Chella daughter of Cheykxy of the Black Earsxy had gone ahead to scout, and it was she who brought back word of the army at the crossroads. “By their fires I call them twenty thousand strong,” she said. “Their banners are red, with a golden lion.”
“Your father?” Bronnxy asked.
“Or my brother Jaimexy,” Tyrionxy said. “We shall know soon enough.” He surveyed his ragged band of brigands: near three hundred Stone Crowsxy, Moonxy Brothersxy, Black Earsxy, and Burned Menxy, and those just the seed of the army he hoped to grow. Gunthorxy son of Gurnxyxy was raising the other clans even now. He wondered what his lord father would make of them in their skins and bits of stolen steel. If truth be told, he did not know what to make of them himself. Was he their commander or their captive? Most of the time, it seemed to be a little of both. “It might be best if I rode down alone,” he suggested.
“Best for Tyrionxy son of Tywinxy,” said Ulf, who spoke for the Moonxy Brothersxy.
Shaggaxy glowered, a fearsome sight to see. “Shaggaxy son of Dolfxy likes this not. Shaggaxy will go with the boyman, and if the boyman lies, Shaggaxy will chop off his manhood—”
“—and feed it to the goats, yes,” Tyrionxy said wearily. “Shaggaxy, I give you my word as a Lannisterxy, I will return.”
“Why should we trust your word?” Chellaxy was a small hard woman, flat as a boy, and no fool. “Lowland lords have lied to the clans before.”
“You wound me, Chellaxy,” Tyrionxy said. “Here I thought we had become such friends. But as you will. You shall ride with me, and Shaggaxy and Connxy for the Stone Crowsxy, Ulf for the Moonxy Brothersxy, and Timettxy son of Timettxy for the Burned Menxy.” The clansmen exchanged wary looks as he named them. “The rest shall wait here until I send for you. Try not to kill and maim each other while I’m gone.”
He put his heels to his horse and trotted off, giving them no choice but to follow or be left behind. Either was fine with him, so long as they did not sit down to talk for a day and a night. That was the trouble with the clans; they had an absurd notion that every man’s voice should be heard in council, so they argued about everything, endlessly. Even their women were allowed to speak. Small wonder that it had been hundreds of years since they last threatened the Vale with anything beyond an occasional raid. Tyrionxy meant to change that.
Bronnxy rode with him. Behind them—after a quick bit of grumbling—the five clansmen followed on their under-size garrons, scrawny things that looked like ponies and scrambled up rock walls like goats.
The Stone Crowsxy rode together, and Chellaxy and Ulf stayed close as well, as the Moonxy Brothersxy and Black Earsxy had strong bonds between them. Timettxy son of Timettxy rode alone. Every clan in the Mountains of the Moonxyxy feared the Burned Menxy, who mortified their flesh with fire to prove their courage and (the others said) roasted babies at their feasts. And even the other Burned Menxy feared Timettxy, who had put out his own left eye with a white-hot knife when he reached the age of manhood. Tyrionxy gathered that it was more customary for a boy to burn off a nipple, a finger, or (if he was truly brave, or truly mad) an ear. Timettxy’s fellow Burned Menxy were so awed by his choice of an eye that they promptly named him a red hand, which seemed to be some sort of a war chief.
“I wonder what their king burned off,” Tyrionxy said to Bronnxy when he heard the tale. Grinning, the sellsword had tugged at his crotch … but even Bronnxy kept a respectful tongue around Timettxy. If a man was mad enough to put out his own eye, he was unlikely to be gentle to his enemies.
Distant watchers peered down from towers of unmortared stone as the party descended through the foothills, and once Tyrionxy saw a raven take wing. Where the high road twisted between two rocky outcrops, they came to the first strong point. A low earthen wall four feet high closed off the road, and a dozen crossbowmen manned the heights. Tyrionxy halted his followers out of range and rode to the wall alone. “Who commands here?” he shouted up.
