Битва королей

Jon

           Cowbones,sheepbones,thebonesofgoatsandaurochsandelk,thegreatbonesofthehairymammoths...andhumanbonesaswell.

           "Rattleshirt,"Qhorincalleddown,icy-polite.

           "TocrowsIbetheLordo’Bones."Therider’shelmwasmadefromthebrokenskullofagiant,andallupanddownhisarmsbearclawshadbeensewntohisboiledleather.

           Qhorinsnorted."Iseenolord.Onlyadogdressedinchickenbones,whorattleswhenherides."

           Thewildlinghissedinanger,andhismountreared.Hedidrattle,Joncouldhearit;theboneswerestrungtogetherloosely,sotheyclackedandclatteredwhenhemoved."It’syourbonesI’llberattlingsoon,Halfhand.I’llboilthefleshoffyouandmakeabyrniefromyourribs.I’llcarveyourteethtocastmerunes,andeatmeoatenporridgefromyourskull."

           "Ifyouwantmybones,comegetthem."

           That,Rattleshirtseemedreluctanttodo.Hisnumbersmeantlittleinthecloseconfinesoftherockswheretheblackbrothershadtakentheirstand;towinklethemoutofthecavethewildlingswouldneedtocomeuptwoatatime.Butanotherofhiscompanyedgedahorseupbesidehim,oneofthefightingwomencalledspearwives."Wearefour-and-tentotwo,crows,andeightdogstoyourwolf,"shecalled."Fightorrun,youareours."

           "Showthem,"commandedRattleshirt.

           Thewomanreachedintoabloodstainedsackanddrewoutatrophy.

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