Silence weighed on the clearing, broken only by the rustling of leaves in the oak canopy.
Toyne spat a line of blood onto the damp earth. The Brotherhood's leader shifted his gaze from my chest and fixed it on the two men surrendered beneath Kevin's blades. Fletcher, who was supposed to be providing cover from the treetops, had the steel of a shortsword pressed against the skin of his neck. Beside him, Ulmer held his hands open, fingers splayed far from his belt, feeling the edge of Kevin's dagger scraping against his throat. The high-ground advantage of the perimeter had vanished before the conversation even began.
"And if our answer is steel?" Wenda asked. Her fingers remained firm on the bow, but the string was no longer fully drawn against her chest.
"The mud in this forest absorbs blood very well," Perseu replied from the flank, taking a short step forward. The edge of his longsword gleamed beneath the weak light leaking through the trees.
The Smiling Knight let out a grating laugh, a dry sound that leaked straight through his yellow teeth and exposed gums. His sunken eyes left the tip of Truth and locked onto my face.
"He strikes fast," the psychopath hissed, his fingers trembling on the hilt of his crooked weapon. "I like the boy."
Toyne swallowed the remaining blood in his mouth and relaxed his shoulders. The clenching in his jaw eased.
"Lower your weapons," Toyne ordered. His voice came out low, stripped of its earlier defiant tone.
Ben drove the wooden shaft of his warhammer into the mud, leaning his heavy bulk against the weapon. Wenda unhooked the arrow from the string, returning it to her leather quiver with a sharp movement. The Smiling Knight took a second longer, but released his grip on his own steel.
"What does the Stark bastard want with the bandits of the Kingswood?" Toyne asked, taking a half-step forward.
"Blades that know how to operate where the lords' laws do not reach," I said, twisting my wrist and sliding Truth back into its sheath. The click of the metal locking into place cut through the hiss of the wind. "The Mad King will send men to scour these roads in the coming moons. I will report to King's Landing that the Brotherhood has been scattered and your trail vanished into the dirt."
I stepped within arm's reach of Toyne. The smell of sour sweat and green wood smoke wafted from his clothes.
The wind struck the tops of the oaks. Dry leaves fell over the mud of the clearing.
"Break down this camp," I ordered, nodding toward the pitched tents. "Walk to the coast of Blackwater Bay. Hide in the perimeter of the slope."
"The coast?" Toyne asked, blinking and pressing his cracked lips together.
"A boat will take you," I replied, keeping my tone even. "You'll land at White Harbor. From there you'll meet someone who will take you to a safe place until I return."
Toyne swallowed hard. He nodded and stepped back.
The Smiling Knight advanced. Air hissed through his exposed gumline. He pulled the crooked sword from its sheath. Flakes of rust fell onto the wet earth.
"Enough talk, boy," he hissed, driving his sunken eyes to the sheath at my hip. "I want to test the weight of that black blade, without catching me off guard this time."
Perseu tightened his grip on the longsword's hilt.
"Let him come," I ordered, raising my left arm palm-out to hold my men in place.
I drew the Valyrian steel. The smoke-patterned metal cut through the weak forest light.
The bandit ran. He crossed the distance in three long strides, ignoring any combat fundamentals. He leapt over an exposed oak root, twisted his body in the air and brought the sword down with both hands.
I raised Truth horizontally. The dirty steel struck Valyrian metal. Sparks flew. The dry crack echoed through the clearing. The impact pushed the soles of my boots a few centimeters into the mud.
The Smiling Knight used the recoil of his own weapon, twisted his wrist and drove a low cut at my knees. I stepped back. The rusted point scraped the bark of a tall root.
He advanced again. Air hissed through the gap in his teeth. He chained thrusts and diagonal strikes in a continuous storm. I knocked the flat of Truth against each attack, guiding the raw force into empty air with short wrist movements. I kept my boots firm on the ground, matching the madman's frantic rhythm without needing to retreat.