The captain was quick to appear, and even quicker to give them an escort when he recognized his lord’s son. They trotted past blackened fields and burned holdfasts, down to the riverlands and the Green Forkxy of the Tridentxy. Tyrionxy saw no bodies, but the air was full of ravens and carrion crows; there had been fighting here, and recently.
Half a league from the crossroads, a barricade of sharpened stakes had been erected, manned by pikemen and archers. Behind the line, the camp spread out to the far distance. Thin fingers of smoke rose from hundreds of cookfires, mailed men sat under trees and honed their blades, and familiar banners fluttered from staffs thrust into the muddy ground.
A party of mounted horsemen rode forward to challenge them as they approached the stakes. The knight who led them wore silver armor inlaid with amethysts and a striped purple-and-silver cloak. His shield bore a unicorn sigil, and a spiral horn two feet long jutted up from the brow of his horsehead helm. Tyrionxy reined up to greet him. “Ser Flement.”
Ser Flement Braxxyxy lifted his visor. “Tyrionxy,” he said in astonishment. “My lord, we all feared you dead, or …” He looked at the clansmen uncertainly. “These … companions of yours …”
“Bosom friends and loyal retainers,” Tyrionxy said. “Where will I find my lord father?”
“He has taken the inn at the crossroads for his quarters.”
Tyrionxy laughed. The inn at the crossroads! Perhaps the gods were just after all. “I will see him at once.”
“As you say, my lord.” Ser Flement wheeled his horse about and shouted commands. Three rows of stakes were pulled from the ground to make a hole in the line. Tyrionxy led his party through.
Lordxy Tywinxyxy’s camp spread over leagues. Chellaxy’s estimate of twenty thousand men could not be far wrong. The common men camped out in the open, but the knights had thrown up tents, and some of the high lords had erected pavilions as large as houses. Tyrionxy spied the red ox of the Presters, Lordxy Crakehallxy’s brindled boar, the burning tree of Marbrandxy, the badger of Lydden. Knightsxy called out to him as he cantered past, and men-at-arms gaped at the clansmen in open astonishment.
Shaggaxy was gaping back; beyond a certainty, he had never seen so many men, horses, and weapons in all his days. The rest of the mountain brigands did a better job of guarding their faces, but Tyrionxy had no doubts that they were full as much in awe. Better and better. The more impressed they were with the power of the Lannistersxy, the easier they would be to command.
The inn and its stables were much as he remembered, though little more than tumbled stones and blackened foundations remained where the rest of the village had stood. A gibbet had been erected in the yard, and the body that swung there was covered with ravens. At Tyrionxy’s approach they took to the air, squawking and flapping their black wings. He dismounted and glanced up at what remained of the corpse. The birds had eaten her lips and eyes and most of her cheeks, baring her stained red teeth in a hideous smile. “A room, a meal, and a flagon of wine, that was all I asked,” he reminded her with a sigh of reproach.
Boys emerged hesitantly from the stables to see to their horses. Shaggaxy did not want to give his up. “The lad won’t steal your mare,” Tyrionxy assured him. “He only wants to give her some oats and water and brush out her coat.” Shaggaxy’s coat could have used a good brushing too, but it would have been less than tactful to mention it. “You have my word, the horse will not be harmed.”
Glaring, Shaggaxy let go his grip on the reins. “This is the horse of Shaggaxy son of Dolfxy,” he roared at the stableboy.
“If he doesn’t give her back, chop off his manhood and feed it to the goats,” Tyrionxy promised. “Provided you can find some.”
A pair of house guards in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms stood under the inn’s sign, on either side of the door. Tyrionxy recognized their captain. “My father?”
“In the common room, m’lord.”
“My men will want meat and mead,” Tyrionxy told him. “See that they get it.” He entered the inn, and there was Fatherxy.
