
.
A
thick
layer
of
fallen
needles
carpeted
the
path
,
so
the
shoes
of
their
mules
made
only
the
softest
sound
on
the
rock
.
The
quiet
soothed
her
,
and
the
gentle
rocking
motion
set
Catelyn
to
swaying
in
her
saddle
.
Before
long
she
was
fighting
sleep
.
