Chapter 93

The next morning, before the sky had fully brightened, he woke up, feeling pain all over his body. Thinking that he still had to drag the iron chain and carry the box containing the Valyrian heads made him feel that the days ahead were utterly bleak.

He had also considered refusing to cooperate, but the big black bear's bottom line was extremely firm; he could feel that if he only caused trouble for it, the bear would certainly choose a simple way to solve the problem, such as killing the poor captive.

"Eat these, then set off at once." After noticing he had woken, he threw over a few pieces of dry, hard bread and said emotionlessly.

"No, we can't set off; Lord Lannister's leg is already broken." His leg really hurt, but as long as he tried to stand up, there was no problem. "I don't ask you, ser, to hire a carriage, but at least rest a while."

Old Griffin

"If it's broken, I can help you chop it off. Then you'll have plenty of time to rest." His muffled voice echoed in the small cave.

"This isn't funny either. The gods only gave me two bad legs," he said, pushing himself up against the chilly morning wind. "Although they're bad, I can still barely walk. Ser, if you'd take pity and remove the chain, it could walk faster and more steadily—cutting it off wouldn't do, would it?"

After finishing one piece of bread, he stuffed the other into the pocket of his robe.

"Here you go!" Jorah threw the key to the shackles at him. "Better not stray more than twenty steps from me, or I guarantee you'll end up with a thicker chain. Valyrian horses are expensive, but the chains used to bind slaves are cheap and sturdy."

"Okay, ser, I heard you!" Tyrion replied cheerfully. "Could you please also undo the chain on my hand? You know, my hands also feel awful, especially having to bear the weight of my good friend—it really hurts my heart and my hands!"

"You don't have to bear the weight of your good friend." Ser Jorah slung the waterskin onto both sides of his waist, put the luggage bag on his back, picked up the box, and headed toward the cave entrance. "I know there's a sheep-people tribe nearby; we'll go there first to buy horses, maybe they'll sell them to us cheaply."

"You actually still know about this?" Tyrion exclaimed in surprise. "I never expected that, so close to Valyria, there could still be sheep-people."

"Let's go!" he shouted at him. "No matter the race, those who dare not resist the invaders are sheep people; but those who can survive on this land, no tribe is innately cowardly, for the cowardly have long since disappeared."

Sheeple

Although his whole body ached, having his shackles loosened and no longer needing to carry the box still made him feel much lighter.

Valantis

Valyrian Avenue

He held his waist and back ramrod straight, as if his luggage weighed nothing. Tyrion only wished he would stop often to rest.

Rising Sun Group

When the sky was fully bright, they again set foot on the Valyrian Road, which was everywhere littered with patties of dried cow dung, horse dung, or traces of weathered dung.

After walking along the road for a while, they heard the rumble of hooves coming from behind; Jorah pulled him into the bushes beside the road to hide.

"Are they bandits?" Tyrion asked.

"Before the ruins' inn, this road never has bandits. Most likely it's troops passing through." Jorah answered.

Jola's judgment was completely correct; a quarter of an hour later, they saw the army bearing the banner of the Tiger King's Crown pass by.

That was the army of Wālántīsī.

After a while, a large number of infantry and a large body of slow‑moving cavalry followed behind.

The banners of these troops became complicated; Tílǐáng knew that those bearing the flags were mercenary companies: there was the Cold Wind Company, whose banner was a great tree split by the wind, with icicles hanging from its branches; there was the Dawn Company, a red sun half‑rising from the blue sea; and there was the Picnic Company, whose banner was cruel and disgusting—three crows feasting on a mangled corpse.

"You know quite a bit." Jorah looked at him in surprise.

"I wasn't idle on the ship. Whenever Old Griffin gave Little Griffin lessons, I listened attentively." Tyrion thought that even if he told the person in front of him about the little Prince's affair, they wouldn't believe him, and might even give him two punches, warning him not to lie.

"Damn, he's ugly enough already; I don't want to add more swellings to his face."

"The Walan Tisi army moves quickly." Sir Jorah seemed to be talking to himself, and also like he was sharing his judgment with Tyrion.

"Sir, you can't find a ship to Meereen in Walan Tisi, so their navy moves even faster." Tyrion thought the world was getting stranger and stranger: "Your Dragon Queen has offended the entire Eastern Continent; I think, even if she had three dragons and a large host of slaves to help, she could not defeat her enemies. She is just one person; if her three dragons are as you say, still in their youth, they are utterly useless. Among the three dragons of the Conqueror who swept across the Six Kingdoms, the smallest, Vaghar, was at least several decades old then—well, fifty years old?"

"You're talking too much." Sir Jorah grew impatient with his words: "We don't need to go find the sheep people to buy horses."

"Should we buy from this mercenary company?" Tyrion asked with a smile.

