It was dusk and the red priest had lit his nightfire in the great iron brazier amidships as the crew gathered round to pray. Moqorro’s voice was a bass1 drum that seemed to boom from somewhere deep within his massive torso. “We thank you for your sun that keeps us warm,” he prayed. “We thank you for your stars that watch over us as we sail this cold black sea.” A huge man, taller than Ser Jorah and wide enough to make two of him, the priest wore scarlet3 robes embroidered4 at sleeve and hem5 and collar with orange satin flames. His skin was black as pitch, his hair as white as snow; the flames tattooed6 across his cheeks and brow yellow and orange. His iron staff was as tall as he was and crowned with a dragon’s head; when he stamped its butt7 upon the deck, the dragon’s maw spat8 crackling green flame.
His guardsmen, five slave warriors9 of the Fiery10 Hand, led the responses. They chanted in the tongue of Old Volantis, but Tyrion had heard the prayers enough to grasp the essence. Light our fire and protect us from the dark, blah blah, light our way and keep us toasty warm, the night is dark and full of terrors, save us from the scary things, and blah blah blah some more.
He knew better than to voice such thoughts aloud. Tyrion Lannister had no use for any god, but on this ship it was wise to show a certain respect for red R’hllor. Jorah Mormont had removed Tyron’s chains and fetters11 once they were safely under way, and the dwarf12 did not wish to give him cause to clap them on again.
The Selaesori Qhoran was a wallowing tub of five hundred tons, with a deep hold, high castles fore13 and aft, and a single mast between. At her forecastle stood a grotesque14 figurehead, some worm-eaten wooden eminence15 with a constipated look and a scroll16 tucked up under one arm. Tyrion had never seen an uglier ship. Her crew was no prettier. Her captain, a mean-mouthed, flinty, kettle-bellied man with close-set, greedy eyes, was a bad cyvasse player and a worse loser. Under him served four mates, freedmen all, and fifty slaves bound to the ship, each with a crude version of the cog’s figurehead tattooed upon one cheek. No-Nose, the sailors liked to call Tyrion, no matter how many times he told them his name was Hugor Hill.
Three of the mates and more than three-quarters of the crew were fervent17 worshipers of the Lord of Light. Tyrion was less certain about the captain, who always emerged for the evening prayers but took no other part in them. But Moqorro was the true master of the Selaesori Qhoran, at least for this voyage.
“Lord of Light, bless your slave Moqorro, and light his way in the dark places of the world,” the red priest boomed. “And defend your righteous slave Benerro. Grant him courage. Grant him wisdom. Fill his heart with fire.”
That was when Tyrion noticed Penny, watching the mummery from the steep wooden stair that led down beneath the sterncastle. She stood on one of the lower steps, so only the top of her head was visible. Beneath her hood18 her eyes shone big and white in the light of the nightfire. She had her dog with her, the big grey hound she rode in the mock jousts20.
“My lady,” Tyrion called softly. In truth, she was no lady, but he could not bring himself to mouth that silly name of hers, and he was not about to call her girl or dwarf.
She cringed back. “I … I did not see you.”
“Well, I am small.”
“I … I was unwell …” Her dog barked.
Sick with grief, you mean. “If I can be of help …”
“No.” And quick as that she was gone again, retreating back below to the cabin she shared with her dog and sow. Tyrion could not fault her. The crew of the Selaesori Qhoran had been pleased enough when he first came on board; a dwarf was good luck, after all. His head had been rubbed so often and so vigorously that it was a wonder he wasn’t bald. But Penny had met with a more mixed reaction. She might be a dwarf, but she was also a woman, and women were bad luck aboard ship. For every man who tried to rub her head, there were three who muttered maledictions under their breath when she went by.
And the sight of me can only be salt in her wound. They hacked21 off her brother’s head in the hope that it was mine, yet here I sit like some bloody22 gargoyle23, offering empty consolations24. If I were her, I’d want nothing more than to shove me into the sea.
