Chella daughter of Cheyk of the Black Ears had gone ahead to scout, and it was she who broughtback 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?” Bronn asked.
“Or my brother Jaime,” Tyrion said. “We shall know soon enough.” He surveyed his ragged bandof brigands: near three hundred Stone Crows, Moon Brothers, Black Ears, and Burned Men, and thosejust the seed of the army he hoped to grow. Gunthor son of Gurn was raising the other clans evennow. He wondered what his lord father would make of them in their skins and bits of stolen steel. Iftruth be told, he did not know what to make of them himself. Was he their commander or theircaptive? Most of the time, it seemed to be a little of both. “It might be best if I rode down alone,” hesuggested.
“Best for Tyrion son of Tywin,” said Ulf, who spoke for the Moon Brothers.
Shagga glowered, a fearsome sight to see. “Shagga son of Dolf likes this not. Shagga will go withthe boyman, and if the boyman lies, Shagga will chop off his manhood—”
“—and feed it to the goats, yes,” Tyrion said wearily. “Shagga, I give you my word as aLannister, I will return.”
“Why should we trust your word?” Chella was a small hard woman, flat as a boy, and no fool.
“Lowland lords have lied to the clans before.”
“You wound me, Chella,” Tyrion said. “Here I thought we had become such friends. But as youwill. You shall ride with me, and Shagga and Conn for the Stone Crows, Ulf for the Moon Brothers,and Timett son of Timett for the Burned Men.” The clansmen exchanged wary looks as he namedthem. “The rest shall wait here until I send for you. Try not to kill and maim each other while I’mgone.”
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 thetrouble 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 wonderthat it had been hundreds of years since they last threatened the Vale with anything beyond anoccasional raid. Tyrion meant to change that.
Bronn rode with him. Behind them—after a quick bit of grumbling—the five clansmen followed ontheir under-size garrons, scrawny things that looked like ponies and scrambled up rock walls likegoats.
The Stone Crows rode together, and Chella and Ulf stayed close as well, as the Moon Brothers andBlack Ears had strong bonds between them. Timett son of Timett rode alone. Every clan in theMountains of the Moon feared the Burned Men, who mortified their flesh with fire to prove theircourage and (the others said) roasted babies at their feasts. And even the other Burned Men fearedTimett, who had put out his own left eye with a white-hot knife when he reached the age of manhood.
Tyrion gathered that it was more customary for a boy to burn off a nipple, a finger, or (if he was trulybrave, or truly mad) an ear. Timett’s fellow Burned Men were so awed by his choice of an eye thatthey promptly named him a red hand, which seemed to be some sort of a war chief.
“I wonder what their king burned off,” Tyrion said to Bronn when he heard the tale. Grinning, the sellsword had tugged at his crotch … but even Bronn kept a respectful tongue around Timett. If aman was mad enough to put out his own eye, he was unlikely to be gentle to his enemies.
but even Bronn kept a respectful tongue around Timett. If aman 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 thefoothills, and once Tyrion saw a raven take wing. Where the high road twisted between two rockyoutcrops, they came to the first strong point. A low earthen wall four feet high closed off the road, anda dozen crossbowmen manned the heights. Tyrion halted his followers out of range and rode to thewall alone. “Who commands here?” he shouted up.
The captain was quick to appear, and even quicker to give them an escort when he recognized hislord’s son. They trotted past blackened fields and burned holdfasts, down to the riverlands and theGreen Fork of the Trident. Tyrion 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 bypikemen and archers. Behind the line, the camp spread out to the far distance. Thin fingers of smokerose from hundreds of cookfires, mailed men sat under trees and honed their blades, and familiarbanners fluttered from staffs thrust into the muddy ground.
A party of mounted horsemen rode forward to challenge them as they approached the stakes. Theknight 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 hishorsehead helm. Tyrion reined up to greet him. “Ser Flement.”
Ser Flement Brax lifted his visor. “Tyrion,” he said in astonishment. “My lord, we all feared youdead, or …” He looked at the clansmen uncertainly. “These … companions of yours …”
“Bosom friends and loyal retainers,” Tyrion said. “Where will I find my lord father?”
