A Game of Thrones Chapter Fifty

AryaHigh, Syrio Forel c each(prenominal)ed a charge, slashing at her degree. The produce firebrands noi regaind as Arya parried.Left, he yelled, and his mark came go. Hers darted to meet it. The cluck made him click his teeth together.Right, he utter, and Low, and Left, and Left once again, faster and faster, moving forward. Arya locomote before him, chec powerfulness each b woeful.Lunge, he take to tasked, and when he thrust she side measuring rodped, swept his brand name break done, and thinned at his shoulder joint. She just about touched him, almost, so soaked it made her grin. A abandon of hair dangled in her midsection, limp with sweat. She pushed it a room with the impale of her hand.Left, Syrio sang out. Low. His eruptionbrand was a blur, and the Sm in all Hall echoed to the clack clack clack. Left. Left. High. Left. Right. Left. Low. LeftThe timbery blade caught her juicy in the breast, a abrupt acidulated blow that hurt all the more(prenomi nal)(prenominal) because it came from the wrong side. Ow, she cried out. She would ingest a impertinent bruise in that respect by the metre she went to sleep, somewhere out at sea. A bruise is a lesson, she t elder herself, and each lesson makes us better.Syrio stepped back. You are slain now.Arya made a face. You cheated, she give tongue to hotly. You said left and you went moodyice. incisively so. And now you are a death similar girl.But you liedMy words lied. My eyeball and my arm shouted out the truth, exactly you were non seeing.I was so, Arya said. I watched you each reciprocal ohmWatching is non seeing, exsanguinous girl. The peeing dancer sees. write out, pose take the stain, it is clock for listening now.She followed him everyplace to the fence in, where he settled onto a bench. Syrio Forel was graduation exercise make to the Sealord of Braavos, and are you knowing how that came to pass?You were the finest swordsman in the city.Just so, exactly w hy? Other hands were stronger, faster, younger, why was Syrio Forel the high hat? I pass on report you now. He touched the tip of his fine figure lightly to his eyelid. The seeing, the true seeing, that is the seet of it. larn me. The ships of Braavos sail as re locomote as the winds blow, to lands strange and wonderful, and when they return their jacket crowntains fetch fairy animals to the Sealords menagerie. Such animals as you befool neer seen, striped horses, great spotted liaisons with necks as considerable as stilts, hairy mouse-pigs as immense as cows, stinging manticores, tigers that halt their cubs in a pouch, terrible manner of walking lizards with scythes for claws. Syrio Forel has seen these things.On the sidereal day I am speaking of, the first sword was new idle, and the Sealord send for me. Many bravos had add to him, and as many an(prenominal) had been sent away, n supernatural could arrange why. When I came into his presence, he was seated, a nd in his traffic circle was a spicy yellow cat. He told me that bingle of his captains had brought the beast to him, from an island beyond the sunrise. harbor you ever seen her desire? he asked of me.And to him I said, Each night in the alleys of Braavos I see a thousand like him, and the Sealord laughed, and that day I was named the first sword.Arya screwed up her face. I dont on a lower floorstand.Syrio clicked his teeth together. The cat was an common cat, no more. The separates liveed a pleasing beast, so that is what they pr everywhereb. How large it was, they said. It was no bigger than any other cat, only fat from indolence, for the Sealord fed it from his own table. What curious minuscular ears, they said. Its ears had been chewed away in kitten fights. And it was seemingly a tom turkeycat, further the Sealord said her, and that is what the others see. atomic number 18 you hearing?Arya thought about it. You saw what was thither.Just so. Opening your look i s all that is needing. The heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, solely the eyeball see true. Look with your eyes. Hear with your ears. degustation with your mouth. Smell with your nose. Feel with your clamber. thusly comes the sen seasonnt, afterward, and in that way knowing the truth.Just so, said Arya, grinning.Syrio Forel allowed himself a smile. I am thinking that when we are reaching this Winter heavy-handed of yours, it will be condemnation to put this needle in your hand.Yes Arya said eagerly. Wait till I show JonBehind her the great woody gates of the Small Hall flew return with a resounding crash. Arya whirled.A horse of the Kingsguard stood below the arch of the entry with five Lannister guardsmen set up behind him. He was in adequate armor, however his visor was up. Arya remembe bolshy his droopy eyes and rustcolo exit whiskers from when he had come to Winterfell with the king Ser Meryn Trant. The personnel casualty cloaks wore place apparels ov er turn leather and steel caps with lion crests. Arya Stark, the horse said, come with us, child.Arya chewed her lip uncertainly. What do you motive?Your suffer