"Raff, pour the wine. Maester Harry, step back." Gregor said, fixing his eyes on Allen.
Maester Harry quickly retreated. Raff the Sweetling took his place with a grin, while Dunsen's hand slid onto the hilt of his sword. The scribe quietly moved behind Allen and his men. Polliver twitched his neck as if an ant were crawling up it, and his left hand gripped the handle of his dagger.
Their silent coordination startled Maester Harry.
Julie reached for her short sword. The veteran cavalryman, Thomasson, tightened his grip on his dagger.
The group had closed in, quietly encircling Allen and his four guards.
Raff pulled the small wooden stopper from the cask and began pouring the wine. But before he could fill all five glasses, blood started trickling from Allen's nose. His four guards began to sway slightly, one felt a sudden heat in his nostrils, wiped at it, and found blood on his hand.
The guards stared blankly at their bloody palms, confused.
They had no idea about Allen's poisoned wine plot.
"Drink." Gregor said coldly. "Keep drinking."
"Of course! Can't let this fine wine go to waste." Allen said with a smile. He picked up one cup, then another, and suddenly flung the golden wine at Gregor.
Before the wine had even reached the air halfway, Dunsen's sword flashed. A burst of steel, a splash of blood, Allen's arm fell to the ground.
Though a massive man, Gregor moved like a cat. With a slight push of his legs, his chair slid aside. The wine splashed harmlessly onto the floor.
"Aaaargh!"
Allen clutched his severed arm in agony.
His four guards froze in shock. Then, each one began to bleed from the nose. They instinctively reached for their throats but found their strength slipping away. Their faces turned red with spider web-like veins. Their throats gurgled as if trying to speak, but no words came out.
"The Strangler!" Maester Harry gasped. "A poison from Lys!"
Thud!
Allen collapsed. His eyes reddened rapidly as blood poured from his nose and mouth. His remaining hand clawed toward his throat, trembling, as if some invisible force held it back, always just out of reach.
Thud, thud, thud!
One by one, Allen's guards dropped. Their faces were marked with crimson veins, eyes bloodshot, blood oozing from every orifice. Their hands, stiff like claws, grasped at their own necks but could not reach them, as though restrained by unseen chains.
"The Strangler is a creation of the mages of Lys." Maester Harry said with a trembling voice. "Invisible, tasteless, and odorless. Extremely expensive. Only the wealthiest nobles or royalty could ever hope to obtain it."
"There's no antidote?" Raff asked, his face pale and anxious.
"None." Harry replied. "Only the mages who craft it have their secret ways of neutralizing it, through black magic."
He turned to look at Gregor. It was this brute who had saved all of them.
"Just because they drank their wine and lived doesn't mean we can." Gregor's earlier warning now echoed in Harry's mind.
That wasn't something the Mountain would normally say. There was wisdom in those words.
And then he remembered another: "Polliver, you'd drink the wine sent by our enemies?"
Gregor had never trusted Allen or the Serrett family, not for a moment. His judgment had been clear, precise: the Serrett were the enemy.
Harry's view of Gregor began to shift.
This man… didn't quite seem like the Mountain anymore.
Gregor stood. "Polliver, put on Allen's armor. Go to the rooftop and wave. If I'm right, there are cavalry lying in wait in the woods."
"That can't be." Harry said. "If the poison worked, their goal would be achieved. Why would they need hidden cavalry? And if the poison didn't work, a few riders wouldn't stand a chance against you."
"The cavalry isn't for me." Gregor replied calmly. "It's to wipe out everyone in Clegane's Keep once I'm dead. But they'll spare you, Harry, and bribe you generously to return to Lord Tywin and speak in defense of the Serrett family."
Harry stammered, "But killing Lord Tywin's favorite general? And wiping out his officers? Do they want the entire Serrett line executed?"
"They won't be." Gregor said. "Allen Serrett's household will be scapegoated and exterminated. But the main line, Silverhill's Serrett, will pay a hefty bribe to Lord Tywin. The Western lords will plead their case. They'll survive."
Gregor's patience was surprising even Raff noticed. In the past, the Mountain would never explain so much. Every extra word was agony for him.
"But why?" Harry was still baffled. "I don't understand."
"Allen Serrett was the poisoner, but he wasn't from Silverhill. He's a distant branch, acting to avenge his lord, Alva. That's honorable and lawful. And the cavalry in ambush? Likely mercenaries hired from the mines, no actual Serrett family members among them."
Harry sucked in a sharp breath.
No matter what the truth was, Gregor's cunning clearly surpassed his own.
Impossible.
"If Allen had succeeded, and the cavalry wiped out this keep." Harry asked, "what would the Serretts say when Lord Tywin demanded answers?"
"They'd send another cavalry to wipe out the first, claiming vengeance for me. Then deliver their heads to Tywin as tribute."
Harry was speechless.
Such a scheme, how could Gregor possibly see through all of it?
Meanwhile, Polliver, who hadn't understood a word, was already in Allen's armor and running to the rooftop.
He waved toward the nearby woods.
What happened next nearly made him gasp, two cavalry units emerged from either side, executing a pincer movement toward Clegane's Keep.
The thunder of hooves closed in.
Shing!
Gregor drew his massive greatsword. "With me! Kill them all!"
"Hoah!"
It was only a few voices, but they roared with the power of an army.
Even sheep become lions when they follow one.
Clang, clang, clang!
Dunsen, Raff, Scribe Julie, Thomasson, the cook, and even the servant, every blade was drawn.
The air bristled with the heat of battle.
"Grab your shield. Thomasson, guard Julie."
"Yes, milord."
"Julie, stay behind me."
"Yes, milord."
Harry's eyes bulged. "M-milord, Julie and I can stay in the cellar, "
"No." Gregor said calmly. "You stay. Julie comes with me."
Julie winked at the pale-faced Harry, a delighted grin on her face.
A chill ran down Harry's spine.
The hoofbeats drew nearer, front and rear.
Polliver rushed back in: "Milord, thirty riders! Two groups! They're flanking us!"
A perfect plan: thirty riders against Clegane's Keep without the Mountain, overwhelming odds.
"We rode out the front gate. Take the fifteen in front first." Gregor said, placing the great helm on his head. With long, powerful strides, he left the dining hall. In a flash, he was on horseback in the courtyard. The trained warhorse sensed his intent without command and charged for the gate.
Behind him, Julie was a step slow. Thomasson helped her mount.
Just as she grasped the reins, a storm of cavalry thundered from the gates, she and her father were already falling behind.
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