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A Storm of Swords (HBO Tie-in Edition): A Song of Ice and Fire: Book Three [Anglais] [Broché]

George R.R. Martin
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Prologue


The day was grey and bitter cold, and the dogs would not take the scent.

The big black bitch had taken one sniff at the bear tracks, backed off, and skulked back to the pack with her tail between her legs. The dogs huddled together miserably on the riverbank as the wind snapped at them. Chett felt it too, biting through his layers of black wool and boiled leather. It was too bloody cold for man or beast, but here they were. His mouth twisted, and he could almost feel the boils that covered his cheeks and neck growing red and angry. I should be safe back at the Wall, tending the bloody ravens and making fires for old Maester Aemon. It was the bastard Jon Snow who had taken that from him, him and his fat friend Sam Tarly. It was their fault he was here, freezing his bloody balls off with a pack of hounds deep in the haunted forest.

"Seven hells.” He gave the leashes a hard yank to get the dogs' attention. "Track, you bastards. That's a bear print. You want some meat or no? Find!" But the hounds only huddled closer, whining. Chett snapped his short lash above their heads, and the black bitch snarled at him. "Dog meat would taste as good as bear," he warned her, his breath frosting with every word.

Lark the Sisterman stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his hands tucked up into his armpits. He wore black wool gloves, but he was always complaining how his fingers were frozen. "It's too bloody cold to hunt,'' he said. "Bugger this bear, he's not worth freezing over."

We can’t go back emptyhand, Lark," rumbled Small Paul through the brown whiskers that covered most of his face. "The Lord Commander wouldn’t like that.” There was ice under the big man’s squashed pug nose, where his snot had frozen. A huge hand in a thick fur glove clenched tight around the shaft of a spear.

"Bugger that Old Bear too," said the Sisterman, a thin man with sharp features and nervous eyes. "Mormont will be dead before daybreak, remember? Who cares what he likes?"

Small Paul blinked his black little eyes. Maybe he had forgotten, Chett thought; he was stupid enough to forget most anything. "Why do we have to kill the Old Bear? Why don't we just go off and let him be?"

"You think he'll let us be?" said Lark. "He'll hunt us down. You want to be hunted, you great muttonhead?"

"No," said Small Paul. "I don't want that. I don't."

"So you'll kill him?" said Lark.

"Yes." The huge man stamped the butt of his spear on the frozen riverbank. "I will. He shouldn't hunt us."

The Sisterman took his hands from his armpits and tumed to Chett. "We need to kill all the officers, I say."

Chett was sick of hearing it. "We been over this. The Old Bear dies, and Blane from the Shadow Tower. Grubbs and Aethan as well, their ill luck for drawing the watch, Dywen and Bannen for their tracking, and Ser Piggy for the ravens. That's all. We kill them quiet, while they sleep. One scream and we're wormfood, every one of us." His boils were red with rage. "Just do your bit and see that your cousins do theirs. And Paul, try and remember, it's third watch, not second."

"Third watch," the big man said, through hair and frozen snot. "Me and Softfoot. I remember, Chett."

The moon would be black tonight, and they had jiggered the watches so as to have eight of their own standing sentry, with two more guarding the horses. It wasn't going to get much riper than that. Besides, the wildlings could be upon them any day now. Chett meant to be well away from here before that happened. He meant to live.

Three hundred sworn brothers of the Night's Watch had ridden north, two hundred from Castle Black and another hundred from the Shadow Tower. It was the biggest ranging in living memory, near a third of the Watch's strength. They meant to find Ben Stark, Ser Waymar Royce, and the other ran~.ers who'd gone missing, and discover why the wildlings were leaving their villages. Well, they were no closer to Stark and Royce than when they'd left the Wall, but they'd leamed where all the wildlings had gone - up into the icy heights of the godsforsaken Frostfangs. They could squat up there till the end of time and it wouldn't prick Chett's boils none.

But no. They were coming down. Down the Milkwater.

