Smashing a "Cup" as the Signal

Thanks to Urswyck, the wagon stuck in the mud still had not been lifted out by sundown.

As night fell, the Brave Companions had no choice but to make camp beside the muddy River Road.

The bonfire crackled, and the smells of cheap ale, scorched meat, and sweat mingled in the air.

Vargo Hoat slouched beneath a crooked tree some distance from the fire, sitting on a stolen blanket, his face looking feverishly flushed in the flickering firelight.

His clouded eyes swept over his rowdy men, lingering briefly on Urswyck's face, plastered with a false smile, before passing over Yego, who stood silently guarding him.

"Has everyone been told?"

"I told Zoro and the other two to act as soon as they heard someone shout 'Long live the Brave Companions' and kill Urswyck and all his men."

Yego first nodded, then answered bluntly, "I didn't tell the others. They can't be trusted."

Seeing how thoroughly he had handled things, Vargo could not help smiling in satisfaction. "You're still the most dependable."

"Don't worry. Once we deal with the trouble along the way and return to Harrenhal, you'll be second-in-command. Whatever I have, you'll have too!"

His lavish promises met only with Yego's silence.

Vargo immediately felt a little awkward.

Everything about this Dothraki was good except his inability to flatter. Though a subordinate like this was eminently trustworthy, it always felt as though something was missing.

Urswyck, for instance-if he said something like that to the man, he would surely launch into something along the lines of, "Chief, my respect for you flows as endlessly as the Blackwater Rush," or, "Like the Green Fork in flood, it cannot be contained."

Then again, if Yego really were like that, he would not trust him so much.

You gained some things and lost others.

The clamor around the bonfire seemed to grow louder. A group of Brave Companions ate and drank merrily, and a few of the fringe members had even gotten carried away and started singing.

Urswyck laughed loudly as he clinked cups with the man beside him, but kept watching Vargo out of the corner of his eye.

Seeing him whispering with Yego, he could not make out what they were saying, but his heart still gave a jolt as he instinctively sensed something.

I can't wait any longer!

He took a small sip of wine looted from a farm, then discreetly spat it out when no one was looking.

Then, keeping his expression unchanged, he signaled Rorge at the edge of the crowd with his eyes.

Rorge understood and staggered through the crowd, heading straight toward Corleone, a fringe member of the company who was not entitled to join the gathering and was leaning against a tree trunk in a corner, seemingly with nothing to do.

He undid his belt as he walked, as though about to piss, but deliberately bumped into Corleone as he passed.

"Watch where you're going, you blind fool!"

Rorge bellowed roughly, stumbling as though thoroughly drunk.

Yet the instant their bodies touched, he slipped a short dagger into Corleone's hand with extreme stealth.

"Take it!"

He leaned close to Corleone's ear, his drunken tone turning clear in an instant. "When you hear someone shout 'Long live the Brave Companions,' find a chance to get close to that Dothraki savage and kill him!"

Feeling the cold metal pressed against his palm, Corleone visibly froze for a moment, even wondering whether he had misheard.

Long live the Brave Companions?

Your commander and his deputy certainly think alike, don't they?

But his expression remained unchanged. He swiftly slipped the dagger into the wide sleeve of his shabby coat and hid it, forcing a slightly frightened smile.

"Please keep an eye on me when the time comes, Master Rorge. I might not be a match for him..."

"The Seven will watch over you, boy."

Rorge snorted coldly. Perhaps because Corleone had already been marked as expendable, his attitude was much worse than before.

He made a show of patting Corleone's shoulder, then resumed his drunken manner and staggered off, disappearing into the noisy crowd.

The bonfire burned more fiercely. The alcohol began to take effect, the singing grew bizarre and outlandish, and crude jokes rose one after another.

The main forces of both factions, however, had hardly drunk at all. Each harbored his own schemes as they carefully studied the expressions of those around them, and a false cheerfulness filled the air.

Vargo felt the high fever draining the strength from his body bit by bit. He decided to make one final attempt.

"Urswyck!"

His voice was not loud, but it drew everyone's attention.

Urswyck's laughter stopped abruptly. He turned and met Vargo's gaze, the false smile on his face stiffening before growing even brighter.

He set down his cup and waved for his men to carry on, then slowly rose, resting his hand on his sword hilt with apparent casualness as he walked over.

"What are your orders, chief?"

Seeing how guarded he already was, Vargo did not reproach him. He merely raised a hand and pointed toward the bare old oak at the edge of camp.

"Let's talk over there. It's quiet."

At this, Urswyck's eyes shifted. He first glanced at Yego, then swept his gaze over the noisy crowd, faintly divided into two factions, before finally nodding. "Sure thing, chief."

