“There’s some of his wolves burning their way down toward Duskendale. Your father’s sending this Lord Tarly to sort them out. I’d half a mind to join him. It’s said he’s a good soldier, and openhanded with the plunder.” The thought of losing Bronn was the final straw. “No. Your place is here. You’re the captain of the Hand’s guard.” “You’re not the Hand,” Bronn reminded him sharply. “Your father is, and he’s got his own bloody guard.” “What happened to all the men you hired for me?” “Some died at the winch towers. That uncle of yours, Ser Kevan, he paid the rest of us and tossed us out.”
