The Sworn Sword — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

They were of the blood of old Garth Greenhand, and a green hand upon a white field was their kingly banner. Gyles the Third took his banners east, to war against the Storm King, and Wilbert's brothers all went with him, for in those days the chequy lion always flew beside the green hand when the King of the Reach went forth to battle.

""Yet it happened that while King Gyles was away, the King of the Rock saw his chance to tear a bite out of the Reach, so he gathered up a host of westermen and came down upon us.

The Osgreys were the Marshalls of the Northmarch, so it fell to the Little Lion to meet them. It was the fourth King Lancel who led the Lannisters, it seems to me, or mayhaps the fifth. Ser Wilbert blocked King Lancel's path, and bid him halt. 'Come no farther,' he said. 'You are not wanted here. I forbid you to set foot upon the Reach.' But the Lannister ordered all his banners forward.

""They fought for half a day, the gold lion and the chequy. The Lannister was armed with a Valyrian sword that no common steel can match, so the Little Lion was hard pressed, his shield in ruins.

In the end, bleeding from a dozen grievous wounds with his own blade broken in his hand, he threw himself headlong at his foe. King Lancel cut him near in half, the singers say, but as he died the Little Lion found the gap in the king's armor beneath his arm, and plunged his dagger home. When their king died, the westermen turned back, and the Reach was saved"". The old man stroked the broken shield as tenderly as if it had been a child.

""Aye, m'lord"", Bennis croaked, ""we could use a man like that today. Dunk and me had a look at your stream, m'lord. Dry as a bone, and not from no drought"".

The old man set the shield aside. ""Tell me"". He took a seat and indicated that they should do the same. As the brown knight launched into the tale, he sat listening intently, with his chin up and his shoulders back, as upright as a lance."

"In his youth, Ser Eustace Osgrey must have been the very picture of chivalry, tall and broad and handsome.

Time and grief had worked their will on him, but he was still unbent, a big-boned, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man with features as strong and sharp as some old eagle. His close-cropped hair had gone white as milk, but the thick mustache that hid his mouth remained an ashy gray. His eyebrows were the same color, the eyes beneath a paler shade of gray, and full of sadness.