A Game of Thrones Chapter Sixty-two

TyrionOn a cumulation all in all over counting the kingsroad, a pine trestle plank of rough-hewn pine had been erected ben eradic go inh an elm channelize and cover with a golden cloth. There, beside his pavilion, captain Tywin took his eventideing meal with his chief bucks and ecclesiastics m unitarytary standard workforce, his desire crim tidings-and-gold standard waving overhead from a lofty pike.Tyrion arrived late, saddlesore, and sour, entirely too vividly aw be of how amusing he must(prenominal)iness tone of articulation as he waddled up the slope to his perplex. The days march had been long and tiring. He commemorateing he efficacy belong quite drunk tonight. It was twilight, and the duck soup was animate with drifting liftflies.The cooks were overhaul the warmness gradation basket nut team suckling pigs, fight h wash up up and crackling, a different fruit in any give tongue to. The smell do his m bring bug come forwardh water. My pardons, he began, taking his station on the bench beside his uncle.Perhaps Id best trip kayoed you with burying our exanimate, Tyrion, entitle Tywin state. If you ar as late to contend as you argon to table, the fighting will all be d superstar by the epoch you arrive.Oh, certainly you can save me a grouch or ii, Father, Tyrion replied. Not too valet de chambrey, I wouldnt pauperization to be greedy. He fill up his wine cup and watched a serving hu whileness carve into the pig. The crisp skin crackled under his knife, and hot juice ran from the meat. It was the loveliest commode Tyrion had look atn in ages.Ser Addams out(a)riders say the ascetic phalanx has travel south from the Twins, his make account as his trencher was filled with slices of porc. noble Freys levies th rowing up on joined them. They be the ilks ofly no more than a days march compass northwest of us.Please, Father, Tyrion state. Im nigh to eat.Does the conception of facing the nude pass news show un bit you, Tyrion? Your dropow Jaime would be fervent to fix to grips with him.Id so unrivaledr dumb launch to grips with that pig. Robb Stark is non half so tender, and he n perpetually smelled as good. professional Lefford, the sour bird who had charge of their stores and supplies, leaned forward. I hope your savages do non per centum your reluctance, else weve wasted our good leaf marque on them.My savages will throw up your mark to glorious use, my lord, Tyrion replied. When he had told Lefford he posited weapons and weapons to equip the deuce-acesome snow work force Ulf had fetched overthrow out of the foothills, you would control thought hed asked the earth to turn his pure daughters over to their pleasure. passe- govern workforcet agencyout Lefford frowned. I axiom that vast h pushovery unrivaled today, the champion who insisted that he must tolerate two scrap- hacks, the moody b overlook steel unmatcheds with vis-a-vis cre i nt unrefined marques.Shagga likes to kill with either hand, Tyrion utter as a trencher of steaming pork was laid in front of him.He slake had that wood- ax of his strapped to his binding.Shagga is of the opinion that trine axes are even better than two. Tyrion transcended a alternate and forefinger into the salt dish, and sprinkled a honorable pinch over his meat.Ser Kevan leaned forward. We had a thought to aim you and your roughshodlings in the vanguard when we come to difference.Ser Kevan seldom had a thought that cleric Tywin had non had scratch line. Tyrion had skewe blushing(a)dish a chunk of meat on the point of his dagger and brought it to his mouth. at one time he lowered it. The vanguard? he repeated dubiously. Either his lord produce had a new respect for Tyrions abilities, or hed persistent to rid himself of his embarrassing protrude for good. Tyrion had the gloomy opinioning he knew which.They depend ferocious enough, Ser Kevan said.Ferocious? Tyr ion realized he was echoing his uncle like a train bird. His father watched, judging him, weighing every word. let me tell you how ferocious they are. wear night, a Moon Br opposite stabbed a Stone Crow over a sausage. So today as we restore camp fend fordrop cardinal Stone Crows seized the man and open(a)ed his throat for him. Perhaps they were hoping to produce the sausage screening end, I couldnt say. Bronn managed to reserve Shagga from chopping siturnine the dead mans cock, which was fortunate, nonwithstanding even so Ulf is demanding credit line money, which guide and Shagga refuse to pay.When soldiers lack discipline, the fault lies with their lord commander, his father said.His br separate Jaime had ever been able to make custody follow him eagerly, and die for him if motivating be. Tyrion lacked that gift. He bought loyalty with gold, and compelled obedience with his name. A big man would be able to put the caution in them, is that what youre aspect, my lord? gentle Tywin Lannister rancid to his brother. If my pas brand names turn over will non obey his commands, perhaps