A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

it away with the back of her hand.
    â€œLeft,” Syrio sang out. “Low.” His sword was a blur, and the Small Hall echoed to the
clack clack clack
. “Left. Left. High. Left. Right. Left. Low.
Left!”
    The wooden blade caught her high in the breast, a sudden stinging blow that hurt all the more because it came from the wrong side. “Ow,” she cried out. She would have a fresh bruise there by the time she went to sleep, somewhere out at sea.
A bruise is a lesson
, she told herself,
and each lesson makes us better
.
    Syrio stepped back. “You are dead now.”
    Arya made a face. “You cheated,” she said hotly. “You said left and you went right.”
    â€œJust so. And now you are a dead girl.”
    â€œBut you
lied!”
    â€œMy words lied. My eyes and my arm shouted out the truth, but you were not seeing.”
    â€œI was so,” Arya said. “I watched you every second!”
    â€œWatching is not seeing, dead girl. The water dancer sees. Come, put down the sword, it is time for listening now.”
    She followed him over to the wall, where he settled onto a bench. “Syrio Forel was first sword to the Sealord of Braavos, and are you knowing how that came to pass?”
    â€œYou were the finest swordsman in the city.”
    â€œJust so, but why? Other men were stronger, faster, younger, why was Syrio Forel the best? I will tell you now.” He touched the tip of his little finger lightly to his eyelid. “The seeing, the true seeing, that is the heart of it.
    â€œHear me. The ships of Braavos sail as far as the winds blow, to lands strange and wonderful, and when they return their captains fetch queer animals to the Sealord’s menagerie. Such animals as you have never seen, striped horses, great spotted things with necks as long as stilts, hairy mouse-pigs as big as cows, stinging manticores, tigers that carry their cubs in a pouch, terrible walking lizards with scythes for claws. Syrio Forel has seen these things.
    â€œOn the day I am speaking of, the first sword was newly dead, and the Sealord sent for me. Many bravos had come to him, and as many had been sent away, none could say why. When I came into his presence, he was seated, and in his lap was a fat yellow cat. He told me that one of his captains had brought the beast to him, from an island beyond the sunrise. ‘Have you ever seen her like?’ he asked of me.
    â€œAnd to him I said, ‘Each night in the alleys of Braavos I see a thousand like him,’ and the Sealord laughed, and that day I was named the first sword.”
    Arya screwed up her face. “I don’t understand.”
    Syrio clicked his teeth together. “The cat was an ordinary cat, no more. The others expected a fabulous beast, so that is what they saw. How large it was, they said. Itwas no larger than any other cat, only fat from indolence, for the Sealord fed it from his own table. What curious small ears, they said. Its ears had been chewed away in kitten fights. And it was plainly a tomcat, yet the Sealord said ‘her,’ and that is what the others saw. Are you hearing?”
    Arya thought about it. “You saw what was there.”
    â€œJust so. Opening your eyes is all that is needing. The heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true. Look with your eyes. Hear with your ears. Taste with your mouth. Smell with your nose. Feel with your skin.
Then
comes the thinking, afterward, and in that way knowing the truth.”
    â€œJust so,” said Arya, grinning.
    Syrio Forel allowed himself a smile. “I am thinking that when we are reaching this Winterfell of yours, it will be time to put this needle in your hand.”
    â€œYes!” Arya said eagerly. “Wait till I show Jon—”
    Behind her the great wooden doors of the Small Hall flew open with a resounding crash. Arya whirled.
    A knight of the Kingsguard stood beneath the arch of the door with five Lannister guardsmen arrayed behind him. He was in full armor, but his visor was up. Arya remembered his droopy eyes and rust-colored whiskers from when he had come to Winterfell with the king: Ser Meryn Trant. The red cloaks wore mail shirts over boiled leather and steel caps with lion crests. “Arya Stark,” the knight said, “come with us, child.”
    Arya chewed her lip uncertainly. “What do you want?”
    â€œYour father wants to see you.”
    Arya took a step