"George R. R. Martin - Arms of the Kraken" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

GEORGE R.R. MARTIN

THE ARMS OF THE
KRAKEN

THE PROPHET

Aeron Damphair was drowning men on Great Wyk when they came to tell
him that the king was dead.
It was a bleak cold morning, and the sea was as leaden as the sky. The
first three men had offered their lives to the Drowned God fearlessly, but
the fourth was weak in faith, and began to struggle as his lungs cried out
for air. Standing waist deep in the surf, Aeron seized the naked boy by the
shoulders and pushed his head back down as he tried to snatch a breath.
"Have courage." he said. "We came from the sea, and to the sea we must
return. Open your mouth and drink deep of god's blessing. Fill your lungs
with water, that you may die and be reborn. It does no good to fight."

Either the boy could not hear him with his head beneath the waves, or else
his faith had utterly deserted him. He began to kick and thrash so wildly
that Aeron had to call for help. Four of his drowned men waded out to seize
the wretch and hold him under water. "Lord God who drowned for us," the
priest prayed, in a voice as deep as the sea, "let Emmond your servant be
reborn From the sea, as you were. Bless him with salt, bless him with
stone, bless him with steel."

Finally it was done. No more air was bubbling from his mouth, and all the
strength had gone out of his limbs. Face down in the shallow sea floated
Lmmond, pale and cold and peaceful.

That was when Ihe Damphair realized that three horsemen had joined his
drowned men on the pebbled shore. Aeron knew The Sparr, a hatchet-faced
old man with watery eyes whose quavery voice was law on this part of
Great Wyk, His son Steffarion accompanied him, with another youth whose
dark red fur-lined cloak was pinned at Ihe shoulder with a ornate brooch
that showed the black-and~gold warhorn of the Goodbrothers. One of
Gorold's sons, the priest decided at a glance. Three tall sons had been born
to Goodbrother's wife late in We, after a dozen daughters, and it was said
that no man could tell one son from the others. Aeron Damphair did not
deign to try. Whether this be Greydon or Gormond or Gran, the priest had
no time for him.

He growled a brusque command, and his drowned men seized the dead boy
by his arms and legs to carry him above the tideline. The priest followed,
naked but for a sealskin clout that covered his private parts. Goosefleshed
and dripping he splashed back onto land, across cold wet sand and
sea-scoured pebbles. One of his drowned men handed him a robe of heavy
roughspun dyed in mottled greens and blues and greys, the colors of the
sea and the
Drowned God. Aeron donned the robe and pulled his hair free. Black and