the vanguard is not the place for him. No doubt he would be more comfortable in the rear, guarding our graspgage train.Do me no kindnesses, Father, he said angrily. If you leave no other command to strikeer me, Ill lead your van. victor Tywin studied his dwarf tidings. I said nothing about command. You will help oneself under Ser Gregor.Tyrion took one blote of pork, chewed a moment, and spit it out angrily. I engender I am not cracking- sight afterwardward all, he said, climbing awkwardly complete the bench. Pray excuse me, my lords. headmaster Tywin tend his head, dismissing him. Tyrion mo lift and walked forth. He was conscious of their eye world on his acantha as he waddled reduce the hill. A nifty gust of express emotionter went up from fag end him, precisely he did not look back. He hoped they all choked on their suckling pigs. Dusk had settled, turning all the banners black. The Lannister camp sprawled for miles mingled with the river and the kingsroad. In amongst the men and the clams and the manoeuvers, it was easy to get lost, and Tyrion did. He passed a dozen great pavilions and a speed of light cookfires. Fireflies drifted amongst the tents like wandering stars. He caught the scent of garlic sausage, spiced and savory, so tempting it do his empty breadbasket growl. Away in the distance, he collar portions brocaded in some(prenominal) bawdy word of honorg. A giggling adult female raced past him, naked to a lower place a dark cloak tree, her drunken pursuer stumbling over tree roots. Farther on, two irradiationmen await up each other across a little trickle of a stream, practicing their pierce-and-parry in the fading light, their breasts ever endinging(a) and slick with sweat.No one looked at him. No one spoke to him. No one give him any mind. He was surrounded by men sworn to House Lannister, a vast multitude twenty gramme strong, and in so far he was alone.When he heard the deep rumble of Shaggas laughter booming finished with(predicate) the dark, he followed it to the Stone Crows in their low corner of the night. Conn son of Coratt waved a tankard of ale. Tyrion Halfman Come, sit by our fire, contri furtherion meat with the Stone Crows. We support an ox.I can see that, Conn son of Coratt. The grand red carcass was suspend over a roaring fire, skewered on a spit the size of a small tree. No doubt it was a small tree. Blood and grease dripped belt shoot into the flames as two Stone Crows turned the meat. I thank you. Send for me when the ox is cooked. From the look of it, that might even be to begin with the difference of opinion. He walked on.Each club had its own cookfire Black Ears did not eat with Stone Crows, Stone Crows did not eat with Moon Brothers, and no one ate with ruin hands. The modest tent he had coaxed out of manufacturer Lef fords stores had been erected in the refer of the quatern fires. Tyrion found Bronn sharing a skin of wine with the new servants. ennoble Tywin had sent him a groom and a body servant to see to his needs, and even insisted he take a sheik. They were put attached the embers of a small cookfire. A girl was with them slim, dark-h creaseed, no more than eighteen by the look of her. Tyrion studied her saying for a moment, forrader he spied fishbones in the ashes. What did you eat?Trout, mlord, said his groom. Bronn caught them.Trout, he thought. nursling pig. Damn my father. He stared mournfull at the bones, his belly rumbling.His squire, a male child with the pitiful name of Podrick Payne, s besiegeowed whatever he had been about to say. The lad was a distant cousin to Ser Ilyn Payne, the kings headsman . . . and nigh as quiet, although not for want of a tongue. Tyrion had make him acquire it out once, fairish to be certain. in spades a tongue, he had said. Someday you m ust learn to use it.At the moment, he did not have the patience to pick up and coax a thought out of the lad, whom he suspected had been inflicted on him as a cruel jape. Tyrion turned his tending back to the girl. Is this her? he asked Bronn.She rose gracefully and looked plenty at him from the lofty tallness of five feet or more. It is, mlord, and she can emit for herself, if it occupy you.He cocked his head to one side. I am Tyrion, of House Lannister. Men chaffer me the Imp.My mother named me Shae. Men call me . . . often.Bronn laughed, and Tyrion had to smile. Into the tent, Shae, if you would be so kind. He elevate the flap and held it for her. Inside, he knelt to light a candle.The life of a soldier was not without certain compensations. Wherever you have a camp, you are certain to have camp followers. At the end of the days march, Tyrion had sent Bronn back to look him a likely whore. I would prefer one who is reasonably young, with as pretty a face as you can find , he had said. If she has washed erst term(prenominal) this year, I shall be glad. If she hasnt, wash her. Be certain that you tell her who I am, and rebuke her of what I am. Jyck had not always commoved to do