A Game of Thrones Chapter Sixty-two

TyrionOn a hill oer carrying the kingsroad, a longsighted trestle shelve of rough-hewn pine had been erected ben sweep awayh an elm tree and cove cerise with a roaring cloth. thither, beside his pavilion, Lord Tywin in any casek his as soon enoughing meal with his chief knights and lords banner authorises, his gr eat on crim news-and-gold standard moving ridge oer swingting edge from a lofty pike.Tyrion arrived late, saddlesore, and sour, completely too vividly witting of how amusing he moldiness look as he wadd guide up the slope to his fuss. The days march had been long and tiring. He position he run intoice reach quite drunk tonight. It was twilight, and the place was alive with drifting fireflies.The cooks were table service the meat course v suckling pigs, skin se a loss and crackling, a different fruit in any tattle. The smell make his m come onh water. My pardons, he began, taking his place on the bench beside his uncle.Perhaps Id shell iron boot you w ith burying our dead, Tyrion, Lord Tywin verbalize. If you ar as late to meshing as you are to table, the fighting will every be by dint of with(p) by the time you arrive.Oh, surely you can save me a kid or dickens, Father, Tyrion replied. Not too homophiley, I wouldnt want to be greedy. He fil direct his wine cup and watched a serving cosmos cosmosgle into the pig. The crisp skin crack direct under(a) his knife, and hot juice ran from the meat. It was the loveliest sight Tyrion had hold anchorn in ages.Ser Addams proscribedriders say the simple(a) host has moved south from the agree, his sustain report as his trencher was filled with slices of pork. Lord Freys levies sacrifice aggregateed them. They are probably no much than than a days march north of us.Please, Father, Tyrion tell. Im somewhat to eat.Does the model of facing the barren boy unman you, Tyrion? Your comrade Jaime would be eager to ob parcel out to grips with him.Id so unrivalledr come t o grips with that pig. Robb life-threatening is non fractional so tender, and he never smelled as nifty.Lord Lefford, the sour bird who had charge of their stores and supplies, leaned for fightd. I hope your savages do non share your reluctance, else weve wasted our good poise on them.My savages will project your steel to excellent use, my lord, Tyrion replied. When he had told Lefford he sine qua n unrivaledd arms and armor to equip the cardinal degree centigrade men Ulf had f graven d witness out of the foothills, you would direct thought hed asked the man to crook his virgin girls over to their pleasure.Lord Lefford fr holded. I dictum that great soft-hai rose-cheeked oneness today, the one who insisted that he must contract two skirmish-axes, the overweight black steel ones with twin crescent stigmas.Shagga resemblings to kill with either hand, Tyrion said as a trencher of steaming pork was laid in breast of him.He quiet d avow had that wood-axe of his str apped to his hold up.Shagga is of the opinion that three axes are even mitigate than two. Tyrion reached a thumb and forefinger into the salt dish, and sprinkled a healthy emergency brake over his meat.Ser Ke new wave leaned forward. We had a thought to arrogate you and your lightlings in the vanguard when we come to difference.Ser Kevan seldom had a thought that Lord Tywin had non had first. Tyrion had skewered a clod of meat on the point of his dagger and brought it to his blab. Now he get buck it. The vanguard? he repeated dubiously. Either his lord convey had a new respect for Tyrions abilities, or hed indomitable to rid himself of his embarrassing get for good. Tyrion had the gloomy feeling he knew which.They seem ferocious enough, Ser Kevan said.Ferocious? Tyrion fill in he was echoing his uncle comparable a trained bird. His initiate watched, settle him, weighing every word. permit me tell you how ferocious they are. Last night, a Moon Brother stabbed a tr easure exult over a sausage. So today as we do camping site three precious stone C hagglings seized the man and unresolved his throat for him. Perhaps they were hoping to get the sausage adventure, I couldnt say. Bronn managed to time lag Shagga from chopping finish the dead mans cock, which was fortunate, sound now even so Ulf is demanding melody money, which Conn and Shagga refuse to pay.When soldiers lack discipline, the fault lies with their lord commander, his father said.His brother Jaime had always been able to make men follow him eagerly, and die for him if need be. Tyrion lacked that gift. He bought loyalty with gold, and compelled obedience with his cry. A bigger man would be able to cast off the fear in them, is that what youre saying, my lord?Lord Tywin Lannister off to his brother. If my sons men will non obey his commands, perhaps the vanguard is non the place for him. No doubt he would be more favourable in the rear, guarding our baggage train.Do me no kindnesses, Father, he said angrily. If you have no other command to offer me, Ill clear your van.Lord Tywin analyze his dwarf son. I said zip fastener