grrm.thehedgeknight-第17节

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　Thunder　saved　him。　The　big　brown　stallion　knew　what　to　do；　even　if　his　rider　did　not。　He　broke　into　a　slow　trot。　Dunk's　training　took　over　then。　He　gave　the　warhorse　a　light　touch　of　spur　and　couched　his　lance。　At　the　same　time　he　swung　his　shield　until　it　covered　most　of　the　left　side　of　his　body。　He　held　it　at　an　angle；　to　deflect　blows　away　from　him。　Oak　and　iron　guard　me　well；　or　else　I'm　dead　and　doomed　to　hell。
　The　noise　of　the　crowd　was　no　more　than　the　crash　of　distant　waves。　Thunder　slid　into　a　gallop。　Dunk's　teeth　jarred　together　with　the　violence　of　the　pace。　He　pressed　his　heels　down；　tightening　his　legs　with　all　his　strength　and　letting　his　body　bee　part　of　the　motion　of　the　horse　beneath。　I　am　Thunder　and　Thunder　is　me；　we　are　one　beast；　we　are　joined；　we　are　one。　The　air　inside　his　helm　was　a1ready　so　hot　he　could　scarce　breathe。
　In　a　tourney　joust；　his　foe　would　be　to　his　left　across　the　tilting　barrier；　and　he　would　need　to　swing　his　lance　across　Thunder's　neck。　The　angle　made　it　more　likely　that　the　wood　would　split　on　impact。　But　this　was　a　deadlier　game　they　played　today。　With　no　barriers　dividing　them；　the　destriers　charged　straight　at　one　another。　Prince　Baelor's　huge　black　was　much　faster　than　Thunder；　and　Dunk　glimpsed　him　pounding；　ahead　through　the　corner　of　his　eye　slit。　He　sensed　more　than　saw　the　others。　They　do　not　matter；　only　Aerion　matters；　only　him。
　He　watched　the　dragon　e。　Spatters　of　mud　sprayed　back　from　the　hooves　of　Prince　Aerion's　grey；　and　Dunk　could　see　the　horse's　nostrils　flaring。　The　black　lance　still　angled　upward。　A　knight　who　holds　his　lance　high　and　brings　it　on　line　at　the　last　moment　always　risks　lowering　it　too　far；　the　old　man　had　told　him。　He　brought　his　own　point　to　bear　on　the　center　of　the　princeling's　chest。　My　lance　is　part　of　my　arm；　he　told　himself。　It's　my　finger；　a　wooden　finger。　All　I　need　do　is　touch　him　with　my　long　wooden　finger。
　He　tried　not　to　see　the　sharp　iron　point　at　the　end　of　Aerion's　black　lance；　growing　larger　with　every　stride。　The　dragon；　look　at　the　dragon；　he　thought。　The　great　three…headed　beast　covered　the　prince's　shield；　red　wings　and　gold　fire。　No；　look　only　where　you　mean　to　strike；　he　remembered　suddenly；　but　his　lance　had　already　begun　to　slide　off　line。　Dunk　tried　to　correct；　but　it　was　too　late。　He　saw　his　point　strike　Aerion's　shield；　taking　the　dragon　between　two　of　its　heads；　gouging　into　a　gout　of　painted　flame。　At　the　muffled　crack；　he　felt　Thunder　recoil　under　him；　trembling　with　the　force　of　the　impact；　and　half　a　heartbeat　later　something　smashed　into　his　side　with　awful　force。　The　horses　slammed　together　violently；　armor　crashing　and　clanging　as　Thunder　stumbled　and　Dunk's　lance　fell　from　his　hand。　Then　he　was　past　his　foe；　clutching　at　his　saddle　in　a　desperate　effort　to　keep　his　seat。　Thunder　lurched　sideways　in　the　sloppy　mud　and　Dunk　felt　his　rear　legs　slip　out　from　under。　They　were　sliding；　spinning；　and　then　the　stallion's　hindquarters　slapped　down　hard。　〃Up！〃　Dunk　roared；　lashing　out　with　his　spurs。　〃Up；　Thunder！〃　And　somehow　the　old　warhorse　found　his　feet　again。
