The Wizard of Fury Chapter 29

The crisp air felt cool and bitter, perfect for a beginning. Few knights roamed the tourney grounds at this hour. Harry was alone beyond his protectors, whom he’d sent to range away from him, ensuring that he made an enchanting target for any cutthroats who were still after his father… and potentially him.

Ever since Lord Stark had been invited into his father’s confidence, the worry about a potential attack upon this grand tourney had grown drastically. With so many people coming and going from King’s Landing, it would be far too easy for an assassin to sneak in and complete their objective. That meant that the city itself needed to be prepared to react quickly to any potential incursions.

Harry found Janos Slynt wandering the grounds with a pair of his goldcloaks. They appeared to be helping to keep him upright after a night of indulgence, something brought upon by the King’s generosity. While Harry was no stranger to indulging upon the sweetest drinks available to man, he also understood where his limit was. Janos clearly didn’t.

Striding across the dewed grass, Harry set his mark upon Janos. Neither of his men noticed Harry’s approach, a black mark against their abilities as city guards.

Harry cleared his throat as the chain mail around his body rattled. Janos turned, scratching at his jowls with a mark of confusion that made Harry frown at the man.

“Hello,” he began politely as he narrowed his eyes at Harry, trying to discern exactly who was disturbing his early morning walk. Harry stood perfectly still with judgemental eyes until Janos’ snapped wide open in surprise. “Lord Baratheon,” he breathed in deeply.

“You frolic upon these most important grounds while under the influence of wine?” Harry asked rhetorically, knowing the man’s habit of ingesting alcoholic beverages beyond his station.

Janos shook himself, as though readying himself for a fight. The two men on either side of him exchanged wary glances before subtly shifting their positions, letting Janos take the centre stage of Harry’s ire.

“I was recalled early in the morning to perform an examination by the King himself,” Janos told Harry pompously. “I had not expected it, and so I apologise if my decorum is lacking.”

“Do not think to lie to me,” Harry warned the man dangerously, placing his hand on the hilt of his blade in warning. “The King ordered no such thing. It was the Hand, Lord Stark, who gave this command.”

“You are quite right,” Janos said quickly, cringing at Harry’s tone. “The Hand speaks the King’s words, so I only assumed—”

“Your lies can end here, Janos,” Harry cut the man off. “I was there when the lord Hand sent off his word. It would’ve reached you by last afternoon at the latest, not in the early hours of the morning as you so suggested. You have no excuse for being inebriated like this.”

Janos’ cheeks turned a furious red as he glanced at his men, who were trying their best to avoid his gaze. He swallowed a deep breath before looking back up at Harry.

“I apologise, my lord,” he said solemnly—at least, as solemnly as he could. Janos’ voice sounded more like that of a child trying to escape their mother’s punishment when they’d done something wrong.

Harry took a step closer to the man, and neither of the two goldcloaks moved to stop him from getting in Janos’ face. “My father was nearly killed in his own chambers and countless highborn lords and ladies have been attacked on the roads leading into King’s Landing. If you think for one moment that you can so safely assume that there will be no dangers present at the tourney, then I would have you executed for failing so spectacularly at your job.”

Janos looked torn between finally bursting out into a marvellous rage and collapsing to his knees to beg for forgiveness. The fact that his men were here to witness this and were saying absolutely nothing must’ve grated on him something fierce.

“Thankfully, I’m one for giving second chances to improve,” Harry told Janos seriously. “But I do not give thirds. Call upon some of your capable men to examine the tourney grounds for anything suspicious in your stead. I should think that your morning would be better served with you finding a way to clear your head before you deliver your subordinate’s report to Lord Stark.”

With a shaky breath, Janos stared down at Harry’s feet. “I’ll call upon them right away, my lord.”

“Hurry,” Harry said. “There’s much ground to cover.”

The two goldcloaks helped to usher Janos away from the tourney grounds, leaving Harry alone to finally let out the sigh he’d been holding in. He’d tried ingratiating himself to Janos when he’d first met the man, but the startling reports that he’d kept hearing about the inefficiencies and corruptness of the goldcloaks left Harry reconsidering his relationship with the man. Stumbling around drunkenly when he was supposed to be watching out for any dangers was the final straw.

It shouldn’t be too hard to convince Lord Stark to replace Janos as head of the City Watch, but who could take his place? It was clear that the entire organisation needed an overhaul given how many goldcloaks in positions of power were beholden to Janos. Perhaps a knight would be willing to take on the role even though it wasn’t the most glamorous posting.

