Chapter 145 — A Night Raid?
The Lannisters' fire had burned nearly everything to the ground.
For miles around, the fields were nothing but scorched earth. Houses remained only as blackened skeletons.
The corpses of people and livestock—burned or butchered—lay scattered everywhere.
Carrion crows circled overhead, gathering and scattering in restless flocks, their harsh cries echoing across the ruined land.
Dinner that night was a goose.
It had been given to Podrick Payne by the surviving villagers as a gift to their savior.
After all, it was the only living food they had managed to find.
Even though they now possessed their former lord's wealth, that didn't exactly fill an empty stomach.
Before the one-armed old man left, Podrick had unexpectedly said something to the three villagers who brought the food.
"My name is Podrick Payne."
"You may address me as Ser."
Neither Sansa nor Jalabhar spoke.
Compared to before, the atmosphere had grown much quieter.
Not far away, villagers were pulling burned corpses down from sharpened stakes driven into the ground.
The bodies' arms were frozen in place, raised over their faces as if trying to shield themselves from the flames that consumed them.
But the villagers could do little more than take the corpses down and pile them together in an open space.
They didn't even bother chasing away the increasingly bold crows that descended to peck at the bodies as night fell.
The three of them watched the scene silently as the old man walked away.
After a while, Podrick cleared his throat and gently patted Sansa's shoulder.
"Don't look anymore."
"Go inside."
"Jalabhar, kill the goose and pluck the feathers."
"I'll gather some firewood."
---
There weren't many houses left standing in the village.
Most of those were crude mud huts on the outskirts—filthy and cluttered, their straw bedding crawling with fleas.
But for what remained of this village, there was no room to be picky.
Podrick gave the house to Sansa.
Jalabhar would sleep outside with him.
Before long, Podrick returned with firewood.
Charred trees were everywhere, many still smoking, so finding dry wood was not difficult.
But when he came back, he discovered something unfortunate.
Jalabhar didn't know how to kill a goose properly.
Instead of cutting its throat to bleed it out, he had stabbed it straight through the belly, piercing the heart.
The feathers had been ripped out roughly as well.
Podrick had no choice but to singe away the remaining down over the flames before he could even begin cleaning the goose.
Because it hadn't been bled, the meat carried a strong gamey smell.
Even after adding spices, the odor lingered stubbornly.
And since it was simply roasted over an open fire, the meat was tough enough to make one's jaw ache.
Podrick ate only one leg before handing the rest to Sansa and Jalabhar.
Sansa managed only the other leg.
The rest disappeared into Jalabhar's stomach.
---
By the time dinner was finished, night had fully fallen.
A thin crescent moon hung crooked in the sky.
There were few stars tonight.
Inside the hut, Sansa had wrapped herself tightly in her cloak like a cocoon and lay asleep on the straw bedding, her breathing deep and steady.
Outside, Podrick had chosen a half-buried boulder as his bed.
He spread his cloak across it and lay down, staring up at the sky.
"Mmm… a dark night with a strong wind," he murmured.
Nearby, Jalabhar was feeding wood into the campfire.
Thinking Podrick was speaking to him, he glanced up at the sky as well and replied instinctively.
"Yes, my lord. I think it might rain tonight."
Above them, dark clouds drifted across the crescent moon, driven quickly by the wind.
Even the campfire on the ground crackled and bent beneath the gusts.
His answer made Podrick chuckle softly.
Jalabhar frowned slightly, wondering what exactly was funny about what he had said.
Then Podrick suddenly pointed toward the mud hut where Sansa was sleeping.
"Yes."
"There will be rain."
"And if my guess is correct… we'll also have visitors tonight."
"When they arrive, take your bow and go there."
"Help me 'receive' them."
"You don't need to do anything else."
"Just make sure Sansa stays safe."
He paused.
"A moonless night with strong winds…"
"The perfect night for killing."
"And this will be a good place to bury the bodies."
Only then did Jalabhar understand what Podrick had been implying all along.
At the thought of the danger approaching, his muscles tensed.
The hairs along his back stood on end.