　He　could　feel　a　sharp　pain　under　his　rib；　and　his　left　arm　was　being　pulled　down。　Aerion　had　driven　his　lance　through　oak；　wool；　and　steel；　three　feet　of　splintered　ash　and　sharp　iron　stuck　from　his　side。　Dunk　reached　over　with　his　right　hand；　grasped　the　lance　just　below　the　head；　clenched　his　teeth；　and　pulled　it　out　of　him　with　one　savage　yank。　Blood　followed；　seeping　through　the　rings　of　his　mail　to　redden　his　surcoat。　The　world　swam　and　he　almost　fell。　Dimly；　through　the　pain；　he　could　hear　voices　calling　his　name。　His　beautiful　shield　was　useless　now。　He　tossed　it　aside；　elm　tree；　shooting　star；　broken　lance；　and　all；　and　drew　his　sword；　but　he　hurt　so　much　he　did　not　think　he　could　swing　it。
　Turning　Thunder　in　a　tight　circle；　he　tried　to　get　a　sense　of　what　was　happening　elsewhere　on　the　field。　Ser　Humfrey　Hardyng　clung　to　the　neck　of　his　mount；　obviously　wounded。　The　other　Ser　Humfrey　lay　motionless　in　a　lake　of　bloodstained　mud；　a　broken　lance　protruding　from　his　groin。　He　saw　Prince　Baelor　gallop　past；　lance　still　intact；　and　drive　one　of　the　Kingsguard　from　his　saddle。　Another　of　the　white　knights　was　already　down；　and　Maekar　had　been　unhorsed　as　well。　The　third　of　the　Kingsguard　was　fending　off　Ser　Robyn　Rhysling。
　Aerion；　where　is　Aerion？　The　sound　of　drumming　hooves　behind　him　made　Dunk　turn　his　head　sharply。　Thunder　bugled　and　reared；　hooves　lashing　out　futilely　as　Aerion's　grey　stallion　barreled　into　him　at　full　gallop。
　This　time　there　was　no　hope　of　recovery。　His　longsword　went　spinning　from　his　grasp；　and　the　ground　rose　up　to　meet　him。　He　landed　with　a　bruising　impact　that　jarred　him　to　the　bone。　Pain　stabbed　through　him；　so　sharp　he　sobbed。　For　a　moment　it　was　all　he　could　do　to　lie　there。　The　taste　of　blood　filled　his　mouth。　Dunk　the　lunk；　thought　he　could　be　a　knight。　He　knew　he　had　to　find　his　feet　again；　or　die。　Groaning；　he　forced　himself　to　hands　and　knees。　He　could　not　breathe；　nor　could　he　see。　The　eye　slit　of　his　helm　was　packed　with　mud。　Lurching　blindly　to　his　feet；　Dunk　scraped　at　the　mud　with　a　mailed　finger。　There；　that's。。。
　Through　his　fingers；　he　glimpsed　a　dragon　flying；　and　a　spiked　morningstar　whirling　on　the　end　of　a　chain。　Then　his　head　seemed　to　burst　to　pieces。
　When　his　eyes　opened　he　was　on　the　ground　again；　sprawled　on　his　back。　The　mud　had　all　been　knocked　from　his　helm；　but　now　one　eye　was　closed　by　blood。　Above　was　nothing　but　dark　grey　sky。　His　face　throbbed；　and　he　could　feel　cold　wet　metal　pressing　in　against　cheek　and　temple。　He　broke　my　head；　and　I'm　dying。　What　was　worse　was　the　others　who　would　die　with　him；　Raymun　and　Prince　Baelor　and　the　rest。　I've　failed　them。　I　am　no　champion。　I'm　not　even　a　hedge　knight。　I　am　nothing。　He　remembered　Prince　Daeron　boasting　that　no　one　could　lie　insensible　in　the　mud　as　well　as　he　did。　He　never　saw　Dunk　the　lunk；　though；　did　he？　The　shame　was　worse　than　the　pain。
　The　dragon　appeared　above　him。