He felt nothing but pity for the girl. She did not deserve the horror visited on her in Volantis, any more than her brother had. The last time he had seen her, just before they left port, her eyes had been raw from crying, two ghastly red holes in a wan25, pale face. By the time they raised sail she had locked herself in her cabin with her dog and her pig, but at night they could hear her weeping. Only yesterday he had heard one of the mates say that they ought to throw her overboard before her tears could swamp the ship. Tyrion was not entirely26 sure he had been japing.
When the evening prayers had ended and the ship’s crew had once again dispersed27, some to their watch and others to food and rum and hammocks, Moqorro remained beside his nightfire, as he did every night. The red priest rested by day but kept vigil through the dark hours, to tend his sacred flames so that the sun might return to them at dawn.
Tyrion squatted28 across from him and warmed his hands against the night’s chill. Moqorro took no notice of him for several moments. He was staring into the flickering29 flames, lost in some vision. Does he see days yet to come, as he claims? If so, that was a fearsome gift. After a time the priest raised his eyes to meet the dwarf’s. “Hugor Hill,” he said, inclining his head in a solemn nod. “Have you come to pray with me?”
“Someone told me that the night is dark and full of terrors. What do you see in those flames?”
“Dragons,” Moqorro said in the Common Tongue of Westeros. He spoke30 it very well, with hardly a trace of accent. No doubt that was one reason the high priest Benerro had chosen him to bring the faith of R’hllor to Daenerys Targaryen. “Dragons old and young, true and false, bright and dark. And you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling31 in the midst of all.”
“Snarling? An amiable32 fellow like me?” Tyrion was almost flattered. And no doubt that is just what he intends. Every fool loves to hear that he’s important. “Perhaps it was Penny you saw. We’re almost of a size.”
“No, my friend.”
My friend? When did that happen, I wonder? “Did you see how long it will take us to reach Meereen?”
“You are eager to behold33 the world’s deliverer?”
Yes and no. The world’s deliverer may snick off my head or give me to her dragons as a savory34. “Not me,” said Tyrion. “For me, it is all about the olives. Though I fear I may grow old and die before I taste one. I could dog-paddle faster than we’re sailing. Tell me, was Selaesori Qhoran a triarch or a turtle?”
The red priest chuckled35. “Neither. Qhoran is … not a ruler, but one who serves and counsels such, and helps conduct his business. You of Westeros might say steward36 or magister.”
King’s Hand? That amused him. “And selaesori?”
Moqorro touched his nose. “Imbued with a pleasant aroma38. Fragrant39, would you say? Flowery?”
“So Selaesori Qhoran means Stinky Steward, more or less?”
“Fragrant Steward, rather.”
Tyrion gave a crooked40 grin. “I believe I will stay with Stinky. But I do thank you for the lesson.”
“I am pleased to have enlightened you. Perhaps someday you will let me teach you the truth of R’hllor as well.”
“Someday.” When I am a head on a spike41.
The quarters he shared with Ser Jorah were a cabin only by courtesy; the dank, dark, foul-smelling closet had barely enough space to hang a pair of sleeping hammocks, one above the other. He found Mormont stretched out in the lower one, swaying slowly with the motion of the ship. “The girl finally poked42 her nose abovedecks,” Tyrion told him. “One look at me and she scurried43 right back down below.”
“You’re not a pretty sight.”
“Not all of us can be as comely44 as you. The girl is lost. It would not surprise me if the poor creature wasn’t sneaking45 up to jump over the side and drown herself.”
“The poor creature’s name is Penny.”
“I know her name.” He hated her name. Her brother had gone by the name of Groat, though his true name had been Oppo. Groat and Penny. The smallest coins, worth the least, and what’s worse, they chose the names themselves. It left a bad taste in Tyrion’s mouth. “By any name, she needs a friend.”
Ser Jorah sat up in his hammock. “Befriend her, then. Marry her, for all I care.”
That left a bad taste in his mouth as well. “Like with like, is that your notion? Do you mean to find a she-bear for yourself, ser?”
“You were the one who insisted that we bring her.”
