Chapter 143 — The Town of Arrows
Under the midday sun, the river stretched out like a gleaming ribbon of blue-green silk. Along the shallow banks, reeds grew thick and tall.
The three travelers arrived at the riverbank. Looking at the wide expanse of water before them, all three wore expressions of weary frustration.
"We need to cross this river," Podrick said, scratching his head as he turned to Sansa and Jalabhar Xho. "Any bright ideas?"
"The only solution I can think of is finding a boat—one large enough to carry us and the horses," he continued. "But obviously, that doesn't seem very likely right now."
Podrick wasn't wrong.
After another four days of travel, they had finally reached the river flowing out from the Gods Eye.
Their destination was Riverrun, which lay on the opposite bank of this waterway known as the Gods Eye River.
The problem, however, was how they were supposed to cross it.
During their entire journey, they had not seen a single usable boat.
Everywhere they looked, the land bore the scars of war. Peaceful life had long since vanished.
Docks had been burned. Boats had been scuttled and left to sink beneath the water.
Sometimes they even saw corpses drifting down the river.
Bloated bodies, limbs twisted grotesquely, floated lazily with the current.
One corpse had been caught among the reeds—a man whose upper body still wore a soaked brown linen shirt, snagged against a rotting log.
When Sansa had seen a swarm of tiny silver fish crowding together to feed on the man's face, she had gone pale with horror, burying her face inside her cloak and refusing to speak.
And now they had already spent at least three hours walking along the riverbank.
Everything they saw looked the same.
Podrick's question left both Sansa and Jalabhar uncertain.
They exchanged glances. At last Jalabhar spoke.
"Lord Payne… in my opinion, even if we find a boat or a small bridge nearby, it will likely be damaged."
"I fear we must consider other options."
His words carried little optimism. After everything they had seen on the road, it was clear that crossing this river would not be easy.
Podrick turned to Sansa.
She remained seated in the cart, saying nothing, her eyes fixed on him with quiet trust.
Clearly, she was leaving the decision to him.
The responsibility returned to Podrick once again.
With a silent sigh, he looked at the pile of recently purchased supplies.
"Then we abandon the excess," he said decisively.
"We travel light."
"We keep only the essentials and the horses. Everything else—including the wagon—goes."
"We'll keep following the river. All we need is a boat or a bridge."
When the moment came to decide, Podrick wasted no time.
In truth, the supplies didn't matter much to him.
If he had been traveling alone, he could have crossed the river himself with nothing more than a few essentials.
But he had been carrying extra for Sansa and Jalabhar's sake.
When Sansa heard that the wagon would be abandoned, she didn't object.
Instead she replied softly,
"I'll do as you say, Ser Podrick."
"Good."
With the decision made, the three set off again.
They freed the horses from the wagon and discarded almost everything except their weapons, some salt, and a few blankets for warmth.
One thing, however, Sansa refused to leave behind.
Even if it meant carrying nothing else—not even spare clothes beneath her cloak—she insisted on bringing Ilyn Payne's head.
Fortunately, after they resumed their journey, they did not have to travel far before spotting something downstream.
A wooden covered bridge stood across the river.
Unfortunately…
It had been burned.
They paid little attention to the ruined bridge.
Instead, all three of them fixed their gaze on a shallow stretch of water not far beneath the bridge.
The moment they spotted it, Jalabhar Xho didn't even wait for Podrick to say anything. He immediately broke into a run toward the shallows.
Since abandoning the wagon, Jalabhar had insisted that Sansa ride the freed horse, while he took on the role of a humble handler, leading the animal along like a servant.
With splashes of water sounding around him, Jalabhar waded into the river.
A moment later, he shouted excitedly toward the shore.
"My lord! Good news! The water here isn't deep—our horses should be able to carry us across!"
The river only reached about mid-thigh on Jalabhar.
Even farther out, it would still be manageable on horseback.
On the bank, Podrick nodded with a faint smile.
"Good. It seems the gods still show us a bit of mercy."
Yet neither Sansa nor Jalabhar noticed something subtle.
Podrick wasn't actually watching Jalabhar.
Instead, he lifted his chin slightly and narrowed his eyes, looking toward both the northern and southern stretches of the opposite riverbank.
He muttered quietly to himself,
"Smoke on both sides of the far bank… northwest and south. Looks like someone's burning something again."
Sansa's attention always seemed to linger on Podrick.
Even his quiet mutter reached her ears.
She turned her gaze away from the shimmering river and looked toward the directions he mentioned.
After only a glance, her brows knitted slightly.
"Ser Podrick… should we wait here a little longer?"
The distant smoke clearly meant something.
But Podrick merely smiled.
"No need. We keep moving."
Then he extended a hand toward her.
"But you'd better come over here first."
Seeing the offered hand, Sansa didn't think too deeply about his meaning.
Blushing faintly, she placed her hand in his.
But Podrick had no intention of taking it gently.
Instead, the moment she reached out, he leaned down slightly and swept Sansa Stark up by the waist, lifting her straight onto his saddle.
With a whistle, the horse that had been carrying Sansa obediently followed behind.
The saddle wasn't made for two riders.
So Sansa had no choice but to sit sideways across Podrick's thigh.
With the horse's movement, her body shifted with each rise and fall.
Feeling the warmth of his body through their clothing, she blushed deeply and buried her face against his chest, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself.