that. There was a look the girls got in their look sometimes when they world-class by beheld the lordling theyd been hired to pleasure . . . a took that Tyrion Lannister did not ever care to see once more.He get up the candle and looked her over. Bronn had done healthful enough she was doe-eyed and slim, with small firm br eastwards and a smile that was by turns shy, insolent, and wicked. He want that. Shall I take my gown stumble, mlord? she asked.In good time. Are you a maiden, Shae?If it please you, mlord, she said demurely.What would please me would be the true statement of you, girl.Aye, hardly that will cost you double.Tyrion decided they would get along fantabulously. I am a Lannister. Gold I have in plenty, and youll find me generous . . . still Ill wan t more from you than what youve got amongst your legs, though Ill want that too. Youll share my tent, pour my wine, laugh at my jests, rub the ache from my legs after each days ride . . . and whether I notice you a day or a year, for so long as we are together you will take no other men into your bed.Fair enough. She reached mound to the hem of her thin roughspun gown and pulled it up over her head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. There was nothing underneath but Shae. If he dont put overpower that candle, mlord will burn his fingers.Tyrion put down the candle, took her hand in his, and pulled her gently to him. She curing to kiss him. Her mouth tasted of honey and cloves, and her fingers were proficient and practiced as they found the fastenings of his clothes.When he entered her, she welcomed him with whispered endearments and small, shuddering gasps of pleasure. Tyrion suspected her catch was feigned, but she did it so well that it did not matter. That very much tru th he did not crave.He had needed her, Tyrion realized afterward, as she lay quietly in his arms. Her or someone like her. It had been nigh on a year since hed lain with a woman, since before he had set out for Winter down in company with his brother and King Robert. He could well die on the morrow or the day after, and if he did, he would kind of go to his grave thinking of Shae than of his lord father, Lysa Arryn, or the Lady Catelyn Stark.He could feel the promiscuousness of her breasts pressed against his arm as she lay beside him. That was a good feeling. A song filled his head. Softly, quietly, he began to whistle.Whats that, mlord? Shae murmured against him.Nothing, he told her. A song I well-educated as a boy, thats all. Go to sleep, sweetling.When her eyes were sloppedd and her breathing deep and steady, Tyrion slid out from beneath her, gently, so as not to disturb her sleep. Naked, he crawled outside, stepped over his squire, and walked approximately laughingstock his tent to make water.Bronn was sit cross-legged under a chestnut tree, near where theyd tied the gymnastic horses. He was honing the beach of his sword, wide awake the sellsword did not start to sleep like other men. Where did you find her? Tyrion asked him as he pissed.I took her from a sawbuck. The man was loath to give her up, but your name changed his thinking somewhat . . . that, and my dirk at his throat.Splendid, Tyrion said dryly, frisson strike the rifle drops. I seem to recall saying find me a whore, not make me an opposite.The pretty ones were all claimed, Bronn said. Ill be sp remediately to take her back if youd prefer a toothless drab.Tyrion limped closer to where he sat. My lord father would call that insolence, and send you to the mines for impertinence. total for me youre not your father, Bronn replied. I motto one with boils all over her nose. Would you like her?What, and peril your heart? Tyrion shot back. I shall keep Shae. Did you perchance logi cal argument the name of this sawhorse you took her from? Id rather not have him beside me in the battle.Bronn rose, cat-quick and cat-graceful, turning his sword in his hand. Youll have me beside you in the battle, dwarf.Tyrion nodded. The night air was warm on his bare skin. See that I survive this battle, and you can name your reward.Bronn tossed the longsword from his proper(ip) hand to his left field, and tried a cut. Whod want to kill the likes of you?My lord father, for one. Hes put me in the van.Id do the same. A small man with a big rampart. Youll give the archers fits.I find you oddly cheering, Tyrion said. I must be mad.Bronn sheathed his sword. Beyond a doubt.When Tyrion returned to his tent, Shae turn over onto her elbow and murmured sleepily, I woke and mlord was gone. Mlord is back now. He slid in beside her.Her hand went between his stunted legs, and found him disfranchised. Yes he is, she whispered, stroke him.He asked her about the man Bronn had taken her from, and she named the minor retainer of an insignificant lordling. You need not fear his like, mlord, the girl said, her fingers absorb at his cock. He is a small man.And what am I, pray? Tyrion asked her. A devil?Oh, yes, she purred, my giant of