“I said we could not abandon her in Volantis. That does not mean I want to fuck her. She wants me dead, have you forgotten? I’m the last person she’s like to want as a friend.”
“You’re both dwarfs46.”
“Yes, and so was her brother, who was killed because some drunken fools took him for me.”
“Feeling guilty, are you?”
“No.” Tyrion bristled47. “I have sins enough to answer for; I’ll have no part of this one. I might have nurtured48 some ill will toward her and her brother for the part they played the night of Joffrey’s wedding, but I never wished them harm.”
“You are a harmless creature, to be sure. Innocent as a lamb.” Ser Jorah got to his feet. “The dwarf girl is your burden. Kiss her, kill her, or avoid her, as you like. It’s naught49 to me.” He shouldered past Tyrion and out of the cabin.
Twice exiled, and small wonder, Tyrion thought. I’d exile him too if I could. The man is cold, brooding, sullen50, deaf to humor. And those are his good points. Ser Jorah spent most of his waking hours pacing the forecastle or leaning on the rail, gazing out to sea. Looking for his silver queen. Looking for Daenerys, willing the ship to sail faster. Well, I might do the same if Tysha waited in Meereen.
Could Slaver’s Bay be where whores went? It seemed unlikely. From what he’d read, the slaver cities were the place where whores were made. Mormont should have bought one for himself. A pretty slave girl might have done wonders to improve his temper … particularly one with silvery hair, like the whore who had been sitting on his cock back in Selhorys.
On the river Tyrion had to endure Griff, but there had at least been the mystery of the captain’s true identity to divert him and the more congenial companionship of the rest of the poleboat’s little company. On the cog, alas51, everyone was just who they appeared to be, no one was particularly congenial, and only the red priest was interesting. Him, and maybe Penny. But the girl hates me, and she should.
Life aboard the Selaesori Qhoran was nothing if not tedious, Tyrion had found. The most exciting part of his day was pricking52 his toes and fingers with a knife. On the river there had been wonders to behold: giant turtles, ruined cities, stone men, naked septas. One never knew what might be lurking53 around the next bend. The days and nights at sea were all the same. Leaving Volantis, the cog had sailed within sight of land at first, so Tyrion could gaze at passing headlands, watch clouds of seabirds rise from stony54 cliffs and crumbling55 watchtowers, count bare brown islands as they slipped past. He saw many other ships as well: fishing boats, lumbering56 merchantmen, proud galleys58 with their oars59 lashing61 the waves into white foam62. But once they struck out into deeper waters, there was only sea and sky, air and water. The water looked like water. The sky looked like sky. Sometimes there was a cloud. Too much blue.
And the nights were worse. Tyrion slept badly at the best of times, and this was far from that. Sleep meant dreams as like as not, and in his dreams the Sorrows waited, and a stony king with his father’s face. That left him with the beggar’s choice of climbing up into his hammock and listening to Jorah Mormont snore beneath him, or remaining abovedecks to contemplate63 the sea. On moonless nights the water was as black as maester’s ink, from horizon to horizon. Dark and deep and forbidding, beautiful in a chilly64 sort of way, but when he looked at it too long Tyrion found himself musing65 on how easy it would be to slip over the gunwale and drop down into that darkness. One very small splash, and the pathetic little tale that was his life would soon be done. But what if there is a hell and my father’s waiting for me?
The best part of each evening was supper. The food was not especially good, but it was plentiful66, so that was where the dwarf went next. The galley57 where he took his meals was a cramped67 and uncomfortable space, with a ceiling so low that the taller passengers were always in danger of cracking their heads, a hazard the strapping68 slave soldiers of the Fiery Hand seemed particularly prone69 to. As much as Tyrion enjoyed sniggering at that, he had come to prefer taking his meals alone. Sitting at a crowded table with men who did not share a common language with you, listening to them talk and jape whilst understanding none of it, had quickly grown wearisome. Particularly since he always found himself wondering if the japes and laughter were directed at him.