Feigning an unsteady gait, he followed Vargo toward that corner shrouded in darkness. Yego wanted to follow, but Vargo raised a hand to stop him.

Away from the clamor of the bonfire, the cold night wind made Vargo shiver again. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself, looking somewhat haggard.

He leaned against the rough bark of the bare tree trunk, panting. Urswyck stopped a few paces in front of him, arms folded, wearing that nauseating smile of concern, though his eyes were distinctly amused.

He seemed to be considering his chances of success if he killed him right now.

After thinking it over, he still did not dare act.

Having commanded the Brave Companions for more than a decade and led this band of vicious men, Vargo Hoat was universally acknowledged as a formidable swordsman.

Even with him somewhat weakened now, Urswyck still had no confidence he could win a one-on-one duel.

"Urswyck..."

After resting a while, Vargo finally spoke.

His voice was hoarse and weary, yet sounded utterly sincere. "Do you remember? Back in the Stepstones, we ran into a storm and nearly ended up feeding the sharks. Later, in Qohor, when we were trying to seize that shipload of silk, you took an arrow for me and nearly died."

At those words, the smile on Urswyck's face faded a little, as though certain distant memories had been stirred.

But he said nothing, merely listening quietly.

"We fought our way here from Essos together, my brother."

Vargo's voice sank, carrying a hint of sadness. "What was it all for?"

"Wasn't it to gain a foothold in Westeros, to have somewhere to settle down?"

"And now we finally have it... Harrenhal. Though Roose Bolton appointed me Earl, I've never regarded it as mine alone. It was the result of everyone working together."

As he spoke, Vargo paused briefly to observe Urswyck's reaction.

"Chief! You still remember all that!"

The man fell silent at first, then immediately stepped half a pace closer, habitually beginning his performance of loyalty.

"Taking an arrow for you was only right! Without your leadership, the lot of us would have rotted in some stinking gutter in the Free Cities long ago!"

"To tell you the truth, chief, my respect for you flows as endlessly as the Blackwater Rush. Like the Green Fork in flood, it cannot be contained..."

"Cut the crap."

Watching his exaggerated performance, it was Vargo's turn to be speechless.

Seeing that the fellow was still putting on an act in front of him, he drew a deep breath and said gravely, "The King in the North has won battle after battle. Most of the Riverlands are in his hands now. The scales of war have tipped toward the North. We made the right choice."

"But that flayer, Roose Bolton-do you really think he'll sincerely let us sit comfortably in Harrenhal as Earls?"

"I discovered long ago that he has close ties to Tywin Lannister. If I die..."

He stared hard at Urswyck and demanded, "How much longer do you think the Brave Companions will survive? Bolton will probably throw you all to the wolves at once to appease the Lannisters!"

As Vargo spoke, Urswyck's brow furrowed.

He had to admit that the man saw things quite clearly.

In that case, would my only choice be to use the Kingslayer as proof of allegiance and defect to Tywin Lannister?

Just as Corleone said, Vargo Hoat was the one who cut off the Kingslayer's right hand. What did that have to do with me, Urswyck?

Then again.

If the King in the North really won the war, would the title of Earl of Harrenhal still fall to me?

Frantically calculating everything and weighing the gains against the losses, Urswyck unknowingly began to waver slightly in his previously firm resolve to act tonight.

Vargo keenly caught the change in his expression and immediately offered the final bait. "Don't be foolish... my old friend."

"As long as I-I can get back to Harrenhal, that damned castle is still ours. Money, women, power-whatever I have, you'll have too!"

"Harrenhal..."

Urswyck repeated the word in a murmur, the greedy light in his eyes flickering wildly.

It was the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, the kind he would not trade even for a dukedom!

After thinking for a long time, he plastered a smile back onto his face.

Vargo was quite right. Even if Urswyck killed him on the road, Roose Bolton would not give him the earldom.

As for defecting to Tywin...

He had no way of knowing whether the Kingslayer, with his hand cut off, would spout nonsense to his ducal father after returning to King's Landing.

He did not dare gamble.

After thinking for a long while, Urswyck plastered a smile back onto his face.

"As I said."

"Chief, my respect for you flows as endlessly as the Blackwater Rush. How could the Brave Companions manage without your leadership?"

He spoke with great sincerity and extended an arm toward Vargo.

At this, Vargo also breathed a sigh of relief and smiled happily.

He had managed to settle an impending rebellion without resorting to force, reducing the potential losses to a minimum.

What a wise commander I am!

Vargo reached out and firmly clasped Urswyck's arm, signifying that the commander and deputy commander of the Brave Companions were about to reconcile.

But just as he was about to pat Urswyck on the shoulder and suggest they return to the bonfire to raise their cups and drink together.

A heartrending shout suddenly erupted from the nearby crowd.

"Long live... the Brave Companions!!!!"