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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 555/751
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Ser
Wylis
and
his
brother
Ser
Wendel
followed
,
leading
their
levies
,
near
fifteen
hundred
men
:
some
twenty-odd
knights
and
as
many
squires
,
two
hundred
mounted
lances
,
swordsmen
,
and
freeriders
,
and
the
rest
foot
,
armed
with
spears
,
pikes
and
tridents
.
Lord
Wyman
had
remained
behind
to
see
to
the
defenses
of
WhiteHarbor
.
A
man
of
near
sixty
years
,
he
had
grown
too
stout
to
sit
a
horse
.
"
If
I
had
thought
to
see
war
again
in
my
lifetime
,
I
should
have
eaten
a
few
less
eels
,
"
he
'd
told
Catelyn
when
he
met
her
ship
,
slapping
his
massive
belly
with
both
hands
.
His
fingers
were
fat
as
sausages
.
"
My
boys
will
see
you
safe
to
your
son
,
though
,
have
no
fear
.
"
His
"
boys
"
were
both
older
than
Catelyn
,
and
she
might
have
wished
that
they
did
not
take
after
their
father
quite
so
closely
.
Ser
Wylis
was
only
a
few
eels
short
of
not
being
able
to
mount
his
own
horse
;
she
pitied
the
poor
animal
.
Ser
Wendel
,
the
younger
boy
,
would
have
been
the
fattest
man
she
'd
ever
known
,
had
she
only
neglected
to
meet
his
father
and
brother
.
Wylis
was
quiet
and
formal
,
Wendel
loud
and
boisterous
;
both
had
ostentatious
walrus
mustaches
and
heads
as
bare
as
a
baby
's
bottom
;
neither
seemed
to
own
a
single
garment
that
was
not
spotted
with
food
stains
.
Yet
she
liked
them
well
enough
;
they
had
gotten
her
to
Robb
,
as
their
father
had
vowed
,
and
nothing
else
mattered
.
She
was
pleased
to
see
that
her
son
had
sent
eyes
out
,
even
to
the
east
.
The
Lannisters
would
come
from
the
south
when
they
came
,
but
it
was
good
that
Robb
was
being
careful
.
My
son
is
leading
a
host
to
war
,
she
thought
,
still
only
half
believing
it
.
She
was
desperately
afraid
for
him
,
and
for
Winterfell
,
yet
she
could
not
deny
feeling
a
certain
pride
as
well
.
A
year
ago
he
had
been
a
boy
.
What
was
he
now
?
she
wondered
.
Outriders
spied
the
Manderly
banners
--
the
white
merman
with
trident
in
hand
,
rising
from
a
blue-green
sea
--
and
hailed
them
warmly
.
They
were
led
to
a
spot
of
high
ground
dry
enough
for
a
camp
.
Ser
Wylis
called
a
halt
there
,
and
remained
behind
with
his
men
to
see
the
fires
laid
and
the
horses
tended
,
while
his
brother
Wendel
rode
on
with
Catelyn
and
her
uncle
to
present
their
father
's
respects
to
their
liege
lord
.
The
ground
under
their
horses
'
hooves
was
soft
and
wet
.
It
fell
away
slowly
beneath
them
as
they
rode
past
smoky
peat
fires
,
lines
of
horses
,
and
wagons
heavy-laden
with
hardbread
and
salt
beef
.
On
a
stony
outcrop
of
land
higher
than
the
surrounding
country
,
they
passed
a
lord
's
pavilion
with
walls
of
heavy
sailcloth
.
Catelyn
recognized
the
banner
,
the
bull
moose
of
the
Hornwoods
,
brown
on
its
dark
orange
field
.
Just
beyond
,
through
the
mists
,
she
glimpsed
the
walls
and
towers
of
Moat
Cailin
...
or
what
remained
of
them
.
Immense
blocks
of
black
basalt
,
each
as
large
as
a
crofter
's
cottage
,
lay
scattered
and
tumbled
like
a
child
's
wooden
blocks
,
half-sunk
in
the
soft
boggy
soil
.
Nothing
else
remained
of
a
curtain
wall
that
had
once
stood
as
high
as
Winterfell
's
.
The
wooden
keep
was
gone
entirely
,
rotted
away
a
thousand
years
past
,
with
not
so
much
as
a
timber
to
mark
where
it
had
stood
.
All
that
was
left
of
the
great
stronghold
of
the
First
Men
were
three
towers
...
three
where
there
had
once
been
twenty
,
if
the
taletellers
could
be
believed
.
The
Gatehouse
Tower
looked
sound
enough
,
and
even
boasted
a
few
feet
of
standing
wall
to
either
side
of
it
.
The
Drunkard
's
Tower
,
off
in
the
bog
where
the
south
and
west
walls
had
once
met
,
leaned
like
a
man
about
to
spew
a
bellyful
of
wine
into
the
gutter
.
And
the
tall
,
slender
Children
's
Tower
,
where
legend
said
the
children
of
the
forest
had
once
called
upon
their
nameless
gods
to
send
the
hammer
of
the
waters
,
had
lost
half
its
crown
.
It
looked
as
if
some
great
beast
had
taken
a
bite
out
of
the
crenellations
along
the
tower
top
,
and
spit
the
rubble
across
the
bog
.
All
three
towers
were
green
with
moss
.
A
tree
was
growing
out
between
the
stones
on
the
north
side
of
the
Gatehouse
Tower
,
its
gnarled
limbs
festooned
with
ropy
white
blankets
of
ghostskin
.