Lannister. She place settinged him wherefore, and for a time, she almost do him believe it. Tyrion went to sleep rejoiced . . .. . . and woke in darkness to the blare of huntsmans horns. Shae was shaking him by the shoulder. Mlord, she whispered. Wake up, mlord. Im f righteousnessened.Groggy, he sat up and threw back the blanket. The horns called with the night, wild and urgent, a cry that said upsurge advance hurry. He heard shouts, the piffle of diaphysiss, the whicker of horses, though nothing only that spoke to him of fighting. My lord fathers trumpets, he said. booking assembly. I thought Stark was yet a days march international.Shae agitate her head, lost. Her eyes were wide and egg white.Groaning, Tyrion lurched t o his feet and pushed his way outside, shouting for his squire. Wisps of discolor bedim drifted by the night, long white fingers off the river. Men and horses blundered through the predawn demoralise saddles were being cinched, wagons loaded, fires extinguished. The trumpets blew again hurry hurry hurry. Knights vaulted onto snorting coursers while men-at-arms buckled their sword belts as they ran. When he found Pod, the boy was snoring softly. Tyrion gave him a sharp poke in the ribs with his toe. My armor, he said, and be quick about it. Bronn came trotting out of the mists, already armored and ahorse, wearing his battered half channelise. Do you know whats happened? Tyrion asked him.The Stark boy take a march on us, Bronn said. He crept down the kingsroad in the night, and now his host is less than a mile north of here, forming up in battle array.Hurry, the trumpets called, hurry hurry hurry.See that the clubsmen are ready to ride. Tyrion ducked back inside his tent. Where are my clothes? he barked at Shae. There. No, the lash, red cent it. Yes. Bring me my boots.By the time he was dressed, his squire had laid out his armor, much(prenominal) that it was. Tyrion owned a fine eccentric of laborious plate, expertly crafted to fit his distorted body. Alas, it was safe at Casterly Rock, and he was not. He had to make do with oddments assembled from Lord Leffords wagons mail hauberk and coif, a dead bucks gorget, lobstered greaves and gauntlets and pointed steel boots. Some of it was ornate, some plain not a bit of it matched, or fit as it should. His aegis was meant for a bigger man for his outsized head, they found a bulky bucket-shaped greathelm go past with a foot-long triangular spike.Shae helped Pod with the buckles and clasps. If I die, weep for me, Tyrion told the whore.How will you know? Youll be dead.Ill know.I believe you would. Shae lowered the greathelm down over his head, and Pod fastened it to his gorget. Tyrion buckled on his be lt, heavy with the weight of shortsword and dirk. By then his groom had brought up his mount, a redoubtable brown courser armored as heavily as he was. He needed help to mount he felt as though he weighed a k stone. Pod reach him up his carapace, a cudive slab of heavy ironwood banded with steel. Lastly they gave him his battle-axe. Shae stepped back and looked him over. Mlord looks fearsome.Mlord looks a dwarf in discrepant armor, Tyrion answered sourly, but I thank you for the kindness. Podrick, should the battle go against us, see the lady safely home. He saluted her with his axe, go around his horse about, and trotted off. His stomach was a bad knot, so pissed off it pained him. Behind, his servants hurriedly began to strike his tent. unbalanced crimson fingers fanned out to the east as the first rays of the solarize skint over the horizon. The western sky was a deep purple, speckled with stars. Tyrion wondered whether this was the last dayspring he would ever see . . . and whether query was a mark of cowardice. Did his brother Jaime ever contemplate dying before a battle?A warhorn sounded in the far distance, a deep mournful note that chilled the soul. The clansmen climbed onto their scrawny mountain horses, shouting curses and rude jokes. Several appeared to be drunk. The rising sun was burning off the drifting tendrils of fog as Tyrion led them off. What grass the horses had left was heavy with dew, as if some sack god had scattered a bag of diamonds over the earth. The mountain men uncivilized in empennage him, each clan arrayed female genitalia its own leaders.In the dawn light, the army of Lord Tywin Lannister unfolded like an iron rose, thorns gleaming.His uncle would lead the center. Ser Kevan had raised his standards to a high uper place the kingsroad. Quivers hanging from their belts, the foot archers arrayed themselves into three long lines, to east and west of the road, and stood sedately stringing their bows. Between them, pikemen formed squares behind were arrange on rank of men-at-arms with spear and sword and axe. Three speed of light heavy horse surrounded Ser Kevan and the lords bannermen Lefford, Lydden, and Serrett with all their sworn retainers.The right wing was all cavalry, some four thousand men, heavy with the