Read The Mystery Knight for Free Online

Bastards too. King Aegon promised to
raise him to the Kingsguard, so Fireball made his wife join the silent sisters,
only by the time a place came open, King Aegon was dead and King Daeron named
Ser Willam Wylde instead. My father says that it was Fireball as much as
Bittersteel who convinced Daemon Blackfyre to claim the crown, and rescued him
when Daeron sent the Kingsguard to arrest him. Later on, Fireball killed Lord
Lefford at the gates of Lannisport and sent the Grey Lion running back to hide
inside the Rock. At the crossing of the Mandel, he cut down the sons of Lady
Penrose one by one. They say he spared the life of the youngest one as a
kindness to his mother.”
     
    “That was chivalrous of him,”
Dunk had to admit. “Did Ser Quentyn die upon the Redgrass Field?”
     
    “Before, ser,” Egg replied. “An
archer put an arrow through his throat as he dismounted by a stream to have a
drink. Just some common man, no one knows who.”
     
    “Those common men can be
dangerous when they get it in their heads to start slaying lords and heroes.”
Dunk saw the ferry creeping slowly across the lake. “Here it comes.”
     
    “It’s slow. Are we going to go to
Whitewalls, ser?”
     
    “Why not? I want to see this
dragon’s egg.” Dunk smiled. “If I win the tourney, we’d both have
dragon’s eggs.”
     
    Egg gave him a doubtful look.
     
    “What? Why are you looking at me
that way?”
     
    “I could tell you, ser,” the boy
said solemnly, “but I need to learn to hold my tongue.”
     
    * * * *
     
    They
seated the hedge knights well below the salt, closer to the doors than to the
dais.
     
    Whitewalls was almost new as
castles went, having been raised a mere forty years ago by the grandsire of its
present lord. The smallfolk hereabouts called it the Milk house, for its walls
and keeps and towers were made of finely dressed white stone, quarried in the
Vale and brought over the mountains at great expense. Inside were floors and
pillars of milky white marble veined with gold; the rafters overhead were
carved from the bone-pale trunks of weirwoods. Dunk could not begin to imagine
what all of that had cost.
     
    The hall was not so large as some
others he had known, though. At least we were allowed beneath the roof, Dunk thought as he took his place on the bench between Ser Maynard Plumm and
Kyle the Cat. Though uninvited, the three of them had been welcomed to the
feast quick enough; it was ill luck to refuse a knight hospitality on your
wedding day.
     
    Young Ser Glendon had a harder
time, however. “Fireball never had a son,” Dunk heard Lord Butterwell’s steward
tell him, loudly. The stripling answered heatedly, and the name of Ser Morgan
Dunstable was mentioned several times, but the steward had remained adamant.
When Ser Glendon touched his sword hilt, a dozen men-at-arms appeared with
spears in hand, but for a moment it looked as though there might be bloodshed.
It was only the intervention of a big blond knight named Kirby Pimm that saved
the situation. Dunk was too far away to hear, but he saw Pimm clasp an arm
around the steward’s shoulders and murmur in his ear, laughing. The steward
frowned, and said something to Ser Glendon that turned the boy’s face dark red. He looks as if he’s about to cry, Dunk thought, watching. That, or
kill someone. After all of that, the young knight was finally admitted to
the castle hall.
     
    Poor Egg was not so fortunate.
“The great hall is for the lords and knights,” an understeward had informed
them haughtily when Dunk tried to bring the boy inside. “We have set up tables
in the inner yard for squires, grooms, and men-at-arms.”
     
    If you had an inkling who he was,
you would seat him on the dais on a cushioned throne. Dunk had not much liked the look
of the other squires. A few were lads of Egg’s own age, but most were older,
seasoned fighters who long ago had made the choice to serve a knight rather
than become one. Or did they have a choice?