Harry continued to wander the tourney grounds alone. He visited the jousting lists and the stands that’d been erected around them, watching the smallfolk toil endlessly even through the night to ensure that all of the last minute preparations were completed. The men above them barked out an endless stream of orders, and everyone leapt to react to them. The crowned black stag on a golden field sigil that represented House Baratheon of King’s Landing was positioned prominently all throughout the stands, ensuring that everyone knew exactly who to thank for this event.

Grand pavilions sat in the spaces in between the events. They were places for the highborn to come and feast and drink in peace away from the smallfolk—at least those who weren’t busy serving them. There were some set aside for the smallfolk, of course, but those were far smaller in number, less colourful, and only available to those who could pay to enter them.

By the time he reached the archery ranges, Harry could feel eyes upon him. Of course, there were always eyes upon him, but these ones felt different. They were… strange. It wasn’t as though the hairs on the back of his neck were creeping up or that he felt like he was in danger, but he did feel like he was being judged.

As casually as he could, Harry turned his body around, ostensibly examining the stands that sat behind where the archers would shoot. He saw no one in the stands, but there were a few people lingering about. All but one appeared to be a worker. The final man was a solemn-looking man with dark eyes and a lean build. He wasn’t especially tall nor was he short, and he wore a simple tunic with no embroidery upon it. That didn’t stop Harry from recognising the man’s features immediately.

Before he realised it, his feet were carrying him across the field towards Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s bastard son.

Jon had, of course, been watching Harry. His observant eyes quickly darted about, trying to see if anyone else was coming his way. When he saw none of Harry’s guards, he tried to make himself look busy, as though he’d simply been sharpening his blade with a whetstone and just so happened to be looking in Harry’s direction. Harry wasn’t fooled in the slightest.

“You’re Jon Snow,” Harry said by way of greeting when he came close enough. From the look in Jon’s eyes, he may as well have called the poor lad a bastard.

“I am,” Jon replied, tilting his chin up slightly. “Who are you?”

“Harry Baratheon,” he answered. “Son to Lord Stannis Baratheon and nephew of the king.”

At that, even Jon had to offer a slight bow. It was only polite to do such a thing to a highborn of Harry’s standing, but he didn’t seem sincere in it.

“My lord,” Jon muttered, clearly hoping that Harry would move on past him.

Harry strode right up to Jon’s side, nearly passing him, but the man’s searching eyes froze him in place. “What have you seen on the tourney grounds today, Jon Snow?”

Jon shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, as though Harry’s question was some sort of trick. Of course, his father, Ned, hadn’t done much to inform the poor lad about the dangers that’d been plaguing King’s Landing as of late. If he was informed of any of them, perhaps he simply thought them finished.

“Workers,” Jon said simply, “going about their business, delivering goods, building things.” His voice trailed off.

“And what else?” Harry prompted him, only now turning to face the man. Jon had an earnest, if not guarded, expression on his face. He seemed a kind man, but Harry struggled to tell if that was merely his fond opinion of Lord Stark informing his opinion on his bastard son or if that was his true estimation of Jon.

“And knights… walking about,” Jon said, still confused. His cheeks were turning red now, just as Janos’ had. “I don’t appreciate tricks.”

“I offer none,” Harry replied. “You have perceptive eyes, and I wonder what they have perceived.”

With two steps, Harry closed the gap between himself and Jon. He pulled the man in as he would a comrade in arms and whispered into his ear.

“I’m being watched. Can’t you see them?”

Harry had no idea if he was being watched or not; he merely assumed so on the basis that his father had been attacked and that he had played a major role in dealing with the outlaws outside of King’s Landing. It didn’t take much for someone to disguise themselves as a smallfolk and hide amongst a large group of workers. Harry imagined that there had to be dozens of youths doing exactly that in the hopes of seeing the tourney ground before it began as little more than a thrill. It would be no trouble for a cutthroat to sneak their way in here.

“I… I don’t, my lord,” Jon said after several seconds.

Shame. And here he was believing that he’d done enough to goad his family’s enemies into targeting him. No matter.

Harry took a step back. “Thank you for your time,” he said cordially, refusing to use Jon’s last name as it truly seemed to bother him.

He’d taken no more than two steps before Jon called out to him.

“Wait!”

Harry paused mid-stride and glanced back at the man over his shoulder. Jon already seemed to be regretting his decision as he walked over to Harry. “I might not have seen anything, but Ghost might have.”

