A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

tree roots. Farther on, two spearmen faced each other across a little trickle of a stream, practicing their thrust-and-parry in the fading light, their chests bare and slick with sweat.
    No one looked at him. No one spoke to him. No one paid him any mind. He was surrounded by men sworn to House Lannister, a vast host twenty thousand strong, and yet he was alone.
    When he heard the deep rumble of Shagga’s laughter booming through the dark, he followed it to the Stone Crows in their small corner of the night. Conn son of Coratt waved a tankard of ale. “Tyrion Half man! Come, sit by our fire, share meat with the Stone Crows. We have an ox.”
    â€œI can see that, Conn son of Coratt.” The huge red carcass was suspended over a roaring fire, skewered on a spit the size of a small tree. No doubt it
was
a small tree. Blood and grease dripped down into the flames as two Stone Crows turned the meat. “I thank you. Send for me when the ox is cooked.” From the look of it, that might even be before the battle. He walked on.
    Each clan had its own cookfire; Black Ears did not eat with Stone Crows, Stone Crows did not eat with Moon Brothers, and no one ate with Burned Men. The modest tent he had coaxed out of Lord Lefford’s stores had been erected in the center of the four fires. Tyrion found Bronn sharing a skin of wine with the new servants. Lord Tywin had sent him a groom and a body servant to see to his needs, and even insisted he take a squire. They were seated around the embers of a small cookfire. A girl was with them; slim, dark-haired, no more than eighteen by the look of her. Tyrion studied her face for a moment, before he spied fishbones in the ashes. “What did you eat?”
    â€œTrout, m’lord,” said his groom. “Bronn caught them.”
    Trout
, he thought.
Suckling pig. Damn my father
. He stared mournfully at the bones, his belly rumbling.
    His squire, a boy with the unfortunate name of Podrick Payne, swallowed whatever he had been about to say. The lad was a distant cousin to Ser Ilyn Payne, the king’s headsman … and almost as quiet, although not for want of a tongue. Tyrion had made him stick it out once, just to be certain. “Definitely a tongue,” he had said. “Someday you must learn to use it.”
    At the moment, he did not have the patience to try and coax a thought out of the lad, whom he suspected had been inflicted on him as a cruel jape. Tyrion turned his attention back to the girl. “Is this her?” he asked Bronn.
    She rose gracefully and looked down at him from the lofty height of five feet or more. “It is, m’lord, and she can speak for herself, if it please you.”
    He cocked his head to one side. “I am Tyrion, of House Lannister. Men call me the Imp.”
    â€œMy mother named me Shae. Men call me … often.”
    Bronn laughed, and Tyrion had to smile. “Into the tent, Shae, if you would be so kind.” He lifted the flap and held it for her. Inside, he knelt to light a candle.
    The life of a soldier was not without certain compensations. Wherever you have a camp, you are certain to have camp followers. At the end of the day’s march, Tyrion had sent Bronn back to find him a likely whore. “I would prefer one who is reasonably young, with as pretty a face as you can find,” he had said. “If she has washed sometime this year, I shall be glad. If she hasn’t, wash her. Be certain that you tell her who I am, and warn her of
what
I am.” Jyck had not always troubled to do that. There was a look the girls got in their eyes sometimes when they first beheld the lordling they’d been hired to pleasure … a look that Tyrion Lannister did not ever care to see again.
    He lifted the candle and looked her over. Bronn had done well enough; she was doe-eyed and slim, with small firm breasts and a smile that was by turns shy, insolent, and wicked. He liked that. “Shall I take my gown off, m’lord?” she asked.
    â€œIn good time. Are you a maiden, Shae?”
    â€œIf it please you, m’lord,” she said demurely.
    â€œWhat would please me would be the truth of you, girl.”
    â€œAye, but that will cost you double.”
    Tyrion decided they would get along splendidly. “I am a Lannister. Gold I have in plenty, and you’ll find me generous … but I’ll want more from you than what you’ve got