"No, not buying from them; I want to join this mercenary company." Jorah slowly rose from the edge of the grass, the nearby army as if completely unaware of them, "Do you still remember which mercenary company this is?"

Picnic Company. "Damn, they should be called the Cannibal Company!" Tyrion also slowly climbed to his feet.

"If they eat human flesh, I won't join such a company!" Tyrion followed the big bear's steps toward the passing mercenary company.

"No, you are my slave; you have no right to join a mercenary company!" Jorah Mormont said coldly.

Tyrion only felt the big bear give him another hard slap. He had just thought he could befriend this big bear.

The mercenary company continued riding on horseback, as if they hadn't noticed a big and a small person walking out from the roadside, and utterly indifferent to whether they might pose a danger to the army; on their own land, they had a rare confidence or recklessness.

"I can fight!" Jorah Mormont shouted at the passing troop, "Let me join you!"

A few passing mercenaries glared at Jorah and Tyrion, but had no intention of stopping.

"Me too!" Tyrion laughed and shouted at them, "I can make you invincible. Damn, with me, you'll all be kissed by the gods."

The soldiers looked at him strangely, still not stopping; Tyrion pursued forward, "Damn, with me, even if you die in battle, you'll be crushed by gold, or else killed by women," a few mercenaries were amused by his vulgarity, which was good, "Fuck! Do you really want to miss such great luck? Hey! Let me fight! Fuck! Bring me along for a picnic, damn!"

He capered at the side of the troop like a dancing little demon monkey. The mounted mercenaries were finally amused by him; three of them stepped out from the ranks and stopped in front of them.

"A dwarf!" a mercenary beside him sneered.

"An ugly freak!" the dwarf laughed back at him.

The two mounted soldiers beside them laughed.

"But you really are a dwarf!" he showed no anger.

"You're also not exactly handsome." the little devil said with a smile, "but this dwarf of mine is a handsome dwarf, don't you see? Not only that, his head is fine, and in battle he is brave and fearless; he even personally killed several soldiers on the battlefield! Look, the half of his nose he lost is a badge of courage."

"I think you're a dwarf who loves to boast. Our Picnic Company has, in its nearly hundred-year history, had women join, giants join, but never recruited a dwarf!" After the three laughed heartily, the knight in the middle spoke.

"Isn't this exactly fate's arrangement? And what's wrong with my joining? Not only will you all be lucky," Tyrion chuckled, "but his coming also comes with a free big black bear." Tyrion pointed to Mormont beside him.

Mormon looked at him with a stern face. He gave a mysterious smile, taking this as praise for the big bear.

"The Picnic Company can indeed accept members!" the knight in the middle, who looked like the troop's leader, with a long green beard, speaking perfect Common Tongue, gaunt and long-faced, appeared sinister and vicious.

Those who aren't sinister and vicious can't make it in the mercenary company.

"What do you think of us two?" Tyrion smiled, "Together we guarantee you can rout several enemy battalions."

"So, this one is responsible for killing enemies," he laughed, pointing at Mormon, "and you just stand by cheering?"

"Sometimes it's the opposite," Tyrion realized that moving his mouth was much easier than moving his legs, "most of the time it's reversed: I kill enemies, he helps me count; let me tell you, though he's big and muscular, he's good with numbers. Ah, my favorite weapon is the axe; wielding an axe makes me even more ferocious!"

The three of them laughed until they doubled over.

"I can fight!" Mormont muttered as the three's smiles faded, "My ideal is to fight constantly; please let me join your mercenary company, I guarantee you'll be satisfied!"

The knight in the middle nodded; Tyrion noticed that the two beside him also nodded, stroking their beards.

"Hey, we need to talk about who comes first!" Tyrion hurriedly said.

"This isn't a matter of who comes first. And indeed it was your master who spoke first, little one; we don't allow slaves to join!" He pointed at the chain in his hand.

"Damn it!" Tyrion cursed in his heart.

"Hey, old friend, I'm not a slave!" He hurriedly spoke before Mormont could say anything, "This chain is just a game we two are playing; he's afraid I'll be caught by others, and I'm afraid I'll hurt someone with an axe, so it's like this. Look, what kind of logic is there for the master to carry luggage while the slave carries nothing? Moreover, slaves should also be wearing ankle cuffs and wrist shackles, right?"

"Is that so?" he asked Mormont.

Mormont looked at him and slowly nodded.

"Very well," he indicated to the other person beside him, "get two horses for them. Little one, can you ride a horse?"

"Old regiment leader, I can certainly ride, but it's best when a woman is holding onto me." He said proudly.

"There are no women in the regiment right now." Seeing the horses being led over, he said, "Get on the horses first; we'll have time on the road to get to know each other, and when we reach the resting place, we'll register and officially join the regiment."

Tyrion laughed brightly, bravely climbed onto the tall horse, and proudly looked at Mormont.

This was the first time in many days that he had tasted the flavor of success.