“He has taken the inn at the crossroads for his quarters.”
Tyrion laughed. The inn at the crossroads! Perhaps the gods were just after all. “I will see him atonce.”
“As you say, my lord.” Ser Flement wheeled his horse about and shouted commands. Three rowsof stakes were pulled from the ground to make a hole in the line. Tyrion led his party through.
Lord Tywin’s camp spread over leagues. Chella’s estimate of twenty thousand men could not be farwrong. The common men camped out in the open, but the knights had thrown up tents, and some ofthe high lords had erected pavilions as large as houses. Tyrion spied the red ox of the Presters, LordCrakehall’s brindled boar, the burning tree of Marbrand, the badger of Lydden. Knights called out tohim as he cantered past, and men-at-arms gaped at the clansmen in open astonishment.
Shagga was gaping back; beyond a certainty, he had never seen so many men, horses, and weaponsin all his days. The rest of the mountain brigands did a better job of guarding their faces, but Tyrionhad no doubts that they were full as much in awe. Better and better. The more impressed they werewith the power of the Lannisters, the easier they would be to command.
The inn and its stables were much as he remembered, though little more than tumbled stones andblackened foundations remained where the rest of the village had stood. A gibbet had been erected inthe yard, and the body that swung there was covered with ravens. At Tyrion’s approach they took tothe air, squawking and flapping their black wings. He dismounted and glanced up at what remained ofthe corpse. The birds had eaten her lips and eyes and most of her cheeks, baring her stained red teethin a hideous smile. “A room, a meal, and a flagon of wine, that was all I asked,” he reminded her witha sigh of reproach.
Boys emerged hesitantly from the stables to see to their horses. Shagga did not want to give his up.
“The lad won’t steal your mare,” Tyrion assured him. “He only wants to give her some oats andwater and brush out her coat.” Shagga’s coat could have used a good brushing too, but it would havebeen less than tactful to mention it. “You have my word, the horse will not be harmed.”
Glaring, Shagga let go his grip on the reins. “This is the horse of Shagga son of Dolf,” he roared atthe stableboy.
“If he doesn’t give her back, chop off his manhood and feed it to the goats,” Tyrion promised.
“Provided you can find some.”
A pair of house guards in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms stood under the inn’s sign, oneither side of the door. Tyrion recognized their captain. “My father?”
“In the common room, m’lord.”
“My men will want meat and mead,” Tyrion told him. “See that they get it.” He entered the inn, and there was Father.
Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, was in his middle fifties, yet hardas a man of twenty. Even seated, he was tall, with long legs, broad shoulders, a flat stomach. His thinarms were corded with muscle. When his once-thick golden hair had begun to recede, he hadcommanded his barber to shave his head; Lord Tywin did not believe in half measures. He razored hislip and chin as well, but kept his sidewhiskers, two great thickets of wiry golden hair that coveredmost of his cheeks from ear to jaw. His eyes were a pale green, flecked with gold. A fool more foolishthan most had once jested that even Lord Tywin’s shit was flecked with gold. Some said the man wasstill alive, deep in the bowels of Casterly Rock.
Ser Kevan Lannister, his father’s only surviving brother, was sharing a flagon of ale with LordTywin when Tyrion 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. “Tyrion,” hesaid in surprise.
“Uncle,” Tyrion said, bowing. “And my lord father. What a pleasure to find you here.”
Lord Tywin did not stir from his chair, but he did give his dwarf son a long, searching look. “I seethat the rumors of your demise were unfounded.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Father,” Tyrion said. “No need to leap up and embrace me, I wouldn’twant you to strain yourself.” He crossed the room to their table, acutely conscious of the way hisstunted legs made him waddle with every step. Whenever his father’s eyes were on him, he becameuncomfortably aware of all his deformities and shortcomings. “Kind of you to go to war for me,” hesaid 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,” Lord Tywin replied. “Your brother Jaime wouldnever have meekly submitted to capture at the hands of a woman.”
“That’s one way we differ, Jaime 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. Noman sheds Lannister blood with impunity.”
