Игра престолов

Jon

           Heslidthelongswordbackintoitsscabbard."No,"hereplied.

           Thornestrodetowardhim,crispblackleatherswhisperingfaintlyashemoved.Hewasacompactmanoffiftyyears,spareandhard,withgreyinhisblackhairandeyeslikechipsofonyx."Thetruthnow,"hecommanded.

           "I’mtired,"Jonadmitted.Hisarmburnedfromtheweightofthelongsword,andhewasstartingtofeelhisbruisesnowthatthefightwasdone.

           "Whatyouareisweak."

           "Iwon."

           "No.TheAurochslost."

           Oneoftheotherboyssniggered.Jonknewbetterthantoreply.HehadbeateneveryonethatSerAlliserhadsentagainsthim,yetitgainedhimnothing.Themaster-at-armsserveduponlyderision.Thornehatedhim,Jonhaddecided;ofcourse,hehatedtheotherboysevenworse.

           "Thatwillbeall,"Thornetoldthem."Icanonlystomachsomuchineptitudeinanyoneday.IftheOthersevercomeforus,Ipraytheyhavearchers,becauseyoulotarefitfornothingmorethanarrowfodder."

           Jonfollowedtherestbacktothearmory,walkingalone.Heoftenwalkedalonehere.Therewerealmosttwentyinthegrouphetrainedwith,yetnotonehecouldcallafriend.Mostweretwoorthreeyearshissenior,yetnotonewashalfthefighterRobbhadbeenatfourteen.Dareonwasquickbutafraidofbeinghit.Pypusedhisswordlikeadagger,Jerenwasweakasagirl,Grennslowandclumsy.Halder’sblowswerebrutallyhardbutheranrightintoyourattacks.Themoretimehespentwiththem,themoreJondespisedthem.

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