A Clash of Kings (107 page)

“Open the gates. When they rush inside, surround them and kill them.” The Hound thrust the point of his longsword into the ground and leaned upon the pommel, swaying. “I’ve lost half my men. Horse as well. I’m not taking more into that fire.”

Ser Mandon Moore moved to Tyrion’s side, immaculate in his enameled white plate. “The King’s Hand commands you.”

“Bugger the King’s Hand.” Where the Hound’s face was not sticky with blood, it was pale as milk. “Someone bring me a drink.” A gold cloak officer handed him a cup. Clegane took a swallow, spit it out, flung the cup away. “Water? Fuck your water. Bring me wine.”

He is dead on his feet
. Tyrion could see it now.
The wound, the fire
. . .
he’s done, I need to find someone else, but who? Se1r Mandon?
He looked at the men and knew it would not do. Clegane’s fear had shaken them. Without a leader, they would refuse as well, and Ser Mandon . . . a dangerous man, Jaime said, yes, but not a man other men would follow.

In the distance Tyrion heard another great crash. Above the walls, the darkening sky was awash with sheets of green and orange light. How long could the gate hold?

This is madness
, he thought,
but sooner madness than defeat. Defeat is death and shame
. “Very well, I’ll lead the sortie.”

If he thought that would shame the Hound back to valor, he was wrong. Clegane only laughed. “
You?
”

Tyrion could see the disbelief on their faces. “Me. Ser Mandon, you’ll bear the king’s banner. Pod, my helm.” The boy ran to obey. The Hound leaned on that notched and blood-streaked sword and looked at him with those wide white eyes. Ser Mandon helped Tyrion mount up again. “
Form up!
” he shouted.

His big red stallion wore crinet and chamfron. Crimson silk draped his hindquarters, over a coat of mail. The high saddle was gilded. Podrik Payne handed up helm and shield, heavy oak emblazoned with a golden hand on red, surrounded by small golden lions. He walked his horse in a circle, looking at the little force of men. Only a handful had responded to his command, no more than twenty. They sat their horses with eyes as white as the Hound’s. He looked contemptuously at the others, the knights and sellswords who had ridden with Clegane. “They say I’m half a man,” he said. “What does that make the lot of you?”

That shamed them well enough. A knight mounted, helmetless, and rode to join the others. A pair of sellswords followed. Then more. The King’s Gate shuddered again. In a few moments the size of Tyrion’s command had doubled. He had them trapped.
If I fight, they must do the same, or they are less than dwarfs
.

“You won’t hear me shout out Joffrey’s name,” he told them. “You won’t hear me yell for Casterly Rock either. This is your city Stannis means to sack, and that’s your gate he’s bringing down. So come with me and kill the son of a bitch!” Tyrion unsheathed his axe, wheeled the stallion around, and trotted toward the sally port. He
thought
they were following, but never dared to look.

Chapter Sixty
Sansa

The torches shimmered brightly against the hammered metal of the wall sconces, filling the Queen’s Ballroom with silvery light. Yet there was still darkness in that hall. Sansa could see it in the pale eyes of Ser Ilyn Payne, who stood by the back door still as stone, taking neither food nor wine. She could hear it in Lord Gyles’s racking cough, and the whispered voice of Osney Kettleblack when he slipped in to bring Cersei the tidings.

Sansa was finishing her broth when he came the first time, entering through the back. She glimpsed him talking to his brother Osfryd. Then he climbed the dais and knelt beside the high seat, smelling of horse, four long thin scratches on his cheek crusted with scabs, his hair falling down past his collar and into his eyes. For all his whispering, Sansa could not help but hear. “The fleets are locked in battle. Some archers got ashore, but the Hound’s cut them to pieces, Y’Grace. Your brother’s raising his chain, I heard the signal. Some drunkards down to Flea Bottom are smashing doors and climbing through windows. Lor1d Bywaterâ™ sent the gold cloaks to deal with them. Baelorâ™ Sept is jammed full, everyone praying.â/p>

âœnd my son?â/p>

âœhe king went to Baelorâ™ to get the High Septonâ™ blessing. Now heâ™ walking the walls with the Hand, telling the men to be brave, lifting their spirits as it were.â/p>

Cersei beckoned to her page for another cup of wine, a golden vintage from the Arbor, fruity and rich. The queen was drinking heavily, but the wine only seemed to make her more beautiful; her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had a bright, feverish heat to them as she looked down over the hall.
Eyes of wildfire
, Sansa thought.

