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

and it's on to Ashford for me. How much farther is it?"
"A day's ride. Bear north when the road forks at the burned mill. Is my boy seeing to your
horses, or has he run off again?"
"No, he's there," said Dunk. "You seem to have no custom."
"Half the town's gone to see the tourney. My own would as well, if I allowed it. They'll have
this inn when I go, but the boy would sooner swagger about with soldiers, and the girl turns to
sighs and giggles every time a knight rides by. I swear I couldn't tell you why. Knights are built
the same as other men, and I never knew a joust to change the price of eggs." She eyed Dunk
curiously; his sword and shield told her one thing, his rope belt and roughspun tunic quite
another. "You're bound for the tourney yourself?"
He took a sip of the ale before he answered. A nut brown color it was, and thick on the tongue,
the way he liked it. "Aye," he said. "I mean to be a champion."
"Do you, now?" the innkeep answered, polite enough.
Across the room, the lordling raised his head from the wine puddle. His face had a sallow,
unhealthy cast to it beneath a rat's nest of sandy brown hair, and blond stubble crusted his chin.
He rubbed his mouth, blinked at Dunk, and said, "I dreamed of you." His hand trembled as he
pointed a finger. "You stay away from me, do you hear? You stay well away."
Dunk stared at him uncertainly. "My lord?"
The innkeep leaned close. "Never you mind that one, ser. All he does is drink and talk about his
dreams. I'll see about that food." She bustled off.
"Food?" The lordling made the word an obscenity. He staggered to his feet, one hand on the
table to keep himself from falling. "I'm going to be sick," he announced. The front of his tunic
was crusty red with old wine stains. "I wanted a whore, but there's none to be found here. All
gone to Ashford Meadow. Gods be good, I need some wine." He lurched unsteadily from the
common room, and Dunk heard him climbing steps, singing under his breath.
A sad creature, thought Dunk. But why did he think he knew me? He pondered that a moment
over his ale.
The lamb was as good as any he had ever eaten, and the duck was even better, cooked with
cherries and lemons and not near as greasy as most. The innkeep brought buttered pease as
well, and oaten bread still hot from her oven. This is what it means to be a knight, he told himself
as he sucked the last bit of meat off the bone. Good food, and ale whenever I want it, and no
one to clout me in the head. He had a second tankard of ale with the meal, a third to wash it
down, and a fourth because there was no one to tell him he couldn't, and when he was done he
paid the woman with a silver stag and still got back a fistful of coppers.
It was full dark by the time Dunk emerged. His stomach was full and his purse was a little lighter,
but he felt good as he walked to the stables. Ahead, he heard a horse whicker. "Easy, lad," a
boy's voice said. Dunk quickened his step, frowning.
He found the stableboy mounted on Thunder and wearing the old man's armor. The hauberk
was longer than he was, and he'd had to tilt the helm back on his bald head or else it would
have covered his eyes. He looked utterly intent, and utterly absurd. Dunk stopped in the stable
door and laughed.
The boy looked up, flushed, vaulted to the ground. "My lord, I did not mean-
"Thief," Dunk said, trying to sound stern. "Take off that armor, and be glad that Thunder didn't
kick you in that fool head. He's a warhorse, not a boy's pony."
The boy took off the helm and flung it to the straw. "I could ride him as well as you," he said,
bold as you please.
"Close your mouth, I want none of your insolence. The hauberk too, take it off. What did you
think you were doing?"
"How can I tell you, with my mouth closed?" The boy squirmed out of the chain mail and let it
fall.