A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

dog. Jaqen H’ghar was
leaning up against the side of the Wailing Tower. When he saw her looking, he
lifted a hand to his face and laid two fingers casually against his
cheek.

CATELYN
    T wo days ride from Riverrun, a scout spied them watering their horses
beside a muddy steam. Catelyn had never been so glad to see the twin tower
badge of House Frey.
    When she asked him to lead them to her uncle, he said, “The Blackfish is gone
west with the king, my lady. Martyn Rivers commands the outriders in his
stead.”
    â€œI see.” She had met Rivers at the Twins; a baseborn son of Lord Walder
Frey, half brother to Ser Perwyn. It did not surprise her to learn that Robb
had struck at the heart of Lannister power; clearly he had been contemplating
just that when he sent her away to treat with Renly. “Where is Rivers
now?”
    â€œHis camp is two hours ride, my lady.”
    â€œTake us to him,” she commanded. Brienne helped her back into her saddle, and
they set out at once.
    â€œHave you come from Bitterbridge, my lady?” the scout asked.
    â€œNo.” She had not dared. With Renly dead, Catelyn had been uncertain of the
reception she might receive from his young widow and her protectors. Instead
she had ridden through the heart of the war, through fertile riverlands turned
to blackened desert by the fury of the Lannisters, and each night her scouts
brought back tales that made her ill. “Lord Renly is slain,” she
added.
    â€œWe’d hoped that tale was some Lannister lie, or—”
    â€œWould that it were. My brother commands in Riverrun?”
    â€œYes, my lady. His Grace left Ser Edmure to hold Riverrun and guard his
rear.”
    Gods grant him the strength to do so,
Catelyn thought.
And the
wisdom as well.
“Is there word from Robb in the west?”
    â€œYou have not heard?” The man seemed surprised. “His Grace won a great
victory at Oxcross. Ser Stafford Lannister is dead, his host
scattered.”
    Ser Wendel Manderly gave a
whoop
of pleasure, but Catelyn only
nodded. Tomorrow’s trials concerned her more than yesterday’s
triumphs.
    Martyn Rivers had made his camp in the shell of a shattered holdfast, beside a
roofless stable and a hundred fresh graves. He went to one knee when Catelyn
dismounted. “Well met, my lady. Your brother charged us to keep an eye out for
your party, and escort you back to Riverrun in all haste should we come upon
you.”
    Catelyn scarce liked the sound of that. “Is it my father?”
    â€œNo, my lady. Lord Hoster is unchanged.” Rivers was a ruddy man with scant
resemblance to his half brothers. “It is only that we feared you might chance
upon Lannister scouts. Lord Tywin has left Harrenhal and marches west with all
his power.”
    â€œRise,” she told Rivers, frowning. Stannis Baratheon would soon be on the
march as well, gods help them all. “How long until Lord Tywin is upon
us?”
    â€œThree days, perhaps four, it is hard to know. We have eyes out along all the
roads, but it would be best not to linger.”
    Nor did they. Rivers broke his camp quickly and saddled up beside her,
and they set off again, near fifty strong now, flying beneath the direwolf, the
leaping trout, the twin towers.
    Her men wanted to hear more of Robb’s victory at Oxcross, and Rivers obliged.
“There’s a singer come to Riverrun, calls himself Rymund the Rhymer, he’s made
a song of the fight. Doubtless you’ll hear it sung tonight, my lady. ‘Wolf in the Night,’ this Rymund calls it.” He went on to tell how the remnants of Ser
Stafford’s host had fallen back on Lannisport. Without siege engines there was
no way to storm Casterly Rock, so the Young Wolf was paying the Lannisters back
in kind for the devastation they’d inflicted on the riverlands. Lords Karstark
and Glover were raiding along the coast, Lady Mormont had captured thousands of
cattle and was driving them back toward Riverrun, while the Greatjon had seized
the gold mines at Castamere, Nunn’s Deep, and the Pendric Hills. Ser Wendel
laughed. “Nothing’s more like to bring a Lannister running than a threat to
his gold.”
    â€œHow did the king ever take the Tooth?” Ser Perwyn Frey asked his bastard
brother. “That’s a hard strong keep, and it commands the hill
road.”
    â€œHe never took it. He