Musicians played. Jugglers juggled. Moon Boy lurched about the hall on stilts making mock of everyone, while Ser Dontos chased serving girls on his broomstick horse. The guests laughed, but it was a joyless laughter, the sort of laughter that can turn into sobbing in half a heartbeat.
Their bodies are here, but their thoughts are on the city walls, and their hearts as well
.

After the broth came a salad of apples, nuts, and raisins. At any other time, it might have made a tasty dish, but tonight all the food was flavored with fear. Sansa was not the only one in the hall without an appetite. Lord Gyles was coughing more than he was eating, Lollys Stokeworth sat hunched and shivering, and the young bride of one of Ser Lancelâ™ knights began to weep uncontrollably. The queen commanded Maester Frenken to put her to bed with a cup of dreamwine. âœears,âshe said scornfully to Sansa as the woman was led from the hall. âœhe womanâ™ weapon, my lady mother used to call them. The manâ™ weapon is a sword. And that tells us all you need to know, doesnâ™ it?â/p>

âœen must be very brave, though,âsaid Sansa. âœo ride out and face swords and axes, everyone trying to kill youÂ.Â.Â.Ââ/p>

âœaime told me once that he only feels truly alive in battle and in bed.âShe lifted her cup and took a long swallow. Her salad was untouched. ✠would sooner face any number of swords than sit helpless like this, pretending to enjoy the company of this flock of frightened hens.â/p>

âœou asked them here, Your Grace.â/p>

âœertain things are expected of a queen. They will be expected of you should you ever wed Joffrey. Best learn.âThe queen studied the wives, daughters, and mothers who filled the benches. âœf themselves the hens are nothing, but their cocks are important for one reason or another, and some may survive this battle. So it behooves me to give their women my protection. If my wretched dwarf of a brother should somehow manage to prevail, they will return to their husbands and fathers full of tales about how brave I was, how my courage inspired them and lifted their spirits, how I never doubted our victory even for a moment.â/p>

âœnd if the castle should fall?â/p>

âœouâ™ like that, wouldnâ™ you?âCersei did not wait for a denial. âœf Iâ™ not betrayed by my own guards, I may be able to hold here for a time. Then I can go to the walls and offer to yield to Lord Stannis in person. That will spare us the worst. But if Maegorâ™ Holdfast should fall before Stannis can come up, why then, most of my guests are in for a bit of rape, Iâ™ say. And you should never rule out mutilation, torture, and murder at times like these.â/p>

Sansa was horrified. âœhese are women, unarmed, and gently born.â/p>

âœheir birth protects them,âCersei admitted, âœhough not as much as youâ€d think. Each oneâ™ worth a good ransom, but after the madness of battle, soldiers often seem to want flesh more than coin. Even so, a golden shield is better than none. Out in the streets, the women wonâ™ be treated near as tenderly. Nor will our servants. Pretty things like that serving wench of Lady Tandaâ™ could be in for a lively night, but donâ™ imagine the old and the infirm and the ugly will be spared. Enough drink will make blind washerwomen and reeking pig girls seem as comely as you, sweetling.

âœi>Me?â/p>

âœi>Try not to sound so like a mouse, Sansa. Youâ™e a woman now, remember? And betrothed to my firstborn.âThe queen sipped at her wine. âœere it anyone else outside the gates, I might hope to beguile him. But this is Stannis Baratheon. Iâ™ have a better chance of seducing his horse.âShe noticed the look on Sansaâ™ face, and laughed. âœave I shocked you, my lady?âShe leaned close. âœou little fool. Tears are not a womanâ™ only weapon. Youâ™e got another one between your legs, and youâ™ best learn to use it. Youâ™l find men use their swords freely enough. Both kinds of swords.â/p>

Sansa was spared the need to reply when two Kettleblacks reentered the hall. Ser Osmund and his brothers had become great favorites about the castle; they were always ready with a smile and a jest, and got on with grooms and huntsmen as well as they did with knights and squires. With the serving wenches they got on best of all, it was gossiped. Of late Ser Osmund had taken Sandor Cleganeâ™ place by Joffreyâ™ side, and Sansa had heard the women at the washing well saying he was as strong as the Hound, only younger and faster. If that was so, she wondered why she had never once heard of these Kettleblacks before Ser Osmund was named to the Kingsguard.

