Prologue
The letter from the Hand arrived on 5th half-moon of the new cycle. The summer, it was said by many, was soon to come to an end, but it did not feel it on the Kingsroad just a day's ride from Harrenhal. The rider handed him the letter, bearing the king's own seal, unbroken. The contents of the letter commanded him to ride north to a recently un-abandoned keep that had been claimed by slavers, south of the Twins and nestled nicely in between the Blue Fork and the Trident. This man was somewhat of a legend, amongst other sellswords at least. He would do work where work was there to be paid, and he was renowned for his nightly operations, getting a dirty job over quick and done before the moon had moved much at all. The Butcher of the Night, they had come to call him. Many called him an unofficial lord, having over two hundred lesser swords behind him. He sipped his ale quiet, as a gentleman, as he re-read the letter. Once, the crown had put out a reward for his head, with no care as to whether it was still attached to his body. In return he had personally rode to King's Landing and presented King Robert with the heads of those who had attempted to collect the bounty. The drunken king had guffawed at the sight, and said that any man with half the balls he had, ought to be treated with more respect by the realm. Since then he had been a fixer of sorts for the king and his Hand. Over thirty assignments during the past two years had been given to him by the royal court. He smirked now at the thoughts and memories. Despite the somewhat dark times most of what he remembered rather amused him. He slept that night thinking of the crown's newest command.
The following morning, when he broke his fast, he had decently simmered bacon with eggs well browned and a hot mug of brown ale, with a random assortment of vegetables. He ate slowly, chewing each bite slowly and thoughtfully, savoring the delicious flavors for as long as was possible before the food turned to mush in his mouth. He paid several extra silver coins in complement for the nicely kept inn and set out riding to meet his two hundred swords and the other hundred the Hand had said would be joining forces with them. The sun was nearly at its peak when he crested the hill and pulled to a stop, viewing the semi-permanent encampment below. He heard a hunting horn blow and to his left a party returned from the forest, fifty strong he counted. They charged down the hillside no more than two hundred meters away from him and sped through the camp, showing off their prizes. Three plump juvenile rabbits, five slightly scrawny flightless birds, and fully grown stag, light brown with black specks decorating its bloodstained coat. The beast was so big it had to be dragged behind two of the bigger horses in the group. He stared in mild amazement at the size of the thing, wondering how many men it had taken to kill it. He nudged his horse into a trot and made his way down the hill to the center of the camp, where the largest tent was erected primarily for battle strategy and council meetings. His war council was comprised of five of his most trusted swords, each of whom led a division of around forty men. So was the organization of his force. He arrived and dismounted, handing the horse over to one of the squires that acted as guards to the council. Entering the tent, he found them already assembled, mediating a dispute between several of the soldiers. Upon noticing his entrance they broke off the negotiation and welcomed him back with handshakes and smiles. Since he was not technically a lord, they were not his to command as such, so in an understanding amongst them, everyone in the camp were equals, and had agreed to the dividing of the men, and more importantly, they all held their commander in the highest of regards.
"Whatever it is you are discussing, it now has little importance." He held up the letter. "Our newest assignment from the Hand." He dismissed the men who had been quarreling from the tent, and handed the letter around for everyone to read.
"I assume you already have a plan," the first man to his right said, looking expectantly at him. He was the first of his captains to join him, and was perhaps the closest to a friend he had ever come. He had thick, dark-amber hair that reminded him of honey, and sky-blue eyes. He stood as tall as his commander, about 2 meters high, and he served as second in the command chain amongst the six of them. "Part of one," he replied. "I haven't seen this keep before, so we will need to arrive before anything is certain, but I would assume since it was, until recently, abandoned, that there is likely a weakness in the walls that we can take advantage of."
