Bronn rose to one knee, sword in his right hand and dagger in his left.
Tyrion Lannister gestured to the sellsword."Easy. Don't do anything rash."
"The night wind is cold," he called out to the shadowy figures moving around them. "Why not come warm yourselves by the fire? We've no wine to offer, but you're welcome to share the roast."
All movement around them stopped.
By the pale moonlight, Tyrion Lannister caught glints of metal—armor and weapons.
"The mountains are ours," came a deep, powerful, unfriendly voice from the brush. "And the meat is ours."
"All yours, of course," Tyrion Lannister agreed. "But who are you?"
"When you go to meet your gods," another voice answered, "tell them it was Gunthor's son, Timett of the Stone Crows, who sent you."
He stepped from the brush into the light—lean, wearing a horned helm, a hunting knife gleaming in his hand.
"And Shagga, son of Dolf," rumbled the first voice.
What Tyrion had taken for a boulder shifted, then rose to its feet. The man was massive, clad in furs, moving with deceptive slowness. A club in one hand, an axe in the other, he advanced heavily, clashing the two weapons together.
Other voices followed, shouting their names—Conn, Torrek, Jaggot, and more Tyrion couldn't quite catch. There were more than ten of them, some armed with swords and knives, others with pitchforks, sickles, and crude spears.
Only after they had finished introducing themselves did Tyrion Lannister reply.
"I am Tyrion, son of Tywin, of the tribe of the Lion—lord of Casterly Rock. I came here seeking you."
"Tyrion, son of Tywin, what can you give us?" Shagga asked. He seemed to be their leader.
"I have gold and silver in my purse," Tyrion Lannister said. "The Lion is gathering men. I need the mountain clans. I can pay well."
"You're a pretty little thing," Shagga said. "But you're trying to trick us."
"Shagga speaks true," Timett added. "Your gold and silver are ours. Your horses are ours. Your armor, your weapons, your packs—ours. You have only your life to pay with. How would you like to die, Tyrion son of Tywin?"
"Conn, take the horses," Shagga ordered. "Kill the other one, and take the pretty lion alive. He'll fetch a fine ransom."
Bronn sprang up."Who wants to die first?"
"Stop!" Tyrion Lannister barked. "I came to find you, and this is how the mountain clans greet me?"
He spoke sharply."Shagga son of Dolf, Timett son of Gunthor—I know you. I came for you. And Chella, daughter of Cheyk, of the Black Ears."
"Tymett son of Tymett, the Burned Man's Red Hand."
"Ulf son of Umar, of the Moon Brothers."
"And the Milk Snakes, the Painted Dogs, the Misty Men, the Stone Trees, the Howling Peaks, the Redsmiths…"
Bronn stared at Tyrion, astonished at how well he knew the clans.
"The pretty lion speaks truth," Shagga said. "He's done his learning. Sounds like you really did come looking for us. So—what do you want?"
"The mountain clans are feared," Tyrion Lannister said, "yet you fight each other, and the knights of the Vale harry you constantly. The Lion offers better terms. Help me, and you'll have gold, silver, plunder, women—perhaps even lands and castles."
"Lies," Shagga said. "Every castle has a lord."
"No," Tyrion Lannister said firmly. "You've heard the story of Castamere… no? Bronn has."
Bronn nodded."Who hasn't heard the Rains of Castamere?"
"Castamere belonged to House Reyne," Tyrion Lannister continued, his voice smooth. "They offended House Lannister. My father destroyed them."
He saw some of the clansmen swallow—whether from greed or fear, he couldn't tell. The mountain clans, who spent their lives fleeing Vale knights, could scarcely imagine a man capable of wiping out a great lord.
"A Lannister always pays his debts," Tyrion Lannister said. "Help me, and you'll be rewarded richly. Defy me…"
"One castle might be too small for so many of us," Shagga said.
"Castamere was vast," Tyrion Lannister replied. "Tunnels and caverns beneath the rock. You like caves, don't you? And if that's not enough—there's Tarbeck Hall. My father destroyed that as well."
The clansmen drew sharp breaths. Two castles destroyed. Could the pretty lion's father truly be the most powerful man in the realm?
"If you're numerous enough," Tyrion Lannister continued, "you could have both. Perhaps even the Vale itself. Of course—it depends on what you accomplish."
"Sounds good," Shagga said slowly. "We might gather our people and discuss it. Some may come with you, or all."
Tyrion suppressed a sigh. If they started debating, they might argue for days. The clans believed everyone had a voice—even the women—and nothing was ever settled quickly.
Small wonder they had never truly threatened the Vale.
"Discuss as much as you like," Tyrion Lannister said, careful not to sound commanding. "But since we're to work together, I'll give you a task first. A demonstration of how Lannisters repay their debts."
He pointed to Mord, still curled asleep by the fire.
"That fat fellow there—each time one of you has his way with him, I'll pay two silver coins. One for him, one for the man."
Shagga and Timett exchanged looks.
"If that's too much trouble," Tyrion Lannister added lightly, "a club will do. Be gentle. Tonight only."
The clansmen stirred eagerly.
"Form a line," Tyrion Lannister said, tossing a stone at Mord. "Up you get, you fool—your 'lie-down-and-earn-coin' job has arrived."
Across the dying firelight, Bronn watched Tyrion. The young man's green eye still gleamed as always—but the violet one seemed darker than before, no longer pale but deep and unsettling.
"You devil with mismatched eyes," Bronn muttered. "Now I understand why they call you the succubus."a