A Game of Thrones: The Story Continues Books 1-4: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows. Джордж Р. Р. Мартин

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СКАЧАТЬ you understand? They murdered my father. It’s war, my brother Robb is fighting in the riverlands—”

      “We know,” said Pyp solemnly. “Sam told us everything.”

      “We’re sorry about your father,” Grenn said, “but it doesn’t matter. Once you say the words, you can’t leave, no matter what.”

      “I have to,” Jon said fervently.

      “You said the words,” Pyp reminded him. “Now my watch begins, you said it. It shall not end until my death.”

      “I shall live and die at my post,” Grenn added, nodding.

      “You don’t have to tell me the words, I know them as well as you do.” He was angry now. Why couldn’t they let him go in peace? They were only making it harder.

      “I am the sword in the darkness,” Halder intoned.

      “The watcher on the walls,” piped Toad.

      Jon cursed them all to their faces. They took no notice. Pyp spurred his horse closer, reciting, “I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men.”

      “Stay back,” Jon warned him, brandishing his sword. “I mean it, Pyp.” They weren’t even wearing armor, he could cut them to pieces if he had to.

      Matthar had circled behind him. He joined the chorus. “I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch.”

      Jon kicked his mare, spinning her in a circle. The boys were all around him now, closing from every side.

      “For this night …” Halder trotted in from the left.

      “… and all the nights to come,” finished Pyp. He reached over for Jon’s reins. “So here are your choices. Kill me, or come back with me.”

      Jon lifted his sword … and lowered it, helpless. “Damn you,” he said. “Damn you all.”

      “Do we have to bind your hands, or will you give us your word you’ll ride back peaceful?” asked Halder.

      “I won’t run, if that’s what you mean.” Ghost moved out from under the trees and Jon glared at him. “Small help you were,” he said. The deep red eyes looked at him knowingly.

      “We had best hurry,” Pyp said. “If we’re not back before first light, the Old Bear will have all our heads.”

      Of the ride back, Jon Snow remembered little. It seemed shorter than the journey south, perhaps because his mind was elsewhere. Pyp set the pace, galloping, walking, trotting, and then breaking into another gallop. Mole’s Town came and went, the red lantern over the brothel long extinguished. They made good time. Dawn was still an hour off when Jon glimpsed the towers of Castle Black ahead of them, dark against the pale immensity of the Wall. It did not seem like home this time.

      They could take him back, Jon told himself, but they could not make him stay. The war would not end on the morrow, or the day after, and his friends could not watch him day and night. He would bide his time, make them think he was content to remain here … and then, when they had grown lax, he would be off again. Next time, he would avoid the kingsroad. He could follow the Wall east, perhaps all the way to the sea, a longer route but a safer one. Or even west, to the mountains, and then south over the high passes. That was the wildling’s way, hard and perilous, but at least no one would follow him. He wouldn’t stray within a hundred leagues of Winterfell or the kingsroad.

      Samwell Tarly awaited them in the old stables, slumped on the ground against a bale of hay, too anxious to sleep. He rose and brushed himself off. “I … I’m glad they found you, Jon.”

      “I’m not,” Jon said, dismounting.

      Pyp hopped off his horse and looked at the lightening sky with disgust. “Give us a hand bedding down the horses, Sam,” the small boy said. “We have a long day before us, and no sleep to face it on, thanks to Lord Snow.”

      When day broke, Jon walked to the kitchens as he did every dawn. Three-Finger Hobb said nothing as he gave him the Old Bear’s breakfast. Today, it was three brown eggs boiled hard, with fried bread and ham steak and a bowl of wrinkled plums. Jon carried the food back to the King’s Tower. He found Mormont at the window seat, writing. His raven was walking back and forth across his shoulders, muttering, “Corn, corn, corn.” The bird shrieked when Jon entered. “Put the food on the table,” the Old Bear said, glancing up. “I’ll have some beer.”

      Jon opened a shuttered window, took the flagon of beer off the outside ledge, and filled a horn. Hobb had given him a lemon, still cold from the Wall. Jon crushed it in his fist. The juice trickled through his fingers. Mormont drank lemon in his beer every day, and claimed that was why he still had his own teeth.

      “Doubtless you loved your father,” Mormont said when Jon brought him his horn. “The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember when I told you that?”

      “I remember,” Jon said sullenly. He did not care to talk of his father’s death, not even to Mormont.

      “See that you never forget it. The hard truths are the ones to hold tight. Fetch me my plate. Is it ham again? So be it. You look weary. Was your moonlight ride so tiring?”

      Jon’s throat was dry. “You know?”

      “Know!” the raven echoed from Mormont’s shoulder. “Know?”

      The Old Bear snorted. “Do you think they chose me Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch because I’m dumb as a stump, Snow? Aemon told me you’d go. I told him you’d be back. I know my men … and my boys too. Honor set you on the kingsroad … and honor brought you back.”

      “My friends brought me back,” Jon said.

      “Did I say it was your honor?” Mormont inspected his plate.

      “They killed my father. Did you expect me to do nothing?”

      “If truth be told, we expected you to do just as you did.” Mormont tried a plum, spit out the pit. “I ordered a watch kept over you. You were seen leaving. If your brothers had not fetched you back, you would have been taken along the way, and not by friends. Unless you have a horse with wings like a raven. Do you?”

      “No.” Jon felt like a fool.

      “Pity, we could use a horse like that.”

      Jon stood tall. He told himself that he would die well; that much he could do, at the least. “I know the penalty for desertion, my lord. I’m not afraid to die.”

      “Die!” the raven cried.

      “Nor live, I hope,” Mormont said, cutting his ham with a dagger and feeding a bite to the bird. “You have not deserted—yet. Here you stand. If we beheaded every boy who rode to Mole’s Town in the night, only ghosts would guard the Wall. Yet maybe you mean to flee again on the morrow, or a fortnight from now. Is that it? Is that your hope, boy?”

      Jon kept silent.

      “I СКАЧАТЬ