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septon?”
    Brienne knew what sort. Near Maidenpool, she recalled, the Brave Companions had strung a septon up by his heels from the limb of a tree and used his corpse for archery practice. She wondered if his bones were piled in that wayn with all the rest.
    â€œA man would need to be a fool to rape a silent sister,” Ser Creighton was saying. “Even to lay hands upon one . . . it’s said they are the Stranger’s wives, and their female parts are cold and wet as ice.” He glanced at Brienne. “Uh . . . beg pardon.”
    Brienne spurred her mare toward Duskendale. After a moment, Ser Illifer followed, and Ser Creighton came bringing up the rear.
    Three hours later they came up upon another party struggling toward Duskendale; a merchant and his serving men, accompanied by yet another hedge knight. The merchant rode a dappled grey mare, whilst his servants took turns pulling his wagon. Four labored in the traces as the other two walked beside the wheels, but when they heard the sound of horses they formed up around the wagon with quarterstaffs of ash at the ready. The merchant produced a crossbow, the knight a blade. “You will forgive me if I am suspicious,” called the merchant, “but the times are troubled, and I have only good Ser Shadrich to defend me. Who are you?”
    â€œWhy,” Ser Creighton said, affronted, “I am the famous Ser Creighton Longbough, fresh from battle on the Blackwater, and this is my companion, Ser Illifer the Penniless.”
    â€œWe mean you no harm,” said Brienne.
    The merchant considered her doubtfully. “My lady, you should be safe at home. Why do you wear such unnatural garb?”
    â€œI am searching for my sister.” She dared not mention Sansa’s name, with her accused of regicide. “She is a highborn maid and beautiful, with blue eyes and auburn hair. Perhaps you saw her with a portly knight of forty years, or a drunken fool.”
    â€œThe roads are full of drunken fools and despoiled maidens. As to portly knights, it is hard for any honest man to keep his belly round when so many lack for food . . . though your Ser Creighton has not hungered, it would seem.”
    â€œI have big bones,” Ser Creighton insisted. “Shall we ride together for a time? I do not doubt Ser Shadrich’s valor, but he seems small, and three blades are better than one.”
    Four blades,
thought Brienne, but she held her tongue.
    The merchant looked to his escort. “What say you, ser?”
    â€œOh, these three are nought to fear.” Ser Shadrich was a wiry, fox-faced man with a sharp nose and a shock of orange hair, mounted on a rangy chestnut courser. Though he could not have been more than five foot two, he had a cocksure manner. “The one is old, t’other fat, and the big one is a woman. Let them come.”
    â€œAs you say.” The merchant lowered his crossbow.
    As they resumed their journey, the hired knight dropped back and looked her up and down as if she were a side of good salt pork. “You’re a strapping healthy wench, I’d say.”
    Ser Jaime’s mockery had cut her deep; the little man’s words hardly touched her. “A giant, compared to some.”
    He laughed. “I am big enough where it counts, wench.”
    â€œThe merchant called you Shadrich.”
    â€œSer Shadrich of the Shady Glen. Some call me the Mad Mouse.” He turned his shield to show her his sigil, a large white mouse with fierce red eyes, on bendy brown and blue. “The brown is for the lands I’ve roamed, the blue for the rivers that I’ve crossed. The mouse is me.”
    â€œAnd are you mad?”
    â€œOh, quite. Your common mouse will run from blood and battle. The mad mouse seeks them out.”
    â€œIt would seem he seldom finds them.”
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œFor love, why