Tywinxy Lannisterxyxy, Lordxy of Casterlyxy Rockxyxy and Wardenxy of the Westxy, was in his middle fifties, yet hard as a man of twenty. Even seated, he was tall, with long legs, broad shoulders, a flat stomach. His thin arms were corded with muscle. When his once-thick golden hair had begun to recede, he had commanded his barber to shave his head; Lordxy Tywinxyxy did not believe in half measures. He razored his lip and chin as well, but kept his side-whiskers, two great thickets of wiry golden hair that covered most of his cheeks from ear to jaw. His eyes were a pale green, flecked with gold. A fool more foolish than most had once jested that even Lordxy Tywinxyxy’s shit was flecked with gold. Some said the man was still alive, deep in the bowels of Casterlyxy Rockxy.
Ser Kevan Lannisterxyxy, his father’s only surviving brother, was sharing a flagon of ale with Lordxy Tywinxyxy when Tyrionxy entered the common room. His uncle was portly and balding, with a close-cropped yellow beard that followed the line of his massive jaw. Ser Kevan saw him first. “Tyrionxy,” he said in surprise.
“Uncle,” Tyrionxy said, bowing. “And my lord father. What a pleasure to find you here.”
Lordxy Tywinxyxy did not stir from his chair, but he did give his dwarf son a long, searching look. “I see that the rumors of your demise were unfounded.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Fatherxy,” Tyrionxy said. “No need to leap up and embrace me, I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.” He crossed the room to their table, acutely conscious of the way his stunted legs made him waddle with every step. Whenever his father’s eyes were on him, he became uncomfortably aware of all his deformities and shortcomings. “Kind of you to go to war for me,” he said as he climbed into a chair and helped himself to a cup of his father’s ale.
“By my lights, it was you who started this,” Lordxy Tywinxyxy replied. “Your brother Jaimexy would never have meekly submitted to capture at the hands of a woman.”
“That’s one way we differ, Jaimexy and I. He’s taller as well, you may have noticed.”
His father ignored the sally. “The honor of our House was at stake. I had no choice but to ride. No man sheds Lannisterxy blood with impunity.”
“Hear Me Roar,” Tyrionxy said, grinning. The Lannisterxy words. “Truthxy be told, none of my blood was actually shed, although it was a close thing once or twice. Morrecxy and Jyckxy were killed.”
“I suppose you will be wanting some new men.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Fatherxy, I’ve acquired a few of my own.” He tried a swallow of the ale. It was brown and yeasty, so thick you could almost chew it. Very fine, in truth. A pity his father had hanged the innkeep. “How is your war going?”
His uncle answered. “Well enough, for the nonce. Ser Edmure had scattered small troops of men along his borders to stop our raiding, and your lord father and I were able to destroy most of them piecemeal before they could regroup.”
“Your brother has been covering himself with glory,” his father said. “He smashed the Lords Vance and Piperxy at the Golden Toothxy, and met the massed power of the Tullys under the walls of Riverrunxy. The lords of the Tridentxy have been put to rout. Ser Edmure Tullyxyxy was taken captive, with many of his knights and bannermen. Lordxy Blackwoodxy led a few survivors back to Riverrunxy, where Jaimexy has them under siege. The rest fled to their own strongholds.”
“Your father and I have been marching on each in turn,” Ser Kevan said. “With Lordxy Blackwoodxy gone, Raventreexy fell at once, and Ladyxy Whent yielded Harrenhalxy for want of men to defend it. Ser Gregorxy burnt out the Pipers and the Brackens …”
“Leaving you unopposed?” Tyrionxy said.
“Not wholly,” Ser Kevan said. “The Mallisters still hold Seagardxy and Walderxy Freyxyxy is marshaling his levies at the Twinsxy.”
“No matter,” Lordxy Tywinxyxy said. “Freyxy only takes the field when the scent of victory is in the air, and all he smells now is ruin. And Jason Mallisterxyxy lacks the strength to fight alone. Once Jaimexy takes Riverrunxy, they will both be quick enough to bend the knee. Unless the Starks and the Arryns come forth to oppose us, this war is good as won.”
“I would not fret overmuch about the Arryns if I were you,” Tyrionxy said. “The Starks are another matter. Lordxy Eddardxy—”
“—is our hostage,” his father said. “He will lead no armies while he rots in a dungeon under the Red Keepxyxy.”
“No,” Ser Kevan agreed, “but his son has called the banners and sits at Moat Cailinxy with a strong host around him.”
