"There are stone steps carved into the mountain. We will ride mules up," Brynden Tully said. As a Knight of the Bloody Gate for more than ten years, the Vale was practically half a home to him. "The steps are too steep and narrow for horses, but mules can just about manage them. There are three castles along the way: Stone Waycastle, Snow Waycastle, and Sky Castle. The mules can go as far as Sky Castle."
"And after that?" Anguy looked up at the mountain towering above them.
"What a tall mountain," the bastard Jon Snow said. This was a wondrous place. His father, Eddard, had once lived here in his youth alongside King Robert.
"After that," Ser Brynden said, "the road becomes too dangerous, and even mules cannot go on. From there, we either climb on foot or take the baskets. The Eyrie sits on the summit directly above Sky Castle. In its cellars are six great winches hung with iron chains, used to haul up supplies. In ordinary times, we can arrange for men to be pulled up with the bread, beer, and apples."
"We can go up, of course, but that many soldiers cannot climb such steep stairs," Ser Barristan said softly, frowning. Climbing those steps would be like suicide. The only answer would be a siege, trapping The Eyrie by cutting off its supplies.
"You cannot take the eaglet without entering the eyrie," Gendry said. He would not wait uselessly at the Gates of the Moon. Before The Eyrie could react, he meant to strike by surprise and continue his decapitation tactic.
The former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Barristan the Bold; Anguy; Bronze Yohn Royce; the Blackfish, Brynden Tully; Jon Snow; the Bear Girl Dacey Mormont; Donnel; and himself. An eight-person dream team like this was enough to suppress The Eyrie, provided they could reach the peak. The remaining cavalry was in Ser Boggs's hands, waiting in the darkness for the moment to move. Dacey Mormont stood not far behind him, looking at him with admiration.
Gendry stared at the gates of the Gates of the Moon. Ser Nestor Royce was the first opponent they would face. He was Bronze Yohn's cousin, born of a cadet branch of House Royce, but still a man of weight in his own right.
"How good is Nestor with a blade?"
"In his youth, he was skilled enough. Now? I fear he will be clumsy. A man who spends too long sitting as a steward grows rusty with sword and knife," Blackfish said plainly.
The Gates of the Moon had fewer than three hundred soldiers, not enough to withstand the cavalry Gendry commanded. But fighting was a last resort. Stirring the grass would only startle the snake.
Gendry had already formed his judgment. Nestor was a knight, but he was also a knight lost in wealth and comfort. Years as Warden of the Gates of the Moon and High Steward of the Vale had left him pampered. He likely had little courage left to draw a sword.
Soon, the drawbridge of the Gates of the Moon clattered down. Then came the sound of oiled chains sliding as the iron portcullis rose. Soldiers came out with torches to light the way, and Ser Brynden and Ser Donnel led the group across the moat.
The soldiers found them strange. The people Ser Brynden led included men and women, old and young, and the whole party seemed peculiar. But the riders moved quickly, and the soldiers did not get a clear look at them.
Lord Nestor, High Steward of the Vale of Arryn and Warden of the Gates of the Moon, was waiting in the yard to receive them, surrounded by knights. They were knights of House Arryn, wearing sky-blue cloaks and breastplates marked with the crescent falcon. Nestor and his son stood there, along with more than a dozen knights and several dozen household guards.
"Ser Brynden," High Steward Nestor said with a bow. He was a large man with a thick chest, and his movements looked rather awkward. Nestor was balding, and white threads had appeared in his beard. He had a birthmark on his face and rarely joined tourneys. Behind him stood his son, Albar Royce, broad-shouldered and good-looking, with a clean-shaven chin but thick black whiskers along both cheeks, like a hedge around his face. In short, he was a younger version of his father.
"Lord Nestor," Blackfish said, dismounting. "We have come a long way and are worn out. If it is convenient, we would like to stay here for the night."
"Lord Brynden, there is no need for such courtesy between us," Nestor said in a rough voice. "But Lady Lysa has just sent word down from The Eyrie. She wishes to see you at once. Those who came with you may stay here tonight, and I will send them up the mountain first thing tomorrow."
"This is madness!" Brynden said. "She was not this attentive when I left."
