In this gorgeous illustrated edition of the third book in the landmark A Song of Ice and Fire series, acclaimed artist Gary Gianni brings the action to life with twenty-five all-new illustrations in both color and black-and-white—for fans of HBO's Game of Thrones Of the five contenders for power, one is dead, another in disfavor, and still the wars rage. Joffrey sits on the Iron Throne, the uneasy ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. His most bitter rival, Lord Stannis, stands defeated and disgraced, victim of the sorceress who holds him in her thrall. Young Robb still rules the North from the fortress of Riverrun. Meanwhile, making her way across a blood-drenched continent is the exiled queen, Daenerys, mistress of the only three dragons left in the world. As opposing forces maneuver for the final showdown, an army of barbaric wildlings arrives from the outermost limits of civilization, accompanied by a supernatural army of the living dead. As the future of the land hangs in the balance, no one will rest until the Seven Kingdoms have exploded in a veritable storm of swords. . . . Explore the illustrated editions of A Song of Ice and Fire: A GAME OF THRONES • A CLASH OF KINGS • A STORM OF SWORDS • A FEAST FOR CROWS George R. R. Martin is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of many novels, including those of the acclaimed series A Song of Ice and Fire-- A Game of Thrones , A Clash of Kings , A Storm of Swords , A Feast for Crows , and A Dance with Dragons --as well as related works such as Fire & Blood , A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms , and The World of Ice & Fire , with Elio M. García, Jr., and Linda Antonsson. Other novels include Tuf Voyaging , Fevre Dream , The Armageddon Rag , Dying of the Light , Windhaven (with Lisa Tuttle), and Dreamsongs Volumes I and II . As a writer-producer, he has worked on The Twilight Zone , Beauty and the Beast , and various feature films and pilots that were never made. He lives with his lovely wife, Parris, in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Gary Gianni has illustrated several works of George R. R. Martin as well as other authors ranging from Jules Verne and H. P. Lovecraft to Ray Bradbury and Michael Chabon. As a comic book artist, he has drawn Batman, Indiana Jones, Hellboy, The Shadow, and MonsterMen. He also worked on the syndicated comic strip Prince Valiant from 2003 to 2012. JAIME An east wind blew through his tangled hair, as soft and fragrant as Cersei’s fingers. He could hear birds singing, and feel the river moving beneath the boat as the sweep of the oars sent them toward the pale pink dawn. After so long in darkness, the world was so sweet that Jaime Lannister felt dizzy. I am alive, and drunk on sunlight. A laugh burst from his lips, sudden as a quail flushed from cover. “Quiet,” the wench grumbled, scowling. Scowls suited her broad homely face better than a smile. Not that Jaime had ever seen her smiling. He amused himself by picturing her in one of Cersei’s silken gowns in place of her studded leather jerkin. As well dress a cow in silk as this one. But the cow could row. Beneath her roughspun brown breeches were calves like cords of wood, and the long muscles of her arms stretched and tightened with each stroke of the oars. Even after rowing half the night, she showed no signs of tiring, which was more than could be said for his cousin Ser Cleos, laboring on the other oar. A big strong peasant wench to look at her, yet she speaks like one highborn and wears longsword and dagger. Ah, but can she use them? Jaime meant to find out, as soon as he rid himself of these fetters. He wore iron manacles on his wrists and a matching pair about his ankles, joined by a length of heavy chain no more than a foot long. “You’d think my word as a Lannister was not good enough,” he’d japed as they bound him. He’d been very drunk by then, thanks to Catelyn Stark. Of their escape from Riverrun, he recalled only bits and pieces. There had been some trouble with the gaoler, but the big wench had overcome him. After that they had climbed an endless stair, around and around. His legs were weak as grass, and he’d stumbled twice or thrice, until the wench lent him an arm to lean on. At some point he was bundled into a traveler’s cloak and shoved into the bottom of a skiff. He remembered listening to Lady Catelyn command someone to raise the portcullis on the Water Gate. She was sending Ser Cleos Frey back to King’s Landing with new terms for the queen, she’d declared in a tone that brooked no argument. He must have drifted off then. The wine had made him sleepy, and it felt good to stretch, a luxury his chains had not permitted him in the cell. Jaime had long ago learned to snatch sleep in the saddle during a march. This was no harder. Tyrion is going to laugh himself sick when he hears how I slept through my own escape. He was awake now, though, and the fetters were irksome. “My lady,” he called out, “if you’ll strike off these chains, I’ll spell you at t