Chapter Seven: The Rat and The Butcher

Three days. Duncan Westford and his band of twenty-five men managed to make it to their destination within three days before Lord Gyles Rosby and his banners would arrive. It was certainly a trial to get to the abandoned holdfast that held their target. Duncan wondered how he had stumbled into the Spider's web, he really did. His Uncle Mors warned him not to attract the attention of Varys, the Spider. Nothing good would come out of the Westford boy being in the Spider's web, and yet here he was with his men scouting out the bandit infested holdstead they must get through to find one man.

Kruik the Rat was that man, the target they needed to find and get rid of. A man who knew something that would plunge all of Westeros into bloody civil war. A man taken prisoner by some unknown bandits for some odd reasons. A man that would blab the moment Lord Gyles Rosby found him. This was a man that the Spider wanted gone, and he had employed the Butcher's Ward to make it so.

Duncan didn't have the option to refuse the Spider's request. He had appealed to his sense of honor and Duncan had to prevent any potential dishonor. "Death over Dishonor" was the Westford motto and Duncan lived by this motto with everything he had. He would rather die than dishonor himself by letting Westeros plunge into civil war once again. He had to find this Kruik and he would go through a bandit's holdfast to do so.

Hof didn't like it when they were manipulated like this, especially by someone like the Spider. Hof heard tales of the eunuch of a man known as Varys. Tales that spelled out hidden desires and agendas that used men such as Duncan. Hof hated being a pawn to something like this, a pawn that would eventually be sacrificed or discarded once it was no longer needed. It didn't help that Duncan became a pawn due to his honor. The young man's honor always seemed to get the Westerlander some manner of a headache, whether it directly caused it or was just a byproduct…

As such, they had three days to get to Kruik the Rat and fulfill the job that Duncan had assigned his band to complete. One of those days will be made of blood, without a doubt…

"How many do you see Stoin?" Duncan asked the stoic archer as the two, Hof, and one other man waited hidden in a nearby forest near the enemy's holdfast. The band had settled down a league away from their current location, waiting for the information the four scouts would bring back once they examined the crumbling structure that was their target.

The holdfast was in rather poor repair, which was good news for the band of sellswords. One of the walls had all but crumbled away, only reinforced with wooden spikes hammered into the piles of rubble that used to be the wall. The other walls were still standing, but they were in too poor of a condition that a single boulder would smash it apart with ease. Beyond the walls was a small keep that most certainly held the man that they were here for. All that remained of the knowledge they desired was how many enemies stood between Duncan and his men from Kruik the Rat.

"I see three standing guard and about five walking around the courtyard. I don't know about the inside or those behind the actual walls of this ruin." Stoin answered, his eyes in a deep narrow glare as the stoic archer examined the holdfast before the group of scouts.

"That's not good. I hate it when we don't have at least estimated numbers." Hof mumbled out as he looked around, keeping watch just in case someone was trying to sneak up on them. Duncan agreed with his friend on that point. Things often went smoother when they had more information to approach their task with. They could plan around those numbers with their own and be able to make a plan that was less likely to fail. Plans always help give order in the middle of chaos after all!

"We should go before they see us. Who knows how good their eyes are!" The extra man suggested as he shifted on his other leg to kneel on. The man had a point. They had things to do, and it wasn't likely they were going to get more information unless they were willing to risk being discovered by the enemy. That was the last thing Duncan and his men wanted before they attacked the bandits.

"Good idea. Let's head back! Hof, call the men so we can make the plan. Stoin, you get to keep watch. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Of course, Duncan." With that, the four scouts sneaked away from their position and went back to the band's camp; only stopping their slow sneaking once they were far enough from the enemy. When they arrived at the camp, Duncan could see that the band was gearing up for war. Most of the men were either maintaining their weapons and armor, taking drinks of liquid courage with their comrades, having turns with the camp whores, or were simply taking naps to gather the energy they needed for the battle ahead. No fires had been lit, express orders from Duncan himself of all people. Duncan had learned from his Uncle that fire created smoke, and smoke was often a signal for men to use before the flaming chaos of battle. That meant that if they started a fire, the smoke that fire gives off would alert the enemy to their position if Duncan's logic was sound. As such, no fires were lit and they had to eat cold food as a result. But, cold food was temporary unless the person died that day. Then that cold food was their last meal…

