Above the sky, Tyrion saw the blood-red comet again, dreadful as ever. When he had been on the kingsroad, the comet had seemed to take up half the sky, completely blotting out the light of the new moon.
Everywhere he passed now was marked by decay, and it troubled Tyrion Lannister, the acting Hand, deeply. It seemed to confirm his suspicions.
"What do they call this comet in King's Landing?" Tyrion asked.
The captain of the guards replied, "The common folk in the streets call it the Red Messenger. They say the comet proclaims the coming of a new king and warns of the blood and fire to follow. But plenty of flatterers at court claim the red star lights the King's path ahead."
"Path ahead?" Tyrion almost laughed.
Under such a terrible omen as the red comet, the people of King's Landing had already had their lives thrown into chaos by the aftershocks of war. If the enemy fleet truly appeared on the horizon, the days ahead would only grow harder.
Tyrion was finally beginning to understand how difficult it was to defend a city full of hungry mouths. King's Landing was the largest city in Westeros and the greatest port after Oldtown, with a population of roughly five hundred thousand. Add in all the refugees who had fled inside to escape the war, and the number would only be higher. But commercial value did not translate into military strength. King's Landing's defenses remained weak.
Fortunately, Tyrion had a sharp mind. He knew what mattered most in war: troops, food supplies, intelligence, finances, and Cersei and her children, the heirs. Joffrey was beyond his control, of course, but Prince Tommen, the second heir, and Princess Myrcella, who could be used for a marriage alliance, were also enormously valuable. For now, though, an abundance of food was impossible. The Imp could not conjure grain out of thin air, so he had better think about defense and manpower instead.
"What measures has my dear sister taken?" Tyrion asked Captain Vylarr.
"She is gradually restoring order in the capital," Vylarr assured him. "Lord Slynt has increased the City Watch to three times its former size, and the Queen Regent has assigned a thousand craftsmen to build defenses. Masons are thickening the city walls, carpenters are making hundreds of scorpions and catapults, fletchers are busy making arrows, blacksmiths are forging swords, and the Alchemists' Guild is willing to provide ten thousand jars of wildfire."
"Wildfire." Tyrion shifted uneasily in the saddle at the word.
He was glad Cersei had not simply stood aside. King's Landing's great population did have its advantages. Slick cityfolk might not be as willing to fight as plain farmers, but there was no shortage of craftsmen and skilled hands. With carpenters, masons, blacksmiths, and fletchers all working at full speed, they could arm King's Landing into a war beast with very sharp teeth.
But that burning substance was terribly unreliable. Ten thousand jars of the stuff would be enough to burn King's Landing to ash. Cersei might have seen the power of wildfire, but she had failed to grasp its horror. Once wildfire was lit, it would not stop until it had consumed whatever it touched. It could burn for a very long time. It seeped into cloth, wood, leather, even steel, setting them all aflame. Wildfire could burn even as it floated on water.
Wildfire had never been absent from King's Landing's history. During the Great Spring Sickness, after the spring of 209 AC, the Hand of the King, Bloodraven Brynden Rivers, advised the new king, Aerys I, to have the corpses carried to the Dragonpit and burned by the pyromancers. It was said that the light of the wildfire made King's Landing glow in the night. Prince Aerion Brightflame had even swallowed a jar of wildfire in an attempt to turn himself into a dragon. As for the Mad King, the king who lost his realm, his obsession with wildfire was known to all.
With matters so urgent, Tyrion failed to notice the impossible production figures the captain had mentioned, or the sudden surge in the alchemists' productivity, which had come from the tide of magic after the red comet.
"Where did my sister get the money to buy so much of it?" Tyrion asked. Once the drums of war sounded, gold vanished by the thousands, but where in King's Landing was there any gold left? It was no secret that King Robert had left the crown with staggering debts after his death, and the alchemists were hardly selfless benefactors.
"My lord, Lord Littlefinger always finds a way to get money. He has ordered a tax on everyone entering the city."
"Mm. Effective," Tyrion said lightly, though inwardly he thought, Clever. A clever and cruel method indeed. The common folk believed the high walls of King's Landing would bring them safety and would flee into the city at any cost. But if they knew King's Landing was stockpiling massive amounts of wildfire, they might run from it at once. Squeezing copper coins from the poor like this would inevitably stir up resentment.
The inn with the broken anvil on its sign stood within sight of the city wall, near the Gods Gate. They had entered the city from here that morning. As soon as they entered the yard, a small boy ran over to help Tyrion down from his horse.
"Take your men back to the castle," Tyrion told Captain Vylarr. "I will spend the night here."
Compared with the Red Keep, Tyrion preferred to spend the night in this inn with Shae. He had grown rather infatuated with the young whore. But he could not expose his weakness to Cersei or to any other enemy. Even with his own sister, that would be dangerous. Bringing the girl to the Tower of the Hand would mean handing Cersei and the others a hold over him. Besides, Tyrion could not possibly take her into the palace. He had already defied his father's orders by bringing her to King's Landing.
Captain Vylarr hesitated. "My lord, is this place safe?"
The inn looked utterly ordinary at a glance, with all sorts of people coming and going. How could the Hand sleep in a place like this at a time like this?
"Well, Captain, I will tell you this. When I left here this morning, the place was already packed with Black Ears clansmen. No one can guarantee safety while staying under the same roof as Chella, daughter of Cheyk." With that, Tyrion limped toward the door, leaving a bewildered Vylarr behind.
Tyrion squeezed into the inn's hall, and laughter came rushing to meet him.
