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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 566/751
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Brorm
rode
with
him
.
Behind
them
--
after
a
quick
bit
of
grumbling
--
the
five
clansmen
followed
on
their
undersize
garrons
,
scrawny
things
that
looked
like
ponies
and
scrambled
up
rock
walls
like
goats
.
The
Stone
Crows
rode
together
,
and
Chella
and
Ulf
stayed
close
as
well
,
as
the
Moon
Brothers
and
Black
Ears
had
strong
bonds
between
them
.
Timett
son
of
Timett
rode
alone
.
Every
clan
in
the
Mountains
of
the
Moon
feared
the
Burned
Men
,
who
mortified
their
flesh
with
fire
to
prove
their
courage
and
(
the
others
said
)
roasted
babies
at
their
feasts
.
And
even
the
other
Burned
Men
feared
Timett
,
who
had
put
out
his
own
left
eye
with
a
white-hot
knife
when
he
reached
the
age
of
manhood
.
Tyrion
gathered
that
it
was
more
customary
for
a
boy
to
burn
off
a
nipple
,
a
finger
,
or
(
if
he
was
truly
brave
,
or
truly
mad
)
an
ear
.
Timett
's
fellow
Burned
Men
were
so
awed
by
his
choice
of
an
eye
that
they
promptly
named
him
a
red
hand
,
which
seemed
to
be
some
sort
of
a
war
chief
.
"
I
wonder
what
their
king
burned
off
,
"
Tyrion
said
to
Bronn
when
he
heard
the
tale
.
Grinning
,
the
sellsword
had
tugged
at
his
crotch
...
but
even
Bronn
kept
a
respectful
tongue
around
Timett
.
If
a
man
was
mad
enough
to
put
out
his
own
eye
,
he
was
unlikely
to
be
gentle
to
his
enemies
.
Distant
watchers
peered
down
from
towers
of
unmortared
stone
as
the
party
descended
through
the
foothills
,
and
once
Tyrion
saw
a
raven
take
wing
.
Where
the
high
road
twisted
between
two
rocky
outcrops
,
they
came
to
the
first
strong
point
.
A
low
earthen
wall
four
feet
high
closed
off
the
road
,
and
a
dozen
crossbowmen
manned
the
heights
.
Tyrion
halted
his
followers
out
of
range
and
rode
to
the
wall
alone
.
"
Who
commands
here
?
"
he
shouted
up
.
The
captain
was
quick
to
appear
,
and
even
quicker
to
give
them
an
escort
when
he
recognized
his
lord
's
son
.
They
trotted
past
blackened
fields
and
burned
holdfasts
,
down
to
the
riverlands
and
the
Green
Fork
of
the
Trident
.
Tyrion
saw
no
bodies
,
but
the
air
was
full
of
ravens
and
carrion
crows
;
there
had
been
fighting
here
,
and
recently
.
Half
a
league
from
the
crossroads
,
a
barricade
of
sharpened
stakes
had
been
erected
,
manned
by
pikemen
and
archers
.
Behind
the
line
,
the
camp
spread
out
to
the
far
distance
.
Thin
fingers
of
smoke
rose
from
hundreds
of
cookfires
,
mailed
men
sat
under
trees
and
honed
their
blades
,
and
familiar
banners
fluttered
from
staffs
thrust
into
the
muddy
ground
.
A
party
of
mounted
horsemen
rode
forward
to
challenge
them
as
they
approached
the
stakes
.
The
knight
who
led
them
wore
silver
armor
inlaid
with
amethysts
and
a
striped
purple-and-silver
cloak
.
His
shield
bore
a
unicorn
sigil
,
and
a
spiral
horn
two
feet
long
jutted
up
from
the
brow
of
his
horsehead
helm
.
Tyrion
reined
up
to
greet
him
.
"
Ser
Flement
.
"
Ser
Flement
Brax
lifted
his
visor
.
"
Tyrion
,
"
he
said
in
astonishment
.
"
My
lord
,
we
all
feared
you
dead
,
or
...
"
He
looked
at
the
clansmen
uncertainly
.
"
These
...
companions
of
yours
...
"
