Битва королей

Prologue

           

           CressennolongerrecalledthenametheAsshai’igavetheleaf,ortheLysenepoisonersthecrystal.IntheCitadel,itwassimplycalledthestrangler.Dissolvedinwine,itwouldmakethemusclesofaman’sthroatclenchtighterthananyfist,shuttingoffhiswindpipe.Theysaidavictim’sfaceturnedaspurpleasthelittlecrystalseedfromwhichhisdeathwasgrown,butsotoodidamanchokingonamorseloffood.

           AndthisverynightLordStanniswouldfeasthisbannermen,hisladywife...andtheredwoman,MelisandreofAsshai.

           Imustrest,MaesterCressentoldhimself.Imusthaveallmystrengthcomedark.Myhandsmustnotshake,normycourageflag.ItisadreadfulthingIdo,yetitmustbedone.Iftherearegods,surelytheywillforgiveme.Hehadsleptsopoorlyoflate.Anapwouldrefreshhimfortheordealahead.Wearily,hetotteredofftohisbed.Yetwhenheclosedhiseyes,hecouldstillseethelightofthecomet,redandfieryandvividlyaliveamidstthedarknessofhisdreams.Perhapsitismycomet,hethoughtdrowsilyatthelast,justbeforesleeptookhim.Anomenofblood,foretellingmurder...yes...

           Whenhewokeitwasfulldark,hisbedchamberwasblack,andeveryjointinhisbodyached.Cressenpushedhimselfup,hisheadthrobbing.Clutchingforhiscane,heroseunsteadytohisfeet.Solate,hethought.Theydidnotsummonme.Hewasalwayssummonedforfeasts,seatednearthesalt,closetoLordStannis.

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