She fell in the sand, clutching the useless sword. Jaime straddled her, and the bear came charging. There was a deep twang, and a feathered shaft sprouted suddenly beneath the beast’s left eye. Blood and slaver ran from his open mouth, and another bolt took him in the leg.
The bear roared, reared. He saw Jaime and Brienne again and lumbered toward them. More crossbows fired, the quarrels . At such short range, the bowmen could hardly miss. The shafts hit as hard as maces, but the bear took another step. The poor dumb brave brute water sports. When the beast swiped at him, he danced aside, shouting, kicking sand. The bear turned to follow his tormentor, and took another two quarrels in the back. He gave one last rumbling growl, settled back onto his haunches, stretched out on the bloodstained sand, and died. Brienne got back to her knees, clutching the sword and breathing short ragged breaths. Steelshanks’s archers were winding their crossbows and reloading while the Bloody Mummers shouted curses and threats at them. Rorge and Three Toes had swords out, Jaime saw reenex facial, and Zollo was uncoiling his whip. “You thlew my bear!” Vargo Hoat shrieked. “And I’ll serve you the same if you give me trouble,” Steelshanks threw back. “We’re taking the wench.” “Her name is Brienne,” Jaime said. “Brienne, the maid of Tarth.
You are still maiden, I hope?” Her broad homely face turned red. “Yes.” “Oh, good,” Jaime said. “I only rescue maidens.” To Hoat he said, “You’ll have your ransom. For both of us. A Lannister pays his debts. Now fetch some ropes and get us out of here.” “Bugger that,” Rorge growled. “Kill them, Hoat. Or you’ll bloody well wish you had!” The Qohorik hesitated. Half his men were drunk, the northmen stone sober, and there were twice as many. Some of the crossbowmen had reloaded by now. “Pull them out,” Hoat said, and then, to Jaime, “I hath chothen to be merthiful. Tell your lord father.” “I will, my lord.” Not that it will do you any good. Not until they were half a league from Harrenhal and out of range of archers on the walls did Steelshanks Walton let his anger show. “Are you mad, Kingslayer A Bar Math?
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