*
Leaving Harrenhal and heading north, after crossing the Trident, you reach the Kingsroad's fork. One branch crosses the river again and leads to the Bloody Gate, the most important land passage in and out of the Vale. The other main road continues north, traversing the wet and muddy Neck, all the way to Winterfell.
While Rhaegor and his group were still watching the competition, no one noticed that Hyena Kane, who had been knocked down, quietly left the arena.
"Hyena, spare me, I was wrong!" Old James looked in horror at Hyena Kane, who had suddenly appeared before him. "How could you... I clearly—"
"You clearly ran away, didn't you?" Kane casually twirled his longsword. "Too bad even if you took that silly boy's money pouch, you didn't catch the ferry." He glanced at Old James's waist: "You must have seen what was inside that money pouch, right?"
"You..." Old James's heart was trembling. Of course, he knew what was in that money pouch; it wasn't money at all, but half a bag of stones. "You're not the Hyena, who are you?"
"Do you know who that black-haired, green-eyed boy we were following is?"
Kane Muddle did not answer Old James's question, but instead drew the longsword from his waist. The longsword lightly tapped the old knight's face. The old knight was somewhat confused, but fear dominated his heart even more. This was completely unlike the Kane Muddle he knew.
He should have realized it sooner.
"Even if he's a prince, it has nothing to do with us." Old James's resolve hardened at this point. He was only curious about who this person in front of him truly was, to be able to deceive the eyes of an old knight for hire. After all, when that boy Albin was born, he and Kane Muddle were already partners, only separating during the Dance of the Dragons period. "Who exactly are you?"
"I am the Hyena." Kane smiled. "I am Kane Muddle." He stepped on Old James's chest, and the longsword shifted, slowly moving to the old knight's throat. "So, aren't you curious who that boy is?"
"Seven Hells!" Old James fiercely wanted to spit at the man, but ultimately found he couldn't. "What does it matter to us who he is? You can't be the Hyena."
Kane Muddle shrugged indifferently. "At least for now, I am Kane Muddle, and that's enough. Old Scarface, do you want to live? Or rather, do you want to live as a lord, instead of a Hysan, or a wandering knight sleeping by the hedgerows?"
Kane Muddle retracted his longsword and his foot. Old James immediately scrambled to his feet, looking with lingering fear at his warhorse lying on the ground.
His only warhorse had left him. This Kane Muddle had killed his warhorse using methods he couldn't even imagine.
He hadn't even seen how Kane struck.
"What do you mean?" To be honest, Old James had indeed been tempted just now. Becoming a lord was his lifelong dream. He worked so hard and risked his life for a piece of land to settle on, preferably with a castle.
"No rush." Kane did not directly answer his question. "Are you afraid of dragons?"
Jaime was a bit confused; what did this have to do with what they were discussing? But he still obediently nodded, indicating that he was indeed afraid of dragons.
"No wonder, after all, you personally experienced the Battle of the Red Fork. Let me put it this way, that boy is the son of Prince Dragonzel Varese, the master of Bronze Fury."
"Impossible!" Old James almost jumped up. How could that black-haired boy be the son of Prince Dragonzel Varese? That was the lofty Dragon King, a god with silver hair and purple eyes. How could he have a son with black hair and green eyes? "Isn't he a bastard of House Tarly?"
"Shhh~" Kane quietly made a shushing gesture. "It's simple, because you and I will die later," he said calmly.
Old James was even more confused. The mysterious man who had just promised him land was now saying they would all die.
How could dead men be granted land?
"James Hysan and Kane Muddle will die," Kane said. "And you will go to the South with a new identity, a new face, to acquire land, if you cooperate with us."
"You want to kill someone?" Jaime immediately pointed to himself: "You said 'us'? Impossible, impossible, you've also seen that..." He pondered how to address Rhaegor, and finally accepted Kane's term: "Prince, you know his martial arts, ten, no, twenty of me wouldn't be his match."
"Did I say I was going to kill someone?" Kane smiled and patted the old knight's wrinkled face again: "He is my liege, how could I possibly kill him."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Jaime suddenly became terrified. As an experienced old knight for hire, he knew very well that the more you know, the faster you die.
"Because James Hysan is going to die," Kane shook his head. "Westeros's interior is too safe; Prince could not find a suitable opportunity to give Prince Rhaegor a real lesson, so I could only find you."
"What about Albin?" Although Jaime had an indescribable feeling about the news that he was going to die, he still accepted it. Although he had been deeply traumatized by Dragonzel, it was strangely enough that after the Dance of the Dragons, he became one of the many who admired Dragonzel. So he subconsciously still believed Kane's promise.
Prince Dragonzel's man, he wouldn't lie to me.
"Albin? He's too young. A child raised in summer and peace cannot meet Your Highness's requirements." Kane shook his head: "Moreover, that child is very important. My Muddle is fake. As the First Men king's family of the rivers, the Muddle family has been completely wiped out, but another river king's blood flows in that child's veins."
The corner of Kane Muddle's mouth curved into a strange arc: "When Prince Rhaegor goes to the North, his bloodline will help Your Highness."
"You mean..." Jaime's hands trembled slightly. He felt as if he had heard too much that he shouldn't have.
"Albin Rivers, his real name is Albin Fairman." Kane Muddle said with a smile: "His childhood was not as he remembers it. His father was a descendant of a former branch of the Fairman family. After the fall of the Fairman dynasty, that branch, which had long since become commoners, no longer had status or anything else, but there is no doubt that his bloodline can indeed be traced back to Benedick Fairman. In terms of bloodline alone, he is purer than Lucifer Fairman, who lived four hundred years ago."