The galley was also where the ship’s books were kept. Her captain being an especially bookish man, she carried three—a collection of nautical71 poetry that went from bad to worse, a well-thumbed tome about the erotic adventures of a young slave girl in a Lysene pillow house, and the fourth and final volume of The Life of the Triarch Belicho, a famous Volantene patriot72 whose unbroken succession of conquests and triumphs ended rather abruptly73 when he was eaten by giants. Tyrion had finished them all by their third day at sea. Then, for lack of any other books, he started reading them again. The slave girl’s story was the worst written but the most engrossing74, and that was the one he took down this evening to see him through a supper of buttered beets75, cold fish stew37, and biscuits that could have been used to drive nails.
He was reading the girl’s account of the day she and her sister were taken by slavers when Penny entered the galley. “Oh,” she said, “I thought … I did not mean to disturb m’lord, I …”
“You are not disturbing me. You’re not going to try to kill me again, I hope.”
“No.” She looked away, her face reddening.
“In that case, I would welcome some company. There’s little enough aboard this ship.” Tyrion closed the book. “Come. Sit. Eat.” The girl had left most of her meals untouched outside her cabin door. By now she must be starving. “The stew is almost edible76. The fish is fresh, at least.”
“No, I … I choked on a fish bone once, I can’t eat fish.”
“Have some wine, then.” He filled a cup and slid it toward her. “Compliments of our captain. Closer to piss than Arbor77 gold, if truth be told, but even piss tastes better than the black tar2 rum the sailors drink. It might help you sleep.”
The girl made no move to touch the cup. “Thank you, m’lord, but no.” She backed away. “I should not be bothering you.”
“Do you mean to spend your whole life running away?” Tyrion asked before she could slip back out the door.
That stopped her. Her cheeks turned a bright pink, and he was afraid she was about to start weeping again. Instead she thrust out her lip defiantly78 and said, “You’re running too.”
“I am,” he confessed, “but I am running to and you are running from, and there’s a world of difference there.”
“We would never have had to run at all but for you.”
It took some courage to say that to my face. “Are you speaking of King’s Landing or Volantis?”
“Both.” Tears glistened79 in her eyes. “Everything. Why couldn’t you just come joust19 with us, the way the king wanted? You wouldn’t have gotten hurt. What would that have cost m’lord, to climb up on our dog and ride a tilt80 to please the boy? It was just a bit of fun. They would have laughed at you, that’s all.”
“They would have laughed at me,” said Tyrion. I made them laugh at Joff instead. And wasn’t that a clever ploy81?
“My brother says that is a good thing, making people laugh. A noble thing, and honorable. My brother says … he …” The tears fell then, rolling down her face.
“I am sorry about your brother.” Tyrion had said the same words to her before, back in Volantis, but she was so far gone in grief back there that he doubted she had heard them.
She heard them now. “Sorry. You are sorry.” Her lip was trembling, her cheeks were wet, her eyes were red-rimmed holes. “We left King’s Landing that very night. My brother said it was for the best, before someone wondered if we’d had some part in the king’s death and decided82 to torture us to find out. We went to Tyrosh first. My brother thought that would be far enough, but it wasn’t. We knew a juggler84 there. For years and years he would juggle83 every day by the Fountain of the Drunken God. He was old, so his hands were not as deft85 as they had been, and sometimes he would drop his balls and chase them across the square, but the Tyroshi would laugh and throw him coins all the same. Then one morning we heard that his body had been found at the Temple of Trios. Trios has three heads, and there’s a big statue of him beside the temple doors. The old man had been cut into three parts and pushed inside the threefold mouths of Trios. Only when the parts were sewn back together, his head was gone.”
“A gift for my sweet sister. He was another dwarf.”
“A little man, aye. Like you, and Oppo. Groat. Are you sorry about the juggler too?”
“I never knew your juggler existed until this very moment … but yes, I am sorry he is dead.”
“He died for you. His blood is on your hands.”
