A Feast for Dragons

seldom finds them.”
    “I find enough. ’Tis true, I am no tourney knight. I save my
valor for the battlefield, woman.”
    Woman was marginally better than wench, she
supposed. “You and good Ser Creighton have much in common, then.”
    Ser Shadrich laughed. “Oh, I doubt that, but it may be that
you and I share a quest. A little lost sister, is it? With blue eyes and auburn
hair?” He laughed again. “You are not the only hunter in the woods. I seek for
Sansa Stark as well.”
    Brienne kept her face a mask, to hide her dismay. “Who is
this Sansa Stark, and why do you seek her?”
    “For love, why else?”
    She furrowed her brow. “Love?”
    “Aye, love of gold. Unlike your good Ser Creighton, I did
fight upon the Blackwater, but on the losing side. My ransom ruined me. You
know who Varys is, I trust? The eunuch has offered a plump bag of gold for this
girl you’ve never heard of. I am not a greedy man. If some oversized wench
would help me find this naughty child, I would split the Spider’s coin with
her.”
    “I thought you were in this merchant’s hire.”
    “Only so far as Duskendale. Hibald is as niggardly as he is
fearful. And he is very fearful. What say you, wench?”
    “I know no Sansa Stark,” she insisted. “I am searching for my
sister, a highborn girl . . .”
    “. . . with blue eyes and auburn hair, aye. Pray, who is
this knight who travels with your sister? Or did you name him fool?” Ser
Shadrich did not wait for her answer, which was good, since she had none. “A
certain fool vanished from King’s Landing the night King Joffrey died, a stout
fellow with a nose full of broken veins, one Ser Dontos the Red, formerly of
Duskendale. I pray your sister and her drunken fool are not mistaken for
the Stark girl and Ser Dontos. That could be most unfortunate.” He put his
heels into his courser and trotted on ahead.
    Even Jaime Lannister had seldom made Brienne feel such a
fool. You are not the only hunter in the woods. The woman Brella had
told her how Joffrey had stripped Ser Dontos of his spurs, how Lady Sansa
begged Joffrey for his life. He helped her flee, Brienne had decided,
when she heard the tale. Find Ser Dontos, and I will find Sansa. She
should have known there would be others who would see it too. Some may even
be less savory than Ser Shadrich. She could only hope that Ser Dontos had
hidden Sansa well. But if so, how will I ever find her?
    She hunched her shoulders down and rode on, frowning.
    Night was gathering by the time their party came upon the
inn, a tall, timbered building that stood beside a river junction, astride an
old stone bridge. That was the inn’s name, Ser Creighton told them: the
Old
Stone
Bridge
.
The innkeep was a friend of his. “Not a bad cook, and the rooms have no more
fleas than most,” he vouched. “Who’s for a warm bed tonight?”
    “Not us, unless your friend is giving them away,” said Ser
Illifer the Penniless. “We have no coin for rooms.”
    “I can pay for the three of us.” Brienne did not lack for
coin; Jaime had seen to that. In her saddlebags she’d found a purse fat with
silver stags and copper stars, a smaller one stuffed with golden dragons, and a
parchment commanding all loyal subjects of the king to assist the bearer,
Brienne of House Tarth, who was about His Grace’s business. It was signed in a
childish hand by Tommen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the
Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.
    Hibald was for stopping too, and bid his men to leave the
wagon near the stables. Warm yellow light shone through the diamond-shaped panes
of the inn’s windows, and Brienne heard a stallion trumpet at the scent of her
mare. She was loosening the saddle when a boy came out the stable door, and
said, “Let me do that, ser.”
    “I am no ser, ” she told him, “but you may take the
horse. See that she is fed and brushed and watered.”
    The boy reddened. “Beg pardons, m’lady. I thought . . .”
    “It is a common mistake.” Brienne gave him the reins and
followed the others into the inn, with her saddlebags across a shoulder and her
bedroll tucked up beneath one arm.
    Sawdust covered the plank floor of the common room, and the
air smelled of hops and smoke and meat. A roast was spitting and crackling over
the fire, unattended for the moment. Six locals sat about a table, talking, but
they broke off when the strangers entered. Brienne could feel their eyes.
Despite chainmail, cloak, and