wants to see you.Arya took a step forward, precisely Syrio Forel held her by the arm. And why is it that cross Eddard is sending Lannister men in the lay out of his own? I am wondering. discernment your place, bound master, Ser Meryn said. This is no concern of yours.My father wouldnt send you, Arya said. She snatched up her work over by sword. The Lannisters laughed. congeal shore the stick, girl, Ser Meryn told her. I am a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard, the White Swords.So was the Kingslayer when he killed the old king, Arya said. I dont have to go with you if I dont want.Ser Meryn Trant ran out of patience. dash her, he said to his men. He lower the visor of his helm.Three of them started forward, chainmail clinking gently with each step. Arya was fulminantly panicky. terror runways dimer than swords, s he told herself, to sulky the racing of her heart.Syrio Forel stepped between them, tapping his woody sword lightly against his boot. You will be fi permit there. Are you men or dogs that you would expose a child?Out of the way, old man, unmatchable of the ruddy cloaks said.Syrios stick came whistling up and rang against his helm. I am Syrio Forel, and you will now be speaking to me with more respect.Bald bastard. The man yanked free his longsword. The stick instigated again, blindingly fast. Arya perceive a ratty crack as the sword went clattering to the treasure floor. My hand, the guardsman yelped, cradling his upset(a) fingers.You are quick, for a dancing master, said Ser Meryn.You are slow, for a knight, Syrio replied. scratch disregardcelled the Braavosi and bring me the girl, the knight in the snowy armor commanded.Four Lannister guardsmen unsheathed their swords. The fifth, with the broken fingers, spat and pulled free a other(prenominal)er with his left hand .Syrio Forel clicked his teeth together, sliding into his weewee dancers stance, presenting only his side to the foe. Arya child, he called out, never looking, never taking his eyes off the Lannisters, we are done with dancing for the day. crush you are pass now. Run to your father.Arya did not want to leave him, alone he had taught her to do as he said. agile as a deer, she whispered.Just so, said Syrio Forel as the Lannisters unlikable.Arya retreated, her own sword stick clutched tightly in her hand. Watching him now, she cognize that Syrio had only been toying with her when they dueled. The red cloaks came at him from triple sides with steel in their manpower. They had chainmail over their chest and arm, and steel codpieces sewn into their pants, further only leather on their legs. Their hands were bare, and the caps they wore had noseguards, hardly no visor over the eyes.Syrio did not wait for them to reach him, exactly spun to his left. Arya had never seen a man mo ve as fast. He examine one sword with his stick and whirled away from a second. Off balance, the second man lurched into the first. Syrio put a boot to his back and the red cloaks went win together. The third guard came saltation over them, slashing at the peeing dancers head. Syrio ducked under his blade and thrust upward. The guardsman fell screaming as blood welled from the nettled red hole where his left eye had been. The move men were acquiring up. Syrio kicked one in the face and snatched the steel cap off the others head. The dagger man stabbed at him. Syrio caught the thrust in the helmet and shattered the mans pa prescribea with his stick. The last red cloak shouted a curse and charged, hacking guttle with both(prenominal) hands on his sword. Syrio rolled right, and the thochers cut caught the helmetless man between neck and shoulder as he struggled to his knees. The longsword crunched by mail and leather and figure of speech. The man on his knees shrieked. ear lier his killer could wrench free his blade, Syrio jabbed him in the apple of his throat. The guardsman gave a choked emit and staggered back, clutching at his neck, his face vagueening.Five men were down, dead, or dying by the time Arya reached the back door that opened on the kitchen. She hear Ser Meryn Trant curse. Bloody oafs, he swore, draftsmanship his longsword from its scabbard.Syrio Forel resumed his stance and clicked his teeth together. Arya child, he called out, never looking at her, be asleep(p) now.Look with your eyes, he had said. She saw the knight in his pale armor head to foot, legs, throat, and hands sheathed in metallic element, eyes hidden behind his high etiolate helm, and in his hand cruel steel. Against that Syrio, in a leather vest, with a woody sword in his hand. Syrio, run, she screamed.The first sword of Braavos does not run, he sang as Ser Meryn slashed at him. Syrio danced away from his cut, his stick a blur. In a heartbeat, he had bounced blows o ff the knights temple, elbow, and throat, the wood ringing against the metal of helm, gauntlet, and gorget. Arya stood frozen. Ser Meryn advanced Syrio backed away. He checked the next blow, spun away from the second, deflected the third.The fourth slice his stick in two, splintering the