Clay was beside himself with fury. Someone had actually dared to treat his family like whores!
The guard had just brought him news: his younger sister Wylla had become separated from her guards while wandering around town, and when they found her, a minor noble from House Lannister was actually harassing her.
Only after the guards arrived and identified themselves did the arrogant brat realize he really had harassed a noble lady. And that was not the end of it-his way of handling the matter was to toss a few copper stars onto the ground!
He was grinding House Manderly's face into the dirt. This was beyond anything anyone could stomach!
Hoster's eyes went red when he heard what had happened from the guard. First, the young master had spent a night sleeping in the mud; now Lady Wylla had been harassed by a Lannister because her guards had failed her. If this was not handled properly, even three heads would not be enough for Earl Manderly to chop off!
"Young master, I'll gather the guard first. This won't be over until these bastards learn what the sea god's wrath means!"
Without waiting for Clay to speak, Hoster raced out like the wind, his beard trembling.
Truth be told, the dozens of plate-armored cavalry Clay had brought were more than enough to deal with a minor noble. But openly resorting to violence while the king was in residence-however furious he was, Clay had to consider the consequences.
Though there was no easy way to back down now, and mustering their forces to show House Manderly's anger was necessary, Clay felt something was wrong as he calmed down a little.
None of this made much sense. Wylla might be a little naive, but she was not stupid, and her guards were no pushovers either. After traveling under their protection for so long, Clay knew very well that, in some respects, Wylla was guarded even more closely than he was as the heir.
Losing sight of her was unlikely in itself, and even if it had happened, could it really have been such a coincidence? She had been harassed the moment she left her guards' sight. Clay keenly detected the scent of a carefully arranged plot.
When he hurried to the scene, the White Harbor guards, their armor gleaming and longswords drawn, had already surrounded the minor Lannister nobles whom Wylla's guards had kept firmly from leaving.
Hoster was holding Wylla by the arm. When she saw Clay, she threw herself into his arms and burst into aggrieved tears.
"So you're her brother?" Even from a distance, Clay could smell the reek of wine carried on those words.
He stared coldly at the minor Lannister noble, who was still mounted and wore a look of utter disdain. More than anger, he felt confusion. Surrounded by dozens of plate-armored knights, these reckless fools would be reduced to a heap of severed limbs at a single command from Clay.
Tywin Lannister had kept the main line of his family in decent order. How could these collateral branches be so absurd? They had no brains at all.
Ignoring him completely, Clay comforted Wylla in a low voice. Fortunately, nothing worse had happened. Otherwise, the decision would not have been his to make; he would have had to consult his grandfather.
"Get off your horse, Lannister!" Longsword in hand, Hoster pointed toward the center of the encirclement.
As his words fell, the White Harbor cavalry urged their heavily snorting warhorses slowly forward. The ring tightened, and their sword points drew ever closer.
Deep-blue merman banners fluttered, closing in from both sides on the roaring lion stranded like an island in their midst.
With such a commotion, Duke Eddard, as their host, soon received word. He had been talking with Robert about his ancestral sword, Ice. His face darkened immediately at the news, and he picked up the greatsword and went out.
King Robert, who had heard the news as well, kicked over his chair and hurried after his good brother. But as he passed through the doorway, he gave an attendant an order: "Go fetch the queen."
At the scene, seeing that Clay was ignoring him entirely, the noble thought he had been cowed by his status and shouted even more brazenly:
"You cowardly lamprey, you don't deserve such a pretty little sister. Give her to me. I'll take her to see the sights of King's Landing. It's far better than this damned place that could freeze your cock off."
The scene fell silent. Everyone stared at Clay.
He really is courting death...
The more he behaved this way, the stranger Clay found it. Why had such a brainless fool singled him out?
Clay worried that letting his emotions rule him and striking with his sword would play right into certain people's hands. But now, he had no choice...
Of all the people he could have insulted, he had actually insulted Clay's grandfather. Earl Wyman, after all, had the distinguished nickname Lord Lamprey.
As heir, Clay had an inescapable duty to defend the honor of his house and its head.
Releasing his sister, he pushed her toward the guard beside him and sighed. The next moment:
His muscles, enhanced since he became a witcher, launched him from where he stood like a cannonball. He charged toward the Lannister, whose smile froze on his face, and drew his longsword.
The teeth-grating sound of a blade slicing into flesh and through bone rang out, accompanied by a horse's agonized scream.
With one stroke, Clay severed both forelegs of the leading Lannister noble's mount. The horse fell, pinning its rider beneath it.
There was a barely audible crack of bone. The fellow, who perhaps had somewhat brittle bones, had his thigh broken beneath his own mount. Dazed by the fall, he let out a piercing shriek.
Walking up to him, Clay raised his longsword, now stained with scarlet blood. Since he had already struck, killing him would be cleaner.
"Spare me, spare me..."
Before, he had been as haughty as a god. Now, he was as lowly as grass. How pitiful.
"Too late," he said mildly. The longsword plunged down, and blood splashed everywhere!
Amid the onlookers' low cries, the Lannister noble clutched the longsword embedded in his belly, his eyes bulging almost out of their sockets. Even as he died, he did not truly believe Clay would kill him. His surname, after all, was Lannister.
King Robert and Duke Eddard, who had just arrived, stopped in their tracks and looked at the expressionless figure in the center.
"Seven save us..." Robert muttered. Accustomed to life and death, he was not repelled by the corpse. He merely thought that this Manderly lad, whom he had only met at the first feast, was quite a ruthless character after all. He had killed a Lannister without hesitation.
"That's enough, Clay." Duke Eddard strode into the clearing, looked around, and spoke to Clay in a grave voice.
"It's all right, my lord duke. House Stark's honor is like the hard ice of the North, pure and beyond defilement. As your vassals, House Manderly is no different." Clay bowed slightly, offering Eddard and Robert a greeting, and said:
"Your Grace."
Robert nodded somewhat stiffly, realizing that he seemed to have just done something foolish. The order he had given Lancel on his way out had now brought an even bigger problem. The queen had already appeared a short distance away.
He had intended to use his royal authority to give that Lannister a sound beating, then have the queen take him away and forbid him from coming out again until Robert left Winterfell.
He had not expected Clay to kill so swiftly and decisively, leaving him no time at all to exercise his royal authority.
A small squad of soldiers bearing embroidered Lannister and Crowned Stag heraldry forced the crowd apart. The queen entered the scene and saw the corpse, Clay, and the blood-dripping longsword he had just pulled from the body.