“Ghost?” Harry cocked his head to the side in curiosity.

“My direwolf,” Jon clarified. “He’s been sniffing around the grounds all day. Direwolves are quite intelligent, you know.”

Harry hadn’t heard about direwolves before. He sincerely hoped that they were nothing like werewolves; he’d already had his fill fighting one of those in his lifetime.

“And how would Ghost even be able to communicate this?” Harry asked.

“However he wants,” Jon said impetuously. “Do you want me to check with him or not?”

Harry snorted in amusement. He’d gotten so used to everyone treating him with the respect that his family’s name commanded that he’d almost forgotten the abrasiveness that came from his peers. It almost felt like he was back at Hogwarts bickering with Ron, Seamus, or Dean.

“Lead on then,” Harry told him.

They travelled through the tourney grounds as Jon called for his pet direwolf. They received quite a few strange looks sent their way, but the Baratheon badge upon Harry’s breast helped to smooth over any ruffled feathers at all of the noise.

Jon was so singularly focused in finding his direwolf that he didn’t seem to notice any of Harry’s knights trailing the two of them. Or, if he did, he chose not to comment on it. Harry wondered which one it was. Jon seemed a clever man, more clever than he presented. If only he’d been born not as a bastard… perhaps he and Harry could’ve gotten to know each other long before now.

Eventually, as they neared the outer reaches of the tourney ground, Jon’s face lit up with excitement.

“Ghost!” He called out loudly.

At first, all Harry saw was a blur of white fur dashing through the barren fields towards them. The beast looked larger than any wolf Harry had ever seen, but not by much. He didn’t know how old the direwolf was or whether he’d reached his full size, but he already seemed to loom intimidatingly if any of the distant smallfolk’s reaction as Ghost ran past was anything to go by.

Jon had a true smile on his lips as Ghost trotted over to his side. His red eyes met Harry’s as he stared curiously. He was surprisingly silent for a beast like him—even Professor Lupin had cried out when he’d been in his werewolf form.

“This is Ghost,” Jon said, as though the direwolf needed more introduction.

Even standing, Ghost’s head sat as high as Jon’s chest. There was no dog or wolf that Harry had ever seen that could come close to comparing in stature to this creature.

Jon turned away from Harry and knelt down in front of his pet. “We’re looking for anything suspicious,” he said to Ghost, as though he could understand his words perfectly. “Have you seen anything wrong?”

At the word wrong, the direwolf leapt into action. He didn’t bark like a dog would, nor did he snarl or make any appearance as though something was distressing. Instead he bounded back down towards the field, only stopping to look back at Harry and Jon, wondering why they weren’t already moving with him.

“Think he’s found something,” Jon said.

Harry bit his tongue to stop the sarcastic reply from coming to his lips and instead followed Jon towards his direwolf, trusting that the knights guarding him would remain a cautious distance away. If his direwolf truly had found something concerning, then Harry needed to be informed of it. His mind ran through countless possibilities, but they naturally narrowed down onto a select few: bandits or cutthroats.

Ghost dashed back and forth through the empty fields as though he were dodging invisible rocks and stones, or perhaps merely pretending to hide behind them. His predator instincts seemed triggered at the very least, and there was some proper prey waiting for him in the distance. Jon and Harry did their best to keep up, but the direwolf was too fast. Nevertheless, Ghost never left their line of sight. He remained perfectly on the edge of their vision, whether it be at the top of a hill or the edge of the tree line beyond the tourney ground.

At the edge of a thick stand of oak, Ghost came to a halt. He sat down and waited, panting silently as he looked on at Harry and Jon sprinting across the field he’d just crossed.

“That’s it, Ghost,” Jon said warmly. “Now, show us what’s wrong.”

“Wait,” Harry held his hand up.

Jon looked puzzled until Harry turned back to the tourney ground and waved his hand towards himself. Suddenly, half-a-dozen knights appeared from various locations and all began converging on Harry and Jon’s position.

“Are they…” Jon began warily.

“Friends. They’re friends,” Harry told him. “There’s much going on here, and I’m helping to ensure a safe and smooth tourney for all.”

For the first time, Jon looked actually intrigued by Harry's words. A declaration like that was enough to wrangle in boys who’d heard stories of gallant knights and one day dreamed of becoming one, but Jon didn’t seem the type to fit into that demographic. He was a man who knew that his status as a bastard would restrict his lot in life. Still, he showed keen interest in the approaching knights.

Ser Gerald Gower, the knight in charge of leading Harry’s protection today, came riding in on horseback, leading the procession.