Chett raised his eyes and there it was. The river's stony banks were bearded by ice, lt’s pale milky waters flowing endlessly down out of the Frostfangs And now Mance Rayder and his wildlings were flowing down the same way. Thoren Smallwood had retumed in a lather three days past. While he was telling the Old Bear what his scouts had seen, his man Kedge Whiteye told the rest of them. "They're still well up the [oothills, but they're coming," Kedge said, warming his hands over the fire. "Harma the Dogshead has the van, the poxy bitch. Goady crept up Dn her camp and saw her plain by the fire. That fool Tumberjon wanted to pick her off with an arrow, but Smallwood had better sense."

Chett spat. "How many were there, could you tell?"

"Many and more. Twenty, thirty thousand, we didn't stay to count. Hamma had five hundred in the van, every one ahorse.~'

The men around the fire exchanged uneasy looks. It was a rare thing to find even a dozen mounted wildlings, and five hundred . . .

"Smallwood sent Bannen and me wide around the van to catch a peek at the main body," Kedge went on. "There was no end of them. They're moving slow as a frozen river, four, five miles a day, but they don't look like they mean to go back to their villages neither. More'n half were women and children, and they were driving their animals before them, goats, sheep, even aurochs dragging sledges. They'd loaded up with bales of fur and sides of meat, cages of chickens, butter chums and spinning wheels, every damn thing they own. The mules and garrons was so heavy laden you'd think their backs would break. The women as well."

"And they follow the Milkwater?" Lark the Sisterman asked.

"I said so, didn't I?"

The Milkwater would take them past the Fist of the First Men, the ancient ringfort where the Night's Watch had made its camp. Any man with a thimble of sense could see that it was time to pull up stakes and fall back on the Wall. The Old Bear had strengthened the Fist with spikes and pits and caltrops, but against such a host all that was pointless. If they stayed here, they would be engulfed and overwhelmed.

And Thoren Smallwood wanted to attack. Sweet Donnel Hill was squire to Ser Mallador Locke, and the night before last Smallwood had come to Locke's tent. Ser Mallador had been of the same mind as old Ser Ottyn Wythers, urging a retreat on the Wall, but Smallwood wanted to convince him otherwise. "This King-beyond-the-Wall will never look for us so far north," Sweet Donnel reported him saying. "And this great host of his is a shambling horde, full of useless mouths who won't know what end of a sword to hold. One blow will take all the fight out of them and send them howling back to their hovels for another fifty years."

Three hundred against thirty thousand. Chett called that rank madness, and what was madder still was that Ser Mallador had been persuaded' and the two of them together were on the point of persuading the Old Bear. "If we wait too long, this chance may be lost, never to come again," Smallwood was saying to anyone who would listen. Against that, Ser Ottyn Wythers said, "We are the shield that guards the realms of men. You do not throw away your shield for no good purpose," but to that Thoren Smallwood said, "In a swordfight, a man's surest defense is the swift stroke that slays his foe, not cringing behind a shield."

Neither Smallwood nor Wythers had the command, though. Lord Mormont did, and Mommont was waiting for his other scouts, for Jarman Buckwell and the men who'd climbed the Giant's Stair, and for Qhorin Halfhand and Jon Snow, who'd gone to probe the Skirling Pass. Buckwell and the Halfhand were late in retuming, though. Dead, most like. Chett pictured Jon Snow lying blue and frozen on some bleak mountaintop with a wildling spear up his bastard's arse. The thought made him smile. I hope they killed his bloody wolf as well.

"There's no bear here," he decided abruptly. "Just an old print, that's all. Back to the Fist." The dogs almost yanked him off his feet, as eager to get back as he was. Maybe they thought they were going to get fed. Chett had to laugh. He hadn't fed them for three days now, to turn them mean and hungry. Tonight, before slipping off into the dark, he'd tum them loose among the horse lines, after Sweet Donnel Hill and Clubfoot Karl cut the tethers. They'll have snarling hounds and panicked horses all over the Fist, running through fires, jumping the ringwall, and trampling down tents. With all the confusion, it might be hours before anyone noticed that fourteen brothers were missing.

