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Lord Harroway's Town was a town in the Riverlands beside the Trident, facing the busy inn at the crossroads across the water. It had originally been the seat of House Roote, sworn to House Tully.
In the early war, when the Westerlands invaded the Riverlands, Tywin had taken it easily with overwhelming strength and slaughtered House Roote after they resisted.
Some time ago, Brynden had just granted the town to a surviving collateral heir of House Roote.
But the peace that had only just returned to the Riverlands did not last long. It was swept away once more by the refugee uprising sparked by the Brotherhood Without Banners.
"This town's defenses are weaker than the last one. Brothers, push harder!"
"Kill them! Kill the damned nobles and divide their wealth and land!"
"In the name of the Lord of Light, judge these greedy sinners!"
Outside Lord Harroway's Town, more than a thousand armed refugees shouted as they attacked the outer wall.
Their will to fight was strong, but their siege methods were crude.
Their clothing was strange and chaotic as well. Some wore ragged clothes under half-new armor, while others had put on fine noble garments at random.
Still, compared with the fewer than a hundred defending soldiers in the town, their advantage in numbers placed enormous pressure on the defense.
As time passed, the defenders suffered more and more casualties and gradually could not suppress the refugees' fearless, frenzied attack.
The refugees attacking the town also sensed that the defense was about to break. Having already tasted the spoils of captured towns, their eyes grew fierce like hungry wolves.
Hoofbeats rose from behind the attacking refugees, growing swiftly louder. A troop of about two hundred riders under the trout banner rapidly approached them.
Most of the attacking refugees had once been farmers. Facing House Tully's cavalry, they had no idea of forming a defensive line. The two hundred riders scattered them with ease and began cutting them down.
"Run!"
Struck by a proper cavalry troop, the morale that had been so high a moment ago collapsed. The refugees began fleeing in every direction.
Outside the town, a bloody scene unfolded: two hundred men chasing and slaughtering more than a thousand.
On land, men could not outrun warhorses. The routed refugees were cut down like grass.
Only when one refugee suddenly seemed to understand and jumped into the Trident did the rest throw themselves into the water one after another.
When there were no living people outside the town except the Tully cavalry, Lord Tytos arrived at the gate piled with corpses, accompanied by more than a dozen guards.
The town gate opened from within. The new Lord Roote came out holding a longsword. Seeing Lord Tytos, he immediately saluted respectfully.
"Thank you, Lord Tytos, for coming to our aid. These damned refugees have all gone mad."
"Yes. All gone mad. The towns east of the Trident have all been occupied by them, and the nobles of those lands have all been killed.
"They are now advancing from east to west. They do not dare touch Harrenhal, with its high and solid walls, so they are choosing towns with weaker defenses.
"The whole Riverlands is in danger again."
Lord Tytos shook his head and sighed as he shared what he knew.
"What? They dare kill nobles? Those lowborn refugees deserve death.
"But Lord Tytos, can these refugees truly be dangerous enough to threaten the entire Riverlands?
"They are poor fighters. I joined the fight just now and killed several myself."
Hearing Lord Tytos, Lord Roote was shocked. After cursing, he asked in confusion.
"Your town was not the only one attacked today. Nuttun, Riverbend, and other places nearby were attacked as well. I brought only two hundred riders to aid you because I had to split my men and save several places at once.
"According to the scouting riders, at least ten thousand refugees have poured into the area around the crossroads. They captured some prisoners and learned that these ten thousand are only the force sent ahead to scout.
"Heh. A scouting force of ten thousand.
"Even weak men become dangerous in such numbers.
"And among them is the Brotherhood Without Banners, the group that captured the Mountain alive."
Lord Tytos turned his gaze east and answered quietly.
Maidenpool lay downstream along the Trident, close to the Bay of Crabs. With its busy harbor, it counted as a town of some size.
Now, however, tens of thousands of refugees crowded through Maidenpool, packed shoulder to shoulder. They craned their necks to watch the wooden platform, two or three yards high, built in the center of town.
On the platform, Beric and Thoros stood solemnly. Beside them was a row of noble prisoners tied to pyre frames. Around the platform, several thousand Brotherhood members struggled to maintain basic order in the town.
Seeing that the time had come, Beric loudly announced the crimes of the noble prisoners captured from Maidenpool and the surrounding villages.
When the crimes had been announced, Beric and Thoros stepped down from the platform and had the waiting Brotherhood members light the fires.
In an instant, the oil-smeared wooden platform caught fire. The row of noble prisoners was offered to the Lord of Light amid miserable screams.
'May the Lord of Light forgive your sins.'
Looking at the noble prisoners turning into human torches, Beric prayed silently and left through the path the refugees opened for him.
After the sacrifice, there should have been a division of the nobles' lands among the refugees who had distinguished themselves. Beric did not wish to manage those matters, so he left them to Thoros.