“Hear Me Roar,” Tyrion said, grinning. The Lannister words. “Truth be told, none of my bloodwas actually shed, although it was a close thing once or twice. Morrec and Jyck were killed.”
“I suppose you will be wanting some new men.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Father, I’ve acquired a few of my own.” He tried a swallow of the ale. Itwas brown and yeasty, so thick you could almost chew it. Very fine, in truth. A pity his father hadhanged the innkeep. “How is your war going?”
His uncle answered. “Well enough, for the nonce. Ser Edmure had scattered small troops of menalong his borders to stop our raiding, and your lord father and I were able to destroy most of thempiecemeal before they could regroup.”
“Your brother has been covering himself with glory,” his father said. “He smashed the LordsVance and Piper at the Golden Tooth, and met the massed power of the Tullys under the walls ofRiverrun. The lords of the Trident have been put to rout. Ser Edmure Tully was taken captive, withmany of his knights and bannermen. Lord Blackwood led a few survivors back to Riverrun, whereJaime 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 Lord Blackwoodgone, Raventree fell at once, and Lady Whent yielded Harrenhal for want of men to defend it. SerGregor burnt out the Pipers and the Brackens …”
“Leaving you unopposed?” Tyrion said.
“Not wholly,” Ser Kevan said. “The Mallisters still hold Seagard and Walder Frey is marshalinghis levies at the Twins.”
“No matter,” Lord Tywin said. “Frey only takes the field when the scent of victory is in the air,and all he smells now is ruin. And Jason Mallister lacks the strength to fight alone. Once Jaime takesRiverrun, they will both be quick enough to bend the knee. Unless the Starks and the Arryns comeforth to oppose us, this war is good as won.”
“I would not fret overmuch about the Arryns if I were you,” Tyrion said. “The Starks are anothermatter. Lord Eddard—”
“—is our hostage,” his father said. “He will lead no armies while he rots in a dungeon under theRed Keep.”
“No,” Ser Kevan agreed, “but his son has called the banners and sits at Moat Cailin with a stronghost around him.”
but his son has called the banners and sits at Moat Cailin with a stronghost around him.”
“No sword is strong until it’s been tempered,” Lord Tywin declared. “The Stark boy is a child. Nodoubt 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, Tyrion reflected. “And what is our fearlessmonarch doing whilst all this ‘butcher’s work’ is being done?” he wondered. “How has my lovely andpersuasive sister gotten Robert to agree to the imprisonment of his dear friend Ned?”
“Robert Baratheon is dead,” his father told him. “Your nephew reigns in King’s Landing.”
That did take Tyrion aback. “My sister, you mean.” He took another gulp of ale. The realm wouldbe a much different place with Cersei 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. “MarqPiper and Karyl Vance are loose in our rear, raiding our lands across the Red Fork.”
Tyrion made a tsking sound. “The gall of them, fighting back. Ordinarily I’d be glad to punish suchrudeness, Father, but the truth is, I have pressing business elsewhere.”
“Do you?” Lord Tywin did not seem awed. “We also have a pair of Ned Stark’s afterthoughtsmaking a nuisance of themselves by harassing my foraging parties. Beric Dondarrion, some younglordling with delusions of valor. He has that fat jape of a priest with him, the one who likes to set hissword on fire. Do you think you might be able to deal with them as you scamper off? Without makingtoo much a botch of it?”
Tyrion wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. “Father, it warms my heart to thinkthat 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 Thoros and Lord Beric, I shall spank them both.” He climbeddown from his chair and waddled to the sideboard, where a wheel of veined white cheese satsurrounded by fruit. “First, though, I have some promises of my own to keep,” he said as he sliced offa wedge. “I shall require three thousand helms and as many hauberks, plus swords, pikes, steelspearheads, maces, battle-axes, gauntlets, gorgets, greaves, breastplates, wagons to carry all this—”
The door behind him opened with a crash, so violently that Tyrion almost dropped his cheese. SerKevan leapt up swearing as the captain of the guard went flying across the room to smash against thehearth. As he tumbled down into the cold ashes, his lion helm askew, Shagga snapped the man’ssword in two over a knee thick as a tree trunk, threw down the pieces, and lumbered into the commonroom. 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 Shagga son of Dolf, I will chop off yourmanhood and roast it in the fire.”