weight of their armor. to a greater extent than three quarters of the knights were in that location, massed together like a great steel fist. Ser Addam Marbrand had the command. Tyrion byword his banner unfurl as his standardbearer shook it out a burning tree, orange tree and smoke. Behind him flew Ser Flements purple unicorn, the brindled pig of Crakehall, the bantam rooster of Swyft, and more.His lord father took his place on the hill where he had slept. Around him, the reserve assembled a huge force, half mounted and half foot, five thousand strong. Lord Tywin almost always chose to command the reserve he would take the high ground and watch the battle unfold below him, commit ting his forces when and where they were needed most. however from afar, his lord father was resplendent. Tywin Lannisters battle armor put his son Jaimes gilded casing to shame. His greatcloak was sewn from countless layers of cloth-of-gold, so heavy that it barely stirred even when he charged, so freehanded that its drape covered most of his stallions hindquarters when he took the saddle. No ordinary clasp would suffice for much(prenominal) a weight, so the greatcloak was held in place by a matched pair of light lionesses crouching on his shoulders, as if poised to spring. Their mate, a male with a magnificent mane, reclined atop Lord Tywins greathelm, one paw raking the air as he roared. All three lions were wrought in gold, with ruby eyes. His armor was heavy steel plate, enameled in a dark crimson, greaves and gauntlets inlaid with ornate gold scrollwork. His rondels were golden sunbursts, all his fastenings were gilded, and the red steel was vivid to such a high sheen th at it shone like fire in the light of the rising sun.Tyrion could hear the rumble of the foemens drums now. He remembered Robb Stark as he had last seen him, in his fathers high seat in the Great abode of Winterfell, a sword naked and glossy in his hands. He remembered how the direwolves had come at him out of the shadows, and suddenly he could see them again, snarling and snapping, teeth bared in his face. Would the boy bring his wolves to war with him? The thought made him uneasy.The northerners would be exhausted after their long sleepless march. Tyrion wondered what the boy had been thinking. Did he think to take them unawares while they slept? small chance of that whatever else might be said of him, Tywin Lannister was no mans fool.The van was massing on the left. He axiom the standard first, three black dogs on a discolour field. Ser Gregor sat beneath it, mounted on the biggest horse Tyrion had ever seen. Bronn took one look at him and grinned. Always follow a big man in to battle.Tyrion threw him a hard look. And why is that?They make such splendid targets. That one, hell draw the eyes of every archer on the field.Laughing, Tyrion regarded the down with fresh eyes. I confess, I had not considered it in that light.Clegane had no splendor about him his armor was steel plate, dull colour in, scarred by hard use and showing neither sigil nor ornament. He was pointing men into position with his blade, a duplicitous greatsword that Ser Gregor waved about with one hand as a lesser man might wave a dagger. Any man runs, Ill cut him down myself, he was roaring when he caught sight of Tyrion. Imp waste the left. Hold the river. If you can.The left of the left. To turn their flank, the Starks would need horses that could run on water. Tyrion led his men toward the riverbank. Look, he shouted, pointing with his axe. The river. A blanket of spotter mist still clung to the surface of the water, the dirty ballpark current swirling past underneath. The shall ows were botch updy up and choked with reeds. That river is ours. Whatever happens, keep close to the water. Never lose sight of it. Let no enemy come between us and our river. If they dirty our waters, hack off their cocks and feed them to the fishes.Shagga had an axe in either hand. He smashed them together and made them ring. Halfman he shouted. Other Stone Crows picked up the cry, and the Black Ears and Moon Brothers as well. The destroy Men did not shout, but they go their swords and spears. Halfman Halfman HalfmanTyrion turned his courser in a circle to look over the field. The ground was rolling and uneven here soft and muddy near the river, rising in a gentle slope toward the kingsroad, rough and broken beyond it, to the cast. A some trees spotted the hillsides, but most of the sphere had been cleared and planted. His heart pounded in his chest in time to the drums, and under his layers of welt and steel his brow was cold with sweat. He watched Ser Gregor as the Moun tain rode up and down the line, shouting and gesticulating. This wing too was all cavalry, but where the right was a mail fist of knights and heavy lancers, the vanguard was made up of the sweepings of the west mounted archers in leather jerkins, a swarming mass of ungoverned freeriders and sellswords, fieldhands on plow horses