The accusation86 stung, coming so hard on the heels of Jorah Mormont’s words. “His blood is on my sister’s hands, and the hands of the brutes87 who killed him. My hands …” Tyrion turned them over, inspected them, coiled them into fists. “… my hands are crusted with old blood, aye. Call me kinslayer, and you won’t be wrong. Kingslayer, I’ll answer to that one as well. I have killed mothers, fathers, nephews, lovers, men and women, kings and whores. A singer once annoyed me, so I had the bastard88 stewed89. But I have never killed a juggler, nor a dwarf, and I am not to blame for what happened to your bloody brother.”
Penny picked the cup of wine he’d poured for her and threw it in his face. Just like my sweet sister. He heard the galley door slam but never saw her leave. His eyes were stinging, and the world was a blur90. So much for befriending her.
Tyrion Lannister had scant91 experience with other dwarfs. His lord father had not welcomed any reminders92 of his son’s deformities, and such mummers as featured little folk in their troupes93 soon learned to stay away from Lannisport and Casterly Rock, at the risk of his displeasure. Growing up, Tyrion heard reports of a dwarf jester at the seat of the Dornish Lord Fowler, a dwarf maester in service on the Fingers, and a female dwarf amongst the silent sisters, but he never felt the least need to seek them out. Less reliable tales also reached his ears, of a dwarf witch who haunted a hill in the riverlands, and a dwarf whore in King’s Landing renowned94 for coupling with dogs. His own sweet sister had told him of the last, even offering to find him a bitch in heat if he cared to try it out. When he asked politely if she were referring to herself, Cersei had thrown a cup of wine in his face. That was red, as I recall, and this is gold. Tyrion mopped at his face with a sleeve. His eyes still stung.
He did not see Penny again until the day of the storm.
The salt air lay still and heavy that morning, but the western sky was a fiery red, streaked95 with lowering clouds that glowed as bright as Lannister crimson96. Sailors were dashing about battening hatches, running lines, clearing the decks, lashing down everything that was not already lashed97 down. “Bad wind coming,” one warned him. “No-Nose should get below.”
Tyrion remembered the storm he’d suffered crossing the narrow sea, the way the deck had jumped beneath his feet, the hideous98 creaking sounds the ship had made, the taste of wine and vomit99. “No-Nose will stay up here.” If the gods wanted him, he would sooner die by drowning than choking on his own vomit. And overhead the cog’s canvas sail rippled100 slowly, like the fur of some great beast stirring from a long sleep, then filled with a sudden crack that turned every head on the ship.
The winds drove the cog before them, far off her chosen course. Behind them black clouds piled one atop another against a blood-red sky. By midmorning they could see lightning flickering to the west, followed by the distant crash of thunder. The sea grew rougher, and dark waves rose up to smash against the hull101 of the Stinky Steward. It was about then that the crew started hauling down the canvas. Tyrion was underfoot amidships, so he climbed the forecastle and hunkered down, savoring102 the lash60 of cold rain on his cheeks. The cog went up and down, bucking103 more wildly than any horse he’d ever ridden, lifting with each wave before sliding down into the troughs between, jarring him to the bones. Even so, it was better here where he could see than down below locked in some airless cabin.
By the time the storm broke, evening was upon them and Tyrion Lannister was soaked through to the smallclothes, yet somehow he felt elated … and even more so later, when he found a drunken Jorah Mormont in a pool of vomit in their cabin.
The dwarf lingered in the galley after supper, celebrating his survival by sharing a few tots of black tar rum with the ship’s cook, a great greasy104 loutish105 Volantene who spoke only one word of the Common Tongue (fuck), but played a ferocious106 game of cyvasse, particularly when drunk. They played three games that night. Tyrion won the first, then lost the other two. After that he decided that he’d had enough and stumbled back up on deck to clear his head of rum and elephants alike.
He found Penny on the forecastle, where he had so often found Ser Jorah, standing70 by the rail beside the cog’s hideous half-rotted figurehead and gazing out across the inky sea. From behind, she looked as small and vulnerable as a child.
Tyrion thought it best to leave her undisturbed, but it was too late. She had heard him. “Hugor Hill.”
“If you like.” We both know better. “I am sorry to intrude107 on you. I will retire.”
