A salty sea breeze drifted in through the windows facing the sea. Three young dragons of different colors hissed, gray smoke puffing from their nostrils.
As dragons grew, their smoke lasted longer and burned hotter, and the same was true of their Dragonfire. It was already useful for ambushes. When dragons were still young, they could be hurt by Dragonfire; as they matured, their defenses improved, though after a certain point they would lose some agility.
"All right, Balerion, don't tear up my book." Gendry tugged on the black dragon's horn, then tossed out a few strips of cooked meat. The young dragons immediately darted through the air after them.
Gendry looked at the book Qyburn had bound in brown calfskin. It recorded all manner of strange and uncanny things.
He opened to the first page. Written on it were the words: "Some truths about the world. Bloodlines and faith, magic and power."
"This book covers everything I know. Common forms of magic, legends of ancient heroes and gods, and places where magic is active.
Elemental control was once the most widespread form of magic. It includes the fire magic and Blood Magic of the Valyrian Dragonlords, the water magic of the Rhoynar, and the Storm God and the Lord of Light's power to command the winds and summon storms. Prophecy and divination are also widespread, among red priests, dwarf witches in the forests, sorceresses of the East, and even the Dragon Dreams of House Targaryen.
Lastly, there are resurrection, necromancy, and illusions. As for warging, it is more likely to appear in those with the Bloodline of the First Men who believe in the Old Gods," Qyburn explained.
He paused briefly at necromancy. That was the field he studied, though unfortunately, the requirements for suitable subjects were far too strict. These days, his main role had shifted to serving as Gendry's advisor.
Gendry put the book away. With the arrival of the magical tide, he had already seen several forms of magic from the Known world with his own eyes, and he himself had triggered the "Blood of the Storm" and fire magic buffs.
Among the people Gendry knew of, Qyburn had used necromancy to transform The Mountain, while R'hllor could also bring the dead back to life. The red priestess was the most versatile. She could see prophecies in fire, alter her appearance through enchantment, and even create shadows to steal life. Beyond the Wall, there were many Skinchangers, and the power of the Old Gods hung over The North.
"Skinchangers are more common among descendants of the First Men. House Stark, House Blackwood, and House Royce are all descended from the First Men. Some Maesters believe House Targaryen also used this ability to control dragons, but that argument is not very convincing," Qyburn continued.
"Of course, it may not be only warging. Magic is bound to blood and faith. Fire magic, water magic, and commanding dragons are the same. Only those with the Dragonlord's Bloodline and the Rhoynar can make use of them."
The old but still formidable white knight, Ser Barristan Selmy, said nothing. His cloak was spotless white. Though he disliked strange and unsettling things like magic, if creatures like wights and the Long Night truly existed, then saving humanity's future might indeed require magic.
Knights were simple people. They trained day after day, and to them, magic was as unwelcome as thieves, poison, and assassins.
Gendry opened the chapter on The North. It covered the history of House Stark and introduced the direwolves. Still, Qyburn probably would not believe that this generation of House Stark had seen such an enormous surge in wolf spirit talent, with nearly every child possessing it, along with a chosen Greenseer. Perhaps that, too, showed how severe the crisis had become.
"I've also thought of a few interesting points," Qyburn said. "Garth Greenhand and the Grey King run parallel to the First King's curse. Prosperity and withering, laughter and weeping, life and death. Garth Greenhand represents abundance and fertility, not only of the land, but also the ability to make women conceive.
The Drowned God and the Grey King represent desolation, ruin, and brutal slaughter, much like the Iron Islands themselves, barren, rocky, and hard to farm. The First King's curse in The North is that anyone who dares compare himself to the First King will become like a corpse, weak and drained."
"That theory doesn't quite hold," Ser Barristan corrected him. "The Grey King had more than a hundred sons."
"It is only a discussion, and I also consider it speculation, old knight," Qyburn replied with a smile. "I drew a little inspiration from the fall of House Hoare, the 'King of the River Islands and the Iron Islands,' at Harrenhal. Harrenhal is a place cursed by magic, and it lies near Dryland. Unlike other Ironborn, House Hoare did not follow the Old Ways. They may instead have been obsessed with the Old Gods."
"Harrenhal. The feud between the Stormclans and the Ironborn still hasn't ended." Gendry looked toward Harrenhal. It was the true heart of the continent, yet Harrenhal and the lands around it carried the stench of ancient sorcery, just like the mysterious House Hoare. The red priestess had once said that the surge of magic there was anything but ordinary.