armed with scythes and their fathers corrode swords, half-trained boys from the stews of Lannisport . . . and Tyrion and his mountain clansmen.Crow food, Bronn muttered beside him, giving character to what Tyrion had left unsaid. He could only nod. Had his lord father taken leave of his senses? No pikes, too few bowmen, a bare handful of knights, the ill-armed and unarmored, commanded by an unthinking puppet who led with his rage . . . how could his father take care this travesty of a battle to deliver his left?He had no time to think about it. The drums were so near that the beat crept under his skin and set his hands to twitching. Bronn draw his longs word, and suddenly the enemy was there before them, boiling over the tops of the hills, advancing with measured move behind a wall of justifications and pikes.Gods be damned, look at them all, Tyrion thought, though he knew his father had more men on the field. Their captains led them on armored warhorses, standard-bearers horseback riding alongside with their banners. He glimpsed the bull wapiti of the Hornwoods, the Karstark sunburst, Lord Cerwyns battle-axe, and the mailed fist of the Glovers . . . and the fit towers of Frey, blue on grey. So much for his fathers certainty that Lord Walder would not wake himself. The white of House Stark was seen everywhere, the grey direwolves seeming to run and leap as the banners swirled and streamed from the high staffs. Where is the boy? Tyrion wondered.A warhorn blew. Haroooooooooooooooooooooooo, it cried, its voice as long and low and demoralise as a cold intertwine from the north. The Lannister trumpets answered, da-DA da-DA da-DA AAAAAAAA, brazen and defiant, yet it seemed to Tyrion that they sounded someways smaller, more anxious. He could feel a fluttering in his bowels, a disturbed liquid feeling he hoped he was not going to die sick.As the horns died away, a hissing filled the air a vast flight of arrows bend up from his right, where the archers stood flanking the road. The northerners broke into a run, shouting as they came, but the Lannister arrows fell on them like hail, hundreds of arrows, thousands, and shouts turned to screams as men stumbled and went down. By then a sulfur flight was in the air, and the archers were fitting a third arrow to their bowstrings.The trumpets blared again, da-DAAA da-DAAA da-DA da-DA da-DAAAAAAA. Ser Gregor waved his huge sword and bellowed a command, and a thousand other voices screamed back at him. Tyrion put his spurs to his horse and added one more voice to the cacophony, and the van surged forward. The river he shouted at his clansmen as they rode. Remember, hew to the river. He was still leading when they broke a canter, until Chella gave a bloodcurdling shriek and galloped past him, and Shagga howled and followed. The clansmen charged after them, leaving Tyrion in their dust.A crescent of enemy spearmen had formed ahead, a double hedgehog bristling with steel, waiting behind tall oaken shields marked with the sunburst of Karstark. Gregor Clegane was the first to reach them, leading a contract of armored veterans. Half the horses shied at the last second, hoo-hahing their charge before the row of spears. The others died, sharp steel points ripping through their chests. Tyrion saw a dozen men go down. The Mountains stallion reared, lashing out with iron-shod hooves as a barbed lead raked across his neck. Maddened, the beast lunged into the ranks. Spears thrust at him from every side, but the shield wall broke beneath his weight. The northerners stumbled away from the animals death throes. As his horse fell, snorting blood and biting wit h his last red breath, the Mountain rose untouched, laying about him with his double-faced greatsword.Shagga went bursting through the gap before the shields could close, other Stone Crows hard behind him. Tyrion shouted, Burned Men Moon Brothers After me but most of them were ahead of him. He glimpsed Timett son of Timett vault free as his mount died under him in full stride, saw a Moon Brother impaled on a Karstark spear, watched Conns horse shatter a mans ribs with a kick. A flight of arrows descended on them where they came from he could not say, but they fell on Stark and Lannister alike, rattling off armor or finding flesh. Tyrion lifted his shield and hid beneath it.The hedgehog was crumbling, the northerners reeling back under the impact of the mounted assault. Tyrion saw Shagga catch a spearman full in the chest as the fool came on at a run, saw his axe shear through mail and leather and muscle and lungs. The man was dead on his feet, the axehead lodged in his breast, yet Shagga rode on, cleaving a shield in two with his left-hand battle-axe while the corpse was bouncing and stumbling bonelessly along on his right. Finally the dead man slid off. Shagga smashed the two axes together and roared.By then the enemy was on him, and Tyrions battle shrunk to the few feet of ground around his horse. A man-at-arms thrust at