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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 681/751
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In
place
of
Hodor
,
the
wildling
woman
Osha
was
summoned
.
She
was
tall
and
tough
and
uncomplaining
,
willing
to
go
wherever
she
was
commanded
.
"
I
lived
my
life
beyond
the
Wall
,
a
hole
in
the
ground
wo
n't
fret
me
none
,
m
'
lords
,
"
she
said
.
"
Summer
,
come
,
"
Bran
called
as
she
lifted
him
in
wiry-strong
arms
.
The
direwolf
left
his
bone
and
followed
as
Osha
carried
Bran
across
the
yard
and
down
the
spiral
steps
to
the
cold
vault
under
the
earth
.
Maester
Luwin
went
ahead
with
a
torch
.
Bran
did
not
even
mind
--
too
badly
--
that
she
carried
him
in
her
arms
and
not
on
her
back
.
Ser
Rodrik
had
ordered
Osha
's
chain
struck
off
,
since
she
had
served
faithfully
and
well
since
she
had
been
at
Winterfell
.
She
still
wore
the
heavy
iron
shackles
around
her
ankles
--
a
sign
that
she
was
not
yet
wholly
trusted
--
but
they
did
not
hinder
her
sure
strides
down
the
steps
.
Bran
could
not
recall
the
last
time
he
had
been
in
the
crypts
.
It
had
been
before
,
for
certain
.
When
he
was
little
,
he
used
to
play
down
here
with
Robb
and
Jon
and
his
sisters
.
He
wished
they
were
here
now
;
the
vault
might
not
have
seemed
so
dark
and
scary
.
Summer
stalked
out
in
the
echoing
gloom
,
then
stopped
,
lifted
his
head
,
and
sniffed
the
chill
dead
air
.
He
bared
his
teeth
and
crept
backward
,
eyes
glowing
golden
in
the
light
of
the
maester
's
torch
.
Even
Osha
,
hard
as
old
iron
,
seemed
uncomfortable
.
"
Grim
folk
,
by
the
look
of
them
,
"
she
said
as
she
eyed
the
long
row
of
granite
Starks
on
their
stone
thrones
.
"
They
were
the
Kings
of
Winter
,
"
Bran
whispered
.
Somehow
it
felt
wrong
to
talk
too
loudly
in
this
place
.
Osha
smiled
.
"
Winter
's
got
no
king
.
If
you
'd
seen
it
,
you
'd
know
that
,
summer
boy
.
"
"
They
were
the
Kings
in
the
North
for
thousands
of
years
,
"
Maester
Luwin
said
,
lifting
the
torch
high
so
the
light
shone
on
the
stone
faces
.
Some
were
hairy
and
bearded
,
shaggy
men
fierce
as
the
wolves
that
crouched
by
their
feet
.
Others
were
shaved
clean
,
their
features
gaunt
and
sharp-edged
as
the
iron
longswords
across
their
laps
.
"
Hard
men
for
a
hard
time
.
Come
.
"
He
strode
briskly
down
the
vault
,
past
the
procession
of
stone
pillars
and
the
endless
carved
figures
.
A
tongue
of
flame
trailed
back
from
the
upraised
torch
as
he
went
.
The
vault
was
cavernous
,
longer
than
Winterfell
itself
,
and
Jon
had
told
him
once
that
there
were
other
levels
underneath
,
vaults
even
deeper
and
darker
where
the
older
kings
were
buried
.
It
would
not
do
to
lose
the
light
.
Summer
refused
to
move
from
the
steps
,
even
when
Osha
followed
the
torch
,
Bran
in
her
arms
.
"
Do
you
recall
your
history
,
Bran
?
"
the
maester
said
as
they
walked
.
"
Tell
Osha
who
they
were
and
what
they
did
,
if
you
can
.
"