“No sword is strong until it’s been tempered,” Lordxy Tywinxyxy declared. “The Starkxy boy is a child. No doubt he likes the sound of warhorns well enough, and the sight of his banners fluttering in the wind, but in the end it comes down to butcher’s work. I doubt he has the stomach for it.”
Things had gotten interesting while he’d been away, Tyrionxy reflected. “And what is our fearless monarch doing whilst all this ‘butcher’s work’ is being done?” he wondered. “How has my lovely and persuasive sister gotten Robertxy to agree to the imprisonment of his dear friend Nedxy?”
“Robertxy Baratheonxyxy is dead,” his father told him. “Your nephew reigns in Kingxy’s Landingxy.”
That did take Tyrionxy aback. “My sister, you mean.” He took another gulp of ale. The realm would be a much different place with Cerseixy ruling in place of her husband.
“If you have a mind to make yourself of use, I will give you a command,” his father said. “Marq Piperxyxy and Karyl Vancexy are loose in our rear, raiding our lands across the Red Forkxy.”
Tyrionxy made a tsking sound. “The gall of them, fighting back. Ordinarily I’d be glad to punish such rudeness, Fatherxy, but the truth is, I have pressing business elsewhere.”
“Do you?” Lordxy Tywinxyxy did not seem awed. “We also have a pair of Nedxy Starkxyxy’s afterthoughts making a nuisance of themselves by harassing my foraging parties. Beric Dondarrionxyxy, some young lordling with delusions of valor. He has that fat jape of a priest with him, the one who likes to set his sword on fire. Do you think you might be able to deal with them as you scamper off? Without making too much a botch of it?”
Tyrionxy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. “Fatherxy, it warms my heart to think that you might entrust me with … what, twenty men? Fifty? Are you sure you can spare so many? Well, no matter. If I should come across Thorosxy and Lordxy Beric, I shall spank them both.” He climbed down from his chair and waddled to the sideboard, where a wheel of veined white cheese sat surrounded by fruit. “First, though, I have some promises of my own to keep,” he said as he sliced off a wedge. “I shall require three thousand helms and as many hauberks, plus swords, pikes, steel spearheads, maces, battle-axes, gauntlets, gorgets, greaves, breastplates, wagons to carry all this—”
The door behind him opened with a crash, so violently that Tyrionxy almost dropped his cheese. Ser Kevan leapt up swearing as the captain of the guard went flying across the room to smash against the hearth. As he tumbled down into the cold ashes, his lion helm askew, Shaggaxy snapped the man’s sword in two over a knee thick as a tree trunk, threw down the pieces, and lumbered into the common room. He was preceded by his stench, riper than the cheese and overpowering in the closed space. “Little redcape,” he snarled, “when next you bare steel on Shaggaxy son of Dolfxy, I will chop off your manhood and roast it in the fire.”
“What, no goats?” Tyrionxy said, taking a bite of cheese.
The other clansmen followed Shaggaxy into the common room, Bronnxy with them. The sellsword gave Tyrionxy a rueful shrug.
“Who might you be?” Lordxy Tywinxyxy asked, cool as snow.
“They followed me home, Fatherxy,” Tyrionxy explained. “May I keep them? They don’t eat much.”
No one was smiling. “By what right do you savages intrude on our councils?” demanded Ser Kevan.
“Savages, lowlander?” Connxy might have been handsome if you washed him. “We are free men, and free men by rights sit on all war councils.”
“Which one is the lion lord?” Chellaxy asked.
“They are both old men,” announced Timettxy son of Timettxy, who had yet to see his twentieth year.
Ser Kevan’s hand went to his sword hilt, but his brother placed two fingers on his wrist and held him fast. Lordxy Tywinxyxy seemed unperturbed. “Tyrionxy, have you forgotten your courtesies? Kindly acquaint us with our … honored guests.”
Tyrionxy licked his fingers. “With pleasure,” he said. “The fair maid is Chellaxy daughter of Cheykxy of the Black Earsxy.”