“Dismount,” Harry ordered immediately. “And keep the horses silent. There may be something wrong in these woods.”

“There is something wrong,” Jon corrected him, not unkindly but certainly inappropriately given their difference in rank. “Ghost is clever.”

“Ghost?” Ser Gerald repeated. He leapt in fright when Ghost came up from behind him and nuzzled his hand. Even his horse hadn’t sensed the direwolf’s approach. “Seven hells.”

“He won’t bite,” Jon said, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Clearly, he was pleased to have his pet get one over a knight.

“He’d best not,” Ser Gerald said, putting a healthy distance between himself and Ghost.

As the other knights reached them, they all dismounted and tied up their horses around a series of trees at the edge of the woods.

“Do any of you know what this land is used for?” Harry asked them.

“It’s the edge of the kingswood,” Ser Erren Florent informed him. “A section of it, at least. I’ve been ranging down here, and I know that it sits between these fields and a small village on the far side. But the woods curl around the village and extend far beyond towards the roseroad.”

“So, it wouldn’t be much trouble for those bandits we’ve been dealing with to slip past the nearby villages to end up right here?” Harry asked for confirmation.

Ser Erren nodded his head.

Strange, Harry frowned. The tourney grounds could not be held within the city walls of course, so they had to be erected on the outskirts of King’s Landing where there was plenty of land available for such a grand event, but placing it close by the kingswood seemed reckless given all that had been going on. Harry tried to recall who’d been put in charge of deciding the location. Lord Baelish had been the man to come up with the funding, and Harry’s Uncle Renly had played no small part in organising the tourney and the feasts, but who else had been involved? Perhaps his father might know the answer.

“We need to move quietly through these woods,” Harry told his knights and Jon—he assumed that Ghost would do exactly that regardless of his or Jon’s commands. “We’re here to look for information, nothing more. If any of you find anything, pull back immediately to this point; we’ll all meet back here in half an hour. If any of you happen to get caught or engage anything dangerous, then use the signal horns on your hips to warn the others.”

The signal horns were small hunting horns that’d been intended to inform the other knights if they ever saw Harry under attack. They would bellow loudly and attract plenty of attention not only from the other knights but also anyone within range of the tourney grounds and possibly beyond.

“Understood, Ser,” Ser Gerald replied. The other knights responded similarly.

“Good, then spread out,” Harry ordered them. “Stay within eyesight of at least one other. We don’t need to be reckless here.”

As the knights began to spread out, Harry turned to Jon and Ghost. “You two are coming with me.”

If Jon wanted to argue the point, he didn’t express it. Still, Harry got the feeling like the man took offence that Harry felt the need to watch over him. “Go on, Ghost,” Jon said, urging his direwolf into the woods beyond.

They crept forward silently for a time. Ghost had this marvellous way of ducking through the underbrush while barely making it ripple. In contrast, Harry cringed at how his own mail and the sound of twigs breaking under his boots sounded so loud in contrast. Jon at least proved that he could move reasonably silently, though nowhere near as well as Ghost could.

Thin rays of light broke in through the canopy overhead. There was the occasional small glade, which they chose to avoid lest they get caught out by anything or anyone lurking about. The chirping of birds grew quieter the deeper they went, and then they heard a different noise. At first, it was little more than a faint rumble in the distance, the type that could be attributed to a far-away storm or the distant clattering of hooves on cobblestones. As they grew closer though, it became apparent that it was anything but.

Harry didn’t dare get too close. He, Jon, and Ghost stayed a healthy distance away from what was clearly a camp established in a large clearing. It was hard to see through all of the trees, but Harry had to estimate that there were two or three-hundred men gathered together, all wearing that same brown-and-yellow dyed clothes without any banners so to speak of.

“This is bad,” Harry warned Jon. “We need to…”

His voice trailed off as he noticed Ghost’s ears perk up. The direwolf’s head snapped sharply to the side, its blood red eyes staring off at something in the distance.

Cursing under his breath, Harry spun fast on his heels to spot a single outlaw creeping behind a tree in the distance away from the camp. His eyes were wide as they met Harry’s, and his mouth opened to cry out.

But then Ghost burst forth like a bolt from a crossbow. He dashed forward and weaved between thick roots and reached the man in little more than a second. The man’s cry had barely left his throat before Ghost tore it open.

“Run, now,” Harry ordered Jon.

As they made their first strides towards Ghost and the bleeding-out man on the ground, the first horn sounded.