Thoros had led the first distribution of land after Maidenpool fell. This time, he should be familiar enough with the process that Beric need not worry.
Beric returned to the castle in Maidenpool that had once belonged to House Mooton and went directly to find Moqorro, who was praying.
"Brother Moqorro, your prophecy was indeed very precise. We listened to your suggestion and began the uprising from the eastern Riverlands. There we happened to meet these poor commoners driven from King's Landing by force.
"Now, some of the commoners who distinguished themselves in battle have already received land of their own. Should we continue west next?"
Beric, who had rebuilt a great purpose for himself, had grown ever more devout in his faith in the Lord of Light. At the same time, he had begun to trust Moqorro, who shared that faith.
After all, Moqorro's precise prophecies were very likely guidance from the Lord of Light. So as soon as Beric returned, he wanted Moqorro's opinion on their next move.
"Of course. We must offer every sinful noble in the Riverlands to the Lord of Light.
"Robb Stark is gathering his main army at Highgarden in the Reach and is about to fight the Lannister army. If we occupy the Riverlands, we cut off the road behind him.
"If he divides troops from the Westerlands to save the Riverlands, we take the chance to destroy his reinforcements.
"If he remains entangled with the Lannister army, then after occupying the Riverlands, we turn into the Westerlands and strike him from both sides with the Lannister army."
Moqorro ended his prayer and explained the plan he had been considering.
"The Lannister army? They are also nobles burdened with sin. We are to fight alongside them?"
Hearing the name Lannister, Beric immediately frowned in disgust.
"Yes. The demon servant's power is too great now.
"For the moment, we must set aside hatred and unite every force that can oppose him. Once Robb Stark is purified, the Lannisters will also become our sacrifice."
Seeing Beric's strong reaction, Moqorro's heart tightened. He immediately gave a reason based on the greater purpose.
Moqorro had actually come to the Riverlands seeking the Brotherhood on Tywin's suggestion.
But Tywin understood that if the Brotherhood knew he wanted an alliance against Robb, they would likely refuse flatly.
Using the intelligence from Brotherhood captives once brought to Harrenhal, Tywin had specifically instructed Moqorro to persuade them mainly through the faith of the Lord of Light.
"Very well. This is something we must do to remove the Cold God's servant. But after Robb Stark is purified, the next sacrifice will be House Lannister."
Beric thought carefully, then spoke his decision through gritted teeth.
"Of course. Brother Beric, I share that thought."
Moqorro relaxed when he heard Beric's words. To him, whether the Lannisters lived or died did not matter.
His first goal now was to purify Robb Stark, whom he had judged a demon servant. His second was to spread the faith of the Lord of Light.
"Good. Robb Stark's main forces are in the Westerlands and Reach. He cannot have many troops left in the Riverlands. I have already sent scouts ahead, and it should not take long to gain the intelligence we need.
"Brother Moqorro, I once heard Thoros say the Lord of Light has many followers in Essos. How do you manage them?
"Too many commoners have joined us recently, and some bad things have already happened. I now feel as if we are beginning to lose control of them."
Beric had actually already decided their next plan. He asked Moqorro only to gain confirmation.
After finishing the first matter, he immediately spoke of the second.
"In the temple of the Lord of Light in Volantis, there are not only priests who spread the faith, but also holy warriors called the Fiery Hand.
"Most of these commoners once believed in the so-called Seven. We must strengthen the faith among them, and we must also have a Fiery Hand to make them obey the proper rules.
"Commoners who believe in the Lord of Light and follow our guidance receive land and food first. Commoners who reject the Lord of Light or refuse to obey our rules may choose for themselves: join or leave.
"Those Brotherhood members with devout faith can serve as the Fiery Hand and maintain our rules.
"Brother Beric, our final purpose is to make them understand that we are all servants of the Lord of Light, ready at any time to offer everything to him.
"After we offer ourselves to the Lord of Light, our souls will remain forever in his kingdom of light, hope, and freedom."
Moqorro proved himself an able red priest under the High Priest. As he taught Beric, his face was solemn and dignified, and he seemed wrapped in a layer of light.
"I understand. I will discuss it with Thoros later. Brother Moqorro, please preach to them more during this time."
"Rest assured. I will."
After leaving Moqorro's room, Beric carefully considered what Moqorro had said.
When he reached the door of his own room, he found Qyburn, who had seldom appeared recently, waiting for him with a smile.
Beric stepped forward quickly. Before he could ask anything, Qyburn spoke with excitement in his voice.
"Lord Beric, I have made a breakthrough in my recent research."
At Highgarden in the Reach, several miles outside the northern wall, the blackened ground was now occupied by tents packed close together. The vast scale made it seem as though a tent town had appeared outside Highgarden overnight.