"If someone wanted to surpass the Drowned God, the Grey King, and the Storm God, if he wanted to gain power and become a god himself, then he would need to kill even more people and bring ruin and darkness to the world," Gendry said thoughtfully.
"In theory, yes." Qyburn glanced at Gendry. "But that is sheer madness. How many people would he have to kill to please the Drowned God and the Storm God?"
"It is madness, but we may truly encounter such a madman. Balon's second brother. He is even more dangerous than Balon."
"My network has spread across the Known world. I believe we will find this Kraken," Qyburn said.
"Has that little girl been found yet?" Gendry asked Qyburn again. "Arya Stark, Lord Eddard's youngest daughter."
With his long fingers, Gendry continued scattering strips of meat for the little dragons to chase and feed on. Everyone was now pouring great effort into finding the child. If Arya had escaped Harrenhal, she had most likely fallen into the hands of the Brotherhood, and he might have an answer soon.
"No," Qyburn replied. "When Roose Bolton led his forces south, he seized Harrenhal and passed through it, but found no trace of the Wolf Girl."
"Forget it. That little girl is mischievous, but she's clever too. She'll find her way home." Gendry waved a hand and went back to his book. Perhaps Arya had indeed been at Harrenhal, but had not revealed her identity to Bolton. Roose was a cruel man, and Arya was very sharp. Otherwise, she would never have managed to flee so far.
"I still remember that girl," Ser Barristan said after thinking for a moment. "The child should survive. She looked like a true Stark, with a long face, gray eyes, and auburn hair. As for her sister, she was more like a Tully, a beautiful girl with red hair and blue eyes."
...
In the Riverlands, Stoney Sept was the largest town Arya Stark had come across since fleeing King's Landing. Harrenhal was a vast fortress, so it hardly counted.
Arya had been running ever since she left King's Landing. Later, she reached Harrenhal, when it was still ruled by Sellswords and Lions. Then the Skinners came in. Seeing things turn bad, Arya ran again.
Of the friends who had escaped King's Landing with her, Hot Pie had stayed behind at the inn to keep baking bread. Arya was alone again.
Arya told Harwin some things, including how she had escaped King's Landing and met the raven. Of course, there were things she did not tell him, such as the people she had killed, or her meeting with Jaqen.
"You were right not to trust Bolton," Harwin said. "He's a cold-blooded man."
"But Bolton looked very loyal to me, like the King's Hound."
"He knows which way the wind is blowing." Harwin snorted. "Before, he was hoping his son would marry your sister. Now he has a new master."
"Is that man Storm?" Arya asked. "The Lion's men say he's a demon who kills people like flies."
"It's Storm. He cut off the Kingslayer's hand, and the Kingslayer almost became a headless lion. He might have had a chance to become your brother-in-law before, but now that's probably gone."
"Good," Arya said.
"My lady, once we enter town, you must act more like a lady."
"I've always been a lady." Arya glanced down at her feet. "I know how to sew."
Harwin looked at her, but did not expose the little girl's lie. "You look just like Lady Lyanna when you're on horseback."
"Your father once won a great victory here," Harwin said.
"Back then, the Mad King's forces were chasing Robert, trying to catch him before he could join your father. The young Great Lord of Storm's End was wounded and being cared for by some local friends. Meanwhile, the Hand of the King, Lord Connington, personally led a great army to seize the town and began searching house by house. Before they found him, Great Lord Eddard and your grandfather, Great Lord Hoster, arrived in time, broke through the defenses, and fought the Griffin in fierce street battles..."
Arya nodded, then her expression dimmed. "My father is dead. King Robert is dead too."
Stoney Sept looked battered. Its gates had been burned down and replaced with new ones made of fresh logs. The gatekeepers, however, seemed in good spirits, with a kind of joy about them.
Harwin hurried forward, clearly familiar with the guards. When the captain at the gate saw who they were, he opened the sally port.
"Good news, my lady." Harwin strode back toward her. "Good news. Your father isn't dead. Joffrey is dead, and King's Landing has been taken."
"What happened?" Arya asked, shocked and delighted as she chased after Harwin. "But I saw it. I saw my father being beheaded in the carving at the Sept."
"My lady, all I can say is that it was magic..." Harwin said, then slowly explained it to her. "In short, your father escaped with his life. Some unlucky Northern murderer took his place as Great Lord. When King's Landing fell, your father was hidden away by the Spider, and then he was rescued..."
"Praise the Storm." Tom Seven-Strings and Lem followed them through the sally port. "Can we have a proper meal today?"