“No.” Her face was pale and sad, but she did not look to have been crying. “I’m sorry too. About the wine. It wasn’t you who killed my brother or that poor old man in Tyrosh.”
“I played a part, though not by choice.”
“I miss him so much. My brother. I …”
“I understand.” He found himself thinking of Jaime. Count yourself lucky. Your brother died before he could betray you.
“I thought I wanted to die,” she said, “but today when the storm came and I thought the ship would sink, I … I …”
“You realized that you wanted to live after all.” I have been there too. Something else we have in common.
Her teeth were crooked, which made her shy with her smiles, but she smiled now. “Did you truly cook a singer in a stew?”
“Who, me? No. I do not cook.”
When Penny giggled108, she sounded like the sweet young girl she was … seventeen, eighteen, no more than nineteen. “What did he do, this singer?”
“He wrote a song about me.” For she was his secret treasure, she was his shame and his bliss109. And a chain and a keep are nothing, compared to a woman’s kiss. It was queer how quick the words came back to him. Perhaps they had never left him. Hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm.
“It must have been a very bad song.”
“Not really. It was no ‘Rains of Castamere,’ mind you, but some parts were … well …”
“How did it go?”
He laughed. “No. You do not want to hear me sing.”
“My mother used to sing to us when we were children. My brother and me. She always said that it didn’t matter what your voice was like so long as you loved the song.”
“Was she …?”
“… a little person? No, but our father was. His own father sold him to a slaver when he was three, but he grew up to be such a famous mummer that he bought his freedom. He traveled to all the Free Cities, and Westeros as well. In Oldtown they used to call him Hop-Bean.”
Of course they did. Tyrion tried not to wince110.
“He’s dead now,” Penny went on. “My mother too. Oppo … he was my last family, and now he’s gone too.” She turned her head away and gazed out across the sea. “What will I do? Where will I go? I have no trade, just the jousting111 show, and that needs two.”
No, thought Tyrion. That is not a place you want to go, girl. Do not ask that of me. Do not even think it. “Find yourself some likely orphan112 boy,” he suggested.
Penny did not seem to hear that. “It was Father’s idea to do the tilts113. He even trained the first pig, but by then he was too sick to ride her, so Oppo took his place. I always rode the dog. We performed for the Sealord of Braavos once, and he laughed so hard that afterward114 he gave each of us a … a grand gift.”
“Is that where my sister found you? In Braavos?”
“Your sister?” The girl looked lost.
“Queen Cersei.”
Penny shook her head. “She never … it was a man who came to us, in Pentos. Osmund. No, Oswald. Something like that. Oppo met with him, not me. Oppo made all of our arrangements. My brother always knew what to do, where we should go next.”
“Meereen is where we’re going next.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “Qarth, you mean. We’re bound for Qarth, by way of New Ghis.”
“Meereen. You’ll ride your dog for the dragon queen and come away with your weight in gold. Best start eating more, so you’ll be nice and plump when you joust before Her Grace.”
Penny did not return the smile. “By myself, all I can do is ride around in circles. And even if the queen should laugh, where will I go afterward? We never stay in one place long. The first time they see us they laugh and laugh, but by the fourth or fifth time, they know what we’re going to do before we do it. Then they stop laughing, so we have to go somewhere new. We make the most coin in the big cities, but I always liked the little towns the best. Places like that, the people have no silver, but they feed us at their own tables, and the children follow us everywhere.”
That’s because they have never seen a dwarf before, in their wretched pisspot towns, Tyrion thought. The bloody brats115 would follow around a two-headed goat if one turned up. Until they got bored with its bleating116 and slaughtered117 it for supper. But he had no wish to make her weep again, so instead he said, “Daenerys has a kind heart and a generous nature.” It was what she needed to hear. “She will find a place for you at her court, I don’t doubt. A safe place, beyond my sister’s reach.”
Penny turned back to him. “And you will be there too.”
Unless Daenerys decides she needs some Lannister blood, to pay for the Targaryen blood my brother shed. “I will.”