Looking closely, the tents were divided by rows of wooden fences into square sections of roughly equal size. They appeared orderly and simple.
This was the refugee settlement built according to Robb's instructions. Some of the tents came from the spoils left by the war for Highgarden, while others were old tents provided by House Tyrell.
The wooden fences had been made from siege engines left by the allied army and from the wood they had gathered during the war.
After the council ended the previous day, Highgarden officials who received the order recruited laborers with food as payment.
With this vast labor force that had arrived at their door, the workers needed less than half a day to build the settlement, which was divided into thirty-six smaller areas.
Each small area could hold roughly two thousand people. In other words, the settlement could house about seventy thousand refugees in total.
Of course, with the total number of refugees reaching several hundred thousand, it was impossible for all of them to enter the settlement at once.
Robb's original plan was to select part of the refugees first, move them near Goldengrove, and begin the experiment of opening terraced fields.
Once successful, they would follow the familiar model and continue selecting and moving the remaining refugees.
Therefore, refugees who could not enter the settlement had no choice but to pitch their own tents behind it in order, under the control of the surrendered Highgarden soldiers.
Most of these refugees driven out of King's Landing had brought their belongings. The smaller number with no tents found random places to sleep in their clothes.
Fortunately, the long summer had only just ended, and the Reach's climate remained warm and suitable. Otherwise, even the early stage of selecting refugees would have frozen some of them to death.
Rick yawned as he twisted his stiff body and walked out of a worn tent, still sleepy-eyed.
Given his place in the line, Rick should not have been able to enter the settlement the day before. When he hurriedly mixed into the refugees, he had not carried a tent or anything similar.
Seeing that he would have to sleep outside, Rick used coin. He found a small gang among the refugees and spent a hundred silver stags to buy a place inside the settlement.
When the number of people was large enough, even refugees had no shortage of schemers. The business of controlling entry into the settlement was something this gang had thought of only the previous day.
They curried favor with the surrendered Highgarden soldiers through small gifts and favors, while quietly spreading word that those who entered the settlement first would be the first to enter Highgarden. In this way, they squeezed the last hidden wealth from the refugees.
To those surrendered Highgarden soldiers, it made no difference who entered the settlement. After accepting the gang's benefits, they turned a blind eye.
Rick had registered the previous day under a false identity and been placed in the thirteenth men's settlement area.
That very particular wording was what he had seen on the wooden sign standing before the area.
It was now early morning, with the first light just appearing, yet the area of nearly two thousand people was already very lively. Most of the refugees crowded near the gate.
The surrendered Highgarden soldiers had told them the previous day that if Highgarden wanted workers, the call would be made at the gate.
Rick had come so early to wait for work not because he wanted food. He wanted to use the work as a chance to see whether he could obtain important information about Highgarden.
These idle refugees waited until the sun was nearly in the middle of the sky before a group of surrendered Highgarden soldiers hurried to the gate of their area.
"Today we need one hundred strong workers with experience clearing land. Those willing do not need to speak. Raise your hands, and we will choose."
As soon as the leading surrendered soldier finished speaking after opening the gate, more than a thousand dirt-darkened arms rose high at once.
The soldiers were not surprised by this. Their eyes quickly swept across the refugees as they made their choices.
Refugees often went hungry, so most of the more than a thousand men were short and thin.
The taller and stronger ones stood out clearly. The hundred places were soon nearly filled.
As an excellent scout, Rick was agile and quick, but neither tall nor powerful.
Therefore, he was not chosen at first.
Only when the tall refugees had all been picked, and the soldiers needed a few final men to complete the number, did they begin choosing the taller among the short.
"Last one. You."
When the last place was chosen, the surrendered soldier's gaze moved several times between Rick and a refugee beside him before finally pointing at Rick.
"Thank you, my lord."
Rick immediately smiled and answered.
The refugee beside him showed anger. Then he gritted his teeth and shouted, "My lord, yesterday I happened to see this man pay silver stags to bribe his way into the settlement.
"And the skin on his hands is fine. One look tells you he is not someone who works fields."
After hearing the refugee, the surrendered soldier showed no reaction. Perhaps he, too, had received benefits from the gang.
"Hmph. I will remember you. When I come back, I will kill you."
Seeing that his work had not been affected, Rick stared at the refugee with a vicious flash in his eyes and muttered the threat as he walked toward the gate.
"Damn it. You take my work and threaten me? If I cannot go, neither can you."
The refugee heard the threat, and the bitterness in him burst out.
He reached out, grabbed the back of Rick's old linen shirt, worn as a disguise, and yanked hard, trying to pull him down.
The poor-quality old shirt tore cleanly open, exposing most of his back.
'Dead man.'
His clothes had been torn, but Rick felt no cold on his back. Rage surged up in him instantly.
