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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 82/751
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When
the
direwolf
howled
again
,
Tyrion
shut
the
heavy
leatherbound
cover
on
the
book
he
was
reading
,
a
hundred-year-old
discourse
on
the
changing
of
the
seasons
by
a
long-dead
maester
.
He
covered
a
yawn
with
the
back
of
his
hand
.
His
reading
lamp
was
flickering
,
its
oil
all
but
gone
,
as
dawn
light
leaked
through
the
high
windows
.
He
had
been
at
it
all
night
,
but
that
was
nothing
new
.
Tyrion
Lannister
was
not
much
a
one
for
sleeping
.
His
legs
were
stiff
and
sore
as
he
eased
down
off
the
bench
.
He
massaged
some
life
back
into
them
and
limped
heavily
to
the
table
where
the
septon
was
snoring
softly
,
his
head
pillowed
on
an
open
book
in
front
of
him
.
Tyrion
glanced
at
the
title
.
A
life
of
the
Grand
Maester
Aethelmure
,
no
wonder
.
"
Chayle
,
"
he
said
softly
.
The
young
man
jerked
up
,
blinking
,
confused
,
the
crystal
of
his
order
swinging
wildly
on
its
silver
chain
.
"
I
'm
off
to
break
my
fast
.
See
that
you
return
the
books
to
the
shelves
.
Be
gentle
with
the
Valyrian
scrolls
,
the
parchment
is
very
dry
.
Ayrmidon
's
Engines
of
War
is
quite
rare
,
and
yours
is
the
only
complete
copy
I
've
ever
seen
.
"
Chayle
gaped
at
him
,
still
half-asleep
.
Patiently
,
Tyrion
repeated
his
instructions
,
then
clapped
the
septon
on
the
shoulder
and
left
him
to
his
tasks
.
Outside
,
Tyrion
swallowed
a
lungful
of
the
cold
morning
air
and
began
his
laborious
descent
of
the
steep
stone
steps
that
corkscrewed
around
the
exterior
of
the
library
tower
.
It
was
slow
going
;
the
steps
were
cut
high
and
narrow
,
while
his
legs
were
short
and
twisted
.
The
rising
sun
had
not
yet
cleared
the
walls
of
Winterfell
,
but
the
men
were
already
hard
at
it
in
the
yard
below
.
Sandor
Clegane
's
rasping
voice
drifted
up
to
him
.
"
The
boy
is
a
long
time
dying
.
I
wish
he
would
be
quicker
about
it
.
"
Tyrion
glanced
down
and
saw
the
Hound
standing
with
young
Joffrey
as
squires
swarmed
around
them
.
"
At
least
he
dies
quietly
,
"
the
prince
replied
.
"
It
's
the
wolf
that
makes
the
noise
.
I
could
scarce
sleep
last
night
.
"
Clegane
cast
a
long
shadow
across
the
hard-packed
earth
as
his
squire
lowered
the
black
helm
over
his
head
.
"
I
could
silence
the
creature
,
if
it
please
you
,
"
he
said
through
his
open
visor
.
His
boy
placed
a
longsword
in
his
hand
.
He
tested
the
weight
of
it
,
slicing
at
the
cold
morning
air
.
Behind
him
,
the
yard
rang
to
the
clangor
of
steel
on
steel
.
The
notion
seemed
to
delight
the
prince
.
"
Send
a
dog
to
kill
a
dog
!
"
he
exclaimed
.
"
Winterfell
is
so
infested
with
wolves
,
the
Starks
would
never
miss
one
.
"
Tyrion
hopped
off
the
last
step
onto
the
yard
.
"
I
beg
to
differ
,
nephew
,
"
he
said
.
"
The
Starks
can
count
past
six
.
Unlike
some
princes
I
might
name
.
"
Joffrey
had
the
grace
at
least
to
blush
.
"
A
voice
from
nowhere
,
"
Sandor
said
.
