Chapter 45: The Battle of Fairmarket
Forward: Editing credit goes to Rainsfere Also I highly recommend the music from Thronebreaker for this chapter, especially the tracks Defense of Old Town and Battle for the Bridge as background music.
…
Two Days Later – Fairmarket – Mid-Morning – Marcus
It had been three days since the Bloody Mummers had arrived, the mercenaries camping about a bit over a mile away across the eastern hills. From what the Shadow and other scouts had reported, the sellswords were resting up from their long march along with making other preparations for the upcoming attack. As aggressive as the Mummers were, their leader Vargo Hoat was no fool. He knew about the Grims and their methods, so there would be no rash mistakes like before.
"All comes down to this…" Marcus sighed as he tightened up the strings of his plated vambraces.
The Northerner was wearing his ranger gear, a deep green gambeson with a dark leather chest piece over it. It was his original set from the war, maintained and improved over the years since becoming a Grim. At the elbows, knees and shoulders was plating, added protection and impact if he got into a brawl. It was nothing compared to the plate armor of knights like Doric or Ogatto's battle gear, but it was far better than most soldiers during wartime.
Glancing at the round mirror on the bedroom wall, he fixed his deep green cloak over his shoulders and collar, one hand combing his beard which had gotten denser over the recent weeks. "Damn…time does fly…" The worn wrinkles around his eyes and brow betrayed his age more clearly, forty years of hardship.
"Well, maybe if you lose the beard you'd earn back a few years." Sandra giggled, snapping Marcus from his thoughts. His lovely wife smiled kindly, gentle hands cupping his face, making him give a relaxed breath. "When was the last time you were clean shaven?"
"Hmm…must have been back when we met." He chuckled.
"Ah yes, I remember the day you rode into town on an old wagon, that big pup sitting on your lap." She nodded to Garm who was resting at the foot of the bed, the half-direwolf seeming to be resting, only those perked ears betraying his alertness. "Everyone was so fearful of you. Some Northerner vagabond seeking to cause trouble. Huh…yet you had the humble manners of a knight." Leaning in she kissed his lips tenderly. "The kindest soul in my life."
"Sandra…huh I think your exaggerating it all." If it wasn't for his beard, Marcus was certain his wife would see the blush on his cheeks. His worn hands rested over her's, gently squeezing them. "I've done…many things I am not proud of, even in the name of a good cause." A tired sigh escaped from him. "I wish it could have all ended when we built our home…and had Merry."
"I know…" She kindly replied, staring into his hazel eyes. "Yet despite all you've done and will do, you will always be a good man. A good father." Suddenly she gave a playful pinch to his jawline. "And if you're wrong, I'll be sure to put some sense into your head!"
That humor made Marcus laugh, bettering his spirits as he tugged away from her hands only to embrace her. "I'll hold you to that promise my love." Holding her close for a moment longer, he at last let her go. "How is everyone in the town?"
"Nervous…as they have been for the last few days." She answered as he stepped away to fold up scattered clothes, along with scratching Garm behind the ears. "Doric and Ogatto has kept everyone at the ready. If it weren't for our good knight's resolve, everyone would be terrified."
Marcus couldn't deny that the Stone Knight had a strong image towards the common folk, a living legend. Yet despite that, he knew everyone really looked to him as the source of leadership, the fellow common born who gave them the means to protect themselves. It was odd how despite all the dire moments in his life, the idea of being a leader had him nervous.
"This isn't going to be an easy day." He muttered, going to the work table he had set up in their room where his crossbow was set. The heavy crossbow had just been properly tuned and oiled, the powerful weapon ready for the battle ahead. Beside it was his trusty hand ax and hunting knife, both of which he slotted onto his belt, one weapon at his hips. "So what about the others? I know a lot of the women want to take part, even if it's just to pass around supplies and the like…"
"Heh! Worried we'll get in the way?" She smugly jested. "We'll keep off the palisade, but Fairmarket is their home as well. They want to do their part in protecting it."
"You're right. So long as the children and elderly are kept safe in the Three Kegs, we should be fine." Grabbing his crossbow and bolt quiver, he slipped the heavy weapon over one shoulder while the quiver he tied to his right hip. "I best head out, sort out the final battle plans. The Mummers will no doubt be ready to attack before noon." With a short grunt, Garm's eyes snapped open before yawning, getting up with a slight stretch to follow his master. Reaching the door, he did glance back to his wife, who was still busy tidying up the room. "Sandra…I…" The words were caught in the back of his throat, that old superstition of such talk to bring bad luck
She glanced up, knowing what he was going to say from the wonderful smile she gave. "I know Marcus. I love you too." She knew well of the old Northerner superstition of sharing such words before a battle, since it was seen to bring bad luck.