"We can eat a bit better. Damn it, they say the Old Lion has finally rolled out of the Red Fork of the Trident. But the war isn't over. Those cripples and Sellswords come and go, castles and lands are ruined, and men like them want women, money, and food. Luckily, the grain south of the river here wasn't burned, the Mad Hunter drove in a flock of sheep, and there's trade on the Blackwater Rush. Great Lord Edmure did something stupid. He failed to send the Old Lion to the Fires of Hell."
"Great Lord Edmure? Great Lord Hoster is dead?"
"Soon enough, I suppose..."
"My lady, I think we'll be returning to King's Landing soon. After all this time, there's finally some hope," Harwin said.
"If Storm and Lord Eddard are still raising the stag banner, then we can return to King's Landing for our rewards. But the common folk have suffered the worst of it," Lem said with a sigh.
"I'd set my dogs on the Lannisters if the Kingslayer ever fell into my hands," Arya heard a man curse.
"Why does he hate the Lions so much?" Lem asked.
"Westermen raped his wife, ate his pigs and sheep, killed the ones they didn't finish, and threw them into the well."
"I'd be crueler than he is," Harwin said with a loud laugh.
"My lady, there's nowhere decent to stay here. I can only take you to a special sort of place. Once Lord Beric arrives, you'll be able to return to Riverrun and see your grandfather of House Tully," Harwin whispered.
"What special sort of place...?" Arya asked, confused.
"The sort of place with lots of women..." Tom Seven-Strings explained. Then many of the others burst out laughing.
The Sept stood on the hill, looking rather small. A third of the town had once been burned down.
Arya rode with the others, and more and more people greeted them as they passed.
"Stay sharp," Arya told herself. Beyond the bustle, she noticed the others. Crossbowmen were hidden on the rooftops, and more men were hiding among the ruins and shadows.
In the market square at the center of Stoney Sept stood a fountain shaped like a leaping trout, water pouring steadily from its mouth into a shallow pool. Women were drawing water there with buckets and pitchers.
"That banner," Arya said curiously.
She saw it again, the golden quartered banner. The stag, the Dragon, the Wolf Pack, the freed slave breaking his chains. It was a banner she could never forget.
"Lord Edmure is a good man too," said one woman.
"A fool too. Always leading soldiers into losing battles. If Storm hadn't saved him, he'd still be in a cage."
"Storm's banner. He gave us a chance to breathe again. They say he received the blessing of the Warrior and the Smith," Tom Seven-Strings said with a grin. "I've written a song for the new king, dedicated to him."
"He really is popular," Arya thought sourly. "Far more people sing Storm's praises than they ever did for my brother Robb or my uncle Edmure."
A few feet away, a dozen iron cages hung from creaking wooden posts. Crow cages, one of Westeros's infamous punishments. The crows stayed outside, beating at the bars, while the men inside were left there until death.
The soldiers had been stripped of everything, armor, coin purses, and gear, not even their smallclothes left. The cages were so cramped they could neither sit nor turn around. They could only wait inside for death, enduring rain and sun.
"Just punishment!" one woman said.
"They're all the Lion's cubs," another woman answered. "That old lion Tywin left in such a hurry that some of his men were abandoned right on the road."
Actually, you could give them a quicker death, Arya thought, but she did not speak up to stop it. These men were not her brother's men. They were not Northmen.
This was a cruel age, an age of men devouring men and men killing men. Farmers suffered the worst of all. The Lannisters had killed so many people; the people of the Riverlands were only collecting a little interest.
As Arya passed the cages, she saw only corpses, death, and the pleas of those near death. Crows flew outside the cages, carrion crows, with blood and flies everywhere. The cages were so small, yet men had been forced into them.
Some of the dead had dry, hollow eye sockets, their eyes already pecked out by birds. Some of the wounded had red, raw skin all over, their mouths muttering, "Water. Water." Their wounds lay exposed, maggots crawling back and forth across them. Rapists had been cut below, and thieves had had their hands chopped off.
Valar morghulis, Arya recited silently.
"That boy's got courage," a man of the Riverlands praised. Arya was thin and flat, and her hair looked the same.
"She's a girl," Harwin corrected him.
"Then that's even more impressive."
"Good." Harwin patted Arya's shoulder approvingly. "You're like one of us Northmen. I thought you'd plead for them."
Arya shook her head. "When the Lannisters drove away my wolf, and so many people died for my father, I knew they were our enemies..."
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