A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Brynden to the battlements, crest and all. Let every archer smear his shafts with night soil, and make that crest his mark. Once Ser Brynden dies, Riverrun is ours.”
    â€œMine,” piped Lord Emmon. “Riverrun is
mine
.”
    Lord Karyl’s birthmark darkened. “Will the night soil be your own contribution, Edwyn? A mortal poison, I don’t doubt.”
    â€œThe Blackfish deserves a nobler death, and I’m the man to give it to him.” Strongboar thumped his fist on the table. “I will challenge him to single combat. Mace or axe or longsword, makes no matter. The old man will be my meat.”
    â€œWhy would he deign to accept your challenge, ser?” asked Ser Forley Prester. “What could he gain from such a duel? Will we lift the siege if he should win? I do not believe that. Nor will he. A single combat would accomplish nought.”
    â€œI have known Brynden Tully since we were squires together, in service to Lord Darry,” said Norbert Vance, the blind Lord of Atranta. “If it please my lords, let me go and speak with him and try to make him understand the hopelessness of his position.”
    â€œHe understands that well enough,” said Lord Piper. He was a short, rotund, bowlegged man with a bush of wild red hair, the father of one of Jaime’s squires; the resemblance to the boy was unmistakeable. “The man’s not bloody
stupid,
Norbert. He has eyes . . . and too much sense to yield to such as these.” He made a rude gesture in the direction of Edwyn Frey and Walder Rivers.
    Edwyn bristled. “If my lord of Piper means to imply—”
    â€œI don’t
imply,
Frey. I say what I mean straight out, like an honest man. But what would
you
know of the ways of honest men? You’re a treacherous lying weasel, like all your kin. I’d sooner drink a pint of piss than take the word of any Frey.” He leaned across the table. “Where is Marq, answer me that? What have you done with my son? He was a
guest
at your bloody wedding.”
    â€œAnd our honored guest he shall remain,” said Edwyn, “until you prove your loyalty to His Grace, King Tommen.”
    â€œFive knights and twenty men-at-arms went with Marq to the Twins,” said Piper. “Are they your guests as well, Frey?”
    â€œSome of the knights, perhaps. The others were served no more than they deserved. You’d do well to guard your traitor’s tongue, Piper, unless you want your heir returned in pieces.”
    My father’s councils never went like this,
Jaime thought, as Piper came lurching to his feet. “Say that with a sword in your hand, Frey,” the small man snarled. “Or do you only fight with smears of shit?”
    Frey’s pinched face went pale. Beside him Walder Rivers rose. “Edwyn is no man of the sword . . . but I am, Piper. If you have more remarks to make, come outside and make them.”
    â€œThis is a war council, not a war,” Jaime reminded them. “Sit down, the both of you.” Neither man moved.
“Now!”
    Walder Rivers seated himself. Lord Piper was not so easy to cow. He muttered a curse and strode from the tent. “Shall I send men after him to drag him back, my lord?” Ser Daven asked Jaime.
    â€œSend Ser Ilyn,” urged Edywn Frey. “We only need his head.”
    Karyl Vance turned to Jaime. “Lord Piper spoke from grief. Marq is his firstborn son. Those knights who accompanied him to the Twins were nephews and cousins all.”
    â€œTraitors and rebels all, you mean,” said Edwyn Frey.
    Jaime gave him a cold look. “The Twins took up the Young Wolf’s cause as well,” he reminded the Freys. “Then you betrayed him. That makes you twice as treacherous as Piper.” He enjoyed seeing Edwyn’s thin smile curdle up and die.
I have endured sufficient counsel for one day,
he decided. “We’re done. See to your preparations, my lords. We attack at first light.”
    The wind was blowing from the north as the lords filed from the tent. Jaime could smell the stink of the Frey encampments beyond the Tumblestone. Across the water Edmure Tully stood forlorn atop the tall grey gallows, with a rope around his neck.
    His aunt departed last, her husband at her heels. “Lord nephew,” Emmon protested, “this assault on my seat . . . you must not do this.” When he swallowed, the apple in his throat moved up and