He returned a small smile and nod to her before stepping through the door, heading down the hallway to the pub room of the Three Kegs. The dining space was currently converted to house most of the townsfolk and refugees not taking part in the battle, mainly the old and young. Bedrolls and tents were set around, people trying to rest despite all the commotion. At one of the tables was Doric and Ogatto, revealing a simple map of the area with some of the leading members of the militia.
"Ah! Marcus, about time you showed up!" Ogatto loudly greeted, drawing all attention to the Northerner.
The bloodrider was wearing more than just his usual furred leathers and breastplate, having shoulder and legging armor as well. It was of lamellar design which was more common in Essos, iron scaled plates bound together with toughened leather to allow flexibility. It offered more freedom than plate and greater protection than chain or leather most soldiers wore. On the table was also a cowled leather helmet with a wild ponytail of horsehair crowning the back of it. Considering that was of the Dothraki's design, Marcus guessed it was simply for style.
"Just was caught up in armoring myself." He remarked, giving a nod to everyone. "So how is our militia doing?"
"At the ready." Doric calmly stated the fully armored knight glancing to the map. "We've been strict keeping active watch at the palisade and patrolling the eastern field for any spies. The less the Mummers know of our numbers and full defenses, the better our advantage."
An elder man, Fairmarket's mayor, nodded in agreement. "Stressful as it may be the men are invigorated. Our good knight has shared his steady discipline quite well." He praised. "Many though are on edge. Not even half have been in a real battle after all."
"A true trial by fire this day will be then!" Ogatto boasted. "Our archers and slingers are at peak practice. So long as they don't hesitate shooting at a living target, we'll thin the Mummers out quickly."
Marcus smirked a bit at the Dothraki's praise. "If you believe in them that well, then that is a good sign." Leaning over the table, he traced along the eastern side where the two trench lines were set. "They may outnumber us, but our defenses practically even the odds." Glancing back at the map it detailed the area and the layout of their constructed defenses.
The palisade wall that surrounded the town was their key defense. At about eight feet high, it prevented the Mummer's infamous cavalry from just charging in along giving their archers a height advantage. The eastern front was where the outer defenses were mainly focused. There were two trench lines with three stake barricades set before the outer trench, in-between them and pass the inner trench. The trenches themselves were about four or five feet deep and wide, with the bottom being filled with all sorts of nasty surprises. Water from both rainfall and the river left it muddy, with pitch added in to make it all the more thick. Adding stakes along the inner side would ensure a nasty end for anyone who fell onto them.
"Even if they make a breach in our defenses, we will be funneling them forward." Doric remarked. "Worst case is they redeploy some of their forces to the north, but we have plans for such an approach."
Marcus nodded, feeling everyone had an understanding on what possible tactics that could play out. "Then let's get out there. It's time we show these bastards the what the small folk can do."
…
Outside the Three Kegs, the staging ground for the defenses were quite active. Tents were orderly set up either to store supplies, resting space for the militia and for any injured during the battle. Men and youths who had finished training were busy getting fully equipped for the coming fight, donning tough leather and wool garb they had on hand. They only had so much proper armor to go around, so they had to make do with the everyday garb they had. Most of them had worried looks on their faces since most hadn't been in a real battle. Their gloomy expression though did brighten seeing Marcus and his companions passing by, morale growing by knowing their leaders would be fighting alongside them.
While Doric and Ogatto split up along the east side of the palisade wall to manage the militia there, Marcus headed over to the eastern watchtower. It was a simple structure, offering only space for two people at the very top. The Shadow preferred such places, mainly to put his sharp eyes to good use and avoid any attention to him. At the base of the wooden structure was the female direwolf, resting in the shade. Her eyes opened as Marcus and Garm approached, wagging tail showing her excitement.
"Hey there girl." Chuckled as he crouched down to scratch her head, having bonded well with the she-wolf quickly. "Been sitting here all day and night huh? Not sure what you see in that glum one."
A faint muttering showed that the assassin above could hear him, making Marcus smirk a bit in amusement.
"Wait here Garm."