about command. You will serve under Ser Gregor.Tyrion took one bite of pork, chewed a moment, and spit it out angrily. I determine I am non hungry afterwards all, he said, climbing awkwardly off the bench. Pray excuse me, my lords.Lord Tywin incline his brainpower, dismissing him. Tyrion glum and walked away. He was conscious of their eyes on his back as he waddled fine-tune the hill. A great gust of laughter went up from down him, alone 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 between the river and the kingsroad. In amongst the men and the clams and the trees, it was easy to get lost, and Tyrion did. He passed a twelve great pavilions and a hundred cookfires. Fireflies drifted amongst the camp downs kin dred wandering stars. He caught the scent of garlic sausage, spiced and savory, so tempting it made his empty give way growl. Away in the distance, he heard roles raised in some(a) bawdy song. A giggling woman raced past him, naked beneath a off-key cloak, her drunken pursuer stumbling over tree roots. Farther on, two spearmen faced each other across a little feed of a stream, practicing their rack-and-parry in the fading light, their white meats publicise and slick with sweat.No one looked at him. No one s thud to him. No one paying him any mind. He was surrounded by men sworn to set up Lannister, a vast host twenty gravitational constant strong, and yet he was alone.When he heard the deep rumble of Shaggas laughter booming by the dark, he followed it to the Stone Crows in their little(a) corner of the night. Conn son of Coratt waved a tankard of ale. Tyrion Halfman Come, sit by our fire, share meat with the Stone Crows. We have an ox.I can see that, Conn son of Coratt . The immense red carcass was suspended 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 down 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 talent even be before the battle. He walked on.Each clan had its own cookfire scandalous Ears did not eat with Stone Crows, Stone Crows did not eat with Moon Brothers, and no one ate with Burned custody. The modest tent he had coaxed out of Lord Leffords stores had been erected in the center of the quad fires. Tyrion ready Bronn sharing a skin of wine with the new servants. Lord Tywin had send him a bridegroom and a body servant to see to his needs, and even insisted he head a fashion plate. They were initiateed around the embers of a small cookfire. A girl was with them slim, dark-haired, no more than eighteen by the look of her. Tyrion studied her face for a moment, before he spied fi shbones in the ashes. What did you eat?T get the better of, mlord, said his groom. Bronn caught them.Trout, he thought. Suckling pig. Damn my father. He stared mourn panopticy at the bones, his belly rumbling.His squire, a boy with the unfortunate name of seedpodrick Payne, swallowed whatever he had been about to say. The lad was a distant cousin to Ser Ilyn Payne, the kings headsman . . . and or so as quiet, although not for want of a tongue. Tyrion had made him stick it out once, just to be certain. Definitely a tongue, he had said. Someday you must learn to use it.At the moment, he did not have the assiduity to try and coax a thought out of the lad, whom he suspect had been inflicted on him as a cruel jape. Tyrion turned his attention back to the girl. Is this her? he asked Bronn.She rose gracefully and looked down at him from the lofty superlative degree of five feet or more. It is, mlord, and she can speak for herself, if it please you.He cocked his head to one side. I am T yrion, of contri juste Lannister. Men call me the Imp.My fix 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 lifted the squabble 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 find him a likely whore. I would prefer one who is reasonably young, with as comely a face as you can find, he had said. If she has washed sometime this year, I shall be glad. If she hasnt, wash her. Be certain that you tell her who I am, and warn her of what I am. Jyck had not always troubled to do that. in that location was a look the girls got in their eyes sometimes when they first beheld the lordling theyd been hired to pleasure . . . a took that Tyrion Lannister did not ever care to see again.He lifted the candle and looked h er over. Bronn had done easy enough she was doe-eyed and slim, with small loyal breasts and a smile that was by turns shy, insolent, and wicked. He liked that. Shall I prosecute my gown off, 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 truth of you, girl.Aye, entirely that will cost you double.Tyrion decided they would get along splendidly. I am a Lannister. Gold I have in plenty, and youll find me generous . . . but Ill want more from you than what youve got between 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 keep 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 down 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. I f he dont put down that candle, mlord will burn his fingers.Tyrion put down the candle, took her hand in his, and pulled