"I am sorry, but that is the Lady's will. And they are?" Nestor asked. Aside from Blackfish and Donnel, the others were not wearing the armor of the Bloody Gate soldiers. Their faces were hidden beneath helmets and masks, and all in all, they looked very strange.
"Cousin. Lord Yohn. Why are you here?" Nestor suddenly noticed the hidden runes on Bronze Yohn's armor. They belonged only to House Royce. His face went ashen at once. Was Yohn not supposed to be at Riverrun?
"Cousin." Bronze Yohn pulled off his mask, revealing a face that shocked Nestor. Yohn was tall. Though his face was wrinkled and his hair had gone gray, his massive hands still made him look immensely strong. His eyes were gray, and his brows were thick.
"Guards!" Nestor suddenly understood. This was no dream. Yohn and the others had somehow crossed the Trident, joined up with Ser Brynden on his way to The North, and instead come to take The Eyrie by surprise.
With these men gathered here, they could not possibly have come to The Eyrie for a meal. Blackfish had not come to borrow soldiers at all. He had come to deliver Lady Lysa a special gift.
At the moment, none of them had eaten bread and salt, so there was no guest right to speak of. Besides, even if these people were only guests, Lady Lysa would not welcome such guests.
"Ser Brynden, what is the meaning of this? Lord Yohn has already been declared a traitor to the Vale by Lady Lysa. He is not welcome here," Nestor said in shock.
"Lord Yohn is no traitor. Lysa is the traitor," Ser Brynden shouted, stepping forward. "Right and wrong will be made clear soon enough. You will all learn the truth of Lord Jon's death, and Lysa cannot escape her part in it."
Lord Nestor hastily drew his sword, clumsy as an ox. Behind him, more than twenty blue-cloaks reacted and reached for their blades.
Boom!
Nestor saw a dark shape surge toward him as the tall knight drew and advanced. The long blade came howling with the force of steel. His sword snapped in two with a sharp ring, and the blade came to rest against Nestor's neck.
Gendry gripped his Arakh curved sword. With the first stroke, he cut Nestor's longsword in half. With the second, he set the blade above Nestor's throat. This pampered High Steward truly was like a heavy stone.
Barristan and the others seized the chance to draw their weapons and enter the fight.
"It's you, Usurper Gendry?" Nestor's heart lurched as he realized who had come.
The blue-cloaked knights and household guards behind Nestor were stunned as well. The Demon of the Whispering Wood had appeared right beside him, and alongside him were the legendary knights of rumor. The name of Ser Barristan the Bold was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Even Blackfish Brynden, whom they recognized, was a legendary knight famed for his honor. And there was Bronze Yohn as well, the second-ranking lord of the Vale. With all these men speaking as one, even those knights could not help but hesitate.
"Barristan Selmy is here!" Ser Barristan rushed forward, knocked aside the blade of Nestor's son, and subdued the young knight. Though old, his movements were still light and swift.
"Boy, tell your men to put down their weapons, or I will not mind hurting you."
Albar Royce's longsword dropped to the ground, his face pale. He did not understand what was happening. Lady Lysa's uncle and his own elder cousin had joined this rebellion.
"Long live the Storm!" Jon drew his longsword and shouted as well.
Apart from Jon and Ser Donnel, who still seemed inexperienced, every other knight present was a known master: Bronze Yohn, Ser Barristan, Dacey, and Blackfish. Anguy held his longbow, aiming at the knights in the yard. And then there was Valyrian steel, forged and tempered beyond compare, its black ripples like wisps of smoke. Thin as it was, Valyrian steel had deadly power.
"If you want to live, show your king a little more respect and lower your voice," Blackfish Brynden warned.
"Lord Blackfish, as I remember it, you have always fed on honor. This is hardly your style, especially scheming with outsiders against your own niece, Lord Jon's widowed wife, Lady Lysa." Nestor forced a smile. Anyone who had seen the sharpness of Valyrian steel would be afraid.
Nestor looked at the tall warrior standing out from the crowd, as if the scent of blood and steel followed him like a shadow. Gendry wore black scale plate that matched his short black hair and made his eyes look even bluer. Ser Nestor saw the situation reverse in an instant. The twenty-odd soldiers under him were no match for these men.
"Father," Ser Albar muttered. Father and son had already been seized, as helpless as chicks in a hand.
