"George R. R. Martin - Ice and Fire 4 - Arms of the Kraken" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

"No. His mount is stronger. Your horse, boy."


The youth hesitated half a heartbeat then dismounted and held the reins for Damphair. Aeron shoved a bare black foot into a
stirrup and swung himself onto the saddle. He was not fond of horses-they were creatures from the green lands, and helped
to make men weak-but necessity required that he ride. Dark wings, dark words. A storm was brewing, he could hear it in the
waves and storms brought naught but evil. "Meet with me at Pebbleton beneath Lord Merlyn's tower," he told his drowned
men, as he turned the horse's head.


The way was rough, up hills and woods and stony defiles along a narro1 track that oft seemed to disappear beneath the
horse's hooves. Great Wyl was the largest of the Iron Islands, so vast that some of its lords had holding that did not front
upon the holy sea.


Gorold Goodbrother was one such. His


keep was in the Hardstone Hills, as far as from the Drowned God's realm as any place in the isles. Gorold's folk toiled down
in Gorold's mines, in the stony dark beneath the earth. Some lived and died without setting eyes upon salt water. Small
wonder that such folk are crabbed and queer.


As Aeron rode, his thoughts turned to his brothers.


Nine sons had been born from the toins of Quellon Greyjoy, the Lord of the Iron Islands. Marlon, Quenton, and Donel had


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been born of Lord Quellon's first wife, a woman of the Stonetrees. Balon, Euron, Victarion, Urrigon, and Aeron were the sons
of his second, a Sunderly of Saltcliffe. For a third wife Quellon took a girl from the green lands, who gave him a sickly idiot
boy named Robin, the brother best forgotten. The priest had no memory of Quenton or Donel, who had died as infants.
Harlon he recalled but dimly, sitting grey-faced and still in a window less tower room and speaking in whispers that grew
fainter every day as the grey scale turned his tongue and lips to stone. One day we shall feast on fish together in the
Drowned God's watery halls, the four of us and Urri too.


Nine sons had been born from the loins of Quellon Greyjoy, but only four had lived to manhood. That was the way of this cold
world, where men fished the sea and dug in the ground and died, whilst women brought forth short-lived children from beds
of blood and pain. Aeron had been the last and least of the four krakens, Balon the eldest and boldest, a fierce and fearless
boy who lived only to restore the iron-born to their ancient glory. At ten he scaled the flint Cliffs to the Blind Lord': haunted
tower. At thirteen he could rur a longship's oars and dance the finger dance as well as any man in the isles. At fifteen he had
sailed with Dagmer Cleftjaw to the Stepstones and spent a summer reaving. He slew his first man there, and took his first two
salt wives. At seventeen Balon captained his own ship. He was all that an elder brother ought to be, though he had never
shown Aeron aught but scorn. / was weak and full of sin, and scorn was more than I deserved. Better to be scorned by Balon
the Brave than beloved of Euron Crow's Eye. And if age and grief had turned Balon bitter