A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

twisted his legs around and clambered down awkwardly from the
chair.
    Cersei frowned. “I haven’t given you leave to depart. I want to know how you
intend to free Jaime.”
    â€œI’ll tell you when I know. Schemes are like fruit, they require a certain
ripening. Right now, I have a mind to ride through the streets and take the
measure of this city.” Tyrion rested his hand on the head of the sphinx beside
the door. “One parting request. Kindly make certain no harm comes to Sansa
Stark. It would not do to lose
both
the daughters.”
    Outside the council chamber, Tyrion nodded to Ser Mandon and made his way down
the long vaulted hall. Bronn fell in beside him. Of Timett son of Timett there
was no sign. “Where’s our red hand?” Tyrion asked.
    â€œHe felt an urge to explore. His kind was not made for waiting about in
halls.”
    â€œI hope he doesn’t kill anyone important.” The clansmen Tyrion had brought
down from their fastnesses in the Mountains of the Moon were loyal in their own
fierce way, but they were proud and quarrelsome as well, prone to answer
insults real or imagined with steel. “Try to find him. And while you are at
it, see that

the rest have been quartered and fed. I want them in the barracks beneath the
Tower of the Hand, but don’t let the steward put the Stone Crows near the Moon
Brothers, and tell him the Burned Men must have a hall all to
themselves.”
    â€œWhere will you be?”
    â€œI’m riding back to the Broken Anvil.”
    Bronn grinned insolently. “Need an escort? The talk is, the streets are
dangerous.”
    â€œI’ll call upon the captain of my sister’s household guard, and remind him
that I am no less a Lannister than she is. He needs to recall that his oath is
to Casterly Rock, not to Cersei or Joffrey.”
    An hour later, Tyrion rode from the Red Keep accompanied by a dozen Lannister
guardsmen in crimson cloaks and lion-crested halfhelms. As they passed beneath
the portcullis, he noted the heads mounted atop the walls. Black with rot and
old tar, they had long since become unrecognizable. “Captain Vylarr,” he
called, “I want those taken down on the morrow. Give them to the silent
sisters for cleaning.” It would be hell to match them with the bodies, he
supposed, yet it must be done. Even in the midst of war, certain decencies
needed to be observed.
    Vylarr grew hesitant. “His Grace has told us he wishes the traitors’ heads to
remain on the walls until he fills those last three empty spikes there on the
end.”
    â€œLet me hazard a wild stab. One is for Robb Stark, the others for Lords
Stannis and Renly. Would that be right?”
    â€œYes, my lord.”
    â€œMy nephew is thirteen years old today, Vylarr. Try and recall that. I’ll have
the heads down on the morrow, or one of those empty spikes may have a different
lodger. Do you take my meaning, Captain?”
    â€œI’ll see that they’re taken down myself, my lord.”
    â€œGood.” Tyrion put his heels into his horse and trotted away, leaving the red
cloaks to follow as best they could.
    He had told Cersei he intended to take the measure of the city. That was not
entirely a lie. Tyrion Lannister was not pleased by much of what he saw. The
streets of King’s Landing had always been teeming and raucous and noisy, but
now they reeked of danger in a way that he did not recall from past visits. A
naked corpse sprawled in the gutter near the Street of Looms, being torn at by
a pack of feral dogs, yet no one seemed to care. Watchmen were much in
evidence, moving in pairs through the alleys in their gold cloaks and shirts of
black ringmail, iron cudgels never far from their hands. The markets were
crowded with ragged men selling their household goods for any price they could
get . . . and conspicuously empty of farmers selling food. What
little produce he did see was three times as costly as it had been a year ago.
One peddler was hawking rats roasted on a skewer.
“Fresh rats,”
he
cried loudly,
“fresh rats.”
Doubtless fresh rats were to be
preferred to old stale rotten rats. The frightening thing was, the rats looked
more appetizing than most of what the butchers were selling. On the Street of
Flour, Tyrion saw guards at every

other shop door. When times grew lean, even bakers found sellswords cheaper