Duncan saw Dyra off in the distance as the four scouts walked into camp, the others going off to do what they needed to do while Duncan loitered in front of his tent. He watched the young woman swing her weapon, a lighter version of a falchion, in what appeared to be a shadow-duel with some invisible opponent. The young man felt a smile tug at his lips while he watched her. She was really invested into becoming a better warrior so she could fight alongside Duncan, Hof, Stoic, and the other men in the band. It was charming in a way, but also a bit worrying at what may come.

Eventually, most of the men, and Dyra, were called over by Hof to attend the strategy meeting that Duncan was going to lead. If he were to be honest, the Westford boy was very nervous about this strategy meeting. Most of the time, the meetings were simple affairs made to deal with simple and easy tasks. But when it came to something as serious as this, Duncan couldn't help but feel fear start to crawl down his spine in a cold shuffle. He had only hosted one other meeting such as this, and that was back when he was hired to protect and save Hof's village from those bandits. The battle that saw Dyra's introduction to the band didn't have a meeting. The only thing that was even a strategy was "kill any who resisted" and "save the girl". No fancy tactics like the battle for Hof's village.

And now, this would be the second strategy meeting that would require such planning. Duncan had thought and practiced ever since that fateful day, and here would be the test that either made or broke the back of the band.

"This is everyone that isn't standing guard or using one of the whores right now, Duncan. Shall we begin?" Hof asked as the group of nineteen warriors waited for the Westford boy to begin the meeting. Swallowing a bit of saliva, the young man took his Valyrian Steel sword out and began to draw a crude version of the broken holdfast that was their target. After drawing the holdfast, Duncan began to speak and draw what he spoke. He had to sound confident, sound like he was in control and what he though was right but open to ideas. He had to sound like a proper commander, and his mind was burning with fear at the ongoing attempt of it.

"Alright… This is where the battle will take place. From what the scouts have discovered, there should be at least eight enemies on sight when we first approach the holdfast. We do not know the exact number, but we do have an idea that there is probably more hiding inside the holdfast's keep. That is where our target is at and we needed to cut our way to him if we had any hope of getting to him." Duncan drew some circles in the holdfast's drawing, things to signify the enemies they will first encounter, before moving outside of the building to draw some lines and more circles. "We are going to form a shield wall, or regular line with how many of us don't have shields, and advance through the breach in the walls. The wall will be supported with our spearmen, or what men have weapons that have some reach, in a line behind the wall and our archers on a nearby hill to take out anyone on the surrounding walls. Once we get inside the holdfast, we need to push our way to the entrance of the keep using a concave line to keep the enemy from flanking us. I also want some small squads to climb the surrounding walls to take out any enemies up there not already dead, and I want the archers to supplement them once they are gone. If the enemy doesn't break through our line and we manage to make it to the entrance to the keep, then we could win this! Any questions?" The young man asked after drawing some arrows to show how they were going to advance and move against the enemy.

"I got one!" One of the men in the crowd raised his hands to be called upon, which Duncan did with a point of his sword. "Will there be anyone to protect the camp while we're off fighting just in case some escape and stumble upon this place?"

"Yes. I plan on having at least four people, not including the women, to stand guard just in case such a thing happens."

"What do you mean 'including the women'?" Dyra was the one to ask this, her eyes narrowing at Duncan's choice of words. Duncan steeled his mind for what was coming in the next few moments.

"You will be staying with the other women during the battle, as one of the guards, Dyra." Duncan answered, biting his lip when he saw rage fill the young woman's expression at what the Westford boy had just said.

"What?! How dare you! I am ready for battle, and I refuse to be a babysitter for some whores and bread!" Dyra stepped out of the crowd, coming up to the young man's face before poking her finger onto his chest. "I will be joining the front line and that is that! Understand me?"

