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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Brigands
,
Lord
Varys
?
"
Ser
Raymun
Darry
's
voice
dripped
scorn
.
"
Oh
,
they
were
brigands
,
beyond
a
doubt
.
Lannister
brigands
.
"
Ned
could
feel
the
unease
in
the
hall
,
as
high
lords
and
servants
alike
strained
to
listen
.
He
could
not
pretend
to
surprise
.
The
west
had
been
a
tinderbox
since
Catelyn
had
seized
Tyrion
Lannister
.
Both
Riverrun
and
Casterly
Rock
had
called
their
banners
,
and
armies
were
massing
in
the
pass
below
the
Golden
Tooth
.
It
had
only
been
a
matter
of
time
until
the
blood
began
to
flow
.
The
sole
question
that
remained
was
how
best
to
stanch
the
wound
.
Sad-eyed
Ser
Karyl
Vance
,
who
would
have
been
handsome
but
for
the
winestain
birthmark
that
discolored
his
face
,
gestured
at
the
kneeling
villagers
.
"
This
is
all
the
remains
of
the
holdfast
of
Sherrer
,
Lord
Eddard
.
The
rest
are
dead
,
along
with
the
people
of
Wendish
Town
and
the
Mummer
's
Ford
.
"
"
Rise
,
"
Ned
commanded
the
villagers
.
He
never
trusted
what
a
man
told
him
from
his
knees
.
"
All
of
you
,
up
.
"
In
ones
and
twos
,
the
holdfast
of
Sherrer
struggled
to
its
feet
.
One
ancient
needed
to
be
helped
,
and
a
young
girl
in
a
bloody
dress
stayed
on
her
knees
,
staring
blankly
at
Ser
Arys
Oakheart
,
who
stood
by
the
foot
of
the
throne
in
the
white
armor
of
the
Kingsguard
,
ready
to
protect
and
defend
the
king
...
or
,
Ned
supposed
,
the
King
's
Hand
.
"
Joss
,
"
Ser
Raymun
Darry
said
to
a
plump
balding
man
in
a
brewer
's
apron
.
"
Tell
the
Hand
what
happened
at
Sherrer
.
"
Joss
nodded
.
"
If
it
please
His
Grace
--
"
"
His
Grace
is
hunting
across
the
Blackwater
,
"
Ned
said
,
wondering
how
a
man
could
live
his
whole
life
a
few
days
ride
from
the
Red
Keep
and
still
have
no
notion
what
his
king
looked
like
.
Ned
was
clad
in
a
white
linen
doublet
with
the
direwolf
of
Stark
on
the
breast
;
his
black
wool
cloak
was
fastened
at
the
collar
by
his
silver
hand
of
office
.
Black
and
white
and
grey
,
all
the
shades
of
truth
.
"
I
am
Lord
Eddard
Stark
,
the
King
's
Hand
.
Tell
me
who
you
are
and
what
you
know
of
these
raiders
.
"
"
I
keep
...
I
kept
...
I
kept
an
alehouse
,
m
'
lord
,
in
Sherrer
,
by
the
stone
bridge
.
The
finest
ale
south
of
the
Neck
,
everyone
said
so
,
begging
your
pardons
,
m
'
lord
.
It
's
gone
now
like
all
the
rest
,
m
'
lord
.
They
come
and
drank
their
fill
and
spilled
the
rest
before
they
fired
my
roof
,
and
they
would
of
spilled
my
blood
too
,
if
they
'd
caught
me
.
M'lord
.
"