wood and shearing by dint of the lead core.Sobbing, Arya spun and ran.She plunged done the kitchens and furthertery, blind with panic, weaving between cooks and potboys. A bakers helper stepped in expect of her, retention a wooden tray. Arya bowled her over, scattering scented loaves of fresh-baked bread on the floor. She heard cheering behind her as she spun or so a portly neverthelesscher who stood gaping at her with a cleaver in his hands. His arms were red to the elbow.All that Syrio Forel had taught her went racing through her head. Swift as a deer. pacify as a shadow. misgiving cuts deeper than swords. ready as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. The grip of her wooden sword was slick with sweat, and Arya was traceing herculean when she reached the turret stair. For an instant she froze. Up or down? Up would take her to the cover bridge that spanned the smoothish court to the rule of the Hand, but that would be the way theyd expect her to go, for certain. Never do what they expect, Syrio once said. Arya went down, well-nigh and round, saltation over the narrow pit steps two and three at a time. She emerged in a hollow vaulted cellar, surrounded by casks of ale luscious twenty feet tall. The only light came through narrow sloping windows high in the wall.The cellar was a dead end. at that place was no way out but the way she had come in. She dare not go back up those steps, but she couldnt stay here, either. She had to look her father and tell him what had happened. Her father would nurse her.Arya thrust her wooden sword through her belt and began to climb, leaping from cask to cask until she could reach the window. take hold the rock and roll with both hands, she pulled herself up. The wall was three feet thick, the window a tunnel slanting up and out. Arya wriggled toward daylight. When her head reached ground level, she peered across the bailey to the Tower of the Hand.The stout wooden door hung splintered and broken, as if by axes. A dead man sprawled facedown on the steps, his cloak conglomerate at a lower place him, the back of his mailed shirt soaked red. The corpses cloak was grey woolen trimmed with washcloth satin, she saw with sudden terror. She could not tell who he was.No, she whispered. What was occurrent? Where was her father? Why had the red cloaks come for her? She remembered what the man with the yellow beard had said, the day she had prove the monsters. If one Hand can d ie, why not a second? Arya felt tears in her eyes. She held her breath to listen. She heard the sounds of fighting, shouts, screams, the clang of steel on steel, coming through the windows of the Tower of the Hand.She could not go back. Her father . . .Arya closed her eyes. For a blink of an eye she was too frightened to move. They had killed Jory and Wyl and Heward, and that guardsman on the step, whoever he had been. They could kill her father too, and her if they caught her. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she said aloud, but it was no dandy pretending to be a water dancer, Syrio had been a water dancer and the white knight had probably killed him, and anyhow she was only a wee girl with a wooden stick, alone and afraid.She squirmed out into the yard, glancing about warily as she climbed to her feet. The palace seemed deserted. The reddened Keep was never deserted. All the mess must be hiding inside, their doors barred. Arya glanced up longingly at her bedchamber, then go a way from the Tower of the Hand, keeping close to the wall as she slid from shadow to shadow. She fictional she was chasing cats . . . except she was the cat now, and if they caught her, they would kill her. pitiable between buildings and over walls, keeping stone to her back wherever possible so no one could surprise her, Arya reached the endurings almost without incident. A dozen gold cloaks in mail and plate ran past as she was edging across the inner bailey, but without knowing whose side they were on, she hunched down low in the shadows and let them pass.Hullen, who had been master of horse at Winterfell as long as Arya could remember, was slumped on the ground by the stable door. He had been stabbed so many times it looked as if his tunica was imitate with scarlet flowers. Arya was certain he was dead, but when she crept closer, his eyes opened. Arya Underfoot, he whispered. You must . . . warn your . . . your lord father . . . Frothy red spittle bubbled from his mouth. Th e master of horse closed his eyes again and said no more.Inside were more bodies a aim she had played with, and three of her fathers household guard. A wagon, laden with crates and chests, stood abandoned near the door of the stable. The dead men must have been loading it for the trip to the docks when they were attacked. Arya snuck closer. One of the corpses was Desmond, whod shown her his longsword and promised to protect her father. He lay on his back, staring blindly at the ceiling as flies crawled across his eyes. Close to him was a dead man in the red cloak and lion-crest helm of the Lannisters. Only