Moving to the ladder, Marcus climbed up to the top to find the Shadow staring out east, leaning against the railing with a small spyglass his left eye, the unscarred side of his face. Leaning nearby was his ironwood bow, a weapon that Marcus respected despite it being simple in comparison to his crossbow.
"So how has recon been? Considering you haven't slipped off to kill the old goat, they must be prepared for our more underhanded methods."
The assassin sighed as he moved the spyglass away, giving a short glare before offering it to the huntsman. "Hoat's crazy, but not an idiot. I may be good but sneaking into a camp that alerted is suicide." A small smirk did hint from under that cloak hood. "Though if I see an opening, I'll be sure to give him a special arrow to the eye."
"As favorable as that may be, I'd prefer he be captured. Bastard deserves a hanging like a common criminal for all he has done."
Checking through the spyglass, Marcus has a good view of the Brave Companions camp. The mercenaries were rallying into formations, no doubt preparing for their march. Many people assumed that sellswords, even as rowdy as the Companions cared little on tactics, but that was a misconception. Sloppy troop management could easily lead to a rout in a proper battle, which the Companions had learned from over their decades of service.
"Lot of infantry for sure. Light mainly, no doubt from all the smaller merc groups they've gathered up."
He watching as some of the men were lifting up large bound up logs, crude bridges for the trenches. There was even a battering ram being carried around at the rear of the formations, no doubt reserved for when a path to the gate was made.
"Been seeing them moving a lot of their cavalry out of camp. About half of their normal riders and a third of their zorses."
"Just as I thought. No doubt they're riding around the woods to the north to attack from there. Most likely waiting until the main force wears us out." He offered the spyglass back, Shadow taking it. "This is going to be rough."
"Hey you're the soldier, not me. Matters on tactics isn't my focus." Walking over to his quiver, he checked over the large stock of his vicious arrows. "You just keep our little militia in line while I do what I do best."
Marcus glared at the assassin, a burning question in the back of his mind coming up. "I have to know after all these years…why do you work for Zarin anyway? Do you owe him for something or is it just for the coin and infamy as you said months back?"
The assassin didn't reply at first, seeming in thought from the distant look in his eyes. "I do owe the old man my life, but I've repaid that already." He muttered back. "I have my reasons sticking around, but it isn't for this secret revolution."
"And I take you won't say anything more?"
Suddenly there was the deep bellow of a war horn coming from the east, a clear sign of the mercenaries beginning their attack. It was certainly meant to strike fear in the villagers as hurried yells filled the air, Doric and Ogatto no doubt doing their part to keep everyone on task. The town bell was rung as their opening plan was set into motion, needing to put on a convincing show of panic as the sellsword army was marching into view from the hills.
"How about this Marcus. If we live through this, I'll tell you just what I'm after." The Shadow spoke up as the Northerner was starting to head down the ladder.
Marcus didn't speak back, only pausing at the ladder to see the assassin tug his cloak hood back over his head, hiding his scarred face and the small grin showing across it. Putting the man's words aside, Marcus hurried down the ladder to join his forces, knowing that they're opening defense had to be flawless in this battle.
…
Vargo Hoat and the Brave Companions
The distant sounds of loud voices and signal bells rung from Fairmarket, the source of Hoat's newest frustrations. To think that the Grims of all people had been hiding in this town if he had known sooner he would have torched the place as soon as he arrived in this backwater of a kingdom.
"Umm…uhh…commander?" Urswyck's blank voice made Hoat's hateful eyes glance at his placid skinned lieutenant, who kept an unfazed expression. "The men are in position. Are we sticking to the planned approach?"
The goat like commander brushed his long goatee as he stared along the formations of sellswords. Some were muttering, a mix of eager chatter or confusion over why they traveled so far for just one town. "Yes. Get the heavy infantry out front to lead the light troops, especially those carrying the bridges. Three units each will be enough. Let's add a line of archers to the rear in case those peasants try to shoot at our men."
The pale lieutenant nodded before the assigned captains for the formations moved out to give their orders to the troops. Quickly the mercenaries shifted into their marching lines, meant to clearly show off their strength in numbers. Echoing yells and short blows of a horn was the sign of the first attack to begin, the stomping of hundreds filling the air as the sellsword forces moved across the field.
Hoat set his glare back on the town, already imagining how pleasing the evening would be having all his enemies strung up, forced to watch their homes burned down in the evening. The depraved thought at last brought a toothy grin to the mercenary commander's narrow face.