“What, no goats?” Tyrion said, taking a bite of cheese.
The other clansmen followed Shagga into the common room, Bronn with them. The sellsword gaveTyrion a rueful shrug.
“Who might you be?” Lord Tywin asked, cool as snow.
“They followed me home, Father,” Tyrion 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 SerKevan.
“Savages, lowlander?” Conn 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?” Chella asked.
“They are both old men,” announced Timett son of Timett, 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 heldhim fast. Lord Tywin seemed unperturbed. “Tyrion, have you forgotten your courtesies? Kindlyacquaint us with our … honored guests.”
Tyrion licked his fingers. “With pleasure,” he said. “The fair maid is Chella daughter of Cheyk ofthe Black Ears.”
“I’m no maid,” Chella protested. “My sons have taken fifty ears among them.”
“May they take fifty more.” Tyrion waddled away from her. “This is Conn son of Coratt. Shaggason of Dolf is the one who looks like Casterly Rock with hair. They are Stone Crows. Here is Ulf sonof Umar of the Moon Brothers, and here Timett son of Timett, a red hand of the Burned Men. And this is Bronn, a sellsword of no particular allegiance. He has already changed sides twice in theshort time I’ve known him, you and he ought to get on famously, Father.” To Bronn and the clansmenhe said, “May I present my lord father, Tywin son of Tytos of House Lannister, Lord of CasterlyRock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, and once and future Hand of the King.”
Lord Tywin rose, dignified and correct. “Even in the west, we know the prowess of the warriorclans of the Mountains of the Moon. What brings you down from your strongholds, my lords?”
“Horses,” said Shagga.
“A promise of silk and steel,” said Timett son of Timett.
Tyrion was about to tell his lord father how he proposed to reduce the Vale of Arryn to a smokingwasteland, but he was never given the chance. The door banged open again. The messenger gaveTyrion’s clansmen a quick, queer look as he dropped to one knee before Lord Tywin. “My lord,” hesaid, “Ser Addam bid me tell you that the Stark host is moving down the causeway.”
Lord Tywin Lannister did not smile. Lord Tywin never smiled, but Tyrion had learned to read hisfather’s pleasure all the same, and it was there on his face. “So the wolfling is leaving his den to playamong the lions,” he said in a voice of quiet satisfaction. “Splendid. Return to Ser Addam and tell himto fall back. He is not to engage the northerners until we arrive, but I want him to harass their flanksand 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 andspikes. 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,” Lord Tywin replied.
“The sooner the Starks are broken, the sooner I shall be free to deal with Stannis Baratheon. Tell thedrummers to beat assembly, and send word to Jaime that I am marching against Robb Stark.”
“As you will,” Ser Kevan said.
Tyrion watched with a grim fascination as his lord father turned next to the half-wild clansmen. “Itis said that the men of the mountain clans are warriors without fear.”
“It is said truly,” Conn of the Stone Crows answered.
“And the women,” Chella added.
“Ride with me against my enemies, and you shall have all my son promised you, and more,” LordTywin told them.
“Would you pay us with our own coin?” Ulf son of Umar said. “Why should we need the father’spromise, when we have the son’s?”
“I said nothing of need,” Lord Tywin replied. “My words were courtesy, nothing more. You neednot join us. The men of the winterlands are made of iron and ice, and even my boldest knights fear toface them.”
Oh, deftly done, Tyrion thought, smiling crookedly.
“The Burned Men fear nothing. Timett son of Timett will ride with the lions.”
“Wherever the Burned Men go, the Stone Crows have been there first,” Conn declared hotly. “Weride as well.”
“Shagga son of Dolf will chop off their manhoods and feed them to the crows.”
“We will ride with you, lion lord,” Chella daughter of Cheyk agreed, “but only if your halfmanson goes with us. He has bought his breath with promises. Until we hold the steel he has pledged us,his life is ours.”
Lord Tywin turned his gold-flecked eyes on his son.
“Joy,” Tyrion said with a resigned smile.