Kane then added in a voice only he could hear: "The king's blood of the First Men."
"Oh, right, I forgot you really shouldn't know so much. Don't worry, when you wake up with your new identity and inherit the land promised by the Prince, you won't remember these things."
"Do I still have a chance to refuse?"
Kane shook his head: "Unfortunately, no."
Jaime gritted his teeth: "Alright, I'll listen to you completely. Tell me, where is the land you promised me?"
"A small castle in Duskonbury." Kane did not hide his price: "I will compensate you with a warhorse now, and after your death, someone will send enough kinmony to your territory to sustain your life. When you wake up, you will be a vassal of Lord Luca Strong."
Kane smiled as he looked at the old knight in front of him: "Don't worry, don't worry, that castle has three villages and four mills under its jurisdiction, spacious enough."
This price instantly moved Jaime.
It's just dying once, isn't it? With Kane's assurance, Old James believed he could fulfill his lifelong wish.
"My Lord, do I need to do anything?" "The Neck needs someone to lead the way." Kane said lightly: "The wildlings in the Vale have been suffering greatly recently. Lord Joffrey Arryn has assembled an army to wipe out the wildlings in the Mountains of the Moon. This time, Lord Joffrey has been ruthless; he even sought help from Lord Joffrey Velaryon. These wildlings are having a difficult time under the attack of iron cans and dragonflame, so some wildlings have fled to the Neck, and the Crannogmen are not to be trifled with either."
He smiled at the old knight: "Do you understand what I mean?"
Jaime instantly understood Kane's meaning, but couldn't help but shiver again. The reason was simple: he had once done similar things with the real Kane. They had secretly colluded with bandit knights from the West, luring merchant caravans into ambushes, then killing people, seizing goods, and dividing the money. However, they rarely did this.
After all, it wasn't worth it.
This also proved one thing: this fake Kane knew so much.
Who exactly is he?
"You don't need to be curious about who someone is."
"Kane Muddle" suddenly grinned, his head slowly tilting. His facial features seemed to melt like mud, and drops of flesh-colored liquid flowed down his already unrecognizable face, yet never fell. His two eyeballs, without support, slid directly out of their sockets, still connected by bloody matter.
"Someone can be anyone."
That melting face suddenly retracted as if it were a lump of clay, and the flesh-colored liquid swirled freely across it, sometimes Albin, sometimes Legan, sometimes Ailarion, sometimes Jaime himself, sometimes a delicate young man, and finally returned to Kane Muddle's face.
"You... you are..." The old knight instantly understood the identity of this fake Kane. As an old knight for hire who had traveled far and wide for many years, Old James was familiar with the songs sung by various bards and the legends of different places. He naturally learned about this organization, which they absolutely could not offend, from those big-mouthed individuals.
Faceless Men.
"So, don't say more, don't ask more, go back." Kane said with a smile: "Lead the way for Prince Rhaegor, and I will cooperate with you."
"Yes, yes."
Old James didn't know whether to be afraid or excited for a moment.
He could only tidy his clothes and mount the horse Kane had brought.
Only Legan noticed Jaime was missing, but seeing Old James return dusty and with wine, he didn't ask any more questions. After all, they were only temporary companions, though very loyal and diligent.
But apart from that silly boy Albin, Legan, to be honest, didn't quite trust Kane and Jaime.
As for Rhaegor, he didn't care if these people were trustworthy; he only cared about one thing: could these people fulfill his requirements?
Kane and Jaime could do a good job as guides, and he was never stingy with rewards. And while Albin had some of the impulsiveness characteristic of young people, he had at least wandered as a wandering knight for many years, so he actually did many things quite well.
Reward for merit.
Punishment for mistakes.
These were Rhaegor's principles.
The Harrenhal tournament soon concluded.
Rhaegor and his group also resumed their journey.
After about half a month of travel, they arrived at the end of the Kingsroad on the Trident plain.
Far away, Oldtown.
This once second-largest city in Westeros, whose urban area had become dilapidated, was no longer as clean and prosperous as it once was. However, due to its special location at the mouth of the Honeywine River, it remained the most important port in the Reach. Unfortunately, the royal family stewards, Jacaerys and Daemon, successively sent here were all useless parasites and blood-sucking worms. They enjoyed bribes from merchants and pirates but did not diligently manage the city.
Thus, Oldtown had become a paradise for merchant smuggling.
A merchant ship slowly departed the port, laden with grains, luxuries, and wine abundantly produced in the Reach, and also carrying a few people.
A few silver-haired, purple-eyed individuals.
"Are you sure there's a Targaryen with a dragon living on that small island?"
An older silver-haired man nodded: "I can assure you, an identity-deprived Targaryen lives on that island. Regardless, dragon blood flows in his veins."
"And he has a dragon, although the dragon is not by his side," a well-dressed man slowly said.
"There's a green dragon in the Dragonpit in King's Landing; it hatched from his dragon egg, but the Targaryens in King's Landing denied him the right to inherit the dragon."
"So what are we going there for now?" The highest-ranking silver-haired young man said, puzzled: "To provoke the Silver Dragon that is so close? If we are there for bloodline, then our daughters or sisters should be on this ship, not us men. If we are there for dragons, what is a man without a dragon worth doing?"
"He's worth us trying to win over, worth us telling him his story, Your Grace."
A Targaryen without a dragon is worthless, but a Targaryen who knows he rightfully should have a dragon is of immeasurable value.
This was their purpose in going to Gray Terror Island.
"Your Grace, if he has ambition, we will help him. Do we have too few girls to bring? If he has no ambition, we can still complete our scheme," the silver-haired man said coldly.
"For dragon blood."
There will be another chapter later; this week has been too busy with three.
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