“I’m no maid,” Chellaxy protested. “My sons have taken fifty ears among them.”
“May they take fifty more.” Tyrionxy waddled away from her. “This is Connxy son of Corattxy. Shaggaxy son of Dolfxy is the one who looks like Casterlyxy Rockxy with hair. They are Stone Crowsxy. Here is Ulf son of Umarxyxy of the Moonxy Brothersxy, and here Timettxy son of Timettxy, a red hand of the Burned Menxy. And this is Bronnxy, a sellsword of no particular allegiance. He has already changed sides twice in the short time I’ve known him, you and he ought to get on famously, Fatherxy.” To Bronnxy and the clansmen he said, “May I present my lord father, Tywinxy son of Tytos of House Lannisterxyxy, Lordxy of Casterlyxy Rockxyxy, Wardenxy of the Westxy, Shield of Lannisportxyxy, and once and future Handxy of the Kingxyxy.”
Lordxy Tywinxyxy rose, dignified and correct. “Even in the west, we know the prowess of the warrior clans of the Mountains of the Moonxyxy. What brings you down from your strongholds, my lords?”
“Horses,” said Shaggaxy.
“A promise of silk and steel,” said Timettxy son of Timettxy.
Tyrionxy was about to tell his lord father how he proposed to reduce the Vale of Arrynxyxy to a smoking wasteland, but he was never given the chance. The door banged open again. The messenger gave Tyrionxy’s clansmen a quick, queer look as he dropped to one knee before Lordxy Tywinxyxy. “My lord,” he said, “Ser Addamxy bid me tell you that the Starkxy host is moving down the causeway.”
Lordxy Tywinxyxy Lannisterxyxyxy did not smile. Lordxy Tywinxyxy never smiled, but Tyrionxy had learned to read his father’s pleasure all the same, and it was there on his face. “So the wolfling is leaving his den to play among the lions,” he said in a voice of quiet satisfaction. “Splendid. Return to Ser Addamxy and tell him to fall back. He is not to engage the northerners until we arrive, but I want him to harass their flanks and draw them farther south.”
“It will be as you command.” The rider took his leave.
“We are well situated here,” Ser Kevan pointed out. “Close to the ford and ringed by pits and spikes. If they are coming south, I say let them come, and break themselves against us.”
“The boy may hang back or lose his courage when he sees our numbers,” Lordxy Tywinxyxy replied. “The sooner the Starks are broken, the sooner I shall be free to deal with Stannisxy Baratheonxyxy. Tell the drummers to beat assembly, and send word to Jaimexy that I am marching against Robbxy Starkxyxy.”
“As you will,” Ser Kevan said.
Tyrionxy watched with a grim fascination as his lord father turned next to the half-wild clansmen. “It is said that the men of the mountain clans are warriors without fear.”
“It is said truly,” Connxy of the Stone Crowsxy answered.
“And the women,” Chellaxy added.
“Ride with me against my enemies, and you shall have all my son promised you, and more,” Lordxy Tywinxyxy told them.
“Would you pay us with our own coin?” Ulf son of Umarxyxy said. “Why should we need the father’s promise, when we have the son’s?”
“I said nothing of need,” Lordxy Tywinxyxy replied. “My words were courtesy, nothing more. You need not join us. The men of the winterlands are made of iron and ice, and even my boldest knights fear to face them.”
Oh, deftly done, Tyrionxy thought, smiling crookedly.
“The Burned Menxy fear nothing. Timettxy son of Timettxy will ride with the lions.”
“Wherever the Burned Menxy go, the Stone Crowsxy have been there first,” Connxy declared hotly. “We ride as well.”
“Shaggaxy son of Dolfxy will chop off their manhoods and feed them to the crows.”
“We will ride with you, lion lord,” Chellaxy daughter of Cheykxy agreed, “but only if your halfman son goes with us. He has bought his breath with promises. Until we hold the steel he has pledged us, his life is ours.”
Lordxy Tywinxyxy turned his gold-flecked eyes on his son.
“Joy,” Tyrionxy said with a resigned smile.