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x “My lord, are we not leaving?” “Wait a little longer.
I sent Gavin into town to buy something.” “Did he not go this morning?” “He did not take enough coin.” Samwell answered casually, but his eyes stayed on the road where Gavin had vanished.
Todd sighed and walked away.
When his back was turned, his expression cooled.
Gavin returned near dusk, dusty and out of breath.
“My lord, I searched the whole market and found only two more blades of ghostgrass.
The cursed peddler bled me for them too.
Twenty silver stags!” “You bought them.
That is enough.” Samwell took the ghostgrass at once.
“Did you ask where it came from?” “Yes.
The peddler said ghostgrass grows only in the Red Mountains, and rarely even there.
He bought these from a wandering hunter.
I found the man, and he said he took them from a wild man of the Wandering Raven tribe after killing him.” “The Red Mountains,” Samwell murmured.
“The Wandering Raven tribe.” Desire rose in him, bright and dangerous.
He forced it down, mounted his horse, and gave the order.
“We march.” Night settled deep over the camp.
Samwell woke to cold steel against his face.
His eyes opened.
A dark shape stood inside his tent.
“Hush, Lord Greenhand.
Unless you want this blade to slip across your throat.” Samwell drew in a slow breath, then another, forcing panic down until his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
The face above him came into focus.
Carter.
Todd Flowers’s squire.
“What do you want?” Samwell asked.
The squire grinned.
“Only a word.” “Then speak.” “We are moving too slowly.
At this pace, when will we ever reach the Red Mountains?
Starting tomorrow, you will stop wasting time training those worthless recruits.
We march hard and straight south.
Once we are there, you need not worry about wild men or beasts.
Ser Todd and our brothers will protect you.” Samwell’s face went cold.
“Did Todd Flowers send you?” He did not answer.
Instead, he tapped the flat of his sword lightly against Samwell’s cheek.
“Do you agree, Lord Greenhand?” “Do you know the punishment for a commoner who threatens a noble with steel?” “Noble?” The squire gave a low laugh.
“I know only that you are a waste your family threw away.” “I still carry noble blood.
I am a chartered knight invested in Lord Mace’s name.
Do you dare kill me?” “My lord, perhaps you have forgotten where we are.” He leaned closer.
“This is no castle.
If I killed you here and said mountain clans cut your throat, would House Tarly trouble itself to investigate?” Samwell fell silent.
After a while, he seemed to shrink.
“Very well,” he said, voice low.
“No more training.
From tomorrow, we march at full speed.” “That is better.” The squire withdrew the sword with a pleased smile.
“You are not as stupid as the rumors say.
You should understand, then, that out here we are the ones keeping you alive.
As for those recruits?
If things turn sour, they will not stand one charge from us.
Be obedient, and we will get along nicely.” Samwell kept his head lowered.
In the dark, the squire could not see his expression.
The squire bowed with mock courtesy.
“Good night, honored knight.” He left the tent.
Samwell sat where he was and did not sleep again.
The next morning, he ordered the camp broken before dawn.
There was no training.
The column marched south at full speed.
The recruits looked confused, but no one questioned him.
The third day was the same.
By the end of it, the pace had carried them to the upper reaches of the Honeywine.
On the fourth night, the camp slept.
Only Carter and three soldiers under him kept watch.
“At this pace, we should reach the place soon, shouldn’t we?” one of the men asked.
“Two or three weeks,” Carter said.
He sat on a large stone at the edge of camp, chewing a stem of grass.
“If that cowardly fat fool had not wasted so much time, we would already be catching fish on the Summer Sea.” “Why did he stop drilling the recruits so suddenly?” another asked.
“Does he think a month was enough?” He snorted.
He was not fool enough to tell them he had held a sword to a nobleman’s throat.
“Why do you care?
The sooner we get there—” He stopped.
His face sharpened.
“Did you hear that?” “Something in the trees.” “I heard it too.” “Come.” Carter rose and led them toward the sound.
The four men entered the trees and followed the faint rustle deeper into the dark.
After a short distance, he stopped.
“Jaime,” he said to one of them, “go back.
If we are not back in ten minutes, wake Ser Todd.” “Yes.” Jaime turned toward the camp.
Carter took the other two farther on.
The sound moved ahead of them again, light and quick through the undergrowth.
He stopped a second time.
“No farther.
Someone may be drawing us out.” “Should we wake Ser Todd?” “No.
Likely bandits.
They saw the camp was too large and lost their courage.
We return and watch whether they—” The brush shook nearby.
His hand flashed.
His sword flew into the dark.
“Hit!” He grinned, certain of the hit.
“A rabbit, by the look of it.” He stepped forward to retrieve his blade and the kill.
Two steps later, a hard pull snapped around his right ankle.
The world flipped.
Before his men understood what had happened, he was hanging upside down from a tree.
They drew their swords in panic.
Shapes emerged from the dark around them.
Ten men.
More.
He thrashed and shouted, “Idiots!
Cut the rope!” Before they could move, a voice spoke from the shadows.
“Drop your weapons, or die.” Carter froze.
He knew that voice.
“Samwell Greenhand!
What are you doing?” Samwell stepped into the faint moonlight and smiled.
“Asking you to answer a question.” “What question?” “The one I asked four nights ago.” He caught Carter by the hair and set the edge of a sword against his throat.
“What sentence does the law give a commoner who threatens a nobleman with steel?” The cold blade stole the arrogance from his face.
“My lord,” he said quickly, “it was only a jest.” “A jest?” Samwell’s voice hardened.
“The king’s law is not a jest.” He saw then that Samwell meant to kill him, and fear finally reached him.
From the direction of camp, another voice rang out.
“Lord Greenhand!
Stay your hand!” Relief flooded his face.
“Ser Todd!
Save me!” “Todd Flowers,” Samwell called warmly into the dark, as if greeting an old friend.
At the same moment, Samwell drew the blade down and across.
The edge opened his throat.
CREATORS’ THOUGHTS TheDevotedReader I hope you enjoyed this chapter.