An unexpected spin broke his rhythm. The man reversed his grip and drove the serrated blade straight at the base of my throat. I stepped onto the flat of the blade, turning my torso left. The dirty iron tore only air.
The inertia of his own attack threw the bandit forward. His guard opened. The lipless face came within a hand's width of mine.
I drove my left fist straight into his nose.
The bone cracked. The impact threw his head back. Blood sprayed across the exposed gumline. He staggered. His fingers kept squeezing the sword's hilt. The bandit snarled, spat blood into the mud and brought the weapon down in a blind vertical cut, throwing his entire body forward.
I pivoted on my heels, stepping out of the cutting line. The attack came down into empty air and drove into the oak's roots.
I struck the dragonbone pommel against his temple and kicked the side of his right knee with my boot heel.
The joint cracked. The Knight fell to his knees in the mud. I stepped onto the crooked sword before he could pull it free, pinning the iron to the ground.
I pointed the tip of Truth at his left eye.
The man drew air in quick, ragged bursts. Blood ran from his broken nose and dripped onto the rags of his shirt. He looked at the motionless steel, opened his fingers and released his weapon.
"You are very good," he said, pressing both hands against the bloodied mud.
I lowered my arm. I cleaned the sword on the leg of my trousers and sheathed the metal with a dry click.
I stepped forward and extended my right hand. The bandit narrowed his eyes at my leather glove. He raised his thin arm and grabbed my forearm with earth-stained fingers.
I pulled his weight upright. His injured knee cracked as his boot sole sank into the mud. He shifted his weight to the left leg, holding his balance.
"You fight well," I said, releasing his arm. "Better than many knights. I dare say better than many lords."
The disfigured man wiped fresh blood from his nose with the back of his hand. The exposed gumline pulled in a hard movement.
"The rusted iron has drunk a great deal of blood up to now," he hissed, air escaping through yellow teeth. "But new steel has its uses. My name is Harwyn."
I gave a short nod.
"Harwyn," I said.
I turned my shoulders, facing Toyne again.
"We need to stage the death of the band," I continued. "The Crown will demand physical proof."
Harwyn shifted his weight to his good leg and pointed a dirty finger toward a thorn-covered bank at the back of the camp.
"Oswyn Longneck," Harwyn said, coughing blood onto the earth. "We buried him and the other five scouts near the stream."
"They have been dead for moons," Morghaz interjected, driving his spear into the soft ground. "The flesh has rotted. Any patrol rider from King's Landing will notice the putrefaction."
"We will burn the bodies to conceal the state of decay," I replied, turning my face toward the remains of the dead fire.
I walked to the center of the ground, stopping near the soot-blackened stones.
"Dirty the trunks and the ground with the blood of the hunted animals," I ordered, turning my shoulders to the rest of the Brotherhood. "Dig up the six. Bring the corpses here and build frames of branches over them."
I looked at Toyne and Wenda.
"Dress the dead in your clothes," I continued, pointing at the iron plate. "Put your scratched armour on the chest of one of them, Toyne. Break the arrows and tear the bowstrings. Shatter the old swords."
I lowered my eyes to the disfigured man at my side.
"Cut the lips from the corpse dressed in your rags," I said, indicating the dagger in his boot.
Harwyn opened a wide, red smile.
I turned to the giant holding the hammer.
"Ben, none of those corpses match your size," I said, measuring the breadth of the man. "The body standing in for you will be burned alone. Throw the leather tents on top of it and pour oil. The total cremation will account for the absence of your carcass on the ground and distribute the bones."
Toyne removed his wool gloves and hooked them to his belt.
"Get the shovels from the supply cache," Toyne shouted to the scouts.
Fletcher wrenched a rusted spade from the pile of supplies in the corner of the camp. Ulmer hesitated, rubbing the red skin of his neck where Kevin's dagger had rested.
"Move along," Kevin said, pulling a green apple from his doublet pocket and biting in with a loud crack. "The pit smells worse with time."