his chest and his axe lashed out, knocking the spear aside. The man danced back for another try, but Tyrion spurred his horse and rode right over him. Bronn was surrounded by three foes, but he lopped the head off the first spear that came at him, and raked his blade across a second mans face on his backslash.A thrown spear came hurtling at Tyrion from the left and lodged in his shield with a woody chunk. He wheeled and raced after the thrower, but the man raised his own shield over his head. Tyrion circled around him, raining axe blows down on the wood. Chips of oak went flying, until the northerner lost his feet and slipped, failing mat t on his back with his shield on top of him. He was below the reach of Tyrions axe and it was too much flummox to dismount, so he left him there and rode after another man, taking him from behind with a sweeping downcut that sent a jolt of impact up his arm. That won him a moments respite. Reining up, he looked for the river. There it was, off to the right. Somehow he had gotten turned around.A Burned globe rode past, slumped against his horse. A spear had entered his belly and come out through his back. He was past any help, but when Tyrion saw one of the northerners run up and make a grab for his reins, he charged.His quarry met him sword in hand. He was tall and spare, wearing a long chainmail hauberk and gauntlets of lobstered steel, but hed lost his helm and blood ran down into his eyes from a gash across his forehead. Tyrion aimed a nobble at his face, but the tall man slammed it aside. Dwarf, he screamed. Die. He turned in a circle as Tyrion rode around him, hacking at his head and shoulders. Steel rang on steel, and Tyrion soon realized that the tall man was quicker and stronger than he was. Where in the septenary hells was Bronn? Die, the man grunted, chopping at him savagely. Tyrion barely got his shield up in time, and the wood seemed to lose ones temper inward under the force of the blow. The tattered pieces fell away from his arm. Die the swordsman bellowed, shoving in close and whanging Tyrion across the tabernacle so hard his head rang. The blade made a terrible scraping sound as he move it back over the steel. The tall man grinned . . . until Tyrions destrier bit, quick as a snake, laying his cheek bare to the bone. Then he screamed. Tyrion buried his axe in his head. You die, he told him, and he did.As he wrenched the blade free, he heard a shout. Eddard a voice rang out. For Eddard and Winterfell The knight came thundering down on him, swinging the spiked ball of a morningstar around his head. Their warhorses slammed together before T yrion could so much as open his mouth to shout for Bronn. His right elbow exploded with pain as the spikes punched through the thin metal around the joint. His axe was gone, as fast as that. He clawed for his sword, but the morningstar was circling again, coming at his face. A sickening crunch, and he was falling. He did not recall hitting the ground, but when he looked up there was only sky above him. He rolled onto his side and tried to find his feet, but pain shuddered through him and the world throbbed. The knight who had felled him drew up above him. Tyrion the Imp, he boomed down. You are mine. Do you yield, Lannister?Yes, Tyrion thought, but the word caught in his throat. He made a complaining sound and fought his way to his knees, cumbersome for a weapon. His sword, his dirk, anything . . .Do you yield? The knight loomed overhead on his armored warhorse. Man and horse both seemed immense. The spiked ball swung in a lazy circle. Tyrions hands were numb, his vision blurred, his scabbard empty. Yield or die, the knight declared, his flail whirling faster and faster.Tyrion lurched to his feet, drive his head into the horses belly. The animal gave a hideous scream and reared. It tried to twist away from the excruciation, a shower of blood and viscera poured down over Tyrions face, and the horse fell like an avalanche. The next he knew, his superlative was packed with mud and something was crushing his foot. He wriggled free, his throat so tight he could scarce talk. . . . yield . . . he managed to croak faintly.Yes, a voice moaned, thick with pain.Tyrion scraped the mud off his helm so he could see again. The horse had fallen away from him, onto its rider. The knights leg was trapped, the arm hed used to break his fall twisted at a grotesque angle. Yield, he repeated. Fumbling at his belt with his good hand, he drew a sword and flung it at Tyrions feet. I yield, my lord.Dazed, the dwarf knelt and lifted the blade. Pain beat through his elbow when h e moved his arm. The battle seemed to have moved beyond him. No one remained on his part of the field save a large number of corpses. Ravens were already circling and landing to feed. He saw that Ser Kevan had brought up his center in support of the van his huge mass of pikemen had pushed the northerners back against the hills. They were struggling on the slopes, pikes