He spun around, only to see the refugee staring blankly at the torn cloth in his hand. The other refugees around them looked at Rick with terror on their faces.
"Ah! He is unclean!"
"Grey... greyscale! He has greyscale!"
"Get away from him. Greyscale spreads terribly fast!"
Within a few seconds, the crowd that realized what they had seen erupted in panicked screams. The more than a thousand refugees scattered like ants from a kicked nest.
Only after Rick turned around did the surrendered Highgarden soldiers see his exposed back.
A large patch of skin on his torn-open back was covered in black-gray scales. From a distance, Rick looked as though he wore stone-scaled armor.
"Quick, close the gate. Sound the horn!"
The leading surrendered soldier reacted after the refugees exploded into chaos. He hurriedly ordered his team to close the gate and blow the horn.
The gate of the thirteenth men's settlement slammed shut. The horn hanging to one side of the gate sounded.
"Let us out!"
Many refugees pressed against the gate, slapping it over and over as they tried to flee the settlement they had only just begun to find comfortable.
The surrendered soldiers held short staves and struck mercilessly at the hands trying to push the gate open.
In truth, these Highgarden men also wanted to flee from the greyscale that common folk spoke of with such terror.
But they had no choice.
If they controlled the refugees now, they could still live. If they fled, they would certainly end in a wolf's belly.
A howl sounded.
Sure enough, after hearing the horn, the Wolfguard responsible for patrolling the area quickly arrived with a large number of surrendered Highgarden soldiers.
They surrounded the thirteenth settlement area completely and beat back without mercy any refugees who tried to push down the wooden fences and escape.
Near the gate of the thirteenth men's area, Rick still stood alone. He touched the hard, stone-like scales on his back, despair spreading across his face.
'No. Impossible. How could I have caught greyscale?'
'I heard the disease spreads by touch. How could I have let anyone touch my back?'
In despair, Rick first remembered the strange sensations in his back over the past few days. Then he suddenly connected them to the last scene in King's Landing when someone had touched his back.
At King's Landing, in the audience hall of the Tower of the Hand, the aged and frail Grand Maester Pycelle seemed exhausted from climbing too many tower steps. Bent-backed, he breathed loudly.
"Pycelle, there are only the two of us here. Stop your performance."
Sitting in a high-backed chair and writing something with a quill, Tywin did not even raise his head as he spoke in a serious tone.
"L-Lord Hand, what do you mean?"
Hearing Tywin's words, Pycelle's body stiffened, and he asked a question as an excuse.
"Do you truly think I am foolish enough to believe the senile old man your poor acting creates?"
"Whew. Sometimes, I also feel my acting is quite poor. But usually only when I face a wise man such as you."
Seeing the certainty in Tywin's tone, Grand Maester Pycelle slowly straightened his back and answered without the slightest stutter.
"I assume you did not come alone merely to praise me."
Tywin's quill did not pause. His tone remained natural.
"Lord Hand, the whore used as a carrier for the grey plague has already died, petrified from head to toe. Counting the time, the spy should now have entered the outbreak stage."
Pycelle immediately reported the matter he had come for.
"Good. I want to know only one thing. Is this grey plague truly as powerful as you claimed?"
Hearing Pycelle's report, Tywin slowly set down his quill, raised his head, and looked into Pycelle's eyes.
"Please be at ease, Lord Hand. I can guarantee that with my life.
"The grey plague is a malignant variant of greyscale. It is extremely infectious. I once saw its terrible lethality with my own eyes."
Pycelle nodded, then continued, recalling the past.
"It was more than fifty years ago, when I happened to be studying at the Citadel. The grey plague, from some unknown source, broke out and spread through Oldtown.
"After the outbreak, every maester of the Citadel helped House Hightower control the disease.
"Even so, the grey plague took nearly two hundred thousand lives in Oldtown and the lives of three quarters of the Citadel's maesters.
"After the plague subsided, I was ordered to assist one maester in researching it.
"Perhaps I wanted to conduct my own scholarly research at the time, so I secretly kept several grey-plague samples.
"I did not expect they would now happen to help the Lord Hand remove his most troublesome enemy."
"If the grey plague truly works as you say, my reward will not disappoint you.
"A Lannister always pays his debts."
Tywin understood Pycelle's meaning at once. He snorted softly, promised a rich reward, and continued asking.
"However, since the Citadel studied the grey plague decades ago, are there any other ways to deal with it now?"
Hearing Tywin, Pycelle smiled confidently and shook his head.
"Heh. The Citadel learned only one thing back then: those who once suffered greyscale and survived are immune to the grey plague.
"Therefore, the grey plague has no cure. Once infected, death is certain.
"With so many refugees acting as plague carriers, and Highgarden lacking enough knowledgeable maesters to help control it...
"Lord Tywin, Highgarden is finished."
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