Lark had wanted to bring in twice that number, but what could you expect from some stupid fishbreath Sisterman? Whisper a word in the wrong ear and before you knew it you'd be short a head. No, fourteen was a good number, enough to do what needed doing but not so many that they couldn't keep the secret. Chett had recruited most of them himself. Small Paul was one of his; the strongest man on the Wall, even if he was slower than a dead snail. He'd once broken a wildling's back with a hug. They had Dirk as well, named for his favorite weapon, and the little grey man the brothers called Softfoot, who'd taped a hundred women in his youth, and liked to boast how none had never seen nor heard him until he shoved it up inside them.

The plan was Chett's. He was the clever one; he'd been steward to old Maester Aemon for four good years before that bastard Jon Snow had done him out so his job could be handed to his fat pig of a friend. When he killed Sam Tarly tonight, he planned to whisper, "Give my love to Lord Snow," right in his ear before he sliced Ser Piggy's throat open to let the blood come bubbling out through all those layers of suet. Chett knew the ravens, so he wouldn't have no trouble there, no more than he would with Tarly.

One touch of the knife and that craven would piss his pants and start blubbering for his life. Let him beg, it won't do him no good. After he opened his throat, he'd open the cages and shoo the birds away, so no messages reached the Wall. Softfoot and Small Pau1 would kill the Old Bear, Dirk would do Blane, and Lark and his cousins would silence Bannen and old Dywen, to keep them from sniffing after their trail. They'd been caching food for a fortnight, and Sweet Donne1 and Clubfoot Karl would have the horses ready. With Mormont dead, command would pass to Ser Ottyn Wythers, an old done man, and failing. He'll be running for the Wall before sundown, and he won't waste no men sending them after us neither.

The dogs pulled at him as they made their way through the trees. Chett could see the Fist punching its way up through the green. The day was so dark that the Old Bear had the torches lit, a great circle of them buming all along the ringwall that crowned the top of the steep stony hill. The three of them waded across a brook. The water was icy cold, and patches of ice were spreading across its surface. "I'm going to make for the coast," Lark the Sisterman confided. "Me and my cousins. We'll build us a boat, sail back home to the Sisters."

And at home they'll know you for deserters and lop off your fool heads, thought Chett. There was no leaving the Night's Watch, once you said your words. Anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, they'd take you and kill you.

Ollo Lophand now, he was talking about sailing back to Tyrosh, where he claimed men didn't lose their hands for a bit of honest thievery, nor get sent off to freeze their life away for being found in bed with some knight~s wife. Chett had weighed going with him, but he didn't speak their wet girly tongue. And what could he do in Tyrosh? He had no trade to speak of, growing up in Hag's Mire. His father had spent his life grubbing in other men's fields and collecting leeches. He'd strip down bare but for a thick leather clout, and go wading in the murky waters. When he climbed out he'd be covered from nipple to ankle. Sometimes he made Chett help pull the leeches off. One had attached itself to his palm once, and he'd smashed it against a wall in revulsion. His father beat him bloody for that. The maesters bought the leeches at twelve-for-apenny.

Lark could go home if he liked, and the damn Tyroshi too, but not Chett. If he never saw Hag's Mire again, it would be too bloody soon. He had liked the look of Craster's Keep, himself. Craster lived high as a lord there, so why shouldn't he do the same? That would be a laugh. Chett the 1eechman’s son, a lord with a keep. His banner could be a dozen leeches on a field of pink. But why stop at lord? Maybe he should be a king.


From the Paperback edition.

Revue de presse

“Of those who work in the grand epic-fantasy tradition, [George R. R.] Martin is by far the best. In fact . . . this is as good a time as any to proclaim him the American Tolkien.”—Time
 
“Long live George Martin . . . a literary dervish, enthralled by complicated characters and vivid language, and bursting with the wild vision of the very best tale tellers.”—The New York Times
 
