"Martin, George R.R. - Song of Ice and Fire 06 Prequel - The Hedge Knight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin George R R)

The Hedge Knight
A Tale of the Seven Kingdoms

George R.R. Martin


The story offered here takes place about a hundred years prior to the events described in "A Game of Thrones"



The spring rains had softened the ground, so Dunk had no trouble digging the grave. He chose a
spot on the western slope of a low hill, for the old man had always loved to watch the sunset.
"Another day done," he would sigh, "and who knows what the morrow will bring us, eh,
Dunk?"
Well, one morrow had brought rains that soaked them to the bones, and the one after had
brought wet gusty winds, and the next a chill. By the fourth day the old man was too weak to
ride. And now he was gone. Only a few days past, he had been singing as they rode, the old
song about going to Gulltown to see a fair maid, but instead of Gulltown he'd sung of Ashford.
Off to Ashford to see the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, Dunk thought miserably as he dug.
When the hole was deep enough, he lifted the old man's body in his arms and carried him there.
He had been a small man, and slim; stripped of hauberk, helm, and sword belt, he seemed to
weigh no more than a bag of leaves. Dunk was hugely tall for his age, a shambling, shaggy, big-
boned boy of sixteen or seventeen years (no one was quite certain which) who stood closer to
seven feet than to six, and had only just begun to fill out his frame. The old man had often
praised his strength. He had always been generous in his praise. It was all he had to give.
He laid him out in the bottom of the grave and stood over him for a time. The smell of rain was
in the air again, and he knew he ought to fill the hole before the rain broke, but it was hard to
throw dirt down on that tired old face. There ought to be a septon here, to say some prayers
over him, but he only has me. The old man had taught Dunk all he knew of swords and shields
and lances, but had never been much good at teaching him words.
"I'd leave your sword, but it would rust in the ground," he said at last, apologetic. "The gods
will give you a new one, I guess. I wish you didn't die, ser." He paused, uncertain what else
needed to be said. He didn't know any prayers, not all the way through; the old man had never
been much for praying. "You were a true knight, and you never beat me when I didn't deserve
it," he finally managed, "except that one time in Maidenpool. It was the inn boy who ate the
widow woman's pie, not me, I told you. It don't matter now. The gods keep you, ser." He
kicked dirt in the hole, then began to fill it methodically, never looking at the thing at the bottom.
He had a long life, Dunk thought. He must have been closer to sixty than to fifty, and how many
men can say that? At least he had lived to see another spring.
The sun was westering as he fed the horses. There were three; his swaybacked stot, the old
man's palfrey, and Thunder, his warhorse, who was ridden only in tourney and battle. The big
brown stallion was not as swift or strong as he had once been, but he still had his bright eye and
fierce spirit, and he was more valuable than everything else Dunk owned. If I sold Thunder and
old Chestnut, and the saddles and bridles too, I'd come away with enough silver to. . . Dunk
frowned. The only life he knew was the life of a hedge knight, riding from keep to keep, taking
service with this lord and that lord, fighting in their battles and eating in their halls until the war
was done, then moving on. There were tourneys from time to time as well, though less often,
and he knew that some hedge knights turned robber during lean winters, though the old man
never had.
I could find another hedge knight in need of a squire to tend his animals and clean his mail, he