　Three　heads　it　had；　and　wings　bright　as　flame；　red　and　yellow　and　orange。　It　was　laughing。　〃Are　you　dead　yet；　hedge　knight？〃　it　asked。　〃Cry　for　quarter　and　admit　your　guilt；　and　perhaps　I'll　only　claim　a　hand　and　a　foot。　Oh；　and　those　teeth；　but　what　are　a　few　teeth？　A　man　like　you　can　live　years　on　pease　porridge。〃　The　dragon　laughed　again。　〃No？　Eat　this；　then。〃　The　spiked　ball　whirled　round　and　round　the　sky；　and　fell　toward　his　head　as　fast　as　a　shooting　star。
　Dunk　rolled。
　Where　he　found　the　strength　he　did　not　know；　but　he　found　it。　He　rolled　into　Aerion's　legs；　threw　a　steel…clad　arm　around　his　thigh；　dragged　him　cursing　into　the　mud；　and　rolled　on　top　of　him。　Let　him　swing　his　bloody　morningstar　now。　The　prince　tried　forcing　the　lip　of　his　shield　up　at　Dunk's　head；　but　his　battered　helm　took　the　brunt　of　the　impact。　Aerion　was　strong；　but　Dunk　was　stronger；　and　larger　and　heavier　as　well。　He　grabbed　hold　of　the　shield　with　both　hands　and　twisted　until　the　straps　broke。　Then　he　brought　it　down　on　the　top　of　the　princeling's　helm；　again　and　again　and　again；　smashing　the　enameled　flames　of　his　crest。　The　shield　was　thicker　than　Dunk's　had　been；　solid　oak　banded　with　iron。　A　flame　broke　off。　Then　another。　The　prince　ran　out　of　flames　long　before　Dunk　ran　out　of　blows。
　Aerion　finally　let　go　the　handle　of　his　useless　morningstar　and　clawed　for　the　poniard　at　his　hip。　He　got　it　free　of　its　sheath；　but　when　Dunk　whanged　his　hand　with　the　shield　the　knife　sailed　off　into　the　mud。
　He　could　vanquish　Ser　Duncan　the　Tall；　but　not　Dunk　of　Flea　Bottom。　The　old　man　had　taught　him　jousting　and　swordplay；　but　this　sort　of　fighting　he　had　learned　earlier；　in　shadowy　wynds　and　crooked　alleys　behind　the　city's　winesinks。　Dunk　flung　the　battered　shield　away　and　wrenched　up　the　visor　of　Aerion's　helm。
　A　visor　is　a　weak　point；　he　remembered　Steely　Pate　saying。　The　prince　had　all　but　ceased　to　struggle。　His　eyes　were　purple　and　full　of　terror。　Dunk　had　a　sudden　urge　to　grab　one　and　pop　it　like　a　grape　between　two　steel　fingers；　but　that　would　not　be　knightly。　〃YIELD！〃　he　shouted。
　〃I　yield；〃　the　dragon　whispered；　pale　lips　barely　moving。　Dunk　blinked　down　at　him。　For　a　moment　he　could　not　credit　what　his　ears　had　heard。　Is　it　done；　then？　He　turned　his　head　slowly　from　side　to　side；　trying　to　see。　His　vision　slit　was　partly　closed　by　the　blow　that　had　smashed　in　the　left　side　of　his　face。　He　glimpsed　Prince　Maekar；　mace　in　hand；　trying　to　fight　his　way　to　his　son's　side。　Baelor　Breakspear　was　holding　him　off。
　Dunk　lurched　to　his　feet　and　pulled　Prince　Aerion　up　after　him。　Fumbling　at　the　lacings　of　his　helm；　he　tore　it　off　and　flung　it　away。　At　once　he　was　drowned　in　sights　and　sounds；　grunts　and　curses；　the　shouts　of　the　crowd；　one　stallion　screaming　while　another　raced　riderless　across　the　field。　Everywhere　steel　rang　on　steel。　Raymun　and　his　cousin　were　slashing　at　each　other　in　front　of　the　viewing　stand；　both　afoot。　Their　shields　were　splintered　ruins；　the　green　apple　and　the　red　both　hacked　to　tinder。　One　of　the　Kingsguard　knights　was　carrying　a　wounded　brother　from　the　field。　They　both　looked　alike　in　their　white　armor　and　white　cloaks。　The　third　of　t