Karas Snow galloped back from the village, a grin splitting his face. "Young Master Aed, it's just bandits! Maybe thirty or forty of them. A handful of archers, six or seven riders, and the rest are just a disorganized rabble."
He added with a chuckle, "And there really is grain here! The bastards have already done the heavy lifting, they're loading the wagons for us as we speak."
"How's their gear?" I asked.
"Junk. I didn't see a single piece of real plate. Most of them are wearing boiled leather or rusted scrap."
I raised an eyebrow at Ser Lyman Frey. "Sounds like our luck is holding up today."
Forty bandits against ten of my [Ice Warriors] wasn't even a fair fight. Plus, the system had just given me a list of expensive new spells, and I was starving for Soul Power. These guys weren't just bandits; they were walking XP batteries.
"Karstark warriors!" I roared, drawing my sword and shield. "Charge! Clear out the trash and reclaim our dinner!"
I didn't wait for Lyman to find his voice. I kicked my horse into a gallop, blurring into a dark streak across the muddy path.
THUNDER.
The sound of ten elite horses hitting the village at full tilt was like a localized earthquake. I led the wedge, my black plate armor shimmering in the afternoon light. Two bandit archers at the entrance managed to loose a couple of shaky arrows, but they clattered harmlessly off my sunburst shield.
I didn't slow down. I passed the first archer and took his head off in a spray of red. Behind me, Karas Snow put a javelin through the second archer's chest before the man could even drop his bow.
We tore into the center of the village. A bandit with a rusty scythe tried to stand his ground, but my horse's shoulder sent him flying. I smashed my shield into the face of a guy on my left and drove my sword through the neck of the one on my right without breaking my stride.
"Gods damn it! Can't a man even screw a woman in peace?"
A massive, bushy-bearded man stepped out of a farmhouse, hitching up his trousers. He was dark-skinned and wore a suit of rusted iron with a faded Lannister lion painted on the chest, deserter. In his left hand, he held the severed head of a young girl; in his right, a blood-stained meat cleaver.
He saw me charging and his eyes went wide. He dropped the girl's head and raised the cleaver. "Die, you brat!"
The heavy blade whistled toward my shoulder. I caught it on the edge of my sword, the steel ringing out, then lunged forward like a viper. The tip of my blade punched through his left eye socket, taking the eyeball with it as I pulled back. The "Lion" let out a choked gurgle and collapsed into the mud.
The rest was just a mop-up. The few mounted bandits were run down in seconds. The infantry rabble tried to drop their loot and run, but Karas and the boys weren't in a merciful mood. Bandits don't have ransom money, and they don't have honor. They just have Soul Power.
The whole thing took less than five minutes.
Ser Lyman, who had been hanging back at a safe distance, looked like he was about to vomit. He watched as the villagers slowly crawled out of their houses, staring at the pile of dead raiders with a mix of terror and awe.
I didn't take the grain for free. I sat down with the village elders and hammered out a contract. Water Mill Town would supply my men with grain, fish, and wine at a fair price, and I would provide the protection. It was a win-win.
Lyman spent the ride back to the Twins rambling about which tavern girls had the "softest lips" and the "widest hips." I just nodded along, my mind on the Soul Power I'd just harvested.
CRACK.
A bowl of hot fish soup flew across the hall of the Twins, shattering against the stone floor in front of Ser Lyman.
"USELESS!" Lord Walder Frey screamed, his voice a high-pitched wheeze. "I sent you to find out who the Karstark kid is sleeping with and who his friends are! And what do you do? You take him on a godsdammed field trip!"
"It was an accident, Grandfather!" Lyman stammered, wiping soup off his face. "He wanted grain. We went to Water Mill Town. We just happened to run into bandits. There were forty of them!"
"Forty?" Walder squinted. "And what were Karstark's casualties?"
"None," Lyman muttered. "One guy, Lando, fell off his horse on the way back because the beast tripped, but that was it. They wiped out forty men in five minutes and didn't even get a scratch on their armor."
Walder went quiet. He leaned back in his chair, his watery eyes glinting. "So... our Young Master Eddard is a real soldier, is he? And his men are killers."
He beckoned Lyman closer and whispered into his ear. Lyman's eyes went wide. "Will he agree to that? It's... expensive."
SLAP.
Walder backhanded his grandson with surprising strength. "It's not for a drunkard like you to ask questions! Do as I say!"
Lyman scrambled out of the hall, nearly tripping over his own cloak.
"He wants me to do what?"
I looked at Ser Lyman across the table in my quarters, my wine cup halfway to my mouth.
"My grandfather is offering a bounty," Lyman said, his face still red from the slap. "One silver moon for every bandit head you bring back. One gold dragon for every leader. He wants you to clear the roads around the Twins."
I stared at him. Something stunk.
Why would Walder Frey pay me to do his laundry? This was his territory. Black Walder had hundreds of men sitting around the castle doing nothing. Why pay a Karstark to do it?
Was it an ambush? Did he find out I suggested Robb break the engagement? Did he want me out of the castle so I could "accidentally" die in the woods?
It was crude. It was illogical. But then again, Walder Frey was a petty, spiteful old man who lived for small victories. If I died chasing bandits, I'd be a greedy fool, and House Frey would be legally innocent.
Alright, Walder. Let's play.
I gave Lyman a cold, mercenary smile. "The North is a hard place, Ser Lyman. We don't do anything for free, and your grandfather's prices are insulting."
"I want ten silver moons per head," I said, leaning forward. "And five gold dragons for a leader. If the Freys want Karstark steel to clean their backyard, they're going to pay for the premium service."
Lyman's face went pale. He knew he'd have to go back to the hall and tell the old man I'd just decupled the price.
"I'll... I'll tell him," Lyman squeaked.
I watched him leave and signaled to Karas Snow. "Double the watch on the horses. And tell the boys to sleep in their mail. We're going 'hunting.'"