"I do, but I must refuse your demands." Duncan lightly moved the young woman's finger off of his chest as he spoke. "You are not ready to fight. With what training you have right now, there is no way you can be able to defeat a single opponent in a duel; much less be able to last an entire battle without some kind of injury! It would be best if you stayed behind and stood guard over the camp."

"Bullshit! I am ready! I can hit you in our sparring sessions together, so I can easily kill someone in a real duel!"

"Yes, you can hit me. But you have yet to knock me off of my feet and you have yet to win a single match! If you can't win a single sparring match, then you can't win a real duel."

"Then I might as well get some more experience then. Which means I should be in the battle!"

"No! A real battle is nothing like our sparring sessions. There is no one who will just let you stand back up after you get off your feet, nor will be willing to let you live. If you lose, you will die! There is no other alternative and I will not have you die just because you are reckless and thirsty for some blood on your blade."

"But I-"

"No more 'buts'! I will not discuss this any more as I will not entertain a foolish death wish. Either you stand guard, or I will put you on latrine duty for a whole week! Understood?!"

"..."

"I said, 'Understood?!'"

"Yes… Ser…" Silence coated the atmosphere of the camp after the intense argument Duncan and Dyra had, ending with the young Westford boy using his authority as the leader of the band to put down the young woman's protest of getting guard duty instead of being a part of the battle. It was clear that the young man was not going to have the woman throw her inexperienced life away while she was still training to be a good enough warrior to win at least one duel.

"...Any other questions?" Duncan asked, receiving silence as the answer to his question. "Alright. Everyone get ready. We march once the sun starts to dip towards the sky. I doubt the enemy will be expecting us coming for them." And with that, the crowd of warriors and sellswords dispersed to gather their gear, gather their courage, and pray to their gods to survive the coming battle. Who knew if they were going to win or lose, even with a strategy laid before them? That was to be seen once the roar of battle commenced and the blood of the descendants of the Andals and maybe even the First Men watered the ground below them.

Duncan felt the ale he drank remain in his mouth and throat as he steadily marched in the front line, his Sarwyck shield's handle cold against his skin as him and the nineteen remaining warriors of his band headed into battle. Stoin had been the one to offer him the drink before they left the safety of the woods. It was supposed to calm his senses and give him courage if Stoin's words were correct. Duncan didn't really know if he agreed with what Stoin said as the young man still felt nervous for the coming battle. That, and a tiny bit excited.

It had been a while since he smelled the smell of death, the sight of a man's soul leaving his body, and the feeling of blood splashing across his face. Sure he hadn't been free from battle itself, having been training Dyra in the art of combat, but it just wasn't the same. Had he grown a taste for death and killing? A taste that he desired to fulfill? Whatever the case was, he was still afraid for the battle ahead as that strange desire lurked in the back of his mind.

Duncan and his band of men managed to make it halfway to the crumbling holdfast before they were spotted, warning horns being sounded as the bandits scrambled to prepare themselves for the sudden appearance of enemies heading towards them. Duncan, swallowing down some of the ale still coating the inside of his mouth, called out "Shields! Double march… Now!" All of the men who had shields swiftly held them out, making a very motley shield wall that didn't cover the full first line. Nor did it help that most of the men seemed either too eager or scared to remain in formation for much longer. They hadn't really practiced battle discipline among his band like those found in the professional armies of Westeros, preferring that each man to do what they thought best as long as they worked together. So Duncan had to move them quickly before their battle lines dissolved into chaos.

Duncan stifled a gasp when an arrow suddenly bounced off of his shield, the offending projectile dropping onto the dirt after failing to injure the Westford boy. The young man looked up and saw a few enemy archers, most of them clearly dazed due to either alcohol or having just woken up, fire upon the mass of men heading towards them. Most of their shots either missed, were blocked by shields, or were just dodged. But a few did find their marks among the men that made up Duncan's ranks, which thankfully were just either glancing wounds other than one that caught the throat of the man on the right of Duncan; his lifeless corpse dropping onto the ground.

