A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

do.” The reflections of burning houses glimmered dully on the armor of his
warhorse as the others parted to let him pass. He was a stout man with a
manticore on his shield, and ornate scrollwork crawling across his steel
breastplate. Through the open visor of his helm, a face pale and piggy peered
up. “Ser Amory Lorch, bannerman to Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, the
Hand of the King. The
true
king, Joffrey.” He had a high, thin
voice. “In his name, I command you to open these gates.”
    All around them, the town burned. The night air was full of smoke, and the
drifting red embers outnumbered the stars. Yoren scowled. “Don’t see the need.
Do what you want to the town, it’s naught to me, but leave us be. We’re no foes
to you.”
    Look with your eyes,
Arya wanted to shout at the men below. “Can’t
they
see
we’re no lords or knights?” she whispered.
    â€œI don’t think they care, Arry,” Gendry whispered back.
    And she looked at Ser Amory’s face, the way Syrio had taught her to look, and
she saw that he was right.
    â€œIf you are no traitors, open your gates,” Ser Amory called. “We’ll
make certain you’re telling it true and be on our way.”
    Yoren was chewing sourleaf. “Told you, no one here but us. You got my word on
that.”
    The knight in the spiked helm laughed. “The crow gives us his
word.
”
    â€œYou lost, old man?” mocked one of the spearmen. “The Wall’s a long way
north o’ here.”
    â€œI command you once more, in King Joffrey’s name, to prove the loyalty you
profess and open these gates,” said Ser Amory.
    For a long moment Yoren considered, chewing. Then he spat. “Don’t think I
will.”
    â€œSo be it. You defy the king’s command, and so proclaim yourselves rebels,
black cloaks or no.”
    â€œGot me young boys in here,” Yoren shouted down.
    â€œYoung boys and old men die the same.” Ser Amory raised a lanquid fist, and a
spear came hurtling from the fire-bright shadows behind. Yoren must have been
the target, but it was Woth beside him who was hit. The spearhead went in his
throat and exploded out the back of his neck, dark and wet. Woth grabbed at the
shaft, and fell boneless from the walk.
    â€œStorm the walls and kill them all,” Ser Amory said in a bored voice. More
spears flew. Arya yanked down Hot Pie by the back of his tunic. From outside
came the rattle of armor, the scrape of swords on scabbards, the banging of
spears on shields, mingled with curses and the hoofbeats of racing horses. A
torch

sailed spinning above their heads, trailing fingers of fire as it thumped down
in the dirt of the yard.
    â€œBlades!”
Yoren shouted. “Spread apart, defend the wall wherever
they hit. Koss, Urreg, hold the postern. Lommy, pull that spear out of Woth and
get up where he was.”
    Hot Pie dropped his shortsword when he tried to unsheath it. Arya shoved the
blade back into his hand. “I don’t know how to swordfight,” he said,
white-eyed.
    â€œIt’s easy,” Arya said, but the lie died in her throat as a
hand
grasped the top of the parapet. She saw it by the light of the burning town, so
clear that it was as if time had stopped. The fingers were blunt, callused,
wiry black hairs grew between the knuckles, there was dirt under the nail of
the thumb.
Fear cuts deeper than swords,
she remembered as the top of
a pothelm loomed up behind the hand.
    She slashed down hard, and Needle’s castle-forged steel bit into the grasping
fingers between the knuckles.
“Winterfell!”
she screamed. Blood
spurted, fingers flew, and the helmed face vanished as suddenly as it had
appeared. “Behind!” Hot Pie yelled. Arya whirled. The second man was bearded
and helmetless, his dirk between his teeth to leave both hands free for
climbing. As he swung his leg over the parapet, she drove her point at his
eyes. Needle never touched him; he reeled backward and fell.
I hope he
falls on his face and cuts off his tongue.
“Watch
them,
not
me!” she screamed at Hot Pie. The next time someone tried to climb their part
of the wall, the boy hacked at his hands with his

swordshort until the man dropped away.
    Ser Amory had no ladders, but the holdfast walls were rough-cut and unmortared,
easy to climb, and there seemed to be no end to the