…
"Ugh! Why the Hells did we have to make these things…so heavy!" One mercenary grunted, shifting his shoulder hauling the siege bridge. It took four men to carry the bridges, logs shaped and bound together in sturdy fashion.
"Ever got stepped on by an armored horse and rider?" A fellow merc moving the bridge along muttered. "Needs to be tough to handle that much weight."
The first sellsword growled in frustration. "This whole attack is stupid. All this because some farmers hurt the commander's ego."
"Shut it!" One of the men hauling from the back growled. "So long as we're paid and can pillage, this is a simple raid. Doubt these peasants could throw a stone straight much less shoot an arrow."
It drew laughs, though one of the heavy armored soldiers snapped out. "Quiet all of you…if anything something's off." By now the mercenaries were nearing the barricades bordering the first trench.
"What's wrong?"
"For one they haven't started shooting at us. We're well in the range of a longbow." The soldier warned. "Also…it's gotten really quiet over there."
There was a pause among their chatter, since beyond just the stomp of boots there was the lack of noise coming from the town. "Whole town was in a panic when we showed up…now there's nothing."
Gradually the march slowed to a halt a few yards from the barricade, making it clearer what the soldier meant. There was no more yelling or bells ringing from Fairmarket, only the distant baying of animals beyond the palisade walls. "Hah, maybe they ran off!" Yet a growl from another silenced any more banter.
"Alright, clear away!" One of the formation leaders barked out, the heavy troops drawing out weapons.
Maces and clubs cracked at the wooden stakes while axes and blades cut away at hemp bindings keeping the barricade together. It'd take hours to clear they whole line of spikes, so they focused on making gaps for the bridge bearers. Some were able to peer into the trenches, the wide and steep pits coated thickly with pitch.
"Ugh…hate to fall into that." One heavy trooper grumbled before backing off. "Move up grunts!"
The sellswords manning the bridges moved closer, tilting the bridges back so they could drop them across the length of the trench. "Agh! Heave!" One yelled out to urge them on.
Yet as the bridges were raised up, that was when it happened. Without warning, a barrage of arrows struck out against the bridge bearers and the first line of heavy troops. While some of the armored mercenaries were able to get their shields up or duck low, the light troops handling the bridges had no defense. The lucky ones got an arrow to the face while the others got a few driven into their guts. Some at the front staggered, tumbling onto the spiked barricade or tripping into the pit with a pained cry. The log bridges tethered as those supporting them were either dead or wounded.
"Look out!"
While the warning got most of the mercenaries to hurry away, those injured or too slow to react could do little more than yell out as the bound logs crushed them. The bridges were scattered about the front of the barricade, with a few even tumbling partly into the trench in a wedged position.
From the walls, fierce yells and cheers followed as the militia showed themselves. They had simply huddled down behind the walls, being silent in delaying their attack for when the sellsword forces were most exposed. The smallfolk continued a constantly volley of arrows, yet despite this the Bloody Mummers were far from broken.
"Back in formations! Everyone with a shield to the front! Archers return fire!"
The orders spread and quickly the mercenaries rallied, recovering from the shock of the surprise attack. If anything the men were getting stirred up with anger at falling into such a simple trap, their overconfidence getting the better of them. While a few more were picked off by arrows, a solid shield wall was formed from the front to soften further direct volleys. The archers formed up behind the shield formation, drawing arrows and aiming high for an arching shot. It was a more difficult angle to hit with, but they needed to force the militia behind their own cover to give their men some reprieve.
"Aim! Fir-" While the archers let loose, their squad leader's orders were cut short…mainly because of the black feathered arrow lodged deep in his throat.
…
The Militia
"TAKE COVER!" Marcus yelled out as he ducked behind the cover of the palisade, arrows striking against wooden barrier or whistling overhead. Most reacted in time, though some didn't or were caught in a the arch of a few arrows. Pained yells or cries followed among the defenders before their comrades hurried to pull him aside, be their injured or dead.
Doric considering his armor and size didn't bother with cover, his plate armor stopped every missile striking him. If anything, a few of the militia archers favored hiding behind him instead of the wooden cover.
"Stay focused! Shoot back!" He boldly commanded, the gray knight readying his own bow. The militia archers quickly regained their composure, doing their best to shut out cries of their wounded allies as they fired another volley.
Along the line of archers Ogatto laughed out, the Dothraki openly enjoying this as he quickly shot with his recurved bow. "Don't hesitate! Make every shot worth it!"
