The King of Winters

Chapter-108

Jon

Kraznys mo Nakloz was so angry that he was shaking. "We have been deceived," he said. "We are being played false by your soldiers." His jowls and the excess fat of his great gut shook as he trembled in anger. "We were promised a lot when we were called to this sunset land! We were promised by your king's own decree. We haven't received anything yet and your soldiers-"

"Are keeping your greedy skin in check before you ruin this war for us," declared Ser Gilbert Farring. "We all know about the king's decree. If you and your men could forget about what you were promised for once and worry more about the war we'd be at Riverrun now."

Kraznys mo Nakloz shook his head. He smelled as if he'd bathed in raspberries, this slaver, and his jutting red-black beard glistened with oil. Jon Connington could see his loose muscles through the thin sea-green silk of the gold-fringed tokar he wound about his body and over one shoulder. His right hand still clasped a short leather whip that he always did. "I command these unsullied, westerosi. They do what I tell them to do. I command them!"

"Perhaps they should find a better commander that some sorry fat sack of suet." Where the good master was wrapped in silk and gold and smelled of perfume, Ser Gilbert Farring was still in his armour of smoky grey plate. He wore a surcoat of purple and white divided in the middle. His boots were smeared with dried mud and blood. His brown hair showed a hint of grey, his reddish brown beard neatly trimmed.

"That is not how you speak with Kraznys mo-"

"I know how to speak to Kraznys mo Nakloz," the Lord Hand said. "I remember it. You don't have to tell me that again and again."

Jon Connington had not slept since Acorn Hall had opened its gates, and his head was pounding. They had come to face another skirmish from the riders of Andrew Stark only last day as the last of his army was gaining up towards Acorn Hall.

"You required us to take the castle, whilst you did nothing. And under the watch of your men you let the rebels slip through our siege lines and fortifications to cross swords with us."

"That wasn't my unsullied," the Astapori said. "It was the sellswords of Yunkai."

"At least the sellswords know better than you do," Gilbert Farring said.

Kranzys mo Nakloz trembled with anger. "No sunset savage will speak to a good master in that way."

Ser Gilbert Farring's face turned hard and he stood up, sword in hand and kicking his chair away. His men were all behind him, swords in hand. "What did you say, slaver?" he said, pointing the sword at the master. "I will show you what savages do to fat men when they step into their place."

Jon was not amused. This was getting out of hand. He could not have his own army fighting amongst themselves. Not now. Not when the rebels were so close. "That's enough," he said coldly. "You are making it easy for the rebels by fighting within yourselves. I will not have my army breaking apart from within itself." He stared at the men. When both of them returned to their seats Jon turned to Kraznys. "Where were you then when the attack happened?" he said, not letting his irritation show. He had to reposition the sentries with his own men after the night attack after bidding Lord Buckwell search Acorn Hall to prevent any hidden attack from within the castle.

"Gathering what was promised to us."

"While my men were dying?"

"We were not expecting that."

Jon was sorely tempted to crack him across his fat face with the back of his hand. A few missing teeth would make his face more pleasant. For a man who failed in doing what he was supposed to do, the slave master was entirely too pleased with himself. "You will have what you were promised when the war is over. That's what the King's decree say. Take a look at it if you've missed it. Now the sooner your men help us to win this war the sooner you will be paid what you owe."