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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 638/751
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Groaning
,
Tyrion
lurched
to
his
feet
and
pushed
his
way
outside
,
shouting
for
his
squire
.
Wisps
of
pale
fog
drifted
through
the
night
,
long
white
fingers
off
the
river
.
Men
and
horses
blundered
through
the
predawn
chill
;
saddles
were
being
cinched
,
wagons
loaded
,
fires
extinguished
.
The
trumpets
blew
again
:
hurry
hurry
hurry
.
Knights
vaulted
onto
snorting
coursers
while
men-at-arms
buckled
their
sword
belts
as
they
ran
.
When
he
found
Pod
,
the
boy
was
snoring
softly
.
Tyrion
gave
him
a
sharp
poke
in
the
ribs
with
his
toe
.
"
My
armor
,
"
he
said
,
"
and
be
quick
about
it
.
"
Bronn
came
trotting
out
of
the
mists
,
already
armored
and
ahorse
,
wearing
his
battered
halfhelm
.
"
Do
you
know
what
's
happened
?
"
Tyrion
asked
him
.
"
The
Stark
boy
stole
a
march
on
us
,
"
Bronn
said
.
"
He
crept
down
the
kingsroad
in
the
night
,
and
now
his
host
is
less
than
a
mile
north
of
here
,
forming
up
in
battle
array
.
"
Hurry
,
the
trumpets
called
,
hurry
hurry
hurry
.
"
See
that
the
clansmen
are
ready
to
ride
.
"
Tyrion
ducked
back
inside
his
tent
.
"
Where
are
my
clothes
?
"
he
barked
at
Shae
.
"
There
.
No
,
the
leather
,
damn
it
.
Yes
.
Bring
me
my
boots
.
"
By
the
time
he
was
dressed
,
his
squire
had
laid
out
his
armor
,
such
that
it
was
.
Tyrion
owned
a
fine
suit
of
heavy
plate
,
expertly
crafted
to
fit
his
misshapen
body
.
Alas
,
it
was
safe
at
Casterly
Rock
,
and
he
was
not
.
He
had
to
make
do
with
oddments
assembled
from
Lord
Lefford
's
wagons
:
mail
hauberk
and
coif
,
a
dead
knight
's
gorget
,
lobstered
greaves
and
gauntlets
and
pointed
steel
boots
.
Some
of
it
was
ornate
,
some
plain
;
not
a
bit
of
it
matched
,
or
fit
as
it
should
.
His
breastplate
was
meant
for
a
bigger
man
;
for
his
oversize
head
,
they
found
a
huge
bucket-shaped
greathelm
topped
with
a
foot-long
triangular
spike
.
Shae
helped
Pod
with
the
buckles
and
clasps
.
"
If
I
die
,
weep
for
me
,
"
Tyrion
told
the
whore
.
"
How
will
you
know
?
You
'll
be
dead
.
"
"
I
'll
know
.
"
"
I
believe
you
would
.
"
Shae
lowered
the
greathelm
down
over
his
head
,
and
Pod
fastened
it
to
his
gorget
.
Tyrion
buckled
on
his
belt
,
heavy
with
the
weight
of
shortsword
and
dirk
.
By
then
his
groom
had
brought
up
his
mount
,
a
formidable
brown
courser
armored
as
heavily
as
he
was
.
He
needed
help
to
mount
;
he
felt
as
though
he
weighed
a
thousand
stone
.
Pod
handed
him
up
his
shield
,
a
massive
slab
of
heavy
ironwood
banded
with
steel
.
Lastly
they
gave
him
his
battle-axe
.
Shae
stepped
back
and
looked
him
over
.
"
M'lord
looks
fearsome
.
"
