A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

blowing his hunting
horn, sounding danger. In a heartbeat, all of them were pulling on clothes and
snatching for whatever weapons they owned. Arya ran for the gate as the horn
sounded again. As she dashed past the barn, Biter threw himself furiously
against his chains, and Jaqen H’ghar called out from the back of their wagon.
“Boy! Sweet boy! Is it war, red war? Boy, free us. A man can fight.
Boy!
” She ignored him and plunged on. By then she could hear horses
and shouts beyond the wall.
    She scrambled up onto the catwalk. The parapets were a bit

too high and Arya a bit too short; she had to wedge her toes into the holes
between the stones to see over. For a moment she thought the town was full of
lantern bugs. Then she realized they were men with torches, galloping between
the houses. She saw a roof go up, flames licking at the belly of the night with
hot orange tongues as the thatch caught. Another followed, and then another,
and soon there were fires blazing everywhere.
    Gendry climbed up beside her, wearing his helm. “How many?”
    Arya tried to count, but they were riding too fast, torches spinning through
the air as they flung them. “A hundred,” she said. “Two hundred, I don’t
know.” Over the roar of the flames, she could hear shouts. “They’ll come for
us soon.”
    â€œThere,” Gendry said, pointing.
    A column of riders moved between the burning buildings toward the holdfast.
Firelight glittered off metal helms and spattered their mail and plate with
orange and yellow highlights. One carried a banner on a tall lance. She thought
it was red, but it was hard to tell in the night, with the fires roaring all
around. Everything seemed red or black or orange.
    The fire leapt from one house to another. Arya saw a tree consumed, the flames
creeping across its branches until it stood against the night in robes of
living orange. Everyone was awake now, manning the catwalks or struggling with
the frightened animals below. She could hear Yoren shouting commands. Something
bumped against her leg, and she glanced down to discover the crying girl
clutching her. “Get away!” She wrenched her leg

free. “What are you doing up here? Run and hide someplace, you stupid.” She
shoved the girl away.
    The riders reined up before the gates.
“You in the holdfast!”
shouted a knight in a tall helm with a spiked crest.
“Open, in the name
of the king!”
    â€œAye, and which king is that?” old Reysen yelled back down, before Woth
cuffed him into silence.
    Yoren climbed the battlement beside the gate, his faded black cloak tied to a
wooden staff.
“You men hold down here!”
he shouted.
“The
townfolk’s gone.”
    â€œAnd who are you, old man? One of Lord Beric’s cravens?” called the knight in
the spiked helm. “If that fat fool Thoros is in there, ask him how he likes
these
fires.”
    â€œGot no such man here,” Yoren shouted back. “Only some lads for the Watch.
Got no part o’ your war.” He hoisted up the staff, so they could all see the
color of his cloak. “Have a look. That’s black, for the Night’s
Watch.”
    â€œOr black for House Dondarrion,” called the man who bore the enemy banner.
Arya could see its colors more clearly now in the light of the burning town: a
golden lion on red. “Lord Beric’s sigil is a purple lightning bolt on a black
field.”
    Suddenly Arya remembered the morning she had thrown the orange in Sansa’s face
and gotten juice all over her stupid ivory silk gown. There had been some
southron lordling at the tourney, her sister’s stupid friend Jeyne was in love
with him. He had a lightning bolt on his shield and her father had sent him out
to behead the Hound’s brother. It seemed a thousand years ago now,

something that had happened to a different person in a different
life . . . to Arya Stark the Hand’s daughter, not Arry the
orphan boy. How would Arry know lords and such?
    â€œAre you blind, man?” Yoren waved his staff back and forth, making the cloak
ripple. “You see a bloody lightning bolt?”
    â€œBy night all banners look black,” the knight in the spiked helm observed.
“Open, or we’ll know you for outlaws in league with the king’s
enemies.”
    Yoren spat. “Who’s got your command?”
    â€œI