Ulmer grabbed the second spade by its wooden handle. He tightened his fingers on the rough shaft and turned his face to the archer.
"You're not going to help, you wretch?" Ulmer muttered.
Kevin chewed a piece of the fruit and swallowed. The corner of his mouth rose in a wide smile.
"I can't," he replied. "You know, when I finished with you two back there, I unfortunately twisted my wrist. It's hurting too much." The archer rotated his right hand in quick, loose circles in the air, showing off the perfectly sound joint.
Ulmer spat on the earth and followed Fletcher at a hard pace toward the thorny bank.
"Leave only Oswyn Longneck's face recognizable," I ordered, following them with my eyes. "The fire should disfigure the flesh of the other five corpses enough to conceal the decomposition. Toyne, the body in the center needs to wear your armour. The winged heart sigil should be visible under the soot."
Toyne unhooked the leather buckles at his back. The scratched iron plate fell into the mud with a dull thud. He kicked the metal toward the remains of the dead fire.
Big Belly Ben dragged an enormous canvas tent. The fabric caught on rocks and roots along the way. He dropped the weight in the center of the clearing, pulling air through his mouth hard, and began stacking branches and dry wood over the canvas.
On the other side, Belzakar untied a large jar and handed it to Morghaz.
"Boar's blood," Belzakar said.
Morghaz removed the jar's stopper. He walked around the area, splashing the thick, dark liquid over the trampled earth, the nearby trunks and the stones around the pyre Ben was building.
Perseu snapped a hunting arrow's shaft across his knee. The wood cracked dry.
"I'll scatter the broken tips near the tree line. The assault will appear to have come from the east."
I nodded.
Harwyn returned from the bank dragging a stiff corpse by the heels. The smell of rotted earth and spoiled flesh hit the clearing immediately. The bandit dropped the dead man's dirty legs and knelt in the mud. He pulled the dagger from his boot, drove the blade into the corpse's mouth and twisted his wrist, tearing the rotted lips free with two short pulls.
"When you reach the North, these old swords and rags stay behind," I said, looking at the sword buried in the ground and at Ulmer's holed boots as he returned dragging the second body. "There you will receive new armour and forged weapons."
Harwyn wiped the blood from the dagger on his own torn trousers and sheathed the blade.
"Right, my friends. That's it," I said, adjusting Truth's sheath on my belt. "Go to the coast of Blackwater Bay and hide. You will know when it is time to take to the sea."
Wenda adjusted the full quiver on her back. The scar on her cheek pulled.
"How will you find us?" Wenda asked, narrowing her green eyes at my face. "If we light a fire on the slope to signal, the Crown's fleet will sink us."
The loud beat of wings cut through the sound of the wind in the canopy. A black shape descended through the oak leaves. Hugin landed on my right shoulder. The raven's sharp talons drove into the leather of my doublet. The bird let out a loud croak, stretched its neck and fixed its round eyes in the woman's direction.
"Hugin will find you," I said, raising my right hand and running my index finger along the dark feathers of the raven's chest. "Be at ease."
Wenda narrowed her green eyes at the bird's talons digging into my doublet leather. The scar on her cheek pulled. She alternated her gaze between the silent raven and my face, pressed her thin lips together and nodded, keeping her questions to herself.
"Toyne. Harwyn," I said, nodding toward the Brotherhood's leader and the disfigured swordsman. I shifted my eyes to the scouts digging the bank at the back and to the giant beside the canvas. "Ulmer, Fletcher, Ben. Finish the work here. We will see each other in the North."
I turned my back on the clearing. The mud sucked at the soles of my boots.
"Kevin, Morghaz, Belzakar, Perseu," I called, walking toward the dense trees. "Our task here is done. We return to King's Landing."
Dry leaves cracked under our steps. Fenrir pushed through a bush with his broad muzzle, tearing the dry branches to open a path ahead. Hela leapt without sound onto a moss-covered root, matching our pace.