"Fair enough," said the first man to his left. He was three years his commander's senior, but looked much older than his years. With much less experience in the art of battle, he had come into the growing company when they had swooped in during a skirmish with a hill tribe and narrowly saved the man's men. He stood half a head shorter than his superior as well, with little hair on his head. What was there was trying to remain yellow like the sun, but was failing, badly. His voice was coarse, like several riverstones grinding together, yet it had a certain smoothness to its edge that made him seem both powerful and calm all at once. "When do we ride?" Everyone turned their attention to the map, and quickly established that they were a three day's ride from the stronghold. "We pack our things tonight, sleep here, and at dawn we pack the tents and begin the march. The garrison from King's Landing should arrive about when we depart, seeing as the letter came from a rider sent ahead from the group, already on the march. Have the horses prepared by dusk. It should be no fun to ready them on the morrow." The council nodded and departed to command their divisions to do as he had said. They slept in empty tents, all their things packed, and at dawn the horn blew to awaken them all. He woke with a strange surge of energy, a combination of excitement and concern that gripped him every time they set out on a mission. The men packed their own tents first, with help from the twenty or so squires that were present in the company, and then proceeded to assist their fellow men. By the time the bottom of the sun no longer touched the horizon, all the horses were saddled and everyone's possessions were ready for the march. They set out in their divisions, with the captains at the front, for the Kingsroad, traveling in a diagonal direction that both brought them closer to their destination and the road. When they were in view of road, they spotted the hundred men sent by the Hand. The man who led them had black hair about the length a man would have it cut, and he named himself as Ser Hugo Flint. The new arrivals fell in to formation with his men and they rode until the sun touched the horizon on the other side of the sky, stopping only twice for the horses to rest for a short while. They made camp right there, not ten meters from the Kingsroad. At dawn the watchman sounded the horn and they packed their tents and rode like the day before. So was their orderly routine for the three days it took them to march north to their destination.
They came within sight of the stronghold at dusk on the third day, as they had expected. They made their camp at the edge of the woods, several miles from the Kingsroad, and observed the keep from a distance, lighting no fires. Scouts were sent out to find a suitable place to ford the river, but they returned with news that the slavers had already done so, and had not had the sense to destroy the bridge behind them. Having gorged themselves at high noon, nobody felt the urge to eat. The council met on a small hill with several bushes and trees as cover, and studied the place for some time. The men in the stronghold were not shy about making their presence known, as lights glimmered all over, like fireflies standing still. Three guards patrolled the outer walls, but paid little attention to any activity they may have noticed anywhere. The castle was not as rundown as they might have expected from having been abandoned for so long. It had a high circular causeway at the top with many archer posts, and the level below that was a high walkway arched over a gate, with even more archer nooks. Several wide towers were attached to the side, and scouts reported that a small village lay on the other side, encircled by a set of smaller walls. The forest was primarily to the east, and lay mostly on the far side of the water. The south-to-west-to-north was mostly open fields, slightly marshy from the duel rivers that ran abreast of the keep about two thousand meters from the walls. The open fields were likely to keep attacking armies in open view of the archer towers, as the forest seemed to be intentionally kept back. When questioned as to whether there were any penetrable spots in the walls, one of the scouts replied, "It is too well kept. We will not be entering by any means other than through the gate, or over the walls."
"Damn the walls," he swore under his breath. Gathering his thoughts, he considered the situation, the stronghold, and the men inside it. "If they have but three guardsmen, they must either be exceedingly stupid or have very few men. I would guess the former." The captains considered what he said for a moment and concurred. "So, if they are stupid enough to post only three guards, they must not expect anyone to be coming for them. Therefore, if we were to create a commotion, say, a bonfire, they may think to come investigate." The captains nodded, warily, he noticed. It was a plan based on a gamble, but he knew people well, and he knew battle and strategy better. "They would likely leave through the front gate to investigate, so if we garrison a division there to finish them and enter through the gate, preferably unseen, then we gain control of the entrance. The division that enters ensures that the gate remains lowered, while three others enter behind them with Ser Hugo's men as well, and then we sweep the castle and simply eliminate the rest of the slavers as swiftly as we can." His captains seemed to grow more confident in the plan as he filled more of it in, and by the time he finished they nodded, grinning and eager to begin. "Very well," he said, grinning himself, "Assemble the men. We must be in before the moon has risen. One division must remain behind to defend the camp and build the fire." They left the hill and returned to the camp, and by the time the moon was just peeking over the horizon, the bonfire was constructed, and the first division had snuck to the base of the castle walls, not surprisingly unseen. He led the first party, with its captain beside him, and waited until the fire was lit up, blazing just 20 meters from the forest. At first, nothing happened for what seemed like a good long while, but finally the gate came up and five men in normal clothes exited the keep, wearing no armor, and making no noise as their throats were slit with their mouths covered.
