Lannister soldiers roared as they charged the Bloody Mummers.
Men delight in killing; few armies shun it—at least not in this world.
Outnumbered nearly three to one, the Qohor sellswords had no will to fight. Half of them bolted, each man fleeing for himself.
Vargo Hoat ran the fastest, bounding away like a goat.
"Don't let him escape!" Tyrion shouted, pointing at the retreating figure.
Amory Lorch, eager to show off before the young lord, spurred several guards to chase after him.
The mercenaries were cut down, begging for mercy before their skulls were smashed or their throats slit. The flames in the camp blazed higher, and the stench of blood grew thicker.
This fight ended even quicker than the last. Soon the ground was piled with corpses. Tyrion told Bronn to keep an eye on the little she-wolf and on Shae, then set about clearing the battlefield with Timett and Chella.
Holding a hand to his nose and mouth, he counted the bodies one by one. "Separate out the Night's Watch. They must be buried properly."
"Which ones are the Night's Watch?" Timett asked.
Only then did Tyrion realize—not every recruit wore a black cloak.
"Lord Tyrion," came the Mountain's heavy steps and brutal voice, "we've caught three prisoners. Do we hang them, or burn them?"
Tyrion turned. The Mountain dangled three men as if they were dolls, somehow holding all of them at once.
One wore a long robe, more like a septon than a sellsword. He was tall, stooped, with pale blue eyes that seemed to bulge. Tyrion pointed to him and ordered Gregor Clegane, "Release this one. He doesn't look like a fighter."
The Mountain gave him a kick that sent him sprawling at Tyrion's feet.
"What's your name?" Tyrion asked. "You're no sellsword. What are you doing with the Bloody Mummers?"
"My lord," the man struggled upright, heedless of the blood and entrails around him, as if a farmer had fallen in a stable. "My name is Qyburn. I was a maester."
"A maester?" Tyrion sneered. "The Bloody Mummers keep a maester? Since when did you grow so friendly with the Citadel?"
"A maester stripped of his chain and title," Qyburn explained.
"Then you're no maester at all," Tyrion corrected.
"Yes, my lord, I have no rank. But I still possess the skills of the Citadel," Qyburn said. He pointed toward a tree nearby, where a cage hung from the branches, covered in black cloth. Even beneath the shroud, the frantic beating of wings could be heard.
"You tend ravens?" Tyrion asked.
Qyburn nodded. He glanced uneasily at the Mountain, then carefully approached the cage. No one stopped him—if the poor old man tried to run, Gregor could cut him down with a single stride.
Qyburn unhooked the cage from the tree and hefted it with effort before Tyrion. Pulling away the black cloth, he revealed three ravens still fluttering inside.
"This morning I received word that Ser Jaime Lannister's host was attacked at Riverrun," Qyburn said. "That must be why Vargo Hoat dared to treat you with such disrespect."
"You had men at Riverrun as well?" Tyrion asked.
"Lieutenant Urswyck led part of our company with Ser Jaime, my lord," Qyburn answered.
"Then they've likely betrayed House Lannister and gone over to the North," Tyrion said. "I need messages sent at once. Do this for me, and I may let you live."
The Mountain seemed about to speak, but only gave a faint shudder instead.
"The first letter goes to Golden Tooth. My uncle Stafford is gathering forces there. Warn him that the Brave Companions have turned traitor."
As Tyrion dictated, Qyburn carefully recorded every word. When the letter was done, he opened the cage, seized a raven, tied the message to its leg, and loosed it into the night sky.
"My lord Tyrion, fortune smiles on us. Of the three ravens left, one can fly to Golden Tooth," Qyburn said.
"You serve House Lannister. I'm not surprised you prepared for this in advance," Tyrion replied. "Where can the other two fly?"
"To King's Landing and Casterly Rock, my lord," Qyburn said with deference.
"Good. Send one to King's Landing. Tell my dear sister, Cersei Lannister, that I march for the city. She must send troops to meet me—no fewer than five hundred Gold Cloaks. I imagine Slynt will be eager enough to oblige."
"And tell her as well that the Brave Companions have turned cloak. Have a warrant proclaimed against them in the Crownlands. There are none of your people inside King's Landing, are there?"
"Their people, my lord," Qyburn corrected softly. "No. Lord Tywin forbade the Brave Companions from entering the city."
"Good." Tyrion watched as the second raven vanished into the night.
"As for Casterly Rock—I've no need to send word there now. Let that letter be forwarded to Castle Black instead," Tyrion said.
Qyburn nodded and set down the third letter.
"Inform the Night's Watch that their crow, Yoren, was ambushed near the Gods Eye by the treacherous Brave Companions. By the time Lord Tyrion Lannister arrived, it was too late."
Tyrion scratched at his beard in thought. "Tell them I will send another party north, with prisoners and supplies, but this time by water."
"Liar!" came a voice from behind. Arya Stark.
"Gag him, Bronn," Tyrion ordered. He meant him, not her.
When the third raven took flight, Tyrion nodded with satisfaction. "Well done, Qyburn. You may fall in with my company now." He gestured toward his men.
Qyburn hefted the cage. Podrick stepped forward to help him, and together they rejoined the ranks.
"Now then…" Tyrion turned to the two other prisoners dangling from the Mountain's fists, trembling like dried fish in the wind.
"My lord… my lord…" they whimpered. One was dressed in a fool's motley—no wonder they were called the Bloody Mummers.
Tyrion weighed the matter. Aside from Qyburn, there was no one among them worth keeping.
"Ser Gregor Clegane, I have no use for these two. See to them." He moved on, Timett close at his side.
"I am but a weak reed," one of the men prayed, dropping to his knees. "I prayed to the Warrior for strength, but the gods made my heart feeble. Have mercy on this frail soul. Those boys, those sweet boys… I never wished them harm…" His words ended in a scream as the Mountain cleaved him in two.
"My lord… I can give you pleasure…"
His skull burst apart.
Tyrion spared them no further thought. From the distance came the sound of boots—Amory Lorch was returning with his men.