Two days and a half west of the Golden Tooth on the coast road.
Third day, afternoon.
The sun sat on the crown of the sky and cooked the stone.
Lyonel narrowed at the mouth ahead — a grey-brown cut, steep walls, scrub, crooked trees in the cracks.
Bloom checked his horse.
“My lord.
That stretch is Broken Tooth Pass.
Tight floor.
High ground both sides.”
“And.”
“Draw your sword.”
Lyonel looked at the blade on the saddle.
Casterly work.
Plain one-hander.
Jaime had put the belt on him.
“For the birds?”
Bloom’s face stayed flat.
“Bandits have worked the Pass half a year.
Tooth traders won’t run it alone.
Twenty of us is not a small mark—”
The scrub moved.
Not wind.
Thirty men with axes and knives came out of the brush and filled both slopes.
The one in front rode a black horse and carried a two-hander.
The edge threw a white line in the sun.
Lyonel stopped his horse.
“…There.”
Bronn kicked up from the rear, longsword already out.
Mouth bent.
“My lord.
What’s this called.”
“A crow’s mouth.”
“Whose.”
“Bloom’s.”
Bloom went green.
The chief came down the slope and pulled up twenty paces out.
The two-hander went onto his shoulder.
He ran the column once and landed on Lyonel.
“Little short one.
You the head?”
Lyonel did not move.
“Fifteen, sixteen?
This many men in the Pass?
Your father never told you—”
“My father is Tywin Lannister.”
The air went still.
The chief’s mouth hung.
The rest of the sentence died in it.
[System]
Combat warning: outnumbered (32 vs 20)
Basic Sword Frame (Green) active.
Line prediction 15%.
Seven cuts, form +80%.
Lyonel’s hand found the hilt.
The chief spat.
“Tywin’s whelp.
In Broken Tooth you’re still a purse.
Lads—”
Thirty came down.
Lyonel drew.
Green tracks lit on the pane.
First man in: chop at the right shoulder, chest wide open.
Lyonel dropped.
Four feet of height did the work.
The cut went through air.
He went under the horse’s belly and put the point through the man’s calf.
Blood.
The bandit howled and went down.
Second man, left, axe in a full wheel at the skull.
[System]
Basic Sword Frame — guard: success.
Force shed 70%.
He got the blade across.
The axe kicked three inches off the steel.
Wrist turned.
His edge ran the haft and took three fingers.
Second man down.
Bronn was killing in the back like he’d been paid extra.
Two cuts, one man.
A boot, another.
Still talking.
“You been holding out, my lord.
Who put a sword in your hand.”
“Your brother’s a monster.”
“So are you.”
Bronn showed his teeth and dropped one more.
The chief sat the black horse and watched.
Four feet of Lyonel rolling the gaps between axes.
Every time he came up, a man went down.
Seventeen of thirty-two on the stone.
The rest started backing up the slope.
Then the chief moved.
Black horse, two-hander level, line on Lyonel’s throat.
[System]
Hard strike.
Force over current guard.
Advise: dodge.
Lyonel rolled left.
Hooves hit the spot he’d left.
Stone jumped.
The chief pulled up, point down at him.
“Little short—”
Lyonel did not let him finish.
Out of the roll and under the black horse.
Point up.
Left saddle strap — the weak Jaime had shown him three times on the yard.
Photographic Memory had kept the place.
The saddle went.
The chief slid, hit on his back, two-hander gone three feet into the dirt.
Lyonel came out under the belly.
Point at the throat.
“Yield.
Or die.”
The man on the ground blew air and stared at the eyes.
Green and black.
No heat.
No shake.
Only the count.
“…What’s your name.”
“Lyonel Lannister.
Yours.”
“…Bronn.”
Lyonel’s hand paused.
[System]
Note: this Bronn is a namesake sellsword, not the man already riding with the host.
High ceiling on steel.
Advise: take him.
Same name.
Lyonel looked at the man under the point.
Thirty or so.
Dark stubble.
Thick through the chest.
Mean, and a little clever in it.
“Bronn.”
“Your ears bad?”
“That work.” Lyonel sheathed.
“Waste on a hill.”
The new Bronn sat up and rubbed the back that had hit stone.
“Waste.
What else.
Knight?
Which lord knights a bandit.”
“I do.”
The man looked up.
Lyonel crouched so the eyes met.
“You fight for me, pay runs ten times what this Pass pays.
Food.
A roof.
Steel.
You win, you take a cut of what we take.
You lose, I wear it.”
“…You mean that.”
“I mean that.”
Three seconds.
“Fuck.”
“Fuck meaning what.”
“Fuck meaning I’m in.”
Lyonel stood and put a hand down.
The new Bronn took it, came up, slapped dust off his seat, and stepped back half a pace.
Four feet of lord.
Seventeen men on the ground.
A saddle cut out from under him.
“You’re mad,” he said.
“I know.” This chapter is updated first at g.com.
“I like it.”
“I know.”
Lyonel got up on the horse and looked at the mouth of the Pass.
Seventeen in the dirt.
Some on a calf.
Some on missing fingers.
All of them watching him.
“Bronn.”
“Mm.”
“Yours.”
“Were.”
“And now.”
The new Bronn ran the old crew, then the gold lion on Lyonel’s saddle, and cleared his throat.
“Lads.
You eat with this lord now.
Food included.”
The ones still breathing looked at each other and gave him a sound that passed for yes.
[System]
Combat settled.
Enemy: 32.
Broken: 17.
Taken: 15 (Bronn included).
Basic Sword Frame (Green)
Live work +30%.
Current form: 65%.
Bonus trait draw ×1
Draw now?
Lyonel hit yes.
The card turned.
White.
[System]
White trait acquired: Night Sight
Low light, range +20%.
Dark outlines +15%.
He gave the card two seconds.
“Night Sight.”
The pane said nothing.
“I fought them in the sun.
You hand me the dark.”
[System]
Consider the long value yourself.
“…Fine.
Your board.”
He killed the pane and put the horse west.
Sunset caught the mouth of Broken Tooth as they cleared it and pulled the column out long.
The new Bronn rode his flank, two-hander across the saddle.
“My lord.”
“Mm.”
“Where.”
“Silverhill.”
“What for.”
“Mines.”
The man looked at the four-foot dwarf who had put seventeen in the dirt, then at the fifteen coming behind with their axes.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Bandits into miners.
Fast change.”
Lyonel checked the horse and looked back.
“A bandit is a knife.”
“A miner is coin.”
“Knives rust.
Coin doesn’t.”
Two seconds.
Then the man laughed.
“Fine.
We dig.”
The column went west.
Fifteen hard men with axes behind twenty light horse.
The line had doubled.
[System]
Men under host: 5
Bloom.
Gregor.
Harris.
Dennis Prester.
Bronn.
Opening the West — Stage One
Golden Tooth: held.
Silverhill survey: in progress.
Lyonel shut the pane and looked at the grey-brown ridge ahead.
Silverhill.
The veins.
He licked his mouth.