Morghaz fell into step at my side. The fingers of his right hand tightened around the shaft of the new spear.
"Are you certain about them, Arthur?" Morghaz asked. The warrior's dark eyes fixed on my profile. His jaw remained straight. "You are trusting the rear guard to criminals from the forest."
"Be at ease, Morghaz," I replied, pushing aside a low ash branch with the back of my glove. "I know their nature. I know exactly how each mind back there works. I would never accept as allies men I could not trust in that way."
Morghaz gave a single nod, relaxing the tension in the fingers around the wood.
We walked to the oaks where the horses waited tied. I untied the blind knot of leather. The animal snorted, striking its front hoof on the loose earth. I stepped into the stirrup and pulled my body up into the saddle. Kevin, Morghaz, Belzakar and Perseu mounted just behind. The creak of leather and the ring of iron against hooves broke the hiss of the wind.
I pressed my heels to the mount's flanks and guided the route north, turning the reins toward the Kingsroad.
The sunlight vanished behind the canopy. The packed dirt of the Kingsroad gave way to the irregular stones of King's Landing's walls. The horses' hooves struck loud against the paving.
The smell of the capital hit our faces. A mixture of sewage, rotten fish and smoke from wet timber came down the hill. Fenrir sneezed twice, shaking his thick neck. Hela pressed her body against my horse's flank.
The King's Gate stood open. Guards in golden cloaks collected toll from carts loaded with ale barrels. When the five warhorses crossed the stone arch, the patrol men pulled their spears back. No one asked for coin.
"Tie the horses at the back of the inn and come up," I ordered for Perseu, Kevin, Belzakar and Morghaz, pulling the reins in front of the stable.
I climbed the stairs. The old wood creaked under the weight of my boots. I opened the door to my room. The hearth showed only orange embers in the stone.
Eldric's silhouette detached from the shadow in the corner of the wall. The thick fabric of the black cloak brushed the floorboards.
"The smoke rose," Eldric said. The voice came out low. "The patrols on the walls have already seen the fire from the Kingswood."
"The Brotherhood is finished," I replied, releasing the belt buckle. Truth and the dagger weighed as I threw the leather onto the table. "Now they work for us. They are already heading to the coast. And Tobho Mott forges for the North from today."
Eldric nodded. He walked to the oak table and rested his gloved hand on the wood.
"I found the smuggler at the docks," the spy continued. "Davos. He heard the proposal. Refused the gold. Wants to see your face before risking his neck in an agreement."
I untied the leather laces of my doublet. The city's dampness stuck the clothes to my skin.
"I need a fast boat with no flag to take Toyne's men to White Harbor," I said, pulling the heavy fabric over my head. "His distrust is good. It's what we need."
"He has been evading the Crown's fleet for years," Eldric noted.
"I will speak with him tomorrow," I confirmed. I threw the doublet onto the chair. "Where is he?"
"Shadowblack Cove," Eldric replied. "Half a league north of the city, out of sight of the guards. The ship has dark sails and a shallow hull."
Eldric pulled the black hood over his hair.
"I take the road tomorrow at dawn," the spy said. He turned the iron door handle. "The Westerlands."
I stopped in front of the tub of cold water.
"Clegane's Holdfast?" I asked, crossing my bare arms. "You're going for the boy."
"Sandor," Eldric confirmed, fixing his eyes on mine. "The burns on his face should be able to handle horseback travel by now. He hates the elder brother. There is nothing keeping the boy in that household now."
I plunged my hands into the cold water of the tub and threw it onto my face. The soot from the forge and the forest mud ran into the wooden basin.
"Bring him," I ordered, shaking the water from my fingers.
Eldric took a step forward, stopping a hand's width from me. He extended his arm, gripping my right forearm firmly, while I held his with my left hand. The grip was strong, firm, the contact between the gloves and the skin. He pulled my body close, chest meeting mine, in a gesture of trust and pact.