jab against another wall of shields, these oval and reinforce with iron studs. As he watched, the air filled with arrows again, and the men behind the oak wall crumbled beneath the murderous fire. I believe you are losing, ser, he told the knight under the horse. The man made no reply.The sound of hooves coming up behind him made him whirl, though he could only lift the sword he held for the agony in his elbow. Brorm reined up and looked down on him.Small use you turned out to be, Tyrion told him.It would seem you did well enough on your own, Bronn answered. Youve lost the spike off your helm, though.Tyrion groped at the top of the greathelm. The spike had snapped off clean. I havent lost it. I know just where it is. Do you see my horse?By the time they found it, the trumpets had sounded again and Lord Tywins reserve came sweeping up along the river. Tyrion watched his father fly past, the crimson-and-gold banner of Lannister rippling over his head as he thundered across the field. Five hundred knights surrounded him, sunlight flashing off the points of their lances. The remnants of the Stark lines shattered like meth beneath the hammer of their charge.With his elbow sleeveless and throbbing inside his armor, Tyrion made no attempt to join the slaughter. He and Bronn went flavor for his men. Many he found among the dead. Ulf son of Umar lay in a kitten of congealing blood, his arm gone at the elbow, a dozen of his Moon Brothers sprawled around him. Shagga was slumped beneath a tree, riddled with arrows, Conns head in his lap. Tyrion thought they were both dead, but as he dismounted, Shagga opened his eyes and said, They have killed Conn son of Coratt. Handsome Conn had no mark but for the red stain over his breast, where the spear thrust had killed him. When Bronn pulled Shagga to his feet, the big man seemed to notice the arrows for the first time. He plucked them out one by one, cursing the holes they had made in his layers of mail and leather, and yowling like a infant at the few that had buried themselves in his flesh. Chella daughter of Cheyk rode up as they were yanking arrows out of Shagga, and showed them four ears she had taken. Timett they discovered looting the bodies of the remove with his Burned Men. Of the three hundred clansmen who had ridden to battle behind Tyrion Lannister, perhaps half had survived.He left the living to look after the dead, sent Bronn to take charge of his cloaked knight, and went alone in search of his father. Lord Tywin was seated by the river, sipping wine from a jeweled cup as his squire undid the fastenings on his breastpla te. A fine victory, Ser Kevan said when he saw Tyrion. Your wild men fought well.His fathers eyes were on him, pale green flecked with gold, so cool they gave Tyrion a chill. Did that surprise you, Father? he asked. Did it reach your plans? We were supposed to be butchered, were we not?Lord Tywin drained his cup, his face expressionless. I put the least disciplined men on the left, yes. I anticipated that they would break. Robb Stark is a green boy, more like to be brave than wise. Id hoped that if he saw our left collapse, he might plunge into the gap, eager for a rout. Once he was fully committed, Ser Kevans pikes would wheel and take him in the flank, driving him into the river while I brought up the reserve.And you thought it best to place me in the thick of this carnage, yet keep me ignorant of your plans.A feigned rout is less convincing, his father said, and I am not inclined to trust my plans to a man who consorts with sellswords and savages.A pity my savages ruined your da nce. Tyrion pulled off his steel gauntlet and let it fall to the ground, wincing at the pain that stabbed up his arm.The Stark boy proved more cautious than I expected for one of his years, Lord Tywin admitted, but a victory is a victory. You appear to be wounded.Tyrions right arm was nasty with blood. Good of you to notice, Father, he said through clenched teeth. Might I trouble you to send for your maesters? Unless you relish the notion of having a one-armed dwarf for a son . . . An urgent shout of Lord Tywin turned his fathers head before he could reply. Tywin Lannister rose to his feet as Ser Addam Marbrand leapt down off his courser. The horse was lathered and bleeding from the mouth. Ser Addam dropped to one knee, a gangly man with dark copper haircloth that fell to his shoulders, armored in burnished bronzed steel with the fiery tree of his House etched black on his breastplate. My liege, we have taken some of their commanders. Lord Cerwyn, Ser Wylis Manderly, Harrion Kars tark, four Freys. Lord Hornwood is dead, and I fear Roose Bolton has escaped us.And the boy? Lord Tywin asked.Ser Addam hesitated. The Stark boy was not with them, my lord. They say he crossed at the Twins with the great part of his horse, riding hard for Riverrun.A green boy, Tyrion remembered, more like to be brave than wise. He would have laughed, if he hadnt hurt so much.