After that, the dwarf girl was seen more frequently above deck. The next day Tyrion encountered her and her spotted118 sow amidships in midafternoon, when the air was warm and the sea calm. “Her name is Pretty,” the girl told him, shyly.
Pretty the pig and Penny the girl, he thought. Someone has a deal to answer for. Penny gave Tyrion some acorns119, and he let Pretty eat them from his hand. Do not think I don’t see what you are doing, girl, he thought, as the big sow snuffled and squealed120.
Soon they began to take their meals together. Some nights it was just the two of them; at other meals they crowded in with Moqorro’s guards. The fingers, Tyrion called them; they were men of the Fiery Hand, after all, and there were five of them. Penny laughed at that, a sweet sound, though not one that he heard often. Her wound was too fresh, her grief too deep.
He soon had her calling the ship the Stinky Steward, though she got somewhat wroth with him whenever he called Pretty Bacon. To atone121 for that Tyrion made an attempt to teach her cyvasse, though he soon realized that was a lost cause. “No,” he said, a dozen times, “the dragon flies, not the elephants.”
That same night, she came right out and asked him if he would like to tilt with her. “No,” he answered. Only later did it occur to him that perhaps tilt did not mean tilt. His answer would still have been no, but he might not have been so brusque.
Back in the cabin he shared with Jorah Mormont, Tyrion twisted in his hammock for hours, slipping in and out of sleep. His dreams were full of grey, stony hands reaching for him from out of the fog, and a stair that led up to his father.
Finally he gave it up and made his way up top for a breath of night air. The Selaesori Qhoran had furled her big striped sail for the night, and her decks were all but deserted122. One of the mates was on the sterncastle, and amidships Moqorro sat by his brazier, where a few small flames still danced amongst the embers.
Only the brightest stars were visible, all to the west. A dull red glow lit the sky to the northeast, the color of a blood bruise123. Tyrion had never seen a bigger moon. Monstrous124, swollen125, it looked as if it had swallowed the sun and woken with a fever. Its twin, floating on the sea beyond the ship, shimmered126 red with every wave. “What hour is this?” he asked Moqorro. “That cannot be sunrise unless the east has moved. Why is the sky red?”
“The sky is always red above Valyria, Hugor Hill.”
A cold chill went down his back. “Are we close?”
“Closer than the crew would like,” Moqorro said in his deep voice. “Do you know the stories, in your Sunset Kingdoms?”
“I know some sailors say that any man who lays eyes upon that coast is doomed128.” He did not believe such tales himself, no more than his uncle had. Gerion Lannister had set sail for Valyria when Tyrion was eighteen, intent on recovering the lost ancestral blade of House Lannister and any other treasures that might have survived the Doom127. Tyrion had wanted desperately129 to go with them, but his lord father had dubbed130 the voyage a “fool’s quest,” and forbidden him to take part.
And perhaps he was not so wrong. Almost a decade had passed since the Laughing Lion headed out from Lannisport, and Gerion had never returned. The men Lord Tywin sent to seek after him had traced his course as far as Volantis, where half his crew had deserted him and he had bought slaves to replace them. No free man would willingly sign aboard a ship whose captain spoke openly of his intent to sail into the Smoking Sea. “So those are fires of the Fourteen Flames we’re seeing, reflected on the clouds?”
“Fourteen or fourteen thousand. What man dares count them? It is not wise for mortals to look too deeply at those fires, my friend. Those are the fires of god’s own wrath131, and no human flame can match them. We are small creatures, men.”
“Some smaller than others.” Valyria. It was written that on the day of Doom every hill for five hundred miles had split asunder132 to fill the air with ash and smoke and fire, blazes so hot and hungry that even the dragons in the sky were engulfed133 and consumed. Great rents had opened in the earth, swallowing palaces, temples, entire towns. Lakes boiled or turned to acid, mountains burst, fiery fountains spewed molten rock a thousand feet into the air, red clouds rained down dragonglass and the black blood of demons134, and to the north the ground splintered and collapsed135 and fell in on itself and an angry sea came rushing in. The proudest city in all the world was gone in an instant, its fabled136 empire vanished in a day, the Lands of the Long Summer scorched137 and drowned and blighted138.
