Tyrion

           TheslotinhishelmlimitedTyrion’svisiontowhatwasbeforehim,butwhenheturnedhisheadhesawthreegalleysbeachedonthetourneygrounds,andafourth,largerthantheothers,standingwelloutintotheriver,firingbarrelsofburningpitchfromacatapult.

           "Wedge,"Tyrioncommandedashismenstreamedoutofthesallyport.Theyformedupinspearhead,withhimatthepoint.SerMandonMooretooktheplacetohisright,flamesshimmeringagainstthewhiteenamelofhisarmor,hisdeadeyesshiningpassionlesslythroughhishelm.Herodeacoal-blackhorsebardedallinwhite,withthepurewhiteshieldoftheKingsguardstrappedtohisarm.Ontheleft,TyrionwassurprisedtoseePodrickPayne,aswordinhishand."You’retooyoung,"hesaidatonce."Goback."

           "I’myoursquire,mylord."

           Tyrioncouldsparenotimeforargument."Withme,then.Stayclose."Hekickedhishorseintomotion.

           Theyrodekneetoknee,followingthelineoftheloomingwalls.Joffrey’sstandardstreamedcrimsonandgoldfromSerMandon’sstaff,stagandliondancinghooftopaw.Theywentfromawalktoatrot,wheelingwidearoundthebaseofthetower.Arrowsdartedfromthecitywallswhilestonesspunandtumbledoverhead,crashingdownblindlyontoearthandwater,steelandflesh.AheadloomedtheKing’sGateandasurgingmobofsoldierswrestlingwithahugeram,ashaftofblackoakwithanironhead.

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