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Cole's reputation had reached its peak after he single-handedly defeated the three mightiest warriors among the Fire People.
Power was what warriors admired most.
Now, the Fire Lord had truly earned his title. He had bested some of the strongest fighters in the tribe and had been acknowledged by the flames. Was there any doubt left? The only choice was to follow him.
Tyrion and the others had gathered nearly five thousand free folk for this march. The free folk and the Fire People were divided into two groups.
Cole led his warriors at the rear, tasked with guarding against an attack from the Vale's cavalry. But this concern seemed unnecessary—whoever was ruling the Vale now was clearly afraid of something.
The sheer size of the group meant their progress was slow, while the mountain clans moved lightly ahead.
Cole rode a sturdy pony in the center of the formation, flanked by three hundred Flame Guards. Every one of them was battered and bruised from their training. Knowing that war was inevitable once they left the valley, Cole had decided to end the previous selection method and instead hold a combat tournament after the annual harvest feast to choose new Flame Guards.
Managing three hundred men was far easier than commanding three thousand. To maintain order, Cole had appointed ten captains among the Flame Guards, all former tribal leaders. Each was responsible for overseeing thirty warriors. These captains, in turn, would manage the rest of the Fire People in smaller groups.
This system lessened Cole's burden considerably. The captains gained authority and a sense of distinction, understanding the privileges that came with their role. Naturally, they supported Cole, recognizing him as the source of their power.
Of course, not all of them were ideal leaders, but for now, martial prowess took precedence. The Fire People were still, at their core, a society that revered strength above all else.
Timei was a rare talent. Unlike the other Fire People, he was not blinded by stubborn tradition. That had been clear from the moment he heard of Tyrion's call for warriors. He was ruthless with himself and even crueler to others, yet he was still young.
From the moment he swore fealty to Cole, it was evident that he understood how to assess the tides of power. His instincts for survival were nearly as sharp as Bronn's.
And speaking of Bronn, here he was.
Since Cole had become the Fire Lord, he had also taken on the role of the Imp's protector.
"The dwarf has something to ask you," Bronn said casually as he approached. His expression was as lazy as ever—at least when he wasn't fighting.
For some reason, Cole always felt that Bronn's eyes held a quiet disdain whenever he looked at him.
When the two found Tyrion, they saw him frowning.
"What's wrong?" Cole asked.
"Shagga and the others want me to provide them with food," Tyrion said, brushing at his clothes as if searching for something. "They're moving too slowly, and their supplies have run out. I've only got a few silver stags left on me."
Cole recalled Timett's morning report—the Fire People were also running low on food.
"It seems we have a problem," Cole said grimly. "The Fire People don't have enough food either."
Tyrion had clearly been hoping for assistance, but he was bound to be disappointed. It was his father's doing—Tywin had seen to it that every village and tavern within ten miles had been burned to the ground by the Lannister army. There was no food to be found.
"I don't dare to wager what will happen if the free folk go hungry," Tyrion said, his voice laced with worry.
Cole wasn't willing to gamble either—if the Fire People starved, they might soon forget their loyalty to the so-called King of Flames.
The two fell into silence.
Just then, a free man walked past them, gnawing on a chicken leg.
Cole and Tyrion exchanged confused glances. The free folk didn't raise chickens.
Did that mean there was a village or hunting ground nearby?
Cole caught hold of the boy and questioned him. He was young, a free folk scout, and surprisingly honest. He admitted that he had taken the chicken from a flatlander's house. He also revealed that Shagga and the others had already begun looting.
The free folk were raiders by nature, and Tyrion was the first to realize the implications—there must be a village nearby. Without hesitation, he urged Cole to mount up, ordering the scout to lead them to stop Shagga before things got out of hand.
Riding ahead on horseback, they arrived in time to find that it was not a full village, but merely an inn. A handful of people moved between the stables and the tavern, their gazes wary.
The innkeeper was a fat, bald man with a seemingly kind smile.
"I am Tyrion Lannister," the Imp announced without hesitation.
The innkeeper eyed him warily. "My lord, do you seek lodging?"
Tyrion tossed him a heavy coin pouch. "I want to book this entire tavern. That's the deposit. Now, prepare food—I need enough for five thousand men."
"Five thousand?" The innkeeper's mouth fell open. His face twisted with unease. "My lord, that's impossible. We don't have nearly that much food."
Before Tyrion could respond, Shagga and his men came into view.
Tyrion pointed toward them. "See those men? They are my barbarians. If you can't figure out how to get the food, then you might end up as a feast yourself." His tone was pleasant, but the threat was unmistakable.
The innkeeper paled, sweat beading on his bald head. The name Lannister had become a curse in the Riverlands. The last time he had played host to Lannister men, he had barely survived.
"Oh, and one more thing," Tyrion continued smoothly. "Prepare two fine rooms—one for myself and one for the knight beside me. And bring two jugs of wine, two roasted squabs, and fresh cheese. If you have onions, even better."
"Y-yes, Lord Lannister," the innkeeper stammered, visibly trembling.
By then, Shagga had stepped forward, frowning. "Why is the half-man here?"
"I'm finding food for you," Tyrion replied coolly.
Shagga scowled. "The half-man dares steal from the Stone Crows?"
Tyrion met his gaze without flinching. "Shagga, you swore to follow me on the plains. Here, gold is more useful than steel. Gather your men—we'll be staying here for a few days."
Shagga grumbled but recalled his oath. With a reluctant nod, he turned to rally his warriors.
Cole, too, prepared to return and bring his own people.
Inside the tavern, as soon as Tyrion entered, several men drinking at a table stood up.
"Lord Tyrion," one of them greeted.
The speaker was a knight of House Lannister, clad in red and black armor, a lion-shaped helm resting atop his head, and a crimson cloak draped over his shoulders.
By the time Cole arrived with his warriors, the area was already overflowing with people. The free folk had no need for shelter—they simply lit fires and bedded down under the open sky. Unlike knights, they were not delicate.
Before long, Tyrion sought him out, now surrounded by several armored knights. He had clearly found allies.
"Cole," Tyrion said as he approached, "it looks like we have somewhere to be."
With the knight leading the way, they turned toward the Kingsroad.