We descended into the darkness, our footsteps careful and measured. The air grew thick with the stench of sulfur and something sweeter, more sinister—the smell of wildfire. My eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom, and faint green phosphorescence began to glow from somewhere below, casting eerie shadows on the stone walls.
The staircase opened into a wide chamber—an old storage vault, by the look of it. And it was occupied.
A dozen men worked in the dim green light, carefully transferring sealed clay jars from wooden racks into reinforced crates. They wore dark cloaks over their armor, but I could see the telltale signs: well-maintained mail, disciplined movements, and most damningly, the faded red dragon sigil on one man's breastplate, hastily covered with black cloth.
Targaryen Loyalists.
My breath caught. These weren't bandits or opportunistic sellswords. These were the remnants of the armies that had fought for the Mad King. Knights and soldiers who hadn't bent the knee after Robert's Rebellion, who had gone to ground, waiting for their chance to strike back at the new order.
At the far end of the chamber stood their leader. He was a tall man with a lined, aristocratic face and iron-grey hair. His armor was of fine quality, bearing the scratches and dents of a hundred battles. A longsword hung at his hip, and his hand rested on its pommel as he spoke in a low, furious voice to the men around him.
"—incompetent fools," he hissed, his voice echoing off the stone. "You had one task. Kill the Lannister whelp on the road before he reached Castamere. One clean crossbow bolt, and we'd have had time to finish the extraction."
One of the younger knights, his face pale and sweating, stammered a reply. "Ser Barrold, the boy travels with an escort. Fifty men, all veterans. We couldn't get close without—"
"Without being seen?" Barrold snarled, cutting him off. "Then you should have died trying! Do you understand what we risk? Every moment that Lannister brat breathes is another moment closer to discovery. If Tywin learns we're here, if he learns what we've found—" He gestured violently at the crates of wildfire. "—he'll bring ten thousand men down on our heads!"
Another man, older and calmer, stepped forward. He wore the robes of a maester, though his chain was missing—likely stripped or discarded. "Ser Barrold, we have nearly finished. Another hour, and we'll have extracted all the wildfire and the remaining gold from the deep vein. The tunnels we've dug connect to the abandoned trade road north. We can be gone before—"
"Before what?" Barrold interrupted, his voice dripping with venom. "Before the boy stumbles onto us? Before his brute of an uncle finishes slaughtering the decoys we left in the upper mines?" He slammed his fist against a crate, making everyone flinch. "We should have burned Cerion Lannister's body weeks ago. Now we're racing against time."
I felt a cold fury settle over me. So the bandits in the upper mines were a diversion. Tygett and his men were fighting a delaying action while these bastards looted the Reynes' legacy.
Ser Benedict tensed beside me, his hand on his sword. I held up a hand, stopping him. We were five against twelve, and they were between us and the only exit. Charging in would be suicide. But I had another option.
I stepped forward into the faint green glow, my voice ringing clear and cold through the chamber.
"Ser Barrold, was it?" I called out. "I'm afraid your assassination attempt has failed. Again."
Every head snapped toward me. Hands flew to weapons. The maester dropped the jar he was holding, and it shattered on the ground—thankfully, it was empty.
Barrold's face went white, then red with fury. His sword hissed free of its scabbard. "Kill them!" he roared. "Kill them now!"
"Orton!" I shouted.
The giant stepped forward, his massive spear leveled at the charging knights. Behind me, Lynd's twin blades sang free, and Ragna's axe gleamed in the wildfire's eerie light. Ser Benedict moved to my side, his shield raised.
"For the Lannister!" I bellowed, drawing my own sword.
The chamber erupted into chaos.
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