“Their banners are red, with a golden lion.”
“Your father?” Bronn asked.
“Or my brother Jaime,” Tyrion said. “We shall know soon enough.” He surveyed his ragged bandof brigands: near three hundred Stone Crows, Moon Brothers, Black Ears, and Burned Men, and thosejust the seed of the army he hoped to grow. Gunthor son of Gurn was raising the other clans evennow. He wondered what his lord father would make of them in their skins and bits of stolen steel. Iftruth be told, he did not know what to make of them himself. Was he their commander or theircaptive? Most of the time, it seemed to be a little of both. “It might be best if I rode down alone,” hesuggested.
“Best for Tyrion son of Tywin,” said Ulf, who spoke for the Moon Brothers.
Shagga glowered, a fearsome sight to see. “Shagga son of Dolf likes this not. Shagga will go withthe boyman, and if the boyman lies, Shagga will chop off his manhood—”
“—and feed it to the goats, yes,” Tyrion said wearily. “Shagga, I give you my word as aLannister, I will return.”
“Why should we trust your word?” Chella was a small hard woman, flat as a boy, and no fool.
“Lowland lords have lied to the clans before.”
“You wound me, Chella,” Tyrion said. “Here I thought we had become such friends. But as youwill. You shall ride with me, and Shagga and Conn for the Stone Crows, Ulf for the Moon Brothers,and Timett son of Timett for the Burned Men.” The clansmen exchanged wary looks as he namedthem. “The rest shall wait here until I send for you. Try not to kill and maim each other while I’mgone.”
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 thetrouble 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 wonderthat it had been hundreds of years since they last threatened the Vale with anything beyond anoccasional raid. Tyrion meant to change that.
Bronn rode with him. Behind them—after a quick bit of grumbling—the five clansmen followed ontheir under-size garrons, scrawny things that looked like ponies and scrambled up rock walls likegoats.
The Stone Crows rode together, and Chella and Ulf stayed close as well, as the Moon Brothers andBlack Ears had strong bonds between them. Timett son of Timett rode alone. Every clan in theMountains of the Moon feared the Burned Men, who mortified their flesh with fire to prove theircourage and (the others said) roasted babies at their feasts. And even the other Burned Men fearedTimett, who had put out his own left eye with a white-hot knife when he reached the age of manhood.
Tyrion gathered that it was more customary for a boy to burn off a nipple, a finger, or (if he was trulybrave, or truly mad) an ear. Timett’s fellow Burned Men were so awed by his choice of an eye thatthey promptly named him a red hand, which seemed to be some sort of a war chief.
“I wonder what their king burned off,” Tyrion said to Bronn when he heard the tale. Grinning, the sellsword had tugged at his crotch … but even Bronn kept a respectful tongue around Timett. If aman was mad enough to put out his own eye, he was unlikely to be gentle to his enemies.
but even Bronn kept a respectful tongue around Timett. If aman 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 thefoothills, and once Tyrion saw a raven take wing. Where the high road twisted between two rockyoutcrops, they came to the first strong point. A low earthen wall four feet high closed off the road, anda dozen crossbowmen manned the heights. Tyrion halted his followers out of range and rode to thewall alone. “Who commands here?” he shouted up.
The captain was quick to appear, and even quicker to give them an escort when he recognized hislord’s son. They trotted past blackened fields and burned holdfasts, down to the riverlands and theGreen Fork of the Trident. Tyrion 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 bypikemen and archers. Behind the line, the camp spread out to the far distance. Thin fingers of smokerose from hundreds of cookfires, mailed men sat under trees and honed their blades, and familiarbanners fluttered from staffs thrust into the muddy ground.
A party of mounted horsemen rode forward to challenge them as they approached the stakes. Theknight 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 hishorsehead helm. Tyrion reined up to greet him. “Ser Flement.”
Ser Flement Brax lifted his visor. “Tyrion,” he said in astonishment. “My lord, we all feared youdead, or …” He looked at the clansmen uncertainly. “These … companions of yours …”
“Bosom friends and loyal retainers,” Tyrion said. “Where will I find my lord father?”