The division moved deftly and quietly into the stronghold, and found the gatekeeper, another slaver who met the same fate as the others. As they pressed on deeper into the stronghold, the other divisions entered silently behind them. They found stairs to the right as the moved down the hallway, and so they began purging the castle of the slavers. The first several flights of stairs and the corresponding hallways and levels yielded nobody. On the fifth level they encountered two men simply wandering about. One cried out, but was interrupted by the dagger that lodged itself in his mouth, thrown from the other end of the hall, and the other began running. Not knowing their way around the keep, giving chase proved difficult. The man made them run all the way to the top, up a countless number of stairs. They did not run in to anyone else, but that proved to be because the slaver had assembled everyone he had run in to on his way up. Upon reaching the top level, an arrow caught one of their soldiers in the leg as he turned a corner, and a second arrow found its way in between the hard leather chestplate of a second soldier, piercing him through the heart and killing him instantly. The rest of the men in the party stopped, looking to their commander for instruction. He thought for a moment, then instructed them to unhinge the doors that they had passed on the level below. It took longer than he would have liked, but once it was done, several men held up two doors in front of the group, taking up most of the hallway's width, and the division charged into the arrows, and upon reaching the slavers, the doors were thrown on top of them, and the men in front began hacking at those that were caught underneath. The ones who weren't, however, ran back to the archer balconies. The following battle was several minutes long. The commander pushed his way to the front and began dueling on the left side, knocking one blow to the left, then drawing the slavers sword to the right, where he grabbed his hand and smashed it into the stone. The slaver dropped his sword right over the edge, and just moments later his head followed the sword to the ground, which seemed very far away. The man behind him lunged straight at the commander, who ducked to the side and grabbed the slaver's head, holding him still while he drew a dagger across his throat. The third man was quick behind him, grabbing the commander by the hair and shoving him in to the wall. Slightly dazed, he looked up and parried a blow that came down on him from above. He snatched his dagger from in between the slaver's legs and drove it straight up in between the man's legs. The sound that came out of his mouth sounded like a girl's scream and a wolf's howl had a monstrous child and drowned it in the sea. He pulled the dagger out and then kicked upwards, hard, into where it had been. The slaver didn't jump so much as twitch upwards and over the side. Another slaver fell onto the ground next to him, but a swift stab with the dagger into the side of the slaver's neck finished him. The fifth and final slaver he fought charged stupidly at him, so he merely turned, back against the castle, and swung down, chopping off the man's hand, and then shoved the hand's former owner over the battlements and listened to his cries grow fainter by the second, until an echoing THUD ended them. When he turned back around, he had lost two more men, but all the slavers were dead, and one man was missing an ear, and another was stabbed through the leg. They proceeded to carry the wounded back down the stairs, slowly, and when they reached the ground floor once again, they left them with several guards to see to their wounds. By now the slavers must have known they were under attack, because steel clashed and clanged against steel several floors below, heard only because of doors left open. The biggest battle was ensuing in the dining hall, where tables had been overturned and bowmen fired relentlessly at the doorway. The commander merely instructed them to wait until they ran out of arrows, and once they did, which was soon enough, the two divisions camped outside the doors charged in, and the seven slavers fell almost instantly, putting up no fight at all as they scrambled for their swords. The final slavers were reportedly holed up in some lower level dungeon, but when the commander went to investigate he found it was a dungeon converted to something much more unpleasant. Only three slavers remained, but they had several girls with knives to their throats.
"One more step, and these three bleed early," said the one in the middle. He was a sight for sore eyes, several teeth were broken or gone completely, and what teeth that remained were yellow and crooked. The commander smirked, and deftly, smoothly, pulled a knife from its sheath on his leg and flung it at the slaver's hand. He cried as it buried itself in his wrist, and he immediately lost all control of his hand. As the other two slavers stared in amazement at their bleeding companion, two archers felled them, an arrow in each of their eyes.
"I don't take kindly to threats," the commander said coldly to the slaver. He turned to his men. "Help the girls and take this filth hostage. He has broken the king's law and will be dealt with as the law commands." His men nodded and quickly obeyed. They dragged the slaver, who was still too in-shock to notice his surroundings, up the stairs. When they reached the gate from which they had first stormed the castle, they found everyone else had returned. When one of his captains noticed him counting, he told him, "We lost nine men." The commander nodded, but upon searching the crowd, he frowned with deepening concern. He turned to the captain and asked, "Where is Ser Hugo?"