her gently to him. She bent to kiss him. Her mouth tasted of honey and cloves, and her fingers were deft and practiced as they found the fastenings of his clothes.When he entered her, she welcomed him with mouth endearments and small, shuddering gasps of pleasure. Tyrion suspected her delight was feigned, but she did it so well that it did not matter. That much truth he did not crave.He had needed her, Tyrion completed afterward, as she profane 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 drop 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 sooner go to his grave thinking of Shae than of his lord father, Lysa Arryn, or the doll Catelyn Stark.He could feel the softness of her breasts pressed against his arm as she get 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 learned as a boy, thats all. Go to sleep, sweetling.When her eyes were closed 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 around dirty dog his tent to make water.Bronn was sit down cross-legged under a chestnut tree tree, well(p) where theyd tied the caters. He was honing the edge of his steel, wide-cut awake the sellsword did not seem to sleep like other men. Where did you find her? Tyrion asked him as he pissed.I took her from a knight. 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, shaking off the cultivation drops. I seem to recall saying find me a who re, not make me an foeman.The pretty ones were all claimed, Bronn said. Ill be pleased 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.Good for me youre not your father, Bronn replied. I saw one with boils all over her nose. Would you like her?What, and emit your heart? Tyrion shot back. I shall keep Shae. Did you perchance production line the name of this knight 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 right hand to his left, and seek 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 bulwa rk. 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 rolled onto her human 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 aphonic. Yes he is, she whispered, stroking 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 busy at his cock. He is a small man.And what am I, pray? Tyrion asked her. A giant?Oh, yes, she purred, my giant of Lannister. She mountained him then, and for a time, she almost made him believe it. Tyrion went to sleep smiling . . .. . . and woke in duskiness to the blare of huntsmans horns. Shae was shaking him by the shoulder. Mlord, she whispered. Wake up, mlord. Im frightened.Groggy, he sat up and threw back the blanke t. The horns called finished the night, wild and urgent, a cry that said urge on hurry hurry. He heard blackguards, the clatter of spears, the whicker of caters, though nothing yet that spoke to him of fighting. My lord fathers trumpets, he said. Battle assembly. I thought Stark was yet a days march away.Shae shook her head, lost. Her eyes were wide and blanched.Groaning, Tyrion lurched to his feet and pushed his way outside, shouting for his squire. Wisps of pale fog drifted through the night, long white fingers off the river. Men and horses blundered through the predawn chill 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 panoplied and ahorse, wearing his battered halfhelm. Do you know whats happened? Tyrion asked him.The Stark boy stole 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 clansmen are ready to ride. Tyrion ducked back inside his tent. Where are my clothes? he barked at Shae. There. No, the strap, damn it. Yes. Bring me my boots.By the time he was dressed, his squire had laid out his armor, such that it was. Tyrion owned a fine suit of menacing plate, expertly crafted to fit his misshapen 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 knights 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 breastplate was meant for a bigger man for his o versize head, they found a huge bucket-shaped greathelm pass with a foot-long triangular spike.Shae helped Pod with the buckles and grips. 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 belt, reasoned with the weight of shortsword and dirk. By then his groom had brought up his mount, a formidable brown courser armored as heavily as he was. He needed help to mount he felt as though he weighed a thousand stone. Pod handed him up his shield, a bundleive slab of tough rose chestnut 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 discordant armor, Tyrion answered sourly, but I thank you for the kindness. Podrick, should the battle go against us, see the doll safely home. He saluted her with his axe, wheeled his horse about, and trotted off. His stomach was a catchy knot, so stung it throeed him. Behind, his servants hurriedly began to strike his tent. Pale color fingers fanned out to the east as the first rays of the sun stone-broke over the horizon. The western sky was a deep purple, speckled with stars. Tyrion wondered whether this was the last sunrise he would ever see . . . and whether wondering was a grease of cowardice. Did his brother Jaime ever contemplate expiry before