"Be careful with that smuggler," Eldric murmured, releasing my arm and slapping his open palm against my back. "He seems to have more instinct than most lords."
"I can handle it," I replied, feeling the weight of the grip still on my skin.
Eldric nodded. The spy pulled the door open. The wood closed with a metallic click in the corridor, leaving the room in the silence of the embers.
The embers crackled in the hearth stone. I walked to the window and pushed the curtain fabric aside. The street below was still noisy, filled with drunks and wooden carts.
The cold wind seeped through the cracks, hitting my still-damp skin. Fenrir raised his head on the mattress. The wolf's yellow eyes followed my movement.
"Tomorrow," I said, throwing the cloth towel over the edge of the tub.
I went to the table. The dark undulations of the Valyrian steel of my dagger reflected the red firelight. I reattached the weapon and Truth to the leather belt. I pulled off my boots, letting the dirty soles strike the floorboards, and lay on the mattress. The exhaustion sank my shoulders into the heavy covers.
The sleep lasted only a few hours. I woke when the sky still showed a dark grey tone. Mist covered the window glass.
I got up. I dressed in clean thick wool trousers and a plain leather doublet. I fastened the belt buckle with the weapons and pulled a hood over my head.
"Stay here," I ordered the wolf and the lynx. Hela set her chin on her front paws, scratching the thick rug.
I went down the inn stairs in the dark. The hall smelled of old ale and damp floor. I pushed the wooden door and stepped into the street.
The morning wind in King's Landing carried the smell of salt and garbage. The mist rose from the docks, swallowing the outlines of houses on the hill. I went down the slope at a long stride, skirting the city wall from the outside, leaving the King's Gate behind.
The sound of waves breaking on rocks overcame the noise of the city. Shadowblack Cove was isolated, protected by a natural stone wall. The smell of dead fish and rotting wood dominated the cold air.
In the midst of the mist, the silhouette of a ship swayed in the shallow water. The dark hull merged with the shadow of the rock. The sails were rolled on the masts. No lantern burned on the deck.
I stopped at the edge of the irregular plank dock. The anchor groaned, pulling the iron chain at the ship's bow.
"Davos," I called. The voice came out straight, cutting through the sound of the water.
A shape separated from the main mast. The man walked to the ship's edge. He wore worn leather boots and a dark wool coat. His face showed deep lines in the cheeks and a short beard wet from the drizzle. He stopped a few meters away. The brown eyes measured my hood and the leather of my belt.
"The man in the black cloak didn't lie about the length of your sword," the sailor said. The voice rasped rough in his throat, the calm, drawling tone of Flea Bottom. He rested his bare hands on the soaked railing.
"My name is Arthur Snow," I replied, keeping my boots firm on the wet dock planks.
"Winterfell's bastard," Davos said. He wiped the drizzle from his face with the back of his hand. "Far from the snow, milord."
"I came looking for ships and captains who know how to operate in the dark," I said. "You have the talent to bypass the Crown's fleet and avoid the patrols. I want your helm working for my band. A permanent recruitment."
Davos shook his head slowly. His shoulders dropped slightly.
"I am not a soldier, milord," the sailor answered, maintaining the respectful address despite my bastard name. "Lords play their own games and men like me drown to pay the bill. I have a wife, Marya. I have a young boy, Dale. The dark hold of this ship gives me silver to put bread on their table. Entangling my neck in castle intrigues does not protect my family."
"The smuggling has an exact time limit," I replied, keeping my posture straight. "Sooner or later, the King's galleys will sink your hull, or a lord's justice will cost you the fingers on your hand. Join us. The North has room for men who know how to sail. Marya and Dale will have a solid home. Land, timber and a secure roof near White Harbor, free from the jurisdiction of the Red Keep and the gold cloaks."
Davos went silent. His knuckles tightened on the wet dock wood. The mention of land and a secure roof weighed on the man's breathing. He looked at the thick mist covering the open sea, rubbed his thin beard and then fixed his eyes on me.
