"If we keep moving like this, it'll take half a month to reach the Green Fork," Bronn said from horseback, looking over the ragged column. The mountain clans looked like an army of beggars.
Tyrion Lannister surveyed his ragged band of brigands.
More than six hundred mountain clansmen from the Stone Crows, the Moon Brothers, the Black Ears, and the Burned Men—this was only the crude beginning of the army he intended to build.
Shagga represented the Stone Crows, Ulf the Moon Brothers, Chella daughter of Cheyk the Black Ears, and Timett son of Timett the Burned Men.
Timett son of Gunthor was out gathering other tribes. Tyrion wondered what Tywin would say when he saw these fur-clad warriors carrying stolen scraps of metal. Truth be told, Tyrion himself didn't know what to say.
Was he their leader, or their captive? Probably both.
"We need to march faster," Tyrion Lannister called. The clan chiefs rode just behind his horse.
Chella rode close to Ulf. The Moon Brothers and Black Ears had always been close—raiding together, intermarrying, even sharing spoils in hard times.
Timett rode alone. The one-eyed young man inspired fear throughout the Mountains of the Moon. The Burned Men proved courage with fire—some said they even roasted men at feasts, though Tyrion suspected that was exaggeration.
Timett frightened even his own people. When he came of age, he had gouged out his own left eye with a white-hot knife.
Among the Burned Men, boys usually burned off a finger for their coming-of-age rite. Only the bravest—or maddest—burned off an ear. Timett's act earned such awe that he was named Red Hand, their war leader.
Many clansmen remained behind in the Mountains of the Moon, gathering their families to move to the ruins of Tarbeck Hall. Some refused to leave, but Tyrion had written letters for those who did, so that Lannister forces in the Riverlands would not attack them by mistake.
"We must move faster!" Tyrion shouted again, loud enough to carry over the clamor. The chiefs turned toward him.
"I don't trust you," Chella said. She was short and hard, flat-chested as a boy but sharp-witted. "The chiefs of the lowlands have lied to mountain folk before."
"Did I make you swear loyalty?" Tyrion Lannister replied. "Did I ask you to lay down your weapons?"
Faith and steel gave people comfort.
Timett shook his head. "You did not."
"Not only that," Tyrion Lannister said. "I've given you a place to fight, to raid to your hearts' content. And a place to live—Tarbeck Hall is a hundred times better than a freezing cave. Bronn, if I offered you a castle—"
Before he could finish, Bronn cut in, "As long as you don't make me polish your manhood, you can do whatever you like."
The crude joke made Shagga roar with laughter.
"Even like Mord?" Tyrion Lannister asked with a grin.
Mord could barely walk now. He trudged at the rear with the baggage. The good news was that in one night he had earned every silver stag Tyrion carried.
"But the chief is your father, not you," Chella said.
"Trust me, Chella daughter of Cheyk," Tyrion said solemnly from the saddle. "If your son looked like me, you'd give him anything he asked."
"I don't doubt it," Bronn agreed.
"The mothers stare at him like fools," Shagga added. "I told one his manhood was thin as a twig before she'd look away."
The chiefs burst into laughter again.
The Trident was one of the rivers of the Riverlands, dividing into three branches: the Red Fork, the Green Fork, and the Blue Fork. In times of peace, these rivers were the easiest way to move people and goods.
But in war…
Along the road Tyrion Lannister had seen burned houses. They galloped past blackened fields and ruined villages as they entered the Riverlands near the Green Fork.
He saw no corpses, yet the air carried the scent of carrion crows. There had been fighting here recently.
Tyrion selected three hundred warriors from the clans and pushed ahead at speed, reaching the crossroads days earlier than planned.
North of the Inn at the Crossroads lay fertile valleys and woods, leading to bustling towns and castles. The kingsroad ran along the Green Fork. Robert Baratheon had won his crown at the Battle of the Trident north of the Ruby Ford.
"Remember this place, succubus?" Bronn said with a grin. He remembered helping Catelyn Stark seize Tyrion here.
"I don't," Tyrion Lannister said. He had no interest in recalling the past. His thoughts were on his father's army—and his brother.
He needed to reach the camp, not to boast of this small victory, but for ravens. If the timeline held, his dear brother was besieging Riverrun.
His "beautiful and wise" sister and "kind" nephew didn't matter. His brother had to live.
Hoofbeats sounded ahead. Chella daughter of Cheyk, scouting for the Black Ears, returned with news.
"By the campfires, maybe twenty thousand," she said. "Red banners, with a golden lion."
"Your father?" Bronn asked.
"Nine chances in ten," Tyrion Lannister said. "Or my brother Jaime—but he doesn't usually command that many."
He ordered the main host to advance slowly while he rode ahead with several chiefs.
Soon Lannister outriders appeared. Tyrion's pale-gold hair and mismatched green and violet eyes made him instantly recognizable as the lord's son. The patrol captain quickly sent an escort.
Half a league from the crossroads, a defensive line of sharpened stakes stood guarded by spearmen and archers.
Beyond it, the camp stretched to the horizon. Smoke rose like slender fingers from hundreds of cookfires. Armed men sat beneath trees sharpening blades, familiar banners snapping in the wind, poles driven deep into muddy ground.
As they approached the palisade, a troop of cavalry rode forward to challenge them.
Their leader wore silver armor set with amethysts, a cloak striped purple and silver, and a shield bearing a unicorn. His horse-head helm ended in a spiral horn.
He quickly halted his men—the newcomer was unmistakable.
Tyrion Lannister reined in and greeted him.
"Ser Flement."