On Aegon's High Hill, the crowd surged like a tide. Curses and shouts rose wave after wave, and hungry, furious faces thrust forward as countless arms shoved at the Gold Cloaks.
This was King's Landing.
"Bread! We want bread!"
"Long live bread! Down with the Lannisters!"
"Long live King Robert!"
"We want bread! Piss off, Kingslayer's whore! Little demon monkey!"
Stones, refuse, eggs, dung. The poor hurled everything in their hands into the air, pelting the Gold Cloaks and the lords and ladies.
Tyrion Lannister had seen riots in King's Landing before, but none worse than this one. The poor were hungrier, more numerous, and fiercer than ever.
Bronn shielded Tyrion as Tyrion dug in his spurs and rode to his sister, Cersei Lannister. "Back to the castle. Now!"
Cersei gave the slightest nod, and Ser Lancel drew his sword.
"Form a spear wedge! Form a spear wedge! Protect the King and the Queen Dowager!" At the head of the column, Ser Jacelyn Bywater, Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks, roared his commands. The Gold Cloak cavalry immediately lowered their spears and formed a wedge. Like an arrowhead, the riders forced a path forward, finally opening a way out.
The sight of Ironhand reassured Tyrion a little. If it had been that toad Janos, he would have run long ago.
"Where's the Hound? My dog. My dog!" King Joffrey wheeled his horse in panic, looking utterly wretched, dung still clinging to his head. He had stopped cursing. The Hound was gone, and Joffrey was afraid. Countless hands reached past the Gold Cloaks' line, clawing at him. One hand managed to seize Joffrey's leg, but only for an instant. Ser Mandon's sword flashed, and the hand came off at the wrist.
Blood spurted red. The severed hand dropped to the ground, and more blood followed. The sight turned Joffrey's face pale and frightened the crowd back, but only for a heartbeat.
"Run!" Tyrion shouted at Joffrey, slapping the king's horse hard across the rump. Joffrey's gray stallion reared, neighing toward the sky, then charged after the cavalry wedge. The crowd split before it.
Tyrion drove his own horse close behind the king, plunging into the opening with Bronn at his side, sword drawn. As they galloped, a jagged stone skimmed past Tyrion's scalp. A rotten cabbage burst against Ser Mandon's shield, splattering everywhere.
The world had become a mad, broken thing. The knights only hated that their horses could not run faster. Even when they trampled people underhoof, they did not stop.
"Fuck you all!" Sandor Clegane swung his longsword in the middle of the mob. When he saw King Joffrey and the rest fleeing, with no one paying any attention to him, the Hound cursed in fury, half at the poor and half at the king and his party. He understood at once that he was alone, and only his longsword could cut him a path out.
"Fuck you all! Get out of my way! The Hound is killing today!" The Hound had no fear of death. His longsword whirled, blood spilled across the ground, and red spatters flew over his cloak. He simply felt that dying here would be too ugly an end. He decided to fight his way toward the cavalry and the Red Keep. That was his only road to life.
The Hound saw three Gold Cloaks on Tyrion's left knocked to the ground. The human tide surged forward, trampling over their bodies. Blood might have been running like a river beneath them, but the ground itself could no longer be seen.
"Ser Aron!" The Hound saw the standard-bearer at the head of the column, Ser Aron Santagar, the Red Keep's master-at-arms, dragged from his saddle. The black-and-gold Baratheon banner was torn from his hand.
The other standard-bearer proved much wiser. Ser Balon Swann swiftly dropped the Lannister lion banner, drew his longsword, and fled. Balon's sword cut left and right. The fallen banner was shredded by ten thousand hands, its pieces whirling like red leaves in a storm.
"Save me, Ser Sandor!" Ser Aron wailed. Four men dragged him down and took turns smashing his head with cobblestones. Blow after blow, blood poured out, and brains burst free. Aron's helm was crushed flat, his head nearly beaten into red mud.
"Back!" The Hound swung his sword and killed one of them. But the crowd was too fierce, and Ser Aron was already grievously wounded. With no choice left, the Hound fought only to save himself.
"Get away from me!" Facing the stones and eggs flying through the air, the Hound hacked left and right to keep from being surrounded. His longsword flashed, and a rioter's arm flew off, making the others recoil in fear. His white cloak was torn and filthy, and blood seeped from a jagged slash in his left sleeve.
The royal family at the front escaped, but the High Septon and the courtiers behind them were not so fortunate.
"Help me!" The High Septon was shoved out of his litter. His fat body had become his greatest burden, making it hard for him to move. The poor hated him. They hated him for feasting on larks and other delicacies while refusing to give even a copper. To starving people, a fat septon who could barely walk was the perfect target.
"Father above, protect me!"
"Mother, protect me!"
"Warrior, protect me! I am your High Septon, the Seven's voice on earth!"
"The Father reached down from heaven and plucked seven holy stars. One by one, he placed them upon the head of Hugor of the Hill and forged a crown of radiant glory." The High Septon prayed loudly, and then the surging crowd tore him to pieces.
"Fuck you! We want bread!"
"Bread! Not the High Septon!"
The High Septon's crystal crown and fine golden ornaments set off wave after wave of fighting and looting. His body was soon reduced to scattered pieces, and every rioter who wished to trample the Seven's voice on earth had his chance.