“He has taken the inn at the crossroads for his quarters.”
Tyrion laughed. The inn at the crossroads! Perhaps the gods were just after all. “I will see him atonce.”
“As you say, my lord.” Ser Flement wheeled his horse about and shouted commands. Three rowsof stakes were pulled from the ground to make a hole in the line. Tyrion led his party through.
Lord Tywin’s camp spread over leagues. Chella’s estimate of twenty thousand men could not be farwrong. The common men camped out in the open, but the knights had thrown up tents, and some ofthe high lords had erected pavilions as large as houses. Tyrion spied the red ox of the Presters, LordCrakehall’s brindled boar, the burning tree of Marbrand, the badger of Lydden. Knights called out tohim as he cantered past, and men-at-arms gaped at the clansmen in open astonishment.
Shagga was gaping back; beyond a certainty, he had never seen so many men, horses, and weaponsin all his days. The rest of the mountain brigands did a better job of guarding their faces, but Tyrionhad no doubts that they were full as much in awe. Better and better. The more impressed they werewith the power of the Lannisters, the easier they would be to command.
The inn and its stables were much as he remembered, though little more than tumbled stones andblackened foundations remained where the rest of the village had stood. A gibbet had been erected inthe yard, and the body that swung there was covered with ravens. At Tyrion’s approach they took tothe air, squawking and flapping their black wings. He dismounted and glanced up at what remained ofthe corpse. The birds had eaten her lips and eyes and most of her cheeks, baring her stained red teethin a hideous smile. “A room, a meal, and a flagon of wine, that was all I asked,” he reminded her witha sigh of reproach.
Boys emerged hesitantly from the stables to see to their horses. Shagga did not want to give his up.
“The lad won’t steal your mare,” Tyrion assured him. “He only wants to give her some oats andwater and brush out her coat.” Shagga’s coat could have used a good brushing too, but it would havebeen less than tactful to mention it. “You have my word, the horse will not be harmed.”
Glaring, Shagga let go his grip on the reins. “This is the horse of Shagga son of Dolf,” he roared atthe stableboy.
“If he doesn’t give her back, chop off his manhood and feed it to the goats,” Tyrion promised.
“Provided you can find some.”
A pair of house guards in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms stood under the inn’s sign, oneither side of the door. Tyrion recognized their captain. “My father?”
“In the common room, m’lord.”
“My men will want meat and mead,” Tyrion told him. “See that they get it.” He entered the inn, and there was Father.
Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, was in his middle fifties, yet hardas a man of twenty. Even seated, he was tall, with long legs, broad shoulders, a flat stomach. His thinarms were corded with muscle. When his once-thick golden hair had begun to recede, he hadcommanded his barber to shave his head; Lord Tywin did not believe in half measures. He razored hislip and chin as well, but kept his sidewhiskers, two great thickets of wiry golden hair that coveredmost of his cheeks from ear to jaw. His eyes were a pale green, flecked with gold. A fool more foolishthan most had once jested that even Lord Tywin’s shit was flecked with gold. Some said the man wasstill alive, deep in the bowels of Casterly Rock.
Ser Kevan Lannister, his father’s only surviving brother, was sharing a flagon of ale with LordTywin when Tyrion 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. “Tyrion,” hesaid in surprise.
“Uncle,” Tyrion said, bowing. “And my lord father. What a pleasure to find you here.”
Lord Tywin did not stir from his chair, but he did give his dwarf son a long, searching look. “I seethat the rumors of your demise were unfounded.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Father,” Tyrion said. “No need to leap up and embrace me, I wouldn’twant you to strain yourself.” He crossed the room to their table, acutely conscious of the way hisstunted legs made him waddle with every step. Whenever his father’s eyes were on him, he becameuncomfortably aware of all his deformities and shortcomings. “Kind of you to go to war for me,” hesaid 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,” Lord Tywin replied. “Your brother Jaime wouldnever have meekly submitted to capture at the hands of a woman.”
“That’s one way we differ, Jaime 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. Noman sheds Lannister blood with impunity.”