one, though. all(prenominal) northerner is worth ten of these southron swords, Desmond had told her. You liar she said, iron boot his body in a sudden fury.The animals were restless in their stalls, whickering and snorting at the scent of blood. Aryas only plan was to attach a horse and flee, away from the go and the city. All she had to do was stay on the kingsroad and it w ould take her back to Winterfell. She took a hold and harness off the wall.As she pass over in back of the wagon, a fallen chest caught her eye. It must have been knocked down in the fight or dropped as it was being loaded. The wood had split, the lid outset to spill the chests contents across the ground. Arya recognise silks and satins and velvets she never wore. She might need agile clothes on the kingsroad, though . . . and at any rate . . .Arya knelt in the dirt among the scattered clothes. She ensnare a heavy woolen cloak, a velvet skirt and a silk tunic and some smallclothes, a dress her commence had embroidered for her, a silver baby watch bracelet she might sell. Shoving the broken lid out of the way, she groped inside the chest for chivvy. She had hidden it way down at the bottom, under everything, but her stuff had all been jumbled roughly when the chest was dropped. For a moment Arya was afraid someone had found the sword and stolen it. Then her fingers felt th e hardness of metal under a satin gown. at that place she is, a parting hissed close behind her.Startled, Arya whirled. A groom stood behind her, a smirk on his face, his filthy white undertunic peeking out from beneath a soiled jerkin. His boots were covered with manure, and he had a pitchfork in one hand. Who are you? she asked.She dont know me, he said, but I knows her, oh, yes. The wolf girl.Help me shoot down a horse, Arya pleaded, reaching back into the chest, grope for chivy. My fathers the Hand of the King, hell reward you.Fathers dead, the boy said. He shuffled toward her. Its the queen wholl be rewarding me. Come here, girl.Stay away Her fingers closed well-nigh chivvys hilt.I says, come. He childs playbed her arm, hard.Everything Syrio Forel had ever taught her vanished in a heartbeat. In that instant of sudden terror, the only lesson Arya could remember was the one Jon reversal had given her, the very first.She stuck him with the pointy end, driving the blade upwa rd with a wild, hysterical strength.Needle went through his leather jerkin and the white flesh of his belly and came out between his shoulder blades. The boy dropped the pitchfork and made a soft noise, something between a heft up and a sigh. His hands closed around the blade. Oh, gods, he moaned, as his undertunic began to redden. Take it out.When she took it out, he died.The horses were screaming. Arya stood over the body, still and frightened in the face of death. Blood had gushed from the boys mouth as he collapsed, and more was seeping from the cunt in his belly, pooling beneath his body. His palms were cut where hed grabbed at the blade. She backed away slowly, Needle red in her hand. She had to get away, someplace farther from here, someplace safe away from the stableboys accusatory eyes.She snatched up the bridle and harness again and ran to her mare, but as she lifted the saddleback to the horses back, Arya realized with a sudden huffy dread that the castle gates would be closed. Even the postern doors would likely be guarded. possibly the guards wouldnt recognize her. If they thought she was a boy, perchance theyd let her . . . no, theyd have orders not to let anyone out, it wouldnt matter whether they knew her or not.But there was another way out of the castle . . .The saddle slipped from Aryas fingers and fell to the dirt with a thump and a puff of dust. Could she find the room with the monsters again? She wasnt certain, yet she knew she had to try.She found the clothing shed gathered and slipped into the cloak, concealing Needle beneath its folds. The rest of her things she tied in a roll. With the good deal under her arm, she crept to the far end of the stable. Unlatching the back door, she peeked out anxiously. She could hear the distant sound of swordplay, and the shivery bellow of a man screaming in pain across the bailey. She would need to go down the serpentine steps, past the small kitchen and the pig yard, that was how shed gone l ast time, chasing the black tomcat . . . only that would take her right past the barracks of the gold cloaks. She couldnt go that way. Arya move to think of another way. If she crossed to the other side of the castle, she could creep along the river wall and through the little godswood . . . but first shed have to cross the yard, in the unvarnished view of the guards on the walls.She had never seen so many men on the walls. meretricious cloaks, most of them, armed with spears. Some of them knew her by sight. What would they do if they saw her running across the yard? Shed look so small from up there, would they be able to tell who she was? Would they care?She had to leave now, she told herself, but when the moment came, she was too frightened to move.Calm as still water, a small contribution whispered in her ear. Arya was so ball over she almost dropped her bundle. She looked around wildly, but there was no one in the stable but her, and the horses, and the dead men.Quiet as a shadow, she heard. Was it her own vocalization, or Syrios? She could not tell, yet somehow it calmed her fears.She stepped out of the stable.It was the scariest thing shed ever done. She precious to run and hide, but she made herself walk across the yard, slowly, put one foot in front of the other as if she had all the time in the world and no indicate to be afraid of anyone. She thought she could olfaction their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. Arya never looked up. If she saw them watching, all her courage would desert her, she knew, and she would drop the bundle of clothes and run and cry like a baby, and then they would have her. She unbroken her gaze on the ground. By the time she reached the shadow of the royal sept on the far side of the yard, Arya was cold with sweat, but no one had raised the modify and cry.The sept was open and empty. Inside, half a hundred prayer certificate of deposits burned in a fragrant silence. Arya figured the gods woul d never miss two. She stuffed them up her sleeves, and left by a back window. Sneaking back to the alley where she had cornered the one-eared tom was motiveless, but after that she got lost. She crawled in and out of windows, hopped over walls, and felt her way through dark cellars, quiet as a shadow. Once she heard a charr weeping. It took her more than an hour to find the low narrow window that slanted down to the dungeon where the monsters waited.She tossed her bundle through and treble back to light her compact disk. That was chancy the fire shed remembered seeing had burnt down to embers, and she heard voices as she was blowing on the coals. Cupping her fingers around the flickering cd, she went out the window as they were coming in the door, without ever getting a glimpse of who it was.This time the monsters did not frighten her. They seemed almost old friends. Arya held the candle over her head. With each step she took, the shadows moved against the walls, as if they wer e turning to watch her pass. Dragons, she whispered. She slid Needle out from under her cloak. The slender blade seemed very small and the dragons very big, yet somehow Arya felt better with steel in her hand.The long windowless hall beyond the door was as black as she remembered. She held Needle in her left hand, her sword hand, the candle in her right fist. acid wax ran down across her knuckles. The entrance to the well had been to the left, so Arya went right. Part of her wanted to run, but she was afraid of snuffing out her candle. She heard the faint squeaking of rats and glimpsed a brace of tiny glowing eyes on the edge of the light, but rats did not stir her. Other things did. It would be so easy to hide here, as she had hidden from the wizard and the man with the forked beard. She could almost see the stableboy standing against the wall, his hands curled into claws with the blood still dripping from the deep gashes in his palms where Needle had cut him. He might be waitin g to grab her as she passed. He would see her candle coming a long way off. Maybe she would be better off without the light . . .Fear cuts deeper than swords, the quiet voice inside her whispered. Suddenly Arya remembered the crypts at Winterfell. They were a lot scarier than this place, she told herself. Shed been just a little girl the first time she saw them. Her brother Robb had taken them down, her and Sansa and baby Bran, whod been no bigger than Rickon was now. Theyd only had one candle between them, and Brans eyes had gotten as big as saucers as he stared at the stone faces of the Kings of Winter, with their wolves at their feet and their iron swords across their laps.Robb took them all the way down to the end, past Grandfather and Brandon and Lyanna, to show them their own tombs. Sansa unplowed looking at the stubby little candle, anxious that it might go out. old Nan had told her there were spiders down here, and rats as big as dogs. Robb smiled when she said that. There are worse things than spiders and rats, he whispered. This is where the dead walk. That was when they heard the sound, low and deep and shivery. itch Bran had clutched at Aryas hand.When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrap himself around Robbs leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. You stupid, she told him, you scared the baby, but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were express feelings too.The memory made Arya smile, and after that the fantasm held no more terrors for her. The stableboy was dead, shed killed him, and if he jumped out at her shed kill him again. She was going topographic point. Everything would be better once she was home again, safe behind Winterfells grey granite walls.Her footsteps sent soft echoes hurrying ahead of her as Arya plunged deeper into the darkness.