Varys
Varys took a couple of steps toward the table, licked his fingers, and extinguished the candle, then retreated into the corner—he still had a chance to pull this off without bloodshed.
The door opened, and a Gold Cloak entered the room. Unfortunately for him, he was holding a lit candle.
Not noticing the stranger, the guard walked to the table, sat down, set the candle aside, and began rummaging through the bowls, hoping to find sothing to eat. In doing so, his elbow knocked an apple loose. It fell to the floor and rolled to Varys's feet.
The guard cursed, rose from the bench, bent down, and reached for the apple.
"What the hell?" He did not understand what was happening, and his voice rang with genuine surprise when he saw the Spider's feet—soft shoes with upturned toes—standing before him.
The guard was still lifting his head when Varys easily seized it with both hands and twisted sharply to the side.
There was a dry, snapping crack—the sound of not very thick wood breaking. The guard had ti only to be surprised… and then he died. However, the scabbard of his sword struck the floor.
A loud yawn followed. The man sitting at the table straightened and began to turn around. The Spider moved swiftly toward him and clamped a hand over his mouth.
The Gold Cloak's eyes bulged, his cheeks puffed as he tried to scream, draw his weapon, and rise all at once. Varys did not allow any of that. Ser Boros Blount's well-honed dagger flashed—easily, almost gracefully—slashing the man's throat. Blood sprayed in a thin stream across the wall. In the dim light, it looked almost black.
Ser Boros had a remarkably sound sleep. But the murder of two n a few feet away is enough to wake almost anyone—unless they are dead drunk, of course. Boros was not drunk, and to his misfortune, he stirred and opened his eyes. The penultimate thing he saw in this life was a glinting blade rising from below, striking up beneath his jaw.
Boros gasped and clutched at the dagger that had driven into him up to the hilt. His hands still twitched, his mind struggling to grasp what was happening, while his eyes, wide with horror, fixed on the owner of that steady hand—the imperturbable Spider, whom they had so foolishly slept through.
Varys supported the fat body, trying to keep it from making more noise. Boros was damned heavy, but the Spider tensed and managed to ease the knight down to the floor more or less quietly.
The Master of Whisperers tugged at the blade, but it would not co free—apparently it had pierced the brain and lodged in the skull. Shrugging, Varys crossed to the dead Gold Cloak and took another dagger.
He took a few steps toward the door, then turned back and bowed once more, saying softly and sadly,
"I'm sorry…"
Varys slipped out of the guardroom. His path was now clear. Unnoticed, he descended into the depths of the Red Keep and made for one of his secret chambers, prepared long ago for just such an occasion.
The Master of Whisperers lit a candle, changed his clothes, altered his appearance, gathered his coin pouches, and opened the door. He carried the candle openly now, deciding that nothing threatened him anymore. Walking in complete darkness through the castle's passageways—familiar as they were, yet endlessly confusing—that was quite a challenge!
At that mont, he heard a soft click. An instant later, horror struck as a crossbow bolt slamd into his solar plexus. Pain flooded his mind…
Varys was thrown backward into the room. The candle fell to the floor, but, surprisingly, did not go out—only began to belch thick black smoke.
The Spider shook his head in disbelief and tried to rise, gripping the edge of the table. Another click sounded, and a second bolt pierced his chest. Varys fell onto his back and stared in stunned disbelief as two silhouettes approached him. Both held empty crossbows in their hands.
How had this happened? How had they caught him—and how had they learned of the secret chamber?
One of the n threw back his hood, and the eunuch recognized, with bitter clarity, one of his own assistants: Asio Copin, a native of Pentos.
"You've played too long, Varys," Asio leaned closer. His predatory, bony face remained utterly impassive. "It's ti to pay the piper."
So now he had answers to at least so of his questions. Over the past year, Asio Copin had shown growing dissatisfaction with his position. Yes—he had wanted more than rely being on call.
Forcing himself through the pain, Varys managed to get onto his knees and then, sohow, to straighten. His hands and feet slipped in his own blood. A cold that nothing could banish crept through his body. It seems that the sand in the hourglass had run out; the mont had co. But he had no intention of dying humiliated, on his knees.
"Greetings from King Joffrey," the second figure said as he stepped forward, drawing his sword. Varys recognized Harald Orm.
It was not difficult to guess how this would end once the 'little birds' reported that one of the Orms had begun recruiting n, Varys sighed deeply.
He scarcely felt the rciful coup de grâce. Harald's precise thrust pierced his heart, and as death made its final reckoning, the forr Master of Whisperers collapsed to the floor—for good. His soul left this world. He did not hear the final words spoken above him.
"We'll do everything as agreed," Orm said to Asio. "The body must not be found. That is important."
With that, Harald turned and left the chamber.
Asio Copin stared thoughtfully at Varys's corpse for a while longer, then sighed and set to work.
(End of Chapter)
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