"George R. R. Martin - Ice and Fire 2 - A Clash of Kings" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

The child had been plagued by nightmares as far back as Maester Cressen could
recall. "We have talked of this before," he said gently. "The dragons cannot
come to life. They are carved of stone, child. In olden days, our island was
the westernmost outpost of the great Freehold of Valyria. It was the Valyrians
who raised this citadel, and they had ways of shaping stone since lost to us.
A castle must have towers wherever two walls meet at an angle, for defense.
The Valyrians fashioned these towers in the shape of dragons to make their
fortress seem more fear-
some, just as they crowned their walls with a thousand gargoyles instead of
simple crenellations." He took her small pink hand in his own frail spotted
one and gave it a gentle squeeze. "So you see, there is nothing to fear. "
Shireen was unconvinced. "What about the thing in the sky? Dalla and Matrice
were talking by the well, and Dalla said she heard the red woman tell Mother
that it was dragonshreath. If the dragons are breathing, doesn't that mean
they are coming to life?"
The red woman, Maester Cressen thought sourly. Ill enough that she's filled
the head of the mother with her madness, must she poison the daughter's dreams
as well? He would have a stern word with Dalla, warn her not to spread such
tales. "The thing in the sky is a comet, sweet child. A star with a tail, lost
in the heavens. It will be gone soon enough, never to be seen again in our
lifetimes. Watch and see."
Shireen gave a brave little nod. "Mother said the white raven means it's not
summer anymore."
"That is so, my lady. The white ravens fly only from the Citadel." Cressen's
fingers went to the chain about his neck, each link forged from a different
metal, each symbolizing his mastery of another branch of learning; the
maester's collar, mark of his order. In the pride of his youth, he had worn it
easily, but now it seemed heavy to him, the metal cold against his skin. "They
are larger than other ravens, and more clever, bred to carry only the most
important messages. This one came to tell us that the Conclave has met,
considered the reports and measurements made by maesters all over the realm,
and declared this great summer done at last. Ten years, two turns, and sixteen
days it lasted, the longest summer in living memory."
"Will it get cold now?" Shireen was a summer child, and had never known true
cold.
"In time," Cressen replied. "If the gods are good, they will grant us a warm
autumn and bountiful harvests, so we might prepare for the winter to come."
The smallfolk said that a long summer meant an even longer winter, but the
maester saw no reason to frighten the child with such tales.
Patchface rang his bells. "It is always summer under the sea," he intoned.
"The merwives wear nennymoans in their hair and weave gowns of silver seaweed.
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh."
Shireen giggled. "I should like a gown of silver seaweed."
"Under the sea, it snows up," said the fool, "and the rain is dry as bone. I
know, I know, oh, oh, oh."
"Will it truly snow?" the child asked.
"It will," Cressen said. But not for years yet, I pray, and then not for long.
"Ah, here is Pylos with the bird."
Shireen gave a cry of delight. Even Cressen had to admit the bird made an
impressive sight, white as snow and larger than any hawk, with the bright