A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

declared. “With my lord’s own sword, I will kill him. I swear it. I swear it.
I swear it.”
    Hal Mollen and the rest of her escort were waiting with the horses. Ser Wendel
Manderly was all in a lather to know what was happening. “My lady, the camp
has gone mad,” he blurted when he saw them. “Lord Renly, is he—” He
stopped suddenly, staring at Brienne and the blood that drenched her.
    â€œDead, but not by our hands.”
    â€œThe battle—” Hal Mollen began.
    â€œThere will be no battle.” Catelyn mounted, and her escort formed up
about her, with Ser Wendel to her left and Ser Perwyn Frey on her right.
“Brienne, we brought mounts enough for twice our number. Choose one, and come
with us.”
    â€œI have my own horse, my lady. And my armor—”
    â€œLeave them. We must be well away before they think to look for us. We were
both with the king when he was killed. That will not be forgotten.” Wordless,
Brienne turned and did as she was bid. “Ride,” Catelyn commanded her escort
when they were all ahorse. “If any man tries to stop us, cut him
down.”
    As the long fingers of dawn fanned across the fields, color was returning to
the world. Where grey men had sat grey horses armed with shadow spears, the
points of ten thousand lances now glinted silverly cold, and on the myriad
flapping banners Catelyn saw the blush of red and pink and orange, the richness
of blues and browns, the blaze of gold and yellow. All the power of Storm’s End
and Highgarden, the power that had been Renly’s an hour ago.
They belong
to Stannis now,
she realized,
even if they do not know it themselves
yet. Where else are they to turn, if not to the last Baratheon? Stannis has won
all with a single evil stroke.
    I am the rightful king,
he had declared, his jaw clenched hard as iron,
and your son no less a traitor than my brother here. His day will come as
well.
    A chill went through her.

JON
    T he hill jutted above the dense tangle of forest, rising solitary and
sudden, its windswept heights visible from miles off. The wildlings called it
the Fist of the First Men, rangers said. It
did
look like a fist, Jon
Snow thought, punching up through earth and wood, its bare brown slopes
knuckled with stone.
    He rode to the top with Lord Mormont and the officers, leaving Ghost below
under the trees. The direwolf had run off three times as they climbed, twice
returning reluctantly to Jon’s whistle. The third time, the Lord Commander lost
patience and snapped, “Let him go, boy. I want to reach the crest before dusk.
Find the wolf later.”
    The way up was steep and stony, the summit crowned by a chest-high wall
of tumbled rocks. They had to circle some distance west before they found a gap
large enough to admit the horses. “This is good ground, Thoren,” the Old Bear
proclaimed when at last they attained the top. “We could scarce hope for
better. We’ll make our camp here to await Halfhand.” The Lord Commander swung
down off his saddle, dislodging the raven from his shoulder. Complaining
loudly, the bird took to the air.
    The views atop the hill were bracing, yet it was the ringwall that drew Jon’s
eye, the weathered grey stones with their white patches of lichen, their beards
of green moss. It was said

that the Fist had been a ringfort of the First Men in the Dawn Age. “An old
place, and strong,” Thoren Smallwood said.
    â€œOld,”
Mormont’s raven screamed as it flapped in noisy circles
about their heads.
“Old, old, old.”
    â€œQuiet,” Mormont growled up at the bird. The Old Bear was too proud to admit
to weakness, but Jon was not deceived. The strain of keeping up with younger
men was taking its toll.
    â€œThese heights will be easy to defend, if need be,” Thoren pointed out as he
walked his horse along the ring of stones, his sable-trimmed cloak stirring in
the wind.
    â€œYes, this place will do.” The Old Bear lifted a hand to the wind, and raven
landed on his forearm, claws scrabbling against his black ringmail.
    â€œWhat about water, my lord?” Jon wondered.
    â€œWe crossed a brook at the foot of the hill.”
    â€œA long climb for a drink,” Jon pointed out, “and outside the ring of
stones.”
    Thoren said, “Are you too lazy to climb a hill, boy?”
    When Lord Mormont said,