A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

off down the kingsroad.
His men followed.
    When they were out of sight, Hot Pie began to whoop, but Yoren looked angrier
than ever. “Fool! You think he’s done with us? Next time he won’t prance up
and hand me no damn ribbon. Get the rest out o’ them baths, we need to be
moving. Ride all night, maybe we can stay ahead o’ them for a bit.” He scooped
up the shortsword the officer had dropped. “Who wants this?”
    â€œMe!” Hot Pie yelled.
    â€œDon’t be using it on Arry.” He handed the boy the sword, hilt first,
and walked over to Arya, but it was the Bull he spoke to. “Queen wants you
bad, boy.”
    Arya was lost. “Why should she want
him
?”
    The Bull scowled at her. “Why should she want
you
? You’re nothing
but a little gutter rat!”
    â€œWell, you’re nothing but a bastard boy!” Or maybe he was only
pretending
to be a bastard boy. “What’s your true name?”
    â€œGendry,” he said, like he wasn’t quite sure.
    â€œDon’t see why no one wants neither o’ you,” Yoren said, “but they can’t
have you regardless. You ride them two coursers. First sight of a gold cloak,
make for the Wall like a dragon’s on your tail. The rest o’ us don’t mean spit
to them.”
    â€œExcept for you,” Arya pointed out. “That man said he’d take your head
too.”
    â€œWell, as to that,” Yoren said, “if he can get it off my shoulders, he’s
welcome to it.”

JON
    S am?” Jon called softly.
    The air smelled of paper and dust and years. Before him, tall wooden shelves
rose up into dimness, crammed with leatherbound books and bins of ancient
scrolls. A faint yellow glow filtered through the stacks from some hidden lamp.
Jon blew out the taper he carried, preferring not to risk an open flame amidst so
much old dry paper. Instead he followed the light, wending his way down the
narrow aisles beneath barrel-vaulted ceilings. All in black, he was a shadow
among shadows, dark of hair, long of face, grey of eye. Black moleskin gloves
covered his hands; the right because it was burned, the left because a man felt
half a fool wearing only one glove.
    Samwell Tarly sat hunched over a table in a niche carved into the stone
of the wall. The glow came from the lamp hung over his head. He looked up at
the sound of Jon’s steps.
    â€œHave you been here all night?”
    â€œHave I?” Sam looked startled.
    â€œYou didn’t break your fast with us, and your bed hadn’t been slept in.” Rast
suggested that maybe Sam had deserted, but Jon never believed it. Desertion
required its own sort of courage, and Sam had little enough of that.
    â€œIs it morning? Down here there’s no way to know.”
    â€œSam, you’re a sweet fool,” Jon said. “You’ll miss that bed when we’re
sleeping on the cold hard ground, I promise you.”
    Sam yawned. “Maester Aemon sent me to find maps for the Lord Commander. I
never thought . . . Jon, the
books,
have you ever
seen their like? There are
thousands
!”
    He gazed about him. “The library at Winterfell has more than a hundred. Did
you find the maps?”
    â€œOh, yes.” Sam’s hand swept over the table, fingers plump as sausages
indicating the clutter of books and scrolls before him. “A dozen, at the
least.” He unfolded a square of parchment. “The paint has faded, but you can
see where the mapmaker marked the sites of wildling villages, and there’s
another book . . . where is it now? I was reading it a moment
ago.” He shoved some scrolls aside to reveal a dusty volume bound in rotted
leather.
“This,”
he said reverently, “is the account of a journey
from the Shadow Tower all the way to Lorn Point on the Frozen Shore, written by
a ranger named Redwyn. It’s not dated, but he mentions a Dorren Stark as King
in the North, so it must be from before the Conquest. Jon, they fought
giants
! Redwyn even traded with the children of the forest, it’s all
here.” Ever so delicately, he turned pages with a finger. “He drew maps as
well, see . . .”
    â€œMaybe you could write an account of our ranging, Sam.”
    He’d meant to sound encouraging, but it was the wrong thing to say. The last
thing Sam needed was to be reminded of what faced