"A Stark's promise carries weight at the docks," Davos murmured. "But lords don't hand over land and protection out of charity. What is the cargo you need me to carry to justify that price?"
"Six men," I confirmed. "Armed. They will embark at a hidden point on the coast of Blackwater Bay. You take the coast by sea and offload the crew in the North. Your ship will fly no flag."
"Six men fleeing King's Landing by isolated beaches," Davos assessed, his voice cautious. "If a patrol ship stops me with road scum stuffed in the hold, the King hangs me and my crew before the end of the afternoon."
"The Crown's patrols hunt galleons and heavy ships," I said. "Your boat has a shallow hull and dark canvas on the sails. You cross the Narrow Sea with holds full of contraband every month and have never been caught. The risk of this voyage to the North is the same as the one you run crossing the waters every moon. Except the final reward takes your family out of King's Landing's filth for good."
The vessel rocked left, pushed by the tide. The chains groaned.
"Do those men follow your orders?" Davos asked, narrowing his eyes in my direction. "A deck in the middle of the sea is too small a place if they decide to cut my throat to take the ship."
"Every step they take on your planks is a step of mine," I replied, looking directly into the smuggler's lined face. "I hold their leash. You have my word."
Davos drew in the cold air. His chest filled under the wool of the coat. He did not unroll the rope ladder. His calloused hands stayed on the wet wood railing.
"A promise of lands in the North carries weight," Davos said, his voice rasping over the sound of water against the hull. "But I don't tie my neck or my crew's in a blind agreement. My boat only goes up the coast after I look into my wife's eyes. Come back tomorrow before the tide fills. You will have your answer."
"I accept the terms," I replied. "Men who put family above the weight of silver keep their word. I know your honour, Davos. The sea needs good men. Tomorrow I will be here."
Davos gave a single, silent nod. I turned my back and left the dock. The crack of my boots on the rotten planks and wet stones accompanied my climb back toward the city.
The mist began to thin on the hillside. I skirted the natural stone wall and took the irregular street cutting through the base of Aegon's Hill. The movement of fishmongers and carts already filled the edges of the narrow road.
A wall of steel cut across the passage at a crossroads entrance.
Six guards in the black and red cloaks of House Targaryen held iron-tipped spears resting on the stones. At their front, a knight wore white enamelled scale armour that reflected the weak light of the overcast sky. The snow cloak fell heavy and clean over the broad shoulders. The face marked by age and old scars held the rigid bearing of a veteran. One step behind the white-clad man, Varys kept his smooth hands folded inside the wide sleeves of purple silk. The smell of sweet powder and rosewater pushed back the stench of fish and brine from the alley.
"Arthur Snow," Varys's thin, polished voice sounded over the noise of the fair. The eunuch bent his bald head in an excessive greeting. The smile shaped itself on the soft face. "King Aerys demands your presence in the throne room. Immediately."
The warrior in white scales stepped forward.
"I am Ser Barristan Selmy," the Kingsguard knight introduced himself. The voice echoed deep and straight. "We will accompany your steps to the castle."
"I will walk with you," I said, nodding to the knight.
The escort turned on its heels and began the march uphill, toward the Red Keep. Boots and steel plates beat a steady military rhythm on the cobblestones. Ser Barristan took the right flank. Varys walked at my left. The Master of Whisperers' velvet soles glided over the stones without making a sound.
"The salt wind from the docks tends to be unkind to the skin in the mornings," Varys commented, keeping his gaze on the steep hill ahead. "A very curious place for Lord Stark's son to walk alone before breakfast. The fish market hides too many secrets beneath its scales."
"The North accustomed me to the cold, Lord Varys," I replied, fixing my eyes on the top of the street. "The high pavements of the capital smell of rotted refuse and fresh piss. The dock is the only place in this city that lets you clean your lungs with clear air."
