POV: Bronn
I should have stayed in the tavern.
The coin had seemed heavy enough when Ser Donnel Waynwood dropped it on the table. Looking at it now, with mud sucking at my boots and the taste of blood in my mouth, it felt light, too fucking light.
I ducked under a whistling backhand swing. I drove my dagger up under the man's armpit and found the gap in his armor. He let out wet grunt and dropped on ground.
I shoved the corpse away and took a breath. These were supposed to be savages. Primitives, Ser Donnel had called them. He had promised me Stone Crows and Moon Brothers wielding sharpened rocks and bronze hatchets.
The man I just killed was wearing a mail hauberk that looked freshly oiled. The one before him had swung a castle-forged longsword. They were better equipped than the fools I was hired to protect.
We were losing.
I could see it in the way the line buckled. The Vale men were fighting with honor, which meant they were dying with stupidity.
"Bronn! To me!"
I turned. Ser Donnel, the man who had bought my sword, was on his knees in the mud. A clansman towered over him with an axe raised high. Their blades were locked, but the savage was winning the contest of strength.
"Help me!" Donnel screamed, his face pale beneath his visor. "I will pay you double! Triple!"
I took a step forward.
"Walk away," the savage grunted. "And you keep your head."
Triple pay was a lot of gold. But gold was useless if you had no head. I looked around. We were surrounded. Five clansmen for every one of us.
Then the ranks parted.
A man stepped into the clearing. He was not like the others. He was big, with broad shoulders that strained against his furs and a thick, portly waist that spoke of rich dinners rather than campfire scraps. His hair was short, blond, and retreating from his forehead, and a close-cropped yellow beard followed the hard line of a massive jaw.
He had green eyes.
He looked at me, then at Ser Donnel. He did not speak. He simply reached into his belt and tossed a leather pouch.
It hit the mud with a heavy and dull thud. The sound of metal on earth.
I looked at the pouch. Then I looked at the big man.
I stooped and picked it up. It was heavy. Heavier than Ser Donnel's promises. I untied the strings and peered inside. Gold dragons. Enough to buy a small holdfast, or a very large amount of wine and whores.
I pulled the strings tight and tied the pouch securely to my wrist.
"Bronn!" Ser Donnel shrieked. "Traito—" that savage finally finished it.
I turned my back and started to walk away while wiping my blade on my breeches. I had my pay, no need for losing a head.
A spear blocked my path.
I looked up. Three clansmen stood there and grinned. I tightened my grip on my sword. I could take one. Maybe two. But not three. Not when twenty more were watching.
I looked back at the portly leader.
"You have work in you yet," the big man with gold head said. "Your are the reason first raid failed don't you? There is more gold where that came from. If you have the stomach for it."
I looked at the spear points. Then I looked at the heavy pouch on my wrist.
"I have the stomach," I said. "Provided the meal is rich enough."
He turned and walked toward the trees. I sheathed my sword and followed.
The camp was hidden in a ravine and was invisible from the high road. The big man led me into a tent.
He sat on a stump and looked me over.
"You fight like a gutter rat," he said.
"Rats are good at surviving," I replied.
He reached into his tunic and pulled out a roll of parchment. The wax seal was broken.
"Can you read?"
"Enough to know a bounty from a pardon."
He handed it to me. "Do this. And you will never need to sell your sword again."
I unrolled the parchment. The handwriting was extremely shaky.
"Who wrote this shit?" I asked.
"A man of learning," Goldie said. "An old Maester in the capital. He has a rot in his soul, but he is reliable in this kind of things."
I just nodded.
"I will need a cart," I said. "And a very fast horse."
….
The Moon Gates were a squat fortress of grey stone that guarded the base of the Giant's Lance.
I sat on the driver's bench of the wagon, the road was rough, every time the wooden wheels hit a stone, I felt my balls try to climb up into my throat.
Slosh.
The sound came from the barrels behind me. It was a thick and heavy sound. Not like wine. Wine was water. This was fucking oil? Or maybe some kind of fat?
I glanced back.
There was a hole drilled in the bung of the nearest barrel. A length of rope, soaked in pig fat, snaked out of it. The end was lit.
The small flame hissed softly as it ate the rope.
Slosh. Slosh.
I winced. The old Maester's letter had been clear. Do not shake it. Do not expose to heat.
Flame was moving closer to the wood, only three fingers width of rope was left.
The Moon Gates were also closer now. I could see the archers on the battlements. I could see the heavy bronze-reinforced timber gates.
"Halt!" a guard shouted from the gatehouse. "State your business!"
"Wine!" I shouted back.
I did not stop. I did not slow down.
Two fingers of rope.
I pulled the wagon up directly beneath the shadow of the gatehouse arch. The entrance was blocked by the heavy doors.
"You cannot park there!" the guard yelled. He leveled a crossbow.
"Piss off," I muttered.
I unhitched the traces with a savage jerk, kicked the horse into a gallop, and hit the ground running.
I continue to change my direction, but to my surprise no arrow was fired.
I scrambled behind a large pile of rocks and covered my head with my arms.
That tiny flame finally reach the barrel, It sounded like the mountain itself was cracking in half.
The ground shook beneath me. It threw me face-first into the dirt.
I looked up. I shouldn't have, but I did.
Everything was fucking green.
A huge pillar of green fire shot up into the dark sky. It was brighter than the sun. It hurt my eyes by just to look at it.
The fire didn't act like normal fire. It didn't flicker. It flowed like water. It splashed over the stone walls of the Moon Gates.
The stone melted and ran down like hot candle wax. The heavy wooden doors vanished instantly. The solid gray walls turned into dripping sludge.
The heat hit me a second later. It felt like someone had opened a giant oven door right in my face. It singed the hair on my arms.
I pressed myself flat against the cold ground and waited for the roaring to stop.
When the blinding light finally died down, I peeked over the rock.
The Moon Gates were gone.
….