He recognized Chella's hoarse cackle and Shae's silvery giggle. Chella of the Black Ears was a small, dark-skinned, skinny woman with a terrifying necklace hanging around her neck. Tyrion had once found a chance to count it. Not one more, not one less. It was strung together from forty-six dried, shriveled ears.
The girl, Shae, sat by the hearth. She was eighteen, petite and pretty, with large, dark eyes and black hair, sipping wine at a round wooden table. Beside her were three Black Ears clansmen he had left to protect her, along with a fat man whose back was turned to him. Tyrion took him for the innkeeper.
"Tyrion, my Lord Lannister," Shae called out.
The fat man immediately rose, giving the Imp a start. It was none other than Varys. Tyrion was taken aback. Varys had found them quickly indeed. The Spider's reputation was well earned.
"My dear Lord Tyrion, how delighted I am to see you," the Eunuch Varys said with theatrical grace, his face powdered and a soft smile at the corner of his mouth.
Tyrion stumbled. "Lord Varys? I never expected to meet you here." His thoughts raced. So fast. May the Others take him. How had Varys found them so quickly?
"Forgive me if I have intruded," Varys said. "I suddenly found myself wishing to meet your young Lady."
"Young Lady," Shae repeated, savoring the words. "My lord, you are only half right. I am young, at least."
Tyrion was already displeased with Shae's behavior. The woman belonged to him, and he had no need for Varys to meddle.
"Lord Varys, I believe I am the one intruding," Tyrion said, forcing himself to remain courteous. "When I came in, you seemed to be enjoying yourselves."
...
The group continued chatting. The Eunuch certainly knew how to make people laugh. Earlier, Varys had praised the female chieftain's necklace of ears, amusing everyone greatly. Even Shae called him Lord Varys, though that phrase belonged in bed, where a woman used it for Tyrion.
Why am I angry? Tyrion asked himself. She was only a whore after his gold, a woman he had met in the camp. King's Landing had plenty of women like that. But she was the Imp's new favorite, and the Imp felt a peculiar kind of jealousy.
The atmosphere turned strange at once. Tyrion knew a war had begun, a war fought in the dark. Varys was offering him goodwill, and also showing him his strength.
Varys the Spider giggled. "My lord, would you care to share a drink with us?"
"Just a little," Tyrion said, taking a seat beside Shae. He understood perfectly what all of this meant, though Chella and Shae, unfortunately, seemed not to.
The women did not understand. But Varys. Why had Varys come to him? Tyrion had imagined many people he might choose to visit, his cousin Lancel, Grand Maester Pycelle, but he had not expected Varys to make the first move.
Tyrion understood Varys's deeper meaning. Varys had come to deliver a message. When Varys said, "I suddenly found myself wishing to meet your young Lady," what he truly meant was: You wanted to hide her, but not only do I know who she is, I know where she is. And now, here I am.
Tyrion wondered who had betrayed him. The innkeeper? The stable boy? The gate guards? Or someone under his own command? The Spider's web of information reached everywhere, and Tyrion was merely a bug caught in it.
The Spider began prattling again, boasting about the splendid carvings on the Gods Gate and saying he always used that gate whenever he returned to the city. Tyrion's heart tightened. What nonsense about carvings. The Spider was hinting that he was watching them closely. The moment they entered the city, he had already known where they went.
"You must be careful when you go out, sweet child," Varys told them. "King's Landing has not been very safe of late... Alas, these are dangerous times. Lawless men roam everywhere, with cold steel in their hands and even colder hearts." His meaning was clear: if he could come here alone and unarmed, then others could certainly come bearing swords.
"Your young Lady is truly a sweet and gracious creature. Were she mine, I would take very good care of her," Varys said calmly, without the slightest regard for Tyrion's feelings.
"That is precisely what I intend to do."
Tyrion understood. He had to remember every word Varys said. The Eunuch master appeared and disappeared like a ghost, and every word carried another meaning.
Varys was either threatening him or proving his value. He knew where Tyrion's little whore was staying. He knew who came and went in King's Landing. He could help Tyrion protect the girl.
The Spider went on smiling and telling his tale of a king, a rich man, a priest, and a Sellsword, even though Tyrion had little desire to hear it.
But the Spider's words had meaning beneath them. The king represented authority, the priest represented faith, and the rich man represented wealth, yet all of them depended on the lowest of Sellswords.
The Imp understood quickly. Wasn't Varys that very Sellsword, the one who sold others out in order to survive, selling every sort of intelligence to anyone who would pay? The fact that he had come to see Tyrion now meant he was willing to show goodwill.
What is this Eunuch trying to say? Tyrion thought. Does he truly believe intelligence can play every side and change the course of events? In the game of power, after all, whoever wins is the true strength. But at most, he is only a broker of secrets. Does he really think himself a king? Kingdoms are won by war. Power is built on war, not on these trifles, and certainly not on a perfumed Eunuch Master of Whisperers. Power is power. Though admittedly, intelligence is important in these times.
Varys's words reminded the Imp of something else. Faith. The High Septon was another important piece in King's Landing.
In short, the war had begun.
Father Tywin had his battlefield, and Tyrion had his.
...
Before the Crossing of The Trident, the horns of the Lannister army blared. The northerners had taken advantage of the night to march south and launch an attack. Those rough northerners had become real enough now, but the blue-steel chainmail on their bodies filled Tywin with rage. Those useless Freys had practically handed their gear to the northerners.
Beyond the Bloody Gate, past the stone fortifications, the mountains suddenly opened before them. Green fields, blue sky, and snow-capped peaks appeared all at once, so beautiful that Gendry and the others could hardly breathe. At that moment, the Vale of Arryn was bathed in morning light. They would descend quickly and reach the Gates of the Moon by nightfall.