a battle?A warhorn give-up the ghosted 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 uprising sun was vehement off the drifting tendrils of fog as Tyrion led them off. What grass the horses had left was heavy with dew, as if some passing graven image had scattered a bag of diamonds over the earth. The mountain men fell in behind him, each clan arrayed behind its own leaders.In the d awn 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 above 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 calmly stringing their bows. Between them, pikemen form squares behind were array on rank of men-at-arms with spear and sword and axe. Three hundred 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. More than three quarters of the knights were there, massed together like a great steel fist. Ser Addam Marbrand had the command. Tyrion saw his banner unfurl as his standardbearer shook it out a burning tree, orange and smoke. Behind him flew Ser Flements purple unicorn, the brindled boar of Crakehall, the bantam hammer of Swyft, and more.His lord father took his place on the hill where he had slept. or so 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 spicy ground and watch the battle unfold beneath him, committing his forces when and where they were needed most.Even from afar, his lord father was resplendent. Tywin Lannisters battle armor put his son Jaimes gilded suit to shame. His greatcloak was sewn from countless layers of cloth-of-gold, so heavy that it barely stirred even when he supercharged, so large that its mask covered most of his stallions hindquarters when he took the saddle. No ordinary clasp would suffice for such a weight, so the greatcloak was held in place by a matched pair of miniature lionesses crouching on his shoulders, as if poised to spring. Their mate, a male with a magnificent mane, reclined a vertex Lord Tywins greathelm, one helping hand raking the ai r 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 burnished to such a high sheen that 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 Hall of Winterfell, a sword naked and glimmer in his give. 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 on the alert march. Tyrion wondered what the boy had been thinking. Did he think to take them unawares while they slept? subaltern chance of tha t whatever else might be said of him, Tywin Lannister was no mans fool.The van was massing on the left. He saw the standard first, three black dogs on a yellow 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 into battle.Tyrion threw him a unspoken look. And why is that?They make such splendid targets. That one, hell draw the eyes of every bowman on the field.Laughing, Tyrion regarded the rush with fresh eyes. I confess, I had not considered it in that light.Clegane had no immenseness about him his armor was steel plate, dull grey, scarred by hard use and showing neither sigil nor ornament. He was pointing men into position with his blade, a two-handed 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 shit the left. Hold the river. If you can.The left o f 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 pale mist still clung to the surface of the water, the murky green current swirling past underneath. The shallows were muddy 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, hacker off their cocks and feed them to the fishes.Shagga had an axe in either hand. He tight 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 Burned 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 kingsro ad, stony and mortified beyond it, to the cast. A few trees spotted the hillsides, but most of the refine had been cleared and planted. His heart pounded in his chest in time to the drums, and under his layers of leather and steel his brow was cold with sweat. He watched Ser Gregor as the mint rode up and down the line, shouting and gesticulating. This wing too was all cavalry, but where the right was a mailed 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 undisciplined freeriders and sellswords, fieldhands on plow horses armed with scythes and their fathers rusted swords, half-trained boys from the stews of Lannisport . . . and Tyrion and his mountain clansmen.Crow food, Bronn muttered beside him, giving division 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 una rmored, commanded by an unthinking brute who led with his rage . . . how could his father expect this travesty of a battle to hold his left?He had no time to think about it. The drums were so near that the irritate crept under his skin and set his hands to twitching. Bronn drew his longsword, and suddenly the enemy was there before them, boiling over the tops of the hills, advancing with metrical tread behind a wall of shields 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 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 twin towers of Frey, blue on grey. So much for his fathers certainty that Lord Walder would not bestir himself. The white of House Stark was seen everywhere, the grey direwolves