“One of the best series in the history of fantasy.”—Los Angeles Times

Détails sur le produit

  • Broché: 1008 pages
  • Editeur : Bantam; Édition : Reprint (26 mars 2013)
  • Collection : A Song of Ice and Fire
  • Langue : Anglais
  • ISBN-10: 0345543971
  • ISBN-13: 978-0345543974
  • Dimensions du produit: 23,4 x 15,5 x 5,1 cm
  • Moyenne des commentaires client : 4.8 étoiles sur 5  Voir tous les commentaires (26 commentaires client)
  • Classement des meilleures ventes d'Amazon: 88.251 en Livres anglais et étrangers (Voir les 100 premiers en Livres anglais et étrangers)
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4.8 étoiles sur 5
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Commentaires client les plus utiles
23 internautes sur 23 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Une réference 3 mars 2003
Format:Broché
Je classe cette saga à la fois comme référence mais également comme œuvre se démarquant des classiques du genre, cad les sagas de Jordan, Eddings, Feist …En effet, nous y retrouvons avec plaisir un monde moyenâgeux, saupoudrer de magie. Bref, un monde « fantasy » mais qui reste fortement ancré à la réalité en ce sens où Martin a la fameuse (et simple) idée de nous rappeler que les protagonistes sont des humains aux moyens limités (mortels et non des super héros) confrontés à divers tourments et surtout à une guerre. Dans cette saga, les personnages sont travaillés comme jamais. Les descriptions, les caractères et l’évolution des personnages tout au long de cette saga sont menés avec brio. De plus, il n’y a pas un mais plusieurs protagonistes que l’on pourrait qualifier de principaux (et tous sont intéressants). Du coup, nous nous retrouvons dans un monde très complet qui s’articule autour d’une multitude d’intrigues brillamment ficelées. Ces paramètres permettent une trame survoltée, pleine de rebondissements (et tout reste parfaitement cohérent, le scénario est béton) avec de l’alternance entre phases d’actions (on se croirait des fois dans Gemmel ou chez Feist avec la serpentwar saga) et phases d’intrigues. Bref, mon meilleur livre depuis ceux de Robin Hobb. 900 pages de pur bonheur.
A lire d’urgence
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8 internautes sur 8 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Attention fan de Fantasy 24 septembre 2004
Par NL78
Format:Poche
Si vous ne vous êtes pas procuré ce livre et ses petits frères: Allez-y sans aucun regret. Fan de Tolkien, je me suis toujours dit que le SDA était le meilleur livre jamais écrit... Je suis sur le point de changer d'avis. C'est une perle de la Fantasy, jamais (ou presque !) on n'a écrit un roman aussi troublant. Les personnages sont tellement humains que l'on se demande s'il ne vont pas sortir du livre. Lorsque vous le lirez, vous ne resterez pas insensible. Martin sait jouer avec nos émotions comme un musicien. C'est ENORME !
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7 internautes sur 7 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
Format:Broché
Ce livre est aussi passionnant que les deux premiers (A Game of Thrones et A Clash of Kings). L'action est toujours aussi prenante et nous sommes toujours autant tenus en haleine. Que va-t-il arriver à Arya, à Rob, à Brandon et à son petit frère, à John ou à Sansa. Les "dire wolves" survivants vont-ils se retrouver ? Cette saga est différente des autres (absolument "non standard"), dans le sens où rien n'est joué d'avance. A la fin de ce troisième tome, nous ne sommes toujours pas près de la conclusion et nous n'avons aucune idée de ce qu'elle pourra être. Nous attendons avec impatience la parution du tome suivant. Les trois livres sont à lire impérativement.
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2 internautes sur 2 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 un chef d'oeuvre par George Martin 12 juillet 2004
Format:Poche
Le troisième volet de la saga Song of fire and Ice de George Martin. Comme les deux autres volumes, nous sommes face à un maître qui sait distiller des chefs d'oeuvre. On replonge avec un immense plaisir dans le monde de Martin avec les personnages centraux qui reviennent plus flamboyant ou Hargneux que jamais. Dans ce volume, riche en rebondissements, l'auteur n'hésite pas à se débarrasser de personnage que l'on pensait là pour la totalité de l'histoire. On retrouve toujours la rivalité entre les Stark et les Lannister mais avec les nouveaux venus: les wildings, c'est à dire ceux qui vivent derrière le mur et qui envahissent le royaume. L'assenscion de Danny est en plus narrée avec un grand talent. Cet ensemble laisse la place à de nouveaux volumes riches en rebondissements et en intrigue. Petit cadeau de l'auteur: à la fin de ce volume, on sait qui est responsable de la mort de la première 'Hand of the King' à qui succède Eddard Stark dans le premier volume... Cet épisode qui marque le milieu de la série offre une conclusion intermédiaire qui permet d'attendre la suite de l'histoire.