An empire built on blood and fire. The Valyrians reaped the seed they had sown. “Does our captain mean to test the curse?”
“Our captain would prefer to be fifty leagues farther out to sea, well away from that accursed shore, but I have commanded him to steer139 the shortest course. Others seek Daenerys too.”
Griff, with his young prince. Could all that talk of the Golden Company sailing west have been a feint? Tyrion considered saying something, then thought better. It seemed to him that the prophecy that drove the red priests had room for just one hero. A second Targaryen would only serve to confuse them. “Have you seen these others in your fires?” he asked, warily140.
“Only their shadows,” Moqorro said. “One most of all. A tall and twisted thing with one black eye and ten long arms, sailing on a sea of blood.”
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1
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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2
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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3
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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6
tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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7
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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9
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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10
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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11
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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12
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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13
fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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14
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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15
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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16
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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19
joust
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| v.马上长枪比武，竞争 | |
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20
jousts
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| （骑士）骑着马用长矛打斗( joust的名词复数 )； 格斗，竞争 | |
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21
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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22
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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23
gargoyle
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| n.笕嘴 | |
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consolations
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| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
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25
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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26
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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27
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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28
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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29
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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30
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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31
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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32
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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33
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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34
savory
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| adj.风味极佳的，可口的，味香的 | |
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35
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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37
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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38
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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39
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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40
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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41
spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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42
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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43
scurried
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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45
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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46
dwarfs
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| n.侏儒，矮子（dwarf的复数形式）vt.（使）显得矮小（dwarf的第三人称单数形式） | |
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47
bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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48
nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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49
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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50
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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51
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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52
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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53
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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54
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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55
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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56
lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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57
galley
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| n.（飞机或船上的）厨房单层甲板大帆船；军舰舰长用的大划艇； | |
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58
galleys
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| n.平底大船，战舰( galley的名词复数 )；（船上或航空器上的）厨房 | |
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59
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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60
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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61
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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62
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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63
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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64
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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65
musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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66
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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67
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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68
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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69
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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70
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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71
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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72
patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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73
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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74
engrossing
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| adj.使人全神贯注的，引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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75
beets
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| 甜菜( beet的名词复数 )； 甜菜根； （因愤怒、难堪或觉得热而）脸红 | |
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76
edible
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| n.食品，食物；adj.可食用的 | |
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77
arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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78
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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79
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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81
ploy
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| n.花招，手段 | |
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82
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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83
juggle
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| v.变戏法，纂改，欺骗，同时做；n.玩杂耍，纂改，花招 | |
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84
juggler
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| n. 变戏法者, 行骗者 | |
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85
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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86
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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87
brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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88
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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89
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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90
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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91
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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92
reminders
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| n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 )；提醒…的东西；（告知该做某事的）通知单；提示信 | |
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93
troupes
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| n. （演出的）一团, 一班 vi. 巡回演出 | |
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94
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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95
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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96
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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97
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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98
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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99
vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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100
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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101
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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102
savoring
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| v.意味，带有…的性质( savor的现在分词 )；给…加调味品；使有风味；品尝 | |
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103
bucking
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| v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的现在分词 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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104
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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105
loutish
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| adj.粗鲁的 | |
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106
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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107
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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108
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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110
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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111
jousting
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| （骑士）骑马用长矛比武( joust的现在分词 ) | |
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112
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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113
tilts
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| （意欲赢得某物或战胜某人的）企图，尝试( tilt的名词复数 ) | |
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114
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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115
brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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116
bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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117
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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119
acorns
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| n.橡子，栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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120
squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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122
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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123
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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124
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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125
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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126
shimmered
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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127
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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128
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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129
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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130
dubbed
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| v.给…起绰号( dub的过去式和过去分词 )；把…称为；配音；复制 | |
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131
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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132
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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133
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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134
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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135
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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136
fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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137
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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138
blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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139
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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140
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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