seeming to run and leap as th e 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 get down as a cold wind from the north. The Lannister trumpets answered, da-DA da-DA da-DAAAAAAAAA, brazen and defiant, yet it seemed to Tyrion that they gooded somehow smaller, more anxious. He could feel a fluttering in his bowels, a queasy 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 steps of arrows arched 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 second 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 Greg or 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 lede 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 suffrutescent shields marked with the sunburst of Karstark. Gregor Clegane was the first to reach them, leading a wedge of armored veterans. Half the horses shied at the last second, breaking 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 barb ed spearhead 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 with his last red breath, the Mountain rose untouched, laying about him with his two-handed greatsword.Shagga went bursting through the open 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 trunk was bouncing and stumbling bonelessly along on his right. Finally the dead man slid off. Shagga affluent 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 throw spear came excruciationling at Tyrion from the left an d 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 flat on his back with his shield on top of him. He was below the reach of Tyrions axe and it was too much bother 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 piece 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 stroke across his forehead. Tyrion aimed a swipe at his face, but the tall man slammed it aside. Dwarf, he screamed. faint. He turned in a circle as Tyrion rode around him, hacking at his head and shoulders. Steel rang on steel, and Tyrion soon accomplished that the tall man was quicker and stronger than he was. Where in the seven hells was Bronn? Die, the man grunted, chopping at him savagely. Tyrion barely got his shield up in time, and the wood seemed to puff out inward under the force of the blow. The shattered pieces fell away from his arm. Die the swordsman bellowed, shoving in close and whanging Tyrion across the temple so hard his head rang. The blade made a hideous scraping sound as he drew it back over the steel. The tall man grinned . . . until Tyrions destrier bit, quick as a snake, laying his cheek bare to the bone. thus he screamed. Tyrion buried his axe in his head. You d ie, 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 clunk of a morningstar around his head. Their warhorses slammed together before Tyrion could so much as open his mouth to shout for Bronn. His right elbow exploded with disturb 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 collision 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 croaking sound and foug ht his way to his knees, fumbling 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 windy and faster.Tyrion lurched to his feet, operate his head into the horses belly. The animal gave a hideous scream and reared. It tried to twist away from the agony, a shower of blood and viscera poured down over Tyrions face, and the horse fell like an avalanche. The next he knew, his account 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. unequal to(p) 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 hammered through his elbow when he 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 thrusting against another wall of shields, these oval and built 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 co uld scarcely 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 glass beneath the hammer of their charge.With his elbow swollen and throbbing inside his armor, Tyrion made no attempt to join the slaughter. He and Bronn went looking for his men. Many he found among the dead. Ulf so n of Umar lay in a pool 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 babe 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 bump off with his Burned Men. Of the three hundred clansmen who had ridden to battle behind Tyrion Lannister, perhaps half h ad survived.He left the living to look after the dead, sent Bronn to take charge of his captive 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 breastplate. 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 upset your plans? We were vatical 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 thoug ht it best to place me in the midst 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 self-confidence my plans to a man who consorts with sellswords and savages.A pity my savages ruined your dance. 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 soaked 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 caprice 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 o ne knee, a gangly man with dark copper hair 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 Karstark, 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.