Lord Gyles stared at the bloody scene, terrified out of his wits. Fortunately, his luck held, and he managed to escape the encirclement as well.
"Die!" Ser Preston Greenfield of the white knights tried to charge toward the bridge and protect the High Septon, but the mob stabbed and hacked at him. Countless hands thrust weapons into him until he was stained reddish brown from head to foot.
The ugly Ser Horas Redwyne protected Lady Tanda, but the lady's fat, simple-minded daughter Lollys was knocked from her horse and dragged by the mob into an alley. Behind a tanner's shop, dozens of crude men surrounded the girl. The Gold Cloaks did not know what happened to her afterward. They did not dare look back, and only glimpsed her being dragged away.
"Move! All of you, move!" The Hound spotted a lone horse. He did not know whether it had belonged to a Gold Cloak or to the dead white knight.
The Hound moved fast. His savage dog helm and blood-soaked body frightened the people around him. He reached the horse and mounted just before the mob could drag it away for food, then fled toward the Red Keep.
"Fire!" someone shouted. "Fire!" The fire had to be in Flea Bottom.
The Hound rode across the cobbled square before the castle, hooves clattering. A line of spearmen guarded the gate. The pale red walls rose high overhead, crowded with crossbowmen, and the sight brought some comfort.
As soon as the Hound entered the Red Keep, he saw Joffrey crying and Tyrion furious and helpless.
It seemed that the moment the Hound returned, he had come upon Tyrion beating the boy.
"Fool! You greatest fool in all the world!" Tyrion cursed. "You sent the Hound to kill people, and you thought the mob would meekly accept it? You spoiled child, how many people died because of your stupidity? And you actually escaped. You escaped without a scratch." Still furious, Tyrion kicked him again.
King Joffrey wailed loudly. Ser Mandon Moore of the white knights pulled Tyrion away, and Bronn seized him in a bear hug.
"Traitors! They are all traitors!" Tears shone on Joffrey's flushed face, and his crown had fallen to the ground. "They are all traitors! They attacked me!"
Cersei left Lancel to Ser Balon Swann and knelt beside her son.
"The Hound is hard to kill," Tyrion said, looking at him and letting out a breath. At a time like this, they could not do without a fighter like the Hound. "Joff almost got you killed, along with a great many others."
"Thanks for the praise, Imp. I just didn't want to die in a heap of filth," the Hound said.
"How many are still outside?" Tyrion shouted, though he did not know who he was shouting at.
"The High Septon has not returned," someone said first.
"My daughter!" Lady Tanda sobbed. "Please! Someone must save Lollys..."
"Ser Preston has not returned," Ser Boros Blount reported. "Nor has Aron Santagar."
"The Nurse has not returned either," Ser Horas Redwyne said. That was the nickname the squires had given young Tyrek Lannister.
"Santagar is dead," the Hound added. "Four men dragged him down and took turns smashing his head with cobblestones. I killed one, but I couldn't save Ser Aron."
Everyone began listing the missing like dishes from a menu. Most of them were likely dead.
...
Lys, aboard a splendid pleasure barge.
The Magisters of Lys had gathered aboard the splendid pleasure barge, while others lingered in the Perfumed Garden. Barges and the Perfumed Garden were places where the Magisters of Lys displayed their power.
Many Lysene Magisters had come to the barge to attend the banquet of a powerful man. A typical Lysene had blue eyes, platinum curls, and smooth pale skin.
"Gentlemen," Magister Rero Haen said to his colleagues. "We have been retreating for too long. Now we can no longer avoid the matter. Myr, Tyrosh, the Disputed Lands. Next, the slave uprisings will come for Lys and Volantis."
"What do you mean, Magister Haen? Volantis is our enemy," one startled Magister said. During the Century of Blood, Volantis had occupied Lys and Myr, ruling Lys from within the Black Walls for two generations. The Three Daughters and Volantis had never been friendly.
"The past is past," Haen said. "We face a new threat. If the slaves stop serving and stop working, if we can no longer sell bed slaves, how is Lys to survive?"
"Enough, let us not discuss this. The Storm's army is still attacking King's Landing. We can hold a few more meetings in the council."
"Then let us drink first. Cheers!" Magister Haen glanced over the crowd and smiled.
The Magisters of Lys noticed nothing strange and raised their cups.
The Lysene Magisters enjoyed golden wine and rich food, but a moment later, their faces turned the same purple as amethysts. They looked exactly as if they were choking. One by one, they clutched their throats and pointed at Haen.
"It was you!"
"Strangler!"
"There is no poison in the wine. Only on the cups." Magister Haen looked coldly over the bodies sprawled everywhere.
At the same time, some Magisters were strangled while enjoying the services of slave girls in brothels. Others were killed at the Temple of Trade and the docks. Those who struck included not only Tiger Cloaks, but also fighters from Meereen.
"You did well." An elderly Volantene stepped out of the cabin, a Lord Governor of the Tiger Party. Behind him stood exiled slaveholders from Myr and Tyrosh, as well as nobles from the city-states of Slaver's Bay.
"From this day forward, you are the First Magister of Lys for life. I hope you will keep your promise."
"I will not break my word, but I hope to see Volantis' sincerity."
"Rest assured. The great fleet and the Tiger Cloaks are already on the way."
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