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

neck to scalp the boy's skin had been patterned in squares of red and green
motley.
"The wretch is mad, and in pain, and no use to anyone, least of all himself,"
declared old Ser Harbert, the castellan of Storm's End in those years. "The
kindest thing you could do for that one is fill his cup with the milk of the
poppy. A painless sleep, and there's an end to it. He'd bless you if he had
the wit for it." But Cressen had refused, and in the end he had won. Whether
Patchface had gotten any joy of that victory he could not say, not even today,
so many years later.
"The shadows come to dance, my lord, dance my lord, dance my lord " the fool
sang on, swinging his head and making his bells clang and clatter. Bong dong,
ring-a-ling, bong dong.
"Lord," the white raven shrieked. "Lord, lord, lord."
"A fool sings what he will," the maester told his anxious princess. "You must
not take his words to heart. On the morrow he may remember another song, and
this one will never be heard again." He can sing prettily in four tongues,
Lord Steffon had written . . .
Pylos strode through the door. "Maester, pardons."
"You have forgotten the porridge," Cressen said, amused. That was most unlike
Pylos.
"Maester, Ser Davos returned last night. They were talking of it in the
kitchen. I thought you would want to know at once."
"Davos . . . last night, you say? Where is he?"
"With the king. They have been together most of the night."
There was a time when Lord Stannis would have woken him, no matter the hour,
to have him there to give his counsel. "I should have been told," Cressen
complained. "I should have been woken." He disentangled his fingers from
Shireen's. "Pardons, my lady, but I must speak with your lord father. Pylos,
give me your arm. There are too many steps in
this castle, and it seems to me they add a few every night, just to vex me.
Shireen and Patchface followed them out, but the child soon grew restless with
the old man's creeping pace and dashed ahead, the fool lurching after her with
his cowbells clanging madly.
Castles are not friendly places for the frail, Cressen was reminded as he
descended the turnpike stairs of Sea Dragon Tower. Lord Stannis would be found
in the Chamber of the Painted Table, atop the Stone Drum, Dragonstone's
central keep, so named for the way its ancient walls boomed and rumbled during
storms. To reach him they must cross the gallery, pass through the middle and
inner walls with their guardian gargoyles and black iron gates, and ascend
more steps than Cressen cared to contemplate. Young men climbed steps two at a
time; for old men with bad hips, every one was a torment. But Lord Stannis
would not think to come to him, so the maester resigned himself to the ordeal.
He had Pylos to help him, at the least, and for that he was grateful.
Shuffling along the gallery, they passed before a row of tall arched windows
with commanding views of the outer bailey, the curtain wall, and the fishing
village beyond. in the yard, archers were firing at practice butts to the call
of "Notch, draw, loose." Their arrows made a sound like a flock of birds
taking wing. Guardsmen strode the wallwalks, peering between the gargoyles on
the host camped without. The morning air was hazy with the smoke of cookfires,
as three thousand men sat down to break their fasts beneath the banners of