"I have around three hundred men. If you mean to attack the Gates of the Moon, I fear this handful of yours will not be enough," Nestor said stubbornly.
"It is not enough. But I doubt the blades of your few dozen men are sharper than the Kingslayer's or the Lannisters'. I would merely have to kill them one by one," Gendry said. "Valyrian steel is exceedingly sharp, yet lighter than ordinary metal. Killing my way through them one at a time would not be very tiring."
Nestor's expression grew ugly. He had long heard this man's name. The most outstanding young warrior of recent years, famed on both sides of the Narrow Sea like Blackfyre, the Warrior descended to earth. Even in the distant Vale, he had heard the stories of the Stag.
The Kingslayer was an extraordinary swordsman, an idol to many knights, yet even he had lost so miserably. If not for the Red Knights desperately covering him, the Kingslayer would have been cut down in the forest as well. Still, Gendry had not simply cut Nestor in two. At least he observed some courtesy and did not intend to slaughter them all.
As the two sides pulled against each other, one of the restrained knights tried to break free and run to the bell tower to sound the alarm.
Thud!
Gendry no longer paid Nestor any mind. At heart, Nestor was only a pampered official, not truly a knight. Gendry's figure appeared before the fleeing knight. He did not use his blade. Instead, he struck with plain iron fists, one blow to the face and one to the belly. The blue-cloaked knight felt only a storm of steel, followed by pain as his stomach churned violently. He dropped to one knee, unable to resist, snot and tears streaming down his face.
"I do not want to kill anyone. I came for Lysa, and for Lord Jon's honor. I am merely here as a guest," Gendry said calmly. Ser Donnel stepped forward and took control of the swaying man.
"He is not one of mine. He is a free knight from the Fingers," Nestor said in a low voice after a moment's hesitation. And so the man, as an unstable element, was taken under guard.
"Lord Nestor, we did not come to visit you. We came to see your mistress, Lysa. Lady Lysa only wished to see Ser Brynden at first, but now there are a few more of us. I imagine that white castle up above should still have room," Yohn said. "Before that, however, you ought to make your stance clear."
"Put away your weapons," Nestor said. All the blue-cloaked knights sheathed their blades. "Stormhammer. Fine Stormhammer indeed. Eight of you dared come into my Gates of the Moon. You truly do not take us seriously."
"Is everything you said true?" Nestor asked, looking at them.
Bronze Yohn nodded. "It is highly likely. If we keep Maester Colemon under watch, the maester will naturally spill everything. After all, he was with Lord Arryn in King's Landing almost until the very end."
Nestor's face filled with grief. "If that is true, then my poor old Lord Jon truly cannot return from the dead."
Brynden looked at Nestor. "Lysa. Lysa has already been cast out of House Tully."
Lord Nestor seemed to shrink by a few inches. "My lords, I will believe you for now, but I cannot kneel to you yet. Let us go up together. I want to see the truth clearly with my own eyes. Until then, not so much as a bird will fly out."
"As for Lady Lysa, I will trust the will of the gods. But young Robert?" Nestor asked.
"Beneath the Giant's Lance, we will not break our word. We will treat Lord Arryn's child well," Gendry said, sheathing his Arakh curved sword.
Blackfish nodded as well. "If our guess is correct, the young Great Lord has likely been poisoned too."
"Albar, wait for me below. I am going up with the lords," Nestor instructed his son. "Lady Lysa called me a stone, and called my son a bumpkin. But she should understand that we stones were born for Lord Arryn."
"Jon, stay here with young Albar," Blackfish ordered. They would also bring in a proper force, with Jon in charge.
"You are indeed a loyal man, Lord Nestor. It is only a pity you followed the wrong person this time," Gendry said. Though Nestor was somewhat dull and clumsy, at least he still held on to a last shred of loyalty to House Arryn. Then again, greed was common enough. Who was not greedy? Wanting the Gates of the Moon for himself was certainly a sign of greed. The real blame lay with Lysa Arryn's reckless meddling.
"I will give my loyalty to whoever avenges Lord Arryn," Nestor said with dignity, secretly pleased that Gendry had recognized his worth.
Even if he stayed neutral for the moment, if Lysa was truly brought down, his loyalty would show its value all the more, along with the Young King's reward.