The enemy archers' impunity didn't last long as Duncan's own archers answered back, their arrows more accurate than their opponents. Lead by Stoin, the ever stoic archer, managed to force some of the archers to back away from viable range after laying a few of their comrades out on the crumbling stonework with their lifeblood staining the stone itself. With the archers out of the way, all that was left was the rest of the bandits that were rushing out of the keep and towards the band of Duncan's men marching towards them.

From what Duncan could count, at least twenty-five of them were rushing out to meet him and his men in combat. They were already outnumbered, and this was just the men who were coming out to face them! Who knew how many were still inside the keep, waiting for Duncan and his band to enter into their obvious ambush. Duncan didn't wish to guess how many were waiting to kill him inside that moldy ruin, but he knew that it would be a battle both outside and inside. All just for one man who knew something that could tear the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros apart…

The two sides met in a mighty clash, men from both sides fighting for their survival and to kill their opponents. Duncan's first one was an easy victory for the Westford boy, using his shield to block his enemy's attack before ramming his sword through the man's right elbow to reach his heart. His blade did reach the bandit's heart, to which he cut out of the man's body while also severing the corpse's arm along with it.

The next bandit to fight Duncan wielded a flail, which forced Duncan to back away while in the swirling mass of combat to avoid having his head caved in by his opponent's weapon. After a few steps back, the young man ducked under the flail and shoved his opponent onto the ground with a quick slam of his shield. He finished off the man with a stomp of his foot, the bandit's head crumbling inward as the hell of the young man rammed his foot into his opponent's skull.

The young man hissed when a stray arrow grazed by his cheek, carving a faint and light wound across his cheekbone, before having his third opponent charge at him with a massive swing with a crude mace. The Westford boy easily dodged the attack and stabbed the bandit in the back of the neck to kill him while his opponent stumbled forward due to the momentum of his attack. He didn't even get a chance to even get a single breath to recover himself as he barely dodged a spear from behind, barely dodging it as it tore a small hole into the wool as it bounced off of the chainmail woven into it. He then grabbed the spear and tried to pull it forward to slam his newest opponent's face against his shield, only to have it viciously tug back. The young man turned around as he commenced into a makeshift tug-of-war against his opponent, only to be completely stunned at what laid before him.

Toiia Rivers, the bastard that ran away during the battle in Hof's village, was standing right before Duncan; trying to rip his spear out of the young man's grasp. He looked like what he had the last time Duncan had seen him with his shallow cheeks and faint dragon armor on his body. When the former soldier of the Targaryens noticed who he was fighting, he stopped and gasped as well. The two former allies looked at each other, silent as the roar of battle occured all around them as their minds went a mile a minute.

Duncan opened his mouth to say something, only to yell out in pain as he felt a sharp pain erupt from the side of his leg. He looked down and saw that Toiia had rammed his dagger into the Westford boy's leg, pulling out the bloodied blade before pushing the young man to the ground. He then snarled as Toiia ripped his spear out of the young man's grasp and began to run away; clearly deserting once more as the battle shifted against the bandits and towards Duncan's men.

The Westford boy tried to pick himself up to go after the deserter, snarling as the wound's pain flared up when he put pressure on the offending leg. He hoped that Hof would take notice of Toiia, but from what Duncan could see the Westerlander was too busy trying to fight off two bandits at once with his knives and sword. It seemed like Toiia was going to get away once again, and there was nothing that Duncan was going to do about it.

Suddenly, he saw Toiia back away as what appeared to be a sword nearly cut the man's throat wide open. He rolled onto his side and felt anger blossom throughout his body when he saw Dyra try to fight Toiia, disobeying the task that Duncan had ordered her to do. He heard himself let out a dangerous growl as he got onto his feet, just missing as Toiia slammed Dyra against the ground with a smack of his spear across her face, bruising her cheek with a proper bruise that would swell purple, before fleeing into the mass of the melee.

Duncan stumbled over to the young woman and saved the dazed warrior just as a bandit was about to ram his axe into her skull, tackling the enemy to the ground. The Westford boy was in a ripe rage as he beat the poor man to death with his shield, turning the bandit's face into a fine mush of blood and meat from the devastating pummeling. He then rolled off of the corpse and pulled himself to Dyra's side, panting heavily as he felt the pain in his leg start to sear itself throughout his body.