His hand instinctively reached for the gilded longbow he had unstrung and placed inside its bow case.
After all—
as a banished prince of Red Flower Vale, exiled after losing a war, Jalabhar was no weakling.
His martial skill was solid.
Compared to the boy before him—Podrick Payne, barely in his teens yet terrifyingly powerful beyond anything human—Jalabhar Xho was nothing special.
But anyone foolish enough to underestimate him would soon regret it.
The truth was simple.
Jalabhar had hardly killed anyone in his life.
The young man he now followed, however, had already become a man soaked in blood.
Podrick lay calmly atop the large stone, showing no sign of tension at all.
He simply held one corner of his cloak across his stomach with both hands, closed his eyes, and slept deeply.
Poor Jalabhar Xho had no such luxury.
His nerves stretched tight as a bowstring as he scanned the darkness again and again, acting as Podrick's watchman.
The gilded longbow had already been restrung.
A half-filled quiver rested by his feet.
He stared into the night, occasionally pulling out a whetstone from somewhere and grinding a curved blade—light strokes, then heavy ones.
Time passed slowly.
The rain Jalabhar had predicted had yet to arrive.
But the clouds above had thickened so much that the crescent moon was no longer visible.
The wind carried the heavy scent of moisture.
Then suddenly—
A cold drop of rain fell onto Podrick's face.
His eyes opened instantly.
"They're here."
That was the first thing he said.
He sat up and grabbed Ice, the Stark Valyrian steel greatsword resting beside him.
Just as his words faded, a fierce gust of wind swept through.
The campfire beside the stone scattered sparks everywhere, crackling violently.
"Drip… drip… drip-drip…"
The rain began to fall faster.
But something else approached just as quickly.
From the distance came the sound of hooves like falling rain—
and a winding trail of torches moving through the darkness like a serpent of fire.
Wolves howled somewhere in the night.
Crows beat their wings in panic, their harsh cries filling the sky.
The sudden commotion jolted Jalabhar awake.
He must have drifted into sleep at some point from exhaustion.
Rolling off the muddy ground, he sprang up to one knee.
His short sword flashed from its sheath and rose defensively before his chest.
"Do exactly what I told you earlier."
Seeing him awake, Podrick said nothing more.
Grabbing Ice, he disappeared into the increasingly heavy rain without even putting on his cloak.
The downpour quickly intensified.
Rain struck the face so hard that one had to squint to see.
Watching Podrick vanish into the darkness, Jalabhar felt a jolt in his chest.
Instinctively he reached out, as if trying to stop him.
But Podrick Payne was like the dark blade he carried—
a streak of black smoke dissolving into the stormy night.
Rain hissed against the fire.
Embers rose briefly before being beaten back into the mud.
Wind.
Hooves.
Rain.
Wolves.
Crows.
All the sounds blended together.
Jalabhar felt as if his heart might burst from his chest.
The rain was now pouring.
Podrick was gone.
Gritting his teeth, Jalabhar finally slung the quiver over his shoulder and grabbed the bow.
He shoved the short sword back into his belt, grabbed Podrick's cloak from the stone, and crouched low as he moved toward the nearby ruins of a house that had burned down earlier that day.
Behind him, the campfire slowly died out.
Darkness swallowed the world.
In the distance, the faint glow of fireflies flickered through the rain.
Though battered by the storm, they refused to go out.
Inside the mud hut, Sansa Stark murmured in her sleep and rolled over unconsciously, wrapping herself tighter in her cloak.
---
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the rainstorm—
Gregor Clegane lifted his head and glanced toward the dark sky.
After muttering an indistinct curse, he raised his hand and flipped up the visor of his helmet.
"How much farther?"
His voice was deep as a tolling bell.
When the Mountain spoke, it sounded like distant thunder rumbling across the earth.
At his question, a farmer tied across a saddle groaned weakly.
"L–Lord… we're… almost there… just ahead…"
The farmer lay face-down across the horse, struggling to breathe enough to speak.
His hands were bound behind his back.
Pain wracked his body.