Osney was all smiles as he knelt beside the queen. âœhe hulks have gone up, Yâ™race. The whole Blackwaterâ™ awash with wildfire. A hundred ships burning, maybe more.â/p>

âœnd my son?â/p>

âœeâ™ at the Mud Gate with the Hand and the Kingsguard, Yâ™race. He spoke to the archers on the hoardings before, and gave them a few tips on handling a crossbow, he did. All agree, heâ™ a right brave boy.â/p>

âœeâ™ best remain a right
live
boy.âCersei turned to his brother Osfryd, who was taller, sterner, and wore a drooping black mustache. âœes?â/p>

Osfryd had donned a steel halfhelm over his long black hair, and the look on his face was grim, âœâ™race,âhe said quietly, âœhe boys caught a groom and two maidservants trying to sneak out a postern with three of the kingâ™ horses.â/p>

âœhe nightâ™ first traitors,âthe queen said, âœut not the last, I fear. Have Ser Ilyn see to them, and put their heads on pikes outside the stables as a warning.âAs they left, she turned to Sansa. âœnother lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this and youâ™l have treasons popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.â/p>

✠will remember, Your Grace,âsaid Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the peopleâ™ loyalty than fear.
If I am ever a queen, Iâ™l make them love me
.

Crabclaw pies followed the salad. Then came mutton roasted with leeks and carrots, served in trenchers of hollowed bread. Lollys ate too fast, got sick, and retched all over herself and her sister. Lord Gyles coughed, drank, coughed, drank, and passed out. The queen gazed down in disgust to where he sprawled with his face in his trencher and his hand in a puddle of wine. “The gods must have been mad to waste manhood on the likes of him, and I must have been mad to demand his release.”

Osfryd Kettleblack returned, crimson cloak swirling. “There’s folks gathering in the square, Y’Grace, asking to take refuge in the castle. Not a mob, rich merchants and the like.”

“Command them to return to their homes,” the queen said. “If they won’t go, have our crossbowmen kill a few. No sorties; I won’t have the gates opened for any reason.”

“As you command.” He bowed and moved off.

The queen’s face was hard and angry. “Would that I could take a sword to their necks myself.” Her voice was starting to slur. “When we were little, Jaime and I were so much alike that even our lord father could not tell us apart. Sometimes as a lark we would dress in each other’s clothes and spend a whole day each as the other. Yet even so, when Jaime was given his first sword, there was none for me. ‘What do I get?’ I remember asking. We were so much alike, I could never understand why they treated us so
differently
. Jaime learned to fight with sword and lance and mace, while I was taught to smile and sing and please. He was heir to Casterly Rock, while I was to be sold to some stranger like a horse, to be ridden whenever my new owner liked, beaten whenever he liked, and cast aside in time for a younger filly. Jaime’s lot was to be glory and power, while mine was birth and moonblood.”

“But you were queen of all the Seven Kingdoms,” Sansa said.

“When it comes to swords, a queen is only a woman after all.”

Cersei’s wine cup was empty. The page moved to fill it again, but she turned it over and shook her head. “No more. I must keep a clear head.”

The last course was goat cheese served with baked apples. The scent of cinnamon filled the hall as Osney Kettleblack slipped in to kneel once more between them. “Y’Grace,” he murmured. “Stannis has landed men on the tourney grounds, and there’s more coming across. The Mud Gate’s under attack, and they’ve brought a ram to the King’s Gate. The Imp’s gone out to drive them off.”

“That will fill them with fear,” the queen said dryly. “He hasn’t taken Joff, I hope.”

“No, Y’Grace, the king’s with my brother at the Whores, flinging Antler Men into the river.”

“With the Mud Gate under assault? Folly. Tell Ser Osmund I want him out of there at once, it’s too dangerous. Fetch him back to the castle.”

“The Imp said—”

“It’s what
I
said that ought concern you.” Cersei’s eyes narrowed. “Your brother will do as he’s told, or I’ll see to it that he leads the next sortie himself, and you’ll go with him.”

After the meal had been cleared away, many of the guests asked leave to go to the sept. Cersei graciously granted their request. Lady Tanda and her daughters were among those who fled. For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother’s queen, of Nymeria’s ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist.