Game of Thrones: Starting by Escaping with the Mad King Chapter 9 - 9 – BURN THEM ALL!

"Reinforcents?"

At the shout, Lance froze mid-swing, though his sword remained raised as he eyed the newcor with suspicion.

The man looked to be in his thirties, with wavy black hair and a thick beard that gave him a rugged air. Yet the way he held himself—straight-backed, composed—spoke more of a noble than a sellsword.

"And why the hell should I trust you?" Lance growled, blade held crosswise before him.

The man showed no irritation. Instead, he reached into his coat, pulled sothing free, and tossed it over.

Catching it on the flat of his sword, Lance squinted. It was a crest—blue field, white cross, and two black war hamrs crossed at the center.

But while the man waited expectantly, Lance just shook his head and said bluntly:

"Never seen it. Don't know what house that's from."

"…Shit."

The man's smile froze. He almost swore aloud, but seeing Lance's utterly shaless 'I may be ignorant but I'm very confident about it' look, he swallowed it back and forced himself to explain.

"My na is Reveray Rykker, boy."

"Never heard of you."

Lance kept shaking his head. The reply landed like a stone in Reveray's gut.

Seven hells, how did soone who clearly never studied heraldry end up with sword skills like this?

Shooting Lance a glare, Reveray muttered, "All you need to know is—I'm here to help."

"Oi, old man."

Ignoring him, Lance patted the slumped figure on his shoulder. "You know this guy?"

But Aerys didn't answer. Adjusting him slightly, Lance realized the king had—at so point—fallen asleep.

Unbelievable… what nerves on this one.

Seeing that, Lance sighed and lowered his blade. If this man were truly an enemy, he'd have already called the guards down on them instead of wasting ti here.

"Follow , kid," Reveray said curtly. He wasn't thrilled by Lance's attitude, but he knew now wasn't the ti to argue. Without waiting, he turned and headed deeper into the alley.

After a mont's thought, Lance shifted Aerys' weight on his shoulder and followed.

---

"Damn it… where are they?"

Outside Duskendale, Barristan stood in the shadow of a crumbling wall, growing more anxious by the minute.

His hair was matted, his white cloak long stained with gri. Nothing remained of the proud, gleaming Kingsguard—he looked more like a common sellsword than a knight of legend.

The appointed ti had passed more than half an hour ago, and still not a soul had appeared.

This section of the town wall was the lowest, but even so it rose five or six ters. Without help from the inside, climbing it barehanded was near impossible.

Worst of all, only monts earlier, he had heard faint shouting and clashing steel from within the town.

Seven above… please let that have nothing to do with the king.

At last, his patience snapped. Barristan looked up at the sheer stone, found what tiny cracks and edges he could, and began clawing his way upward.

---

At Duskendale's East Gate, the portcullis lood.

Robin Hollard kicked the winch chain, the rusted tal groaning under the strain. To either side of him, fifty spearn stood ready, while twenty archers watched from the walls.

With this much steel bristling at the gate, Robin thought grimly, not even a fly would escape the town.

Just then, a small caravan of four wagons creaked toward the gate.

"Stop!"

Robin barked the order, spurring his horse forward to block their path.

At the sight of the soldiers massed around the gate, Reveray Rykker frowned briefly. But the mont he recognized who was in charge, he forced a sly smile onto his face and rode up with a friendly greeting.

"Robin? Why you today, and not Jon?"

"My uncle ordered to guard the gate," the boy answered bluntly.

Only seventeen, Robin Hollard was tall, broad-shouldered, but with little subtlety in his manner. He spoke with the straightforward authority of soone simply parroting orders:

"By command, no one is allowed to leave Duskendale today. Best turn back, Lord Rykker."

Reveray didn't bristle at the tone. Stroking his beard, his expression turned disarmingly mild.

Then, with the smallest gesture, he produced a leather pouch and raised his brows ever so slightly.

"Of course, I understand the rules."

He gave the bag a light shake.

"One hundred and twenty gold dragons—exactly half the profit from this trip."

Robin's eyes locked on the pouch in Reveray's hand, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

"This isn't about money."

He hesitated, but after a mont he shook his head firmly. "Uncle Jon's orders were clear—no one leaves the city."

"Go back, my lord. Business can wait. Today, it cannot."

Reveray's smile stiffened, a flicker of irritation breaking through. He forced a sigh, feigning bafflent.

"And what exactly is going on today?" His voice hardened, carrying for the soldiers behind Robin to hear. "You know as well as I do—we're nearly out of food. If this shipnt doesn't make it out, if we don't trade it for grain, you and I will be chewing fence posts like the peasants!"

The words had their effect. At the ntion of food, the rank-and-file soldiers glanced toward Robin, hunger burning in their eyes. Ever since the siege began, most of them had been starving, surviving on scraps. Without Reveray's smuggling routes, many would already be dead.

Feeling their stares bore into him, Robin's resolve wavered. He exhaled through his nose.

"Fine. Check them."

At his order, several soldiers stepped forward. Under Robin's watchful gaze, they jabbed spearpoints into the canvas covers of each wagon.

"No problem, ser. Just barrels of wine."

Robin's brow furrowed. Their cursory inspection wasn't enough. Urging his horse closer, he leaned down and rapped his bronze gauntlet against each barrel.

Thump. Thump.

The dull resonance confird they were indeed filled—with wine, or sothing that sounded like it.

Reveray felt sweat prick his palms. By the third wagon his pulse was racing. The fourth wagon… the one with the king hidden inside… Robin strode toward it.

Seven save …

But whether from boredom or fatigue, Robin only tapped the barrels lining the edges and ignored the one buried in the middle. Satisfied, he turned away.

Reveray nearly collapsed in relief, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his brow.

"Let them through!" Robin commanded, gesturing broadly.

The chains screeched as the portcullis rattled upward, opening just enough to let the wagons pass.

Reveray quickly urged the drivers forward, eager to escape before fortune turned.

"Wait."

The word stopped him cold.

Reveray's heart seized. He forced a shaky smile, turning back. "Yes?"

Robin rode up, smiling in turn, and extended an open palm.

"The gold dragons."

"Ah—of course, of course!" Reveray fumbled, then smoothly pulled the pouch from his coat and placed it in Robin's hand.

Robin hefted it, nodded in satisfaction, and grinned. "Good luck, my lord."

"Your kindness, as always," Reveray replied with a shallow bow, relief flooding him as the wagons creaked forward again.

But just as the convoy began to pass the ring of soldiers—

A harsh, rasping voice suddenly rang out from inside one of the barrels.

"BURN! Burn them all!"

Reveray's blood ran cold. His heart leapt to his throat as every soldier's head snapped toward the wagons.

"BURN THEM ALL!!!"