"You bloody fool!" Duncan roared out as he slapped Dyra across her face, bruising her other cheek as well as snapping her out of her daze. He was full of rage and in pain, a dangerous combination to be in while in the middle of battle. Why had Dyra disobey her orders and come to the battle? She clearly wasn't ready, and she almost died for it. What was she thinking?!

"I'm just trying to help! I want to show that I'm not some drain on this band by slaying its enemies!" Dyra answered back with her own shout, placing a hand over her new bruise as she hissed in pain. She clearly didn't like being called a fool, much less being slapped for it by a boy three moons her junior. How could he just let a fresh sword be wasted on guard duty after all?

"You almost died, and I refuse to have someone die when they could live! What logic in your damning head believes I am wrong on that account?" Duncan snarled in pain when he began to stand to re-enter battle; only to sit back down with his hand curling around the knife wound. He didn't think Toiia hit a place where Duncan's vapors were concentrated in, but it certainly hurt like the Seven Hells combined into one!

"Are you okay?" Duncan turned his head to look at Hof, the man wielding a bloody sword and with fewer daggers than he started with, as he spoke.

"No… I'm not. Get me a bandage and clean water." Duncan growled out as he tried to stop himself from screaming. What kind of dagger did Toiia have to cause such pain?! Was he poisoned? Did he bled out too much? Why was he hurting so much?!

"Alright. Dyra, stay here with Markus and tend to Duncan's wound. I'm going to lead the men into the keep and find what we came here for." Hof ordered, easily taking over command while Duncan laid wounded on the ground. The man that Hof had called Markus, a man with brown hair and built like he had worked as a farm hand for all of his life, kneeled down with his mace beside him and began to use some of the water in a skin hanging off his side to clean Duncan's wound. He offered a semi-clean rag to Dyra, who took it in her hands as she tried to clean out any dirt that may have been tainting the makeshift bandage.

"...So what do you plan on doing to me now?" Dyra asked the Westford boy as she began to bandage the young man's wound once she cleaned the bandage. That was a good question as Duncan began to calm down off of his high of rage, pain, and adrenaline. At first, he wanted to beat Dyra to a bloody pulp and kick her out of the band for disobeying Duncan with such reckless stupidity. Then, as he calmed down, he let his mind take over and thought about what he was going to do with the young woman taking care of his wound alongside the farm hand.

"Latrine duty, one moon cycle." Duncan answered as Dyra finished bandaging his wound and Markus stopped pressing down on it. "And you get to maintain the band's carts for a moon cycle as well. Do I make myself clear?"

"You do…" And with that, the three waited for Hof to return; which he did shortly. Duncan was a bit surprised by that, expecting to have to wait at least an hour to see his friend again. Was the enemy inside the holdfast kept that easy?

"They ran once they realized their men were losing outside, but they didn't take Kruik. We got him, and I killed him; which was a mercy to the lunatic." Hof explained as he kneeled down and helped place Duncan back onto his feet, acting as a support to the limping Westford boy.

"What did he say, and how did they escape?" Duncan asked, looking around the battlefield to find Toiia's corpse. He felt a grim frown formed on his face when he didn't see the deserter's corpse, just the enemies and a few of their own. That meant the company numbered to twenty heads now after counting the bodies that belonged to Duncan's band.

"We found that there was a passage that went straight into some kind of cave system, which we didn't bother to go after as they would have picked us clean through ambushes. As for Kruik, he spoke nonsense about Aegon Targaryen."

"'Aegon Targaryen'? Wasn't that the Targaryen baby that was killed by the Mountain when the Lannisters attacked King's Landing?"

"Indeed. He was saying how Aegon wasn't dead but hiding out in the East with his hair dyed blue or purple, biding his time to come and attack Westeros. He kept saying how he needed to tell King Robert about it so that they could purge the houses that would support the return of the Targaryens. Certainly mad I tell you. How can a dead child try to take the Iron Throne?!"