Jalabhar tactfully mounted the horse Sansa had vacated.
As they crossed the river, he remained silent the entire time.
Even after they had gone a considerable distance, he showed no sign of reclaiming his earlier role as a horse handler.
He truly was a very sensible man.
---
As they continued onward, the distant smoke Podrick had noticed earlier gradually became clearer.
"Lord Payne," Jalabhar said cautiously, "those are probably Lannister soldiers ahead, causing trouble again. Should we avoid them?"
"No need," Podrick replied calmly.
"I chose this road deliberately. I happen to have a few questions for them."
Hearing this, Sansa buried her face deeper into Podrick's chest and said nothing, pretending to be invisible.
Jalabhar still felt uneasy, but after a moment's thought, he held his tongue.
He had chosen to follow this man.
So he would trust him.
---
As the distance closed, an hour before sunset, the three of them finally saw what the smoke came from.
It was a small town.
White houses clustered around a central manor, surrounded by farmland.
But now—
Everything was burning.
Fields of barley, wheat, and corn that should have been heavy with harvest under the sun now served only as fuel for the flames.
The white houses had collapsed into broken walls and charred ruins, leaving only smoke and embers behind.
In an open field beside the burning crops, a large crowd of villagers had been forced together.
Around them rode Lannister cavalry, shouting and herding them about.
Foot soldiers stood nearby, laughing as they waved their weapons.
From within the crowd came screams.
The soldiers laughed louder.
A tragedy was unfolding before Podrick and the others.
---
"My lord…?"
Jalabhar's scalp prickled. His throat felt dry.
Podrick's voice remained calm.
"Don't be afraid."
Still holding Sansa, he gently set her down from the saddle.
Then he adjusted Ice, the Stark greatsword resting along the saddle, placing it within easy reach.
"Protect Sansa," he said.
"I'll go take a look."
He was about to spur his horse forward when something caught his eye—
Jalabhar's gilded longbow.
Podrick had used it earlier while hunting.
"Ah, right. Lend me the bow again."
Taking the bow and arrows, Podrick nudged his horse forward and slowly rode toward the chaos.
---
The Lannister soldiers were not blind.
And the men looting the town were certainly not fools.
They quickly noticed the approaching rider.
After several shouted warnings, five cavalrymen spurred their horses forward to intercept him.
"Who are you? Why do you dare trespass here?!"
Because Podrick's group bore no visible banners or insignia—and because they were approaching rather than fleeing—one of the riders shouted the challenge loudly.
Podrick gave no answer.
Instead, he calmly raised Jalabhar's gilded bow.
His hand brushed the quiver.
Three arrows slid between his fingers.
One nocked onto the string.
Two hung loosely below.
The bow creaked as it bent into a perfect full moon under the sunlight.
The soldiers instantly realized something was wrong.
Shouts turned into angry curses.
Weapons were drawn.
But at that very moment—
Podrick released the string.
The bowstring snapped like thunder.
The arrow screamed through the air.
A flash of white feathers streaked across the sky—
—and one rider's head exploded like it had been struck by a hammer.
Yet the arrow did not stop.
It tore through the air and plunged into another rider's throat, bursting out the back of his neck.
One arrow. Two kills.
The terrifying power and accuracy stunned everyone present—even Sansa Stark and Jalabhar Xho.
Even Podrick himself hadn't expected the second kill.
The unlucky soldier had been standing slightly behind the first man, not even in a straight line.
Still, Podrick didn't mind the pleasant surprise.
He calmly nocked the second arrow.
Now the remaining three riders were terrified.
When the bow turned toward them again, the hairs on their necks stood up as if the Stranger's scythe had touched their throats.
Instinctively they yanked their reins, trying to halt their galloping horses.
But stopping a charging horse is not easy.
One rider jerked his horse sideways.
Another reflexively turned the opposite way.
The two horses collided violently.
At that moment—
The second arrow roared across the battlefield.
It pierced both riders' mail armor, driving straight through their bodies.
No screams followed.
The two men were pinned together by the arrow and tumbled from their saddles in a tangled heap.
Another double kill.
Two arrows.
Four riders dead.
Podrick calmly placed the final arrow onto the string.
The last rider nearly wet himself.
His horse reared under the sudden pull of the reins.
And he could only watch helplessly as the arrow flew toward him.
---
Five riders.
Three arrows.
All dead within twenty meters.
Meanwhile Podrick's horse continued forward at a lazy pace, as if nothing had happened.
Podrick reached back into the quiver again.
The Stranger had drawn the curtain.
What followed would be a one-sided slaughter.
---
When Podrick finally emptied the quiver, nearly the entire thirty-man Lannister detachment had been wiped out.
Only four soldiers remained alive.
One had an arrow through his knee.
Another had a bleeding hole in his thigh.
The remaining two were uninjured—but they were already on their knees, smashing their foreheads against the ground in frantic surrender.
Podrick returned slowly on horseback, having just killed the final fleeing soldier with a high arcing shot from the edge of a burned cornfield.
He looked as relaxed as if he had just finished a leisurely hunt.
"Which one of you is the leader?"
Podrick sat atop his horse with the setting sun behind him.
The golden glow reflected off the gilded bow in his hand, dazzling the eyes.
His question made all four surviving soldiers look up.
But against the blinding light, they could see only a dark silhouette.
And beneath that silhouette—
a pale horse.
"The Stranger…"
one of them whispered.