Authors: George R. R. Martin
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Epic, #Media Tie-In, #Action & Adventure
A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows
A Dance with Dragons
are works of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Bantam Dell eBook Edition
A Game of Thrones
copyright © 1996 by George R. R. Martin
A Clash of Kings
copyright © 1999 by George R. R. Martin
A Storm of Swords
copyright © 2000 by George R. R. Martin
A Feast for Crows
copyright © 2005 by George R. R. Martin
A Dance with Dragons
copyright © 2011 by George R. R. Martin
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Bantam Books and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
The novels contained in this omnibus were each published separately by Bantam Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., in 1996, 1999, 2000, 2005 and 2011.
Cover photograph: © Shutterstock
eBook ISBN: 978-0-345-53553-5
A Game of Thrones
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Bantam hardcover edition published September 1996
Bantam paperback edition / September 1997
Maps by James Sinclair.
Heraldic crests by Virginia Norey.
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1996 by George R. R. Martin
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 95-43936.
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this one is for Melinda
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e should start back,” Gared urged as the woods began to grow dark around them.
“The wildlings are dead.”
“Do the dead frighten you?” Ser Waymar Royce asked with just the hint of a smile.
Gared did not rise to the bait. He was an old man, past fifty, and he had seen the lordlings come and go. “Dead is dead,” he said. “We have no business with the dead.”
“Are they dead?” Royce asked softly. “What proof have we?”
“Will saw them,” Gared said. “If he says they are dead, that’s proof enough for me.”
Will had known they would drag him into the quarrel sooner or later. He wished it had been later rather than sooner. “My mother told me that dead men sing no songs,” he put in.
“My wet nurse said the same thing, Will,” Royce replied. “Never believe anything you hear at a woman’s tit. There are things to be learned even from the dead.” His voice echoed, too loud in the twilit forest.
“We have a long ride before us,” Gared pointed out. “Eight days, maybe nine. And night is falling.”
Ser Waymar Royce glanced at the sky with disinterest. “It does that every day about this time. Are you unmanned by the dark, Gared?”
Will could see the tightness around Gared’s mouth, the barely suppressed anger in his eyes under the thick black hood of his cloak. Gared had spent forty years in the Night’s Watch, man and boy, and he was not accustomed to being made light of. Yet it was more than that. Under the wounded pride, Will could sense something else in the older man. You could taste it; a nervous tension that came perilous close to fear.
Will shared his unease. He had been four years on the Wall. The first time he had been sent beyond, all the old stories had come rushing back, and his bowels had turned to water. He had laughed about it afterward. He was a veteran of a hundred rangings by now, and the endless dark wilderness that the southron called the haunted forest had no more terrors for him.