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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 476/751
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Renly
walked
to
his
side
.
"
Send
your
men
away
.
"
They
met
in
the
center
of
the
bridge
,
the
dry
moat
beneath
them
.
Moonlight
silvered
the
cruel
edges
of
the
spikes
that
lined
its
bed
.
Ned
gestured
.
Tomard
and
Cayn
bowed
their
heads
and
backed
away
respectfully
.
Lord
Renly
glanced
warily
at
Ser
Boros
on
the
far
end
of
the
span
,
at
Ser
Preston
in
the
doorway
behind
them
.
"
That
letter
.
"
He
leaned
close
.
"
Was
it
the
regency
?
Has
my
brother
named
you
Protector
?
"
He
did
not
wait
for
a
reply
.
"
My
lord
,
I
have
thirty
men
in
my
personal
guard
,
and
other
friends
beside
,
knights
and
lords
.
Give
me
an
hour
,
and
I
can
put
a
hundred
swords
in
your
hand
.
"
"
And
what
should
I
do
with
a
hundred
swords
,
my
lord
?
"
"
Strike
!
Now
,
while
the
castle
sleeps
.
"
Renly
looked
back
at
Ser
Boros
again
and
dropped
his
voice
to
an
urgent
whisper
.
"
We
must
get
Joffrey
away
from
his
mother
and
take
him
in
hand
.
Protector
or
no
,
the
man
who
holds
the
king
holds
the
kingdom
.
We
should
seize
Myrcella
and
Tommen
as
well
.
Once
we
have
her
children
,
Cersei
will
not
dare
oppose
us
.
The
council
will
confirm
you
as
Lord
Protector
and
make
Joffrey
your
ward
.
"
Ned
regarded
him
coldly
.
"
Robert
is
not
dead
yet
.
The
gods
may
spare
him
.
If
not
,
I
shall
convene
the
council
to
hear
his
final
words
and
consider
the
matter
of
the
succession
,
but
I
will
not
dishonor
his
last
hours
on
earth
by
shedding
blood
in
his
halls
and
dragging
frightened
children
from
their
beds
.
"
Lord
Renly
took
a
step
back
,
taut
as
a
bowstring
.
"
Every
moment
you
delay
gives
Cersei
another
moment
to
prepare
.
By
the
time
Robert
dies
,
it
may
be
too
late
...
for
both
of
us
.
"
"
Then
we
should
pray
that
Robert
does
not
die
.
"
"
Small
chance
of
that
,
"
said
Renly
.
"
Sometimes
the
gods
are
merciful
.
"