Part 39 (1/2)
”Only fools will say that,” Lord Mathis argued.
Renly looked to the others. ”What say you all?”
”I say that Stannis is a danger to you,” Lord Randyll Tarly declared. ”Leave him unblooded and he will only grow stronger, while your own power is diminished by battle. The Lannisters will not be beaten in a day. By the time you are done with them, Lord Stannis may be as strong as you . . . or stronger.”
Others chorused their agreement. The king looked pleased. ”We shall fight, then.”
I have failed Robb as I failed Ned, Catelyn thought. ”My lord,” she announced. ”If you are set on battle, my purpose here is done. I ask your leave to return to Riverrun.”
”You do not have it.” Renly seated himself on a camp chair.
She stiffened. ”I had hoped to help you make a peace, my lord. I will not help you make a war.”
Renly gave a shrug. ”I daresay we'll prevail without your five-and-twenty, my lady. I do not mean for you to take part in the battle, only to watch it.”
”I was at the Whispering Wood, my lord. I have seen enough butchery. I came here an envoy-”
”And an envoy you shall leave,” Renly said, ”but wiser than you came. You shall see what befalls rebels with your own eyes, so your son can hear it from your own lips. We'll keep you safe, never fear.” He turned away to make his dispositions. ”Lord Mathis, you shall lead the center of my main battle. Bryce, you'll have the left. The right is mine. Lord Estermont, you shall command the reserve.”
”I shall not fail you, Your Grace,” Lord Estermont replied.
Lord Mathis Rowan spoke up. ”Who shall have the van?”
”Your Grace,” said Ser Jon Fossoway, ”I beg the honor.”
”Beg all you like,” said Ser Guyard the Green, ”by rights it should be one of the seven who strikes the first blow.”
”It takes more than a pretty cloak to charge a s.h.i.+eld wall,” Randyll Tarly announced. ”I was leading Mace Tyrell's van when you were still sucking on your mother's teat, Guyard.”
A clamor filled the pavilion, as other men loudly set forth their claims. The knights of summer, Catelyn thought. Renly raised a hand. ”Enough, my lords. If I had a dozen vans, all of you should have one, but the greatest glory by rights belongs to the greatest knight. Ser Loras shall strike the first blow.”
”With a glad heart, Your Grace.” The Knight of Flowers knelt before the king. ”Grant me your blessing, and a knight to ride beside me with your banner. Let the stag and rose go to battle side by side.”
Renly glanced about him. ”Brienne.”
”Your Grace?” She was still armored in her blue steel, though she had taken off her helm. The crowded tent was hot, and sweat plastered limp yellow hair to her broad, homely face. ”My place is at your side. I am your sworn s.h.i.+eld . . .”
”One of seven,” the king reminded her. ”Never fear, four of your fellows will be with me in the fight.”
Brienne dropped to her knees. ”If I must part from Your Grace, grant me the honor of arming you for battle.”
Catelyn heard someone sn.i.g.g.e.r behind her. She loves him, poor thing, she thought sadly. She'd play his squire just to touch him, and never care how great a fool they think her.
”Granted,” Renly said. ”Now leave me, all of you. Even kings must rest before a battle.”
”My lord,” Catelyn said, ”there was a small sept in the last village we pa.s.sed. If you will not permit me to depart for Riverrun, grant me leave to go there and pray.”
”As you will. Ser Robar, give Lady Stark safe escort to this sept . . . but see that she returns to us by dawn.”
”You might do well to pray yourself,” Catelyn added.
”For victory?”
”For wisdom.”
Renly laughed. ”Loras, stay and help me pray. It's been so long I've quite forgotten how. As to the rest of you, I want every man in place by first light, armed, armored, and horsed. We shall give Stannis a dawn he will not soon forget.”
Dusk was falling when Catelyn left the pavilion. Ser Robar Royce fell in beside her. She knew him slightly-one of Bronze Yohn's sons, comely in a rough-hewn way, a tourney warrior of some renown. Renly had gifted him with a rainbow cloak and a suit of blood red armor, and named him one of his seven. ”You are a long way from the Vale, ser,” she told him.
”And you far from Winterfell, my lady.”
”I know what brought me here, but why have you come? This is not your battle, no more than it is mine.”
”I made it my battle when I made Renly my king.”
”The Royces are bannermen to House Arryn.”
”My lord father owes Lady Lysa fealty, as does his heir. A second son must find glory where he can.” Ser Robar shrugged. ”A man grows weary of tourneys.”
He could not be older than one-and-twenty, Catelyn thought, of an age with his king . . . but her king, her Robb, had more wisdom at fifteen than this youth had ever learned. Or so she prayed.
In Catelyn's small corner of the camp, Shadd was slicing carrots into a kettle, Hal Mollen was dicing with three of his Winterfell men, and Lucas Blackwood sat sharpening his dagger. ”Lady Stark,” Lucas said when he saw her, ”Mollen says it is to be battle at dawn.”
”Hal has the truth of it,” she answered. And a loose tongue as well, it would seem.
”Do we fight or flee?”
”We pray, Lucas,” she answered him. ”We pray.”
SANSA.
The longer you keep him waiting, the worse it will go for you,” Sandor Clegane warned her.
Sansa tried to hurry, but her fingers fumbled at b.u.t.tons and knots. The Hound was always rough-tongued, but something in the way he had looked at her filled her with dread. Had Joffrey found out about her meetings with Ser Dontos? Please no, she thought as she brushed out her hair. Ser Dontos was her only hope. I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color. She smoothed the cloth down. The fabric was tight across her chest.
When she emerged, Sansa walked on the Hound's left, away from the burned side of his face. ”Tell me what I've done.”
”Not you. Your kingly brother.”
”Robb's a traitor.” Sansa knew the words by rote. ”I had no part in whatever he did.” G.o.ds be good, don't let it be the Kingslayer. If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.
The Hound snorted. ”They trained you well, little bird.” He conducted her to the lower bailey, where a crowd had gathered around the archery b.u.t.ts. Men moved aside to let them through. She could hear Lord Gyles coughing. Loitering stablehands eyed her insolently, but Ser Horas Redwyne averted his gaze as she pa.s.sed, and his brother Hobber pretended not to see her. A yellow cat was dying on the ground, mewling piteously, a crossbow quarrel through its ribs. Sansa stepped around it, feeling ill.
Ser Dontos approached on his broomstick horse; since he'd been too drunk to mount his destrier at the tourney, the king had decreed that henceforth he must always go horsed. ”Be brave,” he whispered, squeezing her arm.
Joffrey stood in the center of the throng, winding an ornate crossbow. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn were with him. The sight of them was enough to tie her insides in knots.
”Your Grace.” She fell to her knees.
”Kneeling won't save you now,” the king said. ”Stand up. You're here to answer for your brother's latest treasons.”