“Hear Me Roar,” Tyrion said, grinning. The Lannister words. “Truth be told, none of my bloodwas actually shed, although it was a close thing once or twice. Morrec and Jyck were killed.”
“I suppose you will be wanting some new men.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Father, I’ve acquired a few of my own.” He tried a swallow of the ale. Itwas brown and yeasty, so thick you could almost chew it. Very fine, in truth. A pity his father hadhanged the innkeep. “How is your war going?”
His uncle answered. “Well enough, for the nonce. Ser Edmure had scattered small troops of menalong his borders to stop our raiding, and your lord father and I were able to destroy most of thempiecemeal before they could regroup.”
“Your brother has been covering himself with glory,” his father said. “He smashed the LordsVance and Piper at the Golden Tooth, and met the massed power of the Tullys under the walls ofRiverrun. The lords of the Trident have been put to rout. Ser Edmure Tully was taken captive, withmany of his knights and bannermen. Lord Blackwood led a few survivors back to Riverrun, whereJaime 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 Lord Blackwoodgone, Raventree fell at once, and Lady Whent yielded Harrenhal for want of men to defend it. SerGregor burnt out the Pipers and the Brackens …”
“Leaving you unopposed?” Tyrion said.
“Not wholly,” Ser Kevan said. “The Mallisters still hold Seagard and Walder Frey is marshalinghis levies at the Twins.”
“No matter,” Lord Tywin said. “Frey only takes the field when the scent of victory is in the air,and all he smells now is ruin. And Jason Mallister lacks the strength to fight alone. Once Jaime takesRiverrun, they will both be quick enough to bend the knee. Unless the Starks and the Arryns comeforth to oppose us, this war is good as won.”
“I would not fret overmuch about the Arryns if I were you,” Tyrion said. “The Starks are anothermatter. Lord Eddard—”
“—is our hostage,” his father said. “He will lead no armies while he rots in a dungeon under theRed Keep.”
“No,” Ser Kevan agreed, “but his son has called the banners and sits at Moat Cailin with a stronghost around him.”
but his son has called the banners and sits at Moat Cailin with a stronghost around him.”
“No sword is strong until it’s been tempered,” Lord Tywin declared. “The Stark boy is a child. Nodoubt 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, Tyrion reflected. “And what is our fearlessmonarch doing whilst all this ‘butcher’s work’ is being done?” he wondered. “How has my lovely andpersuasive sister gotten Robert to agree to the imprisonment of his dear friend Ned?”
“Robert Baratheon is dead,” his father told him. “Your nephew reigns in King’s Landing.”
That did take Tyrion aback. “My sister, you mean.” He took another gulp of ale. The realm wouldbe a much different place with Cersei 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. “MarqPiper and Karyl Vance are loose in our rear, raiding our lands across the Red Fork.”
Tyrion made a tsking sound. “The gall of them, fighting back. Ordinarily I’d be glad to punish suchrudeness, Father, but the truth is, I have pressing business elsewhere.”
“Do you?” Lord Tywin did not seem awed. “We also have a pair of Ned Stark’s afterthoughtsmaking a nuisance of themselves by harassing my foraging parties. Beric Dondarrion, some younglordling with delusions of valor. He has that fat jape of a priest with him, the one who likes to set hissword on fire. Do you think you might be able to deal with them as you scamper off? Without makingtoo much a botch of it?”
Tyrion wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and smiled. “Father, it warms my heart to thinkthat 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 Thoros and Lord Beric, I shall spank them both.” He climbeddown from his chair and waddled to the sideboard, where a wheel of veined white cheese satsurrounded by fruit. “First, though, I have some promises of my own to keep,” he said as he sliced offa wedge. “I shall require three thousand helms and as many hauberks, plus swords, pikes, steelspearheads, maces, battle-axes, gauntlets, gorgets, greaves, breastplates, wagons to carry all this—”
The door behind him opened with a crash, so violently that Tyrion almost dropped his cheese. SerKevan leapt up swearing as the captain of the guard went flying across the room to smash against thehearth. As he tumbled down into the cold ashes, his lion helm askew, Shagga snapped the man’ssword in two over a knee thick as a tree trunk, threw down the pieces, and lumbered into the commonroom. 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 Shagga son of Dolf, I will chop off yourmanhood and roast it in the fire.”
