Read Online The Mystery Knight by George R. R. Martin - Free Book Online
Authors: George R. R. Martin
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dreamed of you and a dead dragon, Egg’s brother
Daeron said to him. A great beast, huge, with wings so large, they could
cover this meadow. It had fallen on top of you, but you were alive and the
dragon was dead. And so he was, poor Baelor. Dreams were a treacherous
ground on which to build. “As you say, m’lord,” he told the Fiddler. “Pray
excuse me.”
“Where are you going, ser?”
“To my bed, to sleep. I’m drunk
as a dog.
“Be my dog, ser. The night’s
alive with promise. We can howl together, and wake the very gods.”
“What do you want of me?”
“Your sword. I would make you
mine own man, and raise you high. My dreams do not lie, Ser Duncan. You will
have that white cloak, and I must have the dragon’s egg. I must, my dreams have
made that plain. Perhaps the egg will hatch, or else—”
Behind them, the door banged open
violently. “There he is, my lord.” A pair of men-at-arms stepped onto
the roof. Lord Gormon Peake was just behind them.
“Gormy,” the Fiddler drawled. “Why, what
are you doing in my bedchamber, my lord?”
“It is a roof, ser, and you have
had too much wine.” Lord Gormon made a sharp gesture, and the guards moved
forward. “Allow us to help you to that bed. You are jousting on the morrow,
pray recall. Kirby Pimm can prove a dangerous foe.”
“I had hoped to joust with good
Ser Duncan here.”
Peake gave Dunk an unsympathetic
look. “Later, perhaps. For your first tilt, you have drawn Ser Kirby Pimm.”
“Then Pimm must fall! So must
they all! The mystery knight prevails against all challengers, and wonder
dances in his wake.” A guardsman took the Fiddler by the arm. “Ser Duncan, it
seems that we must part,” he called as they helped him down the steps.
Only Lord Gormon remained upon
the roof with Dunk. “Hedge knight,” he growled, “did your mother never teach
you not to reach your hand into the dragon’s mouth?”
“I never knew any mother,
m’lord.”
“That would explain it. What did
he promise you?”
“A lordship. A white cloak. Big
blue wings.”
“Here’s my promise: three
feet of cold steel through your belly if you speak a word of what just
happened.”
Dunk shook his head to clear his
wits. It did not seem to help. He bent double at the waist, and retched.
Some of the vomit spattered
Peake’s boots. The lord cursed. “Hedge knights,” he exclaimed in disgust. “You
have no place here. No true knight would be so discourteous as to turn up
uninvited, but you creatures of the hedge—”
“We are wanted nowhere and turn
up everywhere, m’lord.” The wine had made Dunk bold, else he would have held
his tongue. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Try and remember what I told
you, ser. It will go ill for you if you do not.” Lord Peake shook the vomit off
his boot. Then he was gone. Dunk leaned against the parapet again. He wondered
who was madder, Lord Gormon or the Fiddler.
By the time he found his way back
to the hall, only Maynard Plumm remained of his companions. “Was there any
flour on her teats when you got the smallclothes off her?” he wanted to know.
Dunk shook his head, poured
himself another cup of wine, tasted it, and decided that he had drunk enough.
* * * *
Butterwell’s
stewards had found rooms in the keep for the lords and ladies, and beds in the
barracks for their retinues. The rest of the guests had their choice between a
straw pallet in the cellar, or a spot of ground beneath the western walls to
raise their pavilions. The modest sailcloth tent Dunk had acquired in Stoney
Sept was no pavilion, but it kept the rain and sun off. Some of his neighbors
were still awake, the silken walls of their pavilions glowing like colored
lanterns in the night. Laughter came from inside a blue pavilion covered with
sunflowers, and the sounds of love from one striped in white and purple. Egg
had set up
Daeron said to him. A great beast, huge, with wings so large, they could
cover this meadow. It had fallen on top of you, but you were alive and the
dragon was dead. And so he was, poor Baelor. Dreams were a treacherous
ground on which to build. “As you say, m’lord,” he told the Fiddler. “Pray
excuse me.”
“Where are you going, ser?”
“To my bed, to sleep. I’m drunk
as a dog.
“Be my dog, ser. The night’s
alive with promise. We can howl together, and wake the very gods.”
“What do you want of me?”
“Your sword. I would make you
mine own man, and raise you high. My dreams do not lie, Ser Duncan. You will
have that white cloak, and I must have the dragon’s egg. I must, my dreams have
made that plain. Perhaps the egg will hatch, or else—”
Behind them, the door banged open
violently. “There he is, my lord.” A pair of men-at-arms stepped onto
the roof. Lord Gormon Peake was just behind them.
“Gormy,” the Fiddler drawled. “Why, what
are you doing in my bedchamber, my lord?”
“It is a roof, ser, and you have
had too much wine.” Lord Gormon made a sharp gesture, and the guards moved
forward. “Allow us to help you to that bed. You are jousting on the morrow,
pray recall. Kirby Pimm can prove a dangerous foe.”
“I had hoped to joust with good
Ser Duncan here.”
Peake gave Dunk an unsympathetic
look. “Later, perhaps. For your first tilt, you have drawn Ser Kirby Pimm.”
“Then Pimm must fall! So must
they all! The mystery knight prevails against all challengers, and wonder
dances in his wake.” A guardsman took the Fiddler by the arm. “Ser Duncan, it
seems that we must part,” he called as they helped him down the steps.
Only Lord Gormon remained upon
the roof with Dunk. “Hedge knight,” he growled, “did your mother never teach
you not to reach your hand into the dragon’s mouth?”
“I never knew any mother,
m’lord.”
“That would explain it. What did
he promise you?”
“A lordship. A white cloak. Big
blue wings.”
“Here’s my promise: three
feet of cold steel through your belly if you speak a word of what just
happened.”
Dunk shook his head to clear his
wits. It did not seem to help. He bent double at the waist, and retched.
Some of the vomit spattered
Peake’s boots. The lord cursed. “Hedge knights,” he exclaimed in disgust. “You
have no place here. No true knight would be so discourteous as to turn up
uninvited, but you creatures of the hedge—”
“We are wanted nowhere and turn
up everywhere, m’lord.” The wine had made Dunk bold, else he would have held
his tongue. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Try and remember what I told
you, ser. It will go ill for you if you do not.” Lord Peake shook the vomit off
his boot. Then he was gone. Dunk leaned against the parapet again. He wondered
who was madder, Lord Gormon or the Fiddler.
By the time he found his way back
to the hall, only Maynard Plumm remained of his companions. “Was there any
flour on her teats when you got the smallclothes off her?” he wanted to know.
Dunk shook his head, poured
himself another cup of wine, tasted it, and decided that he had drunk enough.
* * * *
Butterwell’s
stewards had found rooms in the keep for the lords and ladies, and beds in the
barracks for their retinues. The rest of the guests had their choice between a
straw pallet in the cellar, or a spot of ground beneath the western walls to
raise their pavilions. The modest sailcloth tent Dunk had acquired in Stoney
Sept was no pavilion, but it kept the rain and sun off. Some of his neighbors
were still awake, the silken walls of their pavilions glowing like colored
lanterns in the night. Laughter came from inside a blue pavilion covered with
sunflowers, and the sounds of love from one striped in white and purple. Egg
had set up
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