In truth, he had no idea how far it really was.
His face was swollen from beating.
His vision blurred.
And now the rain soaked him to the bone.
It was so cold.
Gregor gave no sign whether he believed the man.
After a moment of silence, he spoke again in his low rumbling voice.
"The man you mentioned…"
"He called himself Podrick Payne?"
"Not Beric Dondarrion?"
"N–no, my lord… h–he truly… told us his name…"
The farmer's voice grew faint.
His ribs likely broken, his chest burned with pain.
He could barely feel his body anymore.
Gregor nodded slightly.
"Hmm… Podrick Payne…"
His tone carried no obvious meaning.
Then suddenly—
He drew his massive two-handed sword.
With a single casual swing—
The farmer's head rolled into the muddy road.
The mouth opened and closed twice.
Confusion flickered in the fading eyes.
Then everything went empty.
The knight holding the farmer's horse didn't even look surprised.
Instead he grimaced in disgust and shoved the corpse aside, tossing it off the horse.
Then he turned toward Gregor.
"My lord, I am certain that farmer was a spy for Robb Stark."
"He was sent to mislead you."
"I believe we should ignore this nonsense and continue south to join Lord Tywin."
The knight spoke earnestly.
Perhaps he simply hated riding through the storm.
Or perhaps he truly wished to reunite with the main army as soon as possible.
Gregor merely glanced at him coldly.
Then he tugged the reins, turned his horse forward, and spoke without looking back.
"Continue."
"I don't care who he is."
"I will kill him."
The sudden rain and the impending clash forced Gregor's column to halt briefly and reorganize.
But with the Mountain's order, the troops began moving again.
The torches were now far fewer than before.
Their dim glow barely illuminated the road ahead.
The force numbered over a hundred men, almost all cavalry.
Fully armed.
Bows.
Shields.
Mail armor.
Spears.
Swords.
They looked every bit like a war band preparing for battle.
---
After receiving orders from Tywin Lannister at Harrenhal, they had marched south from the Gods Eye, planning to cross the Riverlands from the southwest and reunite with the Lannister main army in the Crownlands.
Meanwhile, the news from King's Landing had already spread across the Seven Kingdoms.
Renly Baratheon had taken the Iron Throne.
King Joffrey and Queen Regent Cersei had been captured.
In response, Robb Stark's army at Riverrun marched south in full force.
As they advanced, they swept through the Riverlands like an autumn wind scattering fallen leaves, destroying Lannister forces wherever they found them.
At the same time, Robb prepared to march toward King's Landing.
Roose Bolton, commanding the northern army near the Ruby Ford, also advanced south along the Kingsroad, pursuing the Lannister troops relentlessly.
Fortunately for Gregor's band, they were far enough from Riverrun—and close enough to the Gods Eye River—that they had not yet encountered Robb Stark's army.
And they were closer to King's Landing.
Thus Gregor had chosen to march south immediately.
If they moved fast enough, they might even reach the capital before Tywin's main army.
During most of the journey, the soldiers had been relaxed.
They even dragged along captured peasants.
After all, Tywin planned to rebuild Harrenhal.
That would require many servants.
Armies required servants too.
So skilled peasants had been kept alive and brought along.
Still—
not everyone in the column was happy about riding through a storm in the middle of the night to hunt down a single man.
"Damn this weather…"
"And that damned farmer."
"And those idiots who couldn't even find proper entertainment earlier."
Complaints began spreading through the ranks.
Others were more curious.
"Hey… do you really think the man who wiped out that entire squad in the village is Ser Podrick Payne?"
"Impossible."
"I bet it was just another unlucky group running into Beric Dondarrion."
"You've heard the stories before."
"But… what if Podrick Payne really is as powerful as the rumors say?"
"They say his feats shine even brighter than Lord Clegane's."
"And if it's true… by the Seven, he's barely in his teens."
"When Ser Jaime Lannister was knighted, he wasn't even that young."
"Ha!"
"What are you thinking?"
"Tyrion Lannister only has that one man worth bragging about."
"Of course he exaggerates every story about him."