Varys widened his loose smile. He rubbed his hands beneath the purple silk and fell silent.
The guards' leather sheaths struck the steel of their greaves. Ser Barristan Selmy kept his chin raised. The mail-gloved hand of the knight rested motionless on the pommel of his longsword.
"The smoke rose high over the Kingswood in the early hours," Barristan said, breaking the rhythm of the boots. "The wall patrols reported the firelight only a few hours before your men crossed the King's Gate. Is your hunt finished, Arthur?"
"The camp burned down to ash," I confirmed.
Ser Barristan tightened his fingers on the sword's guard. The white armour hissed with the movement of his chest.
"The Kingswood Brotherhood," the knight asked, turning his face to look at me. "You found them in the forest?"
"We found them," I replied. "They will not trouble the King again."
We climbed the rest of the hill. The sun broke through the clouds, striking the reddish stone of the Red Keep's walls. We crossed the heavy bronze gates. The sounds of the fairs and dirty streets were left outside, replaced by the echo of the guards' boots striking the limestone courtyard.
Ser Barristan led the march to the double doors of oak and bronze of the Great Hall. Two white cloaks of the Kingsguard pushed the heavy wood. The sound of the hinges groaned loud.
The air inside the hall smelled of melted wax and spice incense. The space was immense, supported by dark pillars. At the far end of the room, the stone steps rose to the Iron Throne. The fused and twisted blades formed a mountain of black metal and sharp points, casting a long, jagged shadow on the floor.
Aerys Targaryen sat at the top. The King wore a heavy gold crown over his thin, tangled, long hair that fell over his bony shoulders. The nails of his hands, yellowed and curved like dirty claws, scraped the swords fused into the arm of the seat. The skin of his face sank in the cheeks, pale almost to translucency, making the wide purple eyes stand out.
Two other members of the Kingsguard held position at the base of the steps, motionless in their enamelled armour.
Varys stopped in the center of the hall and bent forward. The purple silks swept the stone floor. Ser Barristan Selmy struck his fist against his white breastplate and lowered his head. I kept my shoulders straight, my arms relaxed at my sides, and inclined my chin in a short movement.
"The bastard of the North," King Aerys's voice broke the silence. The sound rasped in his throat, sharp and dry. The long nails clicked on the throne's iron. "I saw the smoke from my balcony. I saw the black smoke dirtying my sky. They told me the forest was burning."
"We set fire to the Brotherhood's camp, Your Majesty," I said, projecting my voice to reach the top of the staircase. "The fire consumed the wood, the tents and the filth."
Aerys leaned his thin body forward. The red cloak with the three-headed dragon slipped from his shoulder. The purple eyes narrowed.
"The trees burn," Aerys murmured, rubbing his right thumb against the tips of his other nails. "Wood turns to ash. But the flesh, the flesh melts too. Where is the flesh, boy? The rats were stealing my gold on the roads. Where are the bodies?"
"The entire band is dead," I replied, keeping my gaze fixed on the king's gaunt face. "One of the scouts tried to escape down the slope and bled out on the earth. The rest fell in the center of the camp. To ensure no disease spread through the capital's surroundings from the putrefaction of the flesh, we poured boiling oil and set fire to the corpses. We built a pyre in the clearing."
King Aerys scratched the side of his pale neck. His breathing hissed in the silent hall.
"Simon Toyne's iron plate with the winged heart melted on the chest of the corpse at the center of the fire," I added. "Oswyn Longneck's face is the only one that remained recognizable. A Crown patrol can ride to the site and collect the bones mixed with the black earth at the base of the bank."
Varys turned his soft face in my direction. The thin smile disappeared.
Aerys raised his right hand. The king rubbed his yellowed nail against his pointed chin and let out a short laugh that sounded more like a dry choke.
"Fire," Aerys whispered, the word escaping through his thin teeth. He loosened his bony shoulders against the back of twisted blades. "Fire resolves the filth. Fire cleans the rot. Your steel drew blood and your torch cleaned my roads, bastard."
