A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

will
destroy
me? With what, pray? That paltry rabble I see there
huddled under the castle walls? I’ll call them five thousand and be generous,
codfish lords and onion knights and sellswords. Half of them are like to come
over to me before the battle starts. You have fewer than four hundred horse, my
scouts tell me—freeriders in boiled leather who will not stand an
instant against armored lances. I do not care how seasoned a warrior you think
you are, Stannis, that host of yours won’t survive the first charge of my
vanguard.”
    â€œWe shall see, brother.” Some of the light seemed to go out of the world when
Stannis slid his sword back into its scabbard. “Come the dawn, we shall
see.”
    â€œI hope your new god’s a merciful one, brother.”
    Stannis snorted and galloped away, disdainful. The red priestess lingered a
moment behind. “Look to your own sins, Lord Renly,” she said as she wheeled
her horse around.
    Catelyn and Lord Renly returned together to the camp where his thousands and
her few waited their return. “That was amusing, if not terribly profitable,”
he commented. “I wonder where I can get a sword like that? Well, doubtless
Loras will make me a gift of it after the battle. It grieves me that it must
come to this.”
    â€œYou have a cheerful way of grieving,” said Catelyn, whose distress was not
feigned.
    â€œDo I?” Renly shrugged. “So be it. Stannis was never the most cherished of
brothers, I confess. Do you suppose this tale

of his is true? If Joffrey is the Kingslayer’s get—”
    â€œâ€”your brother is the lawful heir.”
    â€œWhile he lives,” Renly admitted. “Though it’s a fool’s law, wouldn’t you
agree? Why the oldest son, and not the best-fitted? The crown will suit me, as
it never suited Robert and would not suit Stannis. I have it in me to be a
great king, strong yet generous, clever, just, diligent, loyal to my friends
and terrible to my enemies, yet capable of forgiveness,
patient—”
    â€œâ€”humble?” Catelyn supplied.
    Renly laughed. “You must allow a king
some
flaws, my
lady.”
    Catelyn felt very tired. It had all been for nothing. The Baratheon brothers
would drown each other in blood while her son faced the Lannisters alone, and
nothing she could say or do would stop it.
It is past time I went back to
Riverrun to close my father’s eyes,
she thought.
That much at least I
can do. I may be a poor envoy, but I am a good mourner, gods save
me.
    Their camp was well sited atop a low stony ridge that ran from north to south.
It was far more orderly than the sprawling encampment on the Mander, though
only a quarter as large. When he’d learned of his brother’s assault on Storm’s
End, Renly had split his forces, much as Robb had done at the Twins. His great
mass of foot he had left behind at Bitterbridge with his young queen, his
wagons, carts, draft animals, and all his cumbersome siege machinery, while
Renly himself led his knights and freeriders in a swift dash east.
    How like his brother Robert he was, even in that . . . only

Robert had always had Eddard Stark to temper his boldness with caution. Ned
would surely have prevailed upon Robert to bring up his
whole
force,
to encircle Stannis and besiege the besiegers. That choice Renly had denied
himself in his headlong rush to come to grips with his brother. He had
outdistanced his supply lines, left food and forage days behind with all his
wagons and mules and oxen. He
must
come to battle soon, or
starve.
    Catelyn sent Hal Mollen to tend to their horses while she accompanied Renly
back to the royal pavilion at the heart of the encampment. Inside the walls of
green silk, his captains and lords bannermen were waiting to hear word of the
parley. “My brother has not changed,” their young king told them as Brienne
unfastened his cloak and lifted the gold-and-jade crown from his brow.
“Castles and courtesies will not appease him, he must have blood. Well, I am
of a mind to grant his wish.”
    â€œYour Grace, I see no need for battle here,” Lord Mathis Rowan put in. “The
castle is strongly garrisoned and well provisioned, Ser Cortnay Penrose is a
seasoned commander, and the trebuchet has not been built that could breach the
walls of Storm’s End. Let Lord Stannis have his siege. He will