A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

there and burned. Dontos limped up to him, puffing. “Oswell?”
    â€œNo names,” the man said. “In the boat.” He sat hunched over his oars, an old man, tall and gangling, with long white hair and a great hooked nose, with eyes shaded by a cowl. “Get in, be quick about it,” he muttered. “We need to be away.”
    When both of them were safe aboard, the cowled man slid the blades into the water and put his back into the oars, rowing them out toward the channel. Behind them the bells were still tolling the boy king’s death. They had the dark river all to themselves.
    With slow, steady, rhythmic strokes, they threaded their way downstream, sliding above the sunken galleys, past broken masts, burned hulls, and torn sails. The oarlocks had been muffled, so they moved almost soundlessly. A mist was rising over the water. Sansa saw the embattled ramparts of one of the Imp’s winch towers looming above, but the great chain had been lowered, and they rowed unimpeded past the spot where a thousand men had burned. The shore fell away, the fog grew thicker, the sound of the bells began to fade. Finally even the lights were gone, lost somewhere behind them. They were out in Blackwater Bay, and the world shrank to dark water, blowing mist, and their silent companion stooped over the oars. “How far must we go?” she asked.
    â€œNo talk.” The oarsman was old, but stronger than he looked, and his voice was fierce. There was something oddly familiar about his face, though Sansa could not say what it was.
    â€œNot far.” Ser Dontos took her hand in his own and rubbed it gently. “Your friend is near, waiting for you.”
    â€œ
No talk!
” the oarsman growled again. “Sound carries over water, Ser Fool.”
    Abashed, Sansa bit her lip and huddled down in silence. The rest was rowing, rowing, rowing.
    The eastern sky was vague with the first hint of dawn when Sansa finally saw a ghostly shape in the darkness ahead; a trading galley, her sails furled, moving slowly on a single bank of oars. As they drew closer, she saw the ship’s figurehead, a merman with a golden crown blowing on a great seashell horn. She heard a voice cry out, and the galley swung slowly about.
    As they came alongside, the galley dropped a rope ladder over the rail. The rower shipped the oars and helped Sansa to her feet. “Up now. Go on, girl, I got you.” Sansa thanked him for his kindness, but received no answer but a grunt. It was much easier going up the rope ladder than it had been coming down the cliff. The oarsman Oswell followed close behind her, while Ser Dontos remained in the boat.
    Two sailors were waiting by the rail to help her onto the deck. Sansa was trembling. “She’s cold,” she heard someone say. He took off his cloak and put it around her shoulders. “There, is that better, my lady? Rest easy, the worst is past and done.”
    She knew the voice.
But he’s in the Vale
, she thought. Ser Lothor Brune stood beside him with a torch.
    â€œLord Petyr,” Dontos called from the boat. “I must needs row back, before they think to look for me.”
    Petyr Baelish put a hand on the rail. “But first you’ll want your payment. Ten thousand dragons, was it?”
    â€œTen thousand.” Dontos rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. “As you promised, my lord.”
    â€œSer Lothor, the reward.”
    Lothor Brune dipped his torch. Three men stepped to the gunwale, raised crossbows, fired. One bolt took Dontos in the chest as he looked up, punching through the left crown on his surcoat. The others ripped into throat and belly. It happened so quickly neither Dontos nor Sansa had time to cry out. When it was done, Lothor Brune tossed the torch down on top of the corpse. The little boat was blazing fiercely as the galley moved away.
    â€œYou
killed
him.” Clutching the rail, Sansa turned away and retched. Had she escaped the Lannisters to tumble into worse?
    â€œMy lady,” Littlefinger murmured, “your grief is wasted on such a man as that. He was a sot, and no man’s friend.”
    â€œBut he
saved
me.”
    â€œHe sold you for a promise of ten thousand dragons. Your disappearance will make them suspect you in Joffrey’s death. The gold cloaks will hunt, and the eunuch will jingle his purse. Dontos . . . well, you heard him. He sold you for gold, and when he’d drunk it up he