“What, no goats?” Tyrion said, taking a bite of cheese.
The other clansmen followed Shagga into the common room, Bronn with them. The sellsword gaveTyrion a rueful shrug.
“Who might you be?” Lord Tywin asked, cool as snow.
“They followed me home, Father,” Tyrion 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 SerKevan.
“Savages, lowlander?” Conn 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?” Chella asked.
“They are both old men,” announced Timett son of Timett, 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 heldhim fast. Lord Tywin seemed unperturbed. “Tyrion, have you forgotten your courtesies? Kindlyacquaint us with our … honored guests.”
Tyrion licked his fingers. “With pleasure,” he said. “The fair maid is Chella daughter of Cheyk ofthe Black Ears.”
“I’m no maid,” Chella protested. “My sons have taken fifty ears among them.”
“May they take fifty more.” Tyrion waddled away from her. “This is Conn son of Coratt. Shaggason of Dolf is the one who looks like Casterly Rock with hair. They are Stone Crows. Here is Ulf sonof Umar of the Moon Brothers, and here Timett son of Timett, a red hand of the Burned Men. And this is Bronn, a sellsword of no particular allegiance. He has already changed sides twice in theshort time I’ve known him, you and he ought to get on famously, Father.” To Bronn and the clansmenhe said, “May I present my lord father, Tywin son of Tytos of House Lannister, Lord of CasterlyRock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, and once and future Hand of the King.”
Lord Tywin rose, dignified and correct. “Even in the west, we know the prowess of the warriorclans of the Mountains of the Moon. What brings you down from your strongholds, my lords?”
“Horses,” said Shagga.
“A promise of silk and steel,” said Timett son of Timett.
Tyrion was about to tell his lord father how he proposed to reduce the Vale of Arryn to a smokingwasteland, but he was never given the chance. The door banged open again. The messenger gaveTyrion’s clansmen a quick, queer look as he dropped to one knee before Lord Tywin. “My lord,” hesaid, “Ser Addam bid me tell you that the Stark host is moving down the causeway.”
Lord Tywin Lannister did not smile. Lord Tywin never smiled, but Tyrion had learned to read hisfather’s pleasure all the same, and it was there on his face. “So the wolfling is leaving his den to playamong the lions,” he said in a voice of quiet satisfaction. “Splendid. Return to Ser Addam and tell himto fall back. He is not to engage the northerners until we arrive, but I want him to harass their flanksand 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 andspikes. 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,” Lord Tywin replied.
“The sooner the Starks are broken, the sooner I shall be free to deal with Stannis Baratheon. Tell thedrummers to beat assembly, and send word to Jaime that I am marching against Robb Stark.”
“As you will,” Ser Kevan said.
Tyrion watched with a grim fascination as his lord father turned next to the half-wild clansmen. “Itis said that the men of the mountain clans are warriors without fear.”
“It is said truly,” Conn of the Stone Crows answered.
“And the women,” Chella added.
“Ride with me against my enemies, and you shall have all my son promised you, and more,” LordTywin told them.
“Would you pay us with our own coin?” Ulf son of Umar said. “Why should we need the father’spromise, when we have the son’s?”
“I said nothing of need,” Lord Tywin replied. “My words were courtesy, nothing more. You neednot join us. The men of the winterlands are made of iron and ice, and even my boldest knights fear toface them.”
Oh, deftly done, Tyrion thought, smiling crookedly.
“The Burned Men fear nothing. Timett son of Timett will ride with the lions.”
“Wherever the Burned Men go, the Stone Crows have been there first,” Conn declared hotly. “Weride as well.”
“Shagga son of Dolf will chop off their manhoods and feed them to the crows.”
“We will ride with you, lion lord,” Chella daughter of Cheyk agreed, “but only if your halfmanson goes with us. He has bought his breath with promises. Until we hold the steel he has pledged us,his life is ours.”
Lord Tywin turned his gold-flecked eyes on his son.
“Joy,” Tyrion said with a resigned smile.