Ser Barristan glanced at the sharp points of the throne, his posture straight and controlled.
"Was Rhaegar's payment for the service enough?" Aerys asked, his voice swinging from a whisper to a sudden loud tone. "The Crown owes nothing to the North."
"The debt is paid, Your Majesty," I replied. "The routes are clear."
Aerys slapped his open hand on the throne arm. The echo struck the hall walls.
"Go," the king ordered, dismissing the presence with a quick wave of his yellowed nails. "The City Watch will ride to the forest to collect that burned filth. I want the winged heart hanging on the city gate until the rust eats the iron."
Aerys fixed his eyes on the shadows of the ceiling, rubbing his hands together frantically. His breathing filled the hall with a failing sound.
I stepped back and turned on my heels. My boots struck the limestone of the Great Hall. I pushed the oak doors and gained the courtyard, leaving the incense smoke and the figure on the iron throne behind.
The oak doors struck my back with a thud of thick wood. The cold courtyard air hit my face, clearing the smell of incense and burned wax from my lungs.
I adjusted the leather belt at my waist, driving my boots toward the main gate. Two figures crossed the stone arch of the opposite corridor, blocking my route.
Rhaegar Targaryen led the pace. The straight silver hair reflected the sunlight. He wore a black doublet with the three-headed dragon embroidered in red thread on the chest. One step behind him, the white plates of Ser Arthur Dayne's armour clinked softly. The pale sheath of Dawn rested at the knight's hip, secured over the snow cloak.
The prince's steps stopped on the stones. His light eyebrows rose. His jaw tightened immediately, locking the face in a rigid mask, but the thin lips pulled into a brief smile.
"I believe my father called for you," Rhaegar said, his polished, clean voice sounding across the courtyard.
I stopped two steps away.
"Yes, my prince," I replied.
"If you are still here, it means your hunt was a success," Rhaegar continued. He crossed his arms over the silk of his chest. "I am pleased by that. Tell me, Arthur. Have you thought about what we discussed? Staying for my wedding?"
"I would not miss it for anything, my prince."
"I am glad to hear that, my friend." Rhaegar's smile marked the corners of his eyes. "I will introduce you to my wife afterward. Something tells me you and her family will get along well."
"It will be an honour, my prince."
"I will send an invitation to the inn where you are staying," Rhaegar said, adjusting the dark gloves on his hands. "The paper will guarantee entry to the banquet for you and your men. Now I must go. Dorne's delegation arrives at the capital today for the wedding and I need to receive them at the gates."
Rhaegar gave a nod and resumed walking toward the great hall doors. The soft leather soles barely produced sound on the stones.
Ser Arthur Dayne did not follow the prince immediately. The white scale armour clicked as the knight shifted his weight forward. The Sword of the Morning's serious face broke into a light, open smile. He extended his right hand.
"The prince is not the only one relieved about the clear roads," Dayne said, his voice clean and cordial, without the weariness that marked most of the city's guards. "The Crown would have sent us into the Kingswood before month's end. You spared our white cloaks from dragging chainmail through the mud after Simon Toyne. The realm thanks you for the service."
I extended my hand and gripped his. The friction of my leather rasped against the steel rings of the knight's mail in a firm, warm greeting.
"I did the work they commissioned, Ser Arthur," I replied, releasing his hand.
"We share the first name," the white knight continued. His violet eyes rested for a brief moment on the dark leather of my sword's hilt, before returning to my face. "And, from what the ravens say, we share the same appreciation for a well-forged blade. It will be a pleasure to share a cup of wine with you at the banquet and talk without the weight of the road on our backs. Until then, my friend."
"Until then, Ser Arthur."
Dayne turned on his heels and followed the shadow of the heir to the throne. Dawn's sheath swayed at his hip, cutting through the cold courtyard breeze.
I continued the march. The soles of my boots scraped the limestone, guiding the path back to the lower city.