Part 1 (2/2)
Stannis did not reply at once. He studied the man before him, his brow furrowed. ”Get up.” The maester rose. ”You are maester at the Dreadfort. How is it you are here with us?”
”Lord Arnolf brought me to tend to his wounded.”
”To his wounded? Or his ravens?”
”Both, Your Grace.”
”Both.” Stannis snapped the word out. ”A maester's raven flies to one place, and one place only. Is that correct?”
The maester mopped sweat from his brow with his sleeve. ”N-not entirely, Your Grace. Most, yes. Some few can be taught to fly between two castles. Such birds are greatly prized. And once in a very great while, we find a raven who can learn the names of three or four or five castles, and fly to each upon command. Birds as clever as that come along only once in a hundred years.”
Stannis gestured at the black birds in the cages. ”These two are not so clever, I presume.”
”No, Your Grace. Would that it were so.”
”Tell me, then. Where are these two trained to fly?”
Maester Tybald did not answer. Theon Greyjoy kicked his feet feebly, and laughed under his breath. Caught!
”Answer me. If we were to loose these birds, would they return to the Dreadfort?” The king leaned forward. ”Or might they fly for Winterfell instead?”
Maester Tybald p.i.s.sed his robes. Theon could not see the dark stain spreading from where he hung, but the smell of p.i.s.s was sharp and strong.
”Maester Tybald has lost his tongue,” Stannis observed to his knights. ”G.o.dry, how many cages did you find?”
”Three, Your Grace,” said the big knight in the silvered breastplate. ”One was empty.”
”Y-your Grace, my order is sworn to serve, we... ”
”I know all about your vows. What I want to know is what was in the letter that you sent to Winterfell. Did you perchance tell Lord Bolton where to find us?”
”S-sire.” Round-shouldered Tybald drew himself up proudly.
”The rules of my order forbid me to divulge the contents of Lord Arnolf's letters.”
”Your vows are stronger than your bladder, it would seem.”
”Your Grace must understand a” ”
”Must I?” The king shrugged. ”If you say so. You are a man of learning, after all. I had a maester on Dragonstone who was almost a father to me. I have great respect for your order and its vows. Ser Clayton does not share my feelings, though. He learned all he knows in the wynds of Flea Bottom. Were I to put you in his charge, he might strangle you with your own chain or scoop your eye out with a spoon.”
”Only the one, Your Grace,” volunteered the balding knight, him of the winged pig. ”I'd leave t'other.”
”How many eyes does a maester need to read a letter?” asked Stannis. ”One should suffice, I'd think. I would not wish to leave you unable to fulfill your duties to your lord. Roose Bolton's men may well be on their way to attack us even now, however, so you must understand if I skimp on certain courtesies. I will ask you once again. What was in the message you sent to Winterfell?”
The maester quivered. ”A m-map, Your Grace.”
The king leaned back in his chair. ”Get him out of here,” he commanded. ”Leave the ravens.” A vein was throbbing in his neck. ”Confine this grey wretch to one of the huts until I decide what is to be done with him.”
”It will be done,” the big knight declared. The maester vanished in another blast of cold and snow. Only the knight of the three moths remained.
Stannis glowered up at Theon where he hung. ”You are not the only turncloak here, it would seem. Would that all the lords in the Seven Kingdoms had but a single neck... ” He turned to his knight. ”Ser Richard, whilst I am breaking fast with Lord Arnolf, you are to disarm his men and take them into custody. Most will be asleep. Do them no harm, unless they resist. It may be they did not know. Question some upon that point... but sweetly. If they had no knowledge of this treachery, they shall have the chance to prove their loyalty.” He snapped a hand in dismissal. ”Send in Justin Ma.s.sey.”
Another knight, Theon knew, when Ma.s.sey entered. This one was fair, with a neatly trimmed blond beard and thick straight hair so pale it seemed more white than gold. His tunic bore the triple spiral, an ancient sigil for an ancient House. ”I was told Your Grace had need of me,” he said, from one knee.
Stannis nodded. ”You will escort the Braavosi banker back to the Wall. Choose six good men and take twelve horses.”
”To ride or eat?”
The king was not amused. ”I want you gone before midday, ser. Lord Bolton could be on us any moment, and it is imperative that the banker return to Braavos. You shall accompany him across the narrow sea.”
”If there is to be a battle, my place is here with you.”
”Your place is where I say it is. I have five hundred swords as good as you, or better, but you have a pleasing manner and a glib tongue, and those will be of more use to me at Braavos then here. The Iron Bank has opened its coffers to me. You will collect their coin and hire s.h.i.+ps and sellswords. A company of good repute, if you can find one. The Golden Company would be my first choice, if they are not already under contract. Seek for them in the Disputed Lands, if need be. But first hire as many swords as you can find in Braavos, and send them to me by way of East.w.a.tch. Archers as well, we need more bows.”
Ser Justin's hair had fallen down across one eye. He pushed it back and said, ”The captains of the free companies will join a lord more readily than a mere knight, Your Grace. I hold neither lands nor t.i.tle, why should they sell their swords to me?”
”Go to them with both fists full of golden dragons,” the king said, in an acid tone. ”That should prove persuasive. Twenty thousand men should suffice. Do not return with fewer.”
”Sire, might I speak freely?”
”So long as you speak quickly.”
”Your Grace should go to Braavos with the banker.”
”Is that your counsel? That I should flee?” The king's face darkened. ”That was your counsel on the Blackwater as well, as I recall. When the battle turned against us, I let you and Horpe chivvy me back to Dragonstone like a whipped cur.”
”The day was lost, Your Grace.”
”Aye, that was what you said. 'The day is lost, sire. Fall back now, that you may fight again.' And now you would have me scamper off across the narrow sea... ”
”... to raise an army, aye. As Bittersteel did after the Battle of the Redgra.s.s Field, where Daemon Blackfyre fell.”
”Do not prate at me of history, ser. Daemon Blackfyre was a rebel and usurper, Bittersteel a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. When he fled, he swore he would return to place a son of Daemon's upon the Iron Throne. He never did. Words are wind, and the wind that blows exiles across the narrow sea seldom blows them back. That boy Viserys Targaryen spoke of return as well. He slipped through my fingers at Dragonstone, only to spend his life wheedling after sellswords. 'The Beggar King,' they called him in the Free Cities. Well, I do not beg, nor will I flee again. I am Robert's heir, the rightful king of Westeros. My place is with my men. Yours is in Braavos. Go with the banker, and do as I have bid.”
”As you command,” Ser Justin said.
”It may be that we shall lose this battle,” the king said grimly. ”In Braavos you may hear that I am dead. It may even be true. You shall find my sellswords nonetheless.”
The knight hesitated. ”Your Grace, if you are dead a” ”
” a” you will avenge my death, and seat my daughter on the Iron Throne. Or die in the attempt.”
Ser Justin put one hand on his sword hilt. ”On my honor as a knight, you have my word.”
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