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7 internautes sur 8 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Getting better and better 14 novembre 2002
Format:Poche|Achat vérifié
I don't know how RR Martin does it but the books of this serie seem to be getting better and better. What I love about this author is that you never know what will happen to the different characters involved. Contrary to other novels you know who is the hero and that he will finally prevail at the end. But in "A Storm of Swords" anything can happen and does happen to the "heros". And RR Martin keeps flinging new surprises at the readers to our greatest delight. I won't tell anymore so as not to give more away. Just trust me, this series is a must have for readers. I'm more of an SF fan but RR Martin has me totally converted to fantasy. Enjoy your read...
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1 internautes sur 1 ont trouvé ce commentaire utile 
5.0 étoiles sur 5 la saga continue 14 septembre 2013
Par P R
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
Dans la droite ligne des précédents volumes, l'Histoire se poursuit balayant au grès de l'auteur personnages et lieux. Vivement la suite....
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5.0 étoiles sur 5 Clairement un milestone de la série 9 mai 2014
Par Arnaud
Format:Format Kindle|Achat vérifié
Ce volume m'a largement conquis. Voire même plus que les précédents.
Le mélange d'action et de scènes plus calme le rend très agréable à lire.
Et il faut avouer que plusieurs des retournements de ce tome donnent à la série son caractère épique !
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2.0 étoiles sur 5 Livre excellent mais pas de "xray" pour les lecteurs sur kindle
Je mets uniquement deux étoiles pour qu'amazon propose aussi bien aux lecteurs français qu'aux lecteurs américains le "x-ray" sur kindle, qui permet d'avoir... Lire la suite
Publié il y a 4 mois par Sinbaye
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Great
Great product and great story ! G.R.R. Martin really rocks !!!! I need to know what will happen next and how the carcaters will evolve !
Publié il y a 5 mois par COLIN
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Excellent
Bon, il faut aimer ce genre d'histoire mais quand même : faire tenir les lecteurs sur 6 livres énormes ça demande un certain génie.
Publié il y a 6 mois par M. Et Mme Gouttry
4.0 étoiles sur 5 Goof
The only thing a bit annoying from those books are: the different of size. No one of them have the same. Beside this, my boyfriend has been quite happy of this present!
Publié il y a 6 mois par Cid'
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Awesome book and great service
concerning the service it was swift and efficient. The book was in perfect condition.

there's so much to be said about the book itself that I'll just say that it is... Lire la suite
Publié il y a 7 mois par Maxime
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Exceptionnel
Le livre intégrale 3 de la série Game of Thrones en VO, discutablement le top de ce qui a été écrit en heroic fantasy ces dernières... Lire la suite
Publié il y a 10 mois par Stephane
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Excellent
Tout est dans le titre
Très bien écrit, facile à lire et difficile à s'en décrocher.. Lire la suite
Publié il y a 12 mois par Zakzak
5.0 étoiles sur 5 tout comme les 2 premiers.. excellent…
on ne peut pas s'arrêter de le lire.. la série télé c'est une chose, le livre c'est quand meme plus des détails..
Publié il y a 12 mois par L. Marquez
5.0 étoiles sur 5 Et la saga continue !
George R.R. Martin s'impose comme un des meilleurs auteurs de fantasy.
Le monde décrit est un endroit dur où le réalisme l'emporte sur l'héroique... Lire la suite
Publié il y a 16 mois par ROUSSEL FREDERIC
5.0 étoiles sur 5 excellent
J'ai acheté les livres après avoir vu la série, et je ne sui spas décue, ni de l'un ni de l'autre. Lire la suite
Publié il y a 17 mois par meunier
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