Marcus got his crossbow reloaded, taking aim at the heavily armored troops at the front of the formations. Rising his angle for distance, the weapon made a resounded crack as it fired the heavy bolt across the fiend and through the helmed head of a mercenary.
"Angle your shots! Shoot over, not at them!" He ordered as the pace of the battle picked up.
…
Up in the watchtower, the Shadow smirked as he pulled off another sound kill, sniping off key individuals among the sellswords. They weren't hard to pick out among the troops, mainly with how they moved about with authority or wore more colorful uniforms in a show of their rank.
"That one…too good with their aim."
With a focused aim and pull of his ironwood bow, one of the archers got an arrow to the side of the neck.
"You…too noisy." A yelling merc silenced with a shot to the eye.
"And you…just an ugly bastard."
One of the armored ones got an arrow into the elbow of his shield arm. By reaction he grabbed to yank it out…only to tear most of the muscle in that joint. His howl of pain was cut short as his dropped guard had him pelted with arrows by the militia.
"Gods I love my job." The assassin darkly chuckled, notching another wicked arrow for his next target.
…
Vargo Hoat and the Brave Companions
Back at the standing force, Hoat watched the ensuing battle with a tense yet calculating glare. He had rightly predicted the militia would use a delayed attack, something that they couldn't really avoid in this case. In battles with a fortified enemy, they had the edge on how the battle was staged. He just had to adapt accordingly and expect on his ruthless men to obey orders.
"Send in half of our troop reserves in along with the rest of the archers. Make sure they are taking every tower and heavy shield they got. We have to spread their attention further to break through their defense." He growled to Urswyyck.
"Of course, commander." The pale lieutenant muttered, riding his zorse to spread the order around.
It didn't take long before the mercenaries were readying their shields and taking charge onto the field, spreading towards the north and south ends of the barricade.
The following hours would determine how the flow of battle would go, a true test of endurance between ruthlessness and the stalwart.
…
The Militia
The first hour was the most grueling phase for the Bloody Mummers as getting past the first trench had become a drawn out slog. It was a struggle for them to move their bridges effectively without exposing their men. The amount of injured also forced the mercs to drag away their injured off to avoid tripping hazards, but even retreating the militia was ruthless firing after them. The addition of more shielded troops improved their defense, giving the cover needed to drag what bridges they had across the first trench.
With the second barricade in their way, it was a grueling effort to break apart or pull aside to reach the second trench. The space between the trenches was a short one, at best allowing two men to stand front to back without toppling into the first trench. The pit was full of dead, dying or the unlucky who toppled in trying to cross. Those still alive struggled to crawl out of through pitch and buried stakes, some begging for help with only a few getting such aid. Despite the losses, the Brave Companions were persistent in the attack, not about to rout against peasants.
Beyond the walls of Fairmarket, the militia were suffering their own losses against the mercenary archers. Dozens were injured or dead, either taken away to be tended to or taken out of sight to stop fear from overwhelming the militia. The women who volunteered for medical aid were busy tending to those in need, do what they could with the experience they had or were taught in recent months. Yet it was no doubt saddening that a wife could very much be watching a husband or son drawing their last breaths in the coming hours.
Marcus put such thoughts aside, wiping sweat from his brow before tugging his cloak hood back over his head. He hurried from one of the supply tents with a refilled pack of bolts along with multiple quivers of arrows on both shoulders. He paused as a few arrows striking across the ground between the tents and the cover offered by the palisade, moving after a moment since the mercenaries needed time to ready their next volley.
At the cover of the log wall, groups of militia were standing or sitting around to catch their breath. Marcus knew most didn't have the best combat stamina, along with the mental stress of killing and facing death. The distant looks on some, mainly the youths reminded him very much of Robert's Rebellion when his own unit had endured their first battle. Even he, though hardened by his wilderness experience hadn't been ready for such a moment.
The sight of him sparked renewed life to the group, those sitting even standing up at the ready. "Marcus…how does it look to you? The battle I mean?" One youth asked, probably just in his seventeenth year.
Marcus stared over them, nodding slightly. "We're holding our ground and making them bleed for every foot they take. That is what matters in a defensive battle." He muttered before licking his dry lips a bit, one of the men noticing as he offered up a large waterskin which they had been sharing about. Nodding, Marcus took a deep drink, easing his thirst for the moment. "I know this is harrowing for many of you, but this battle is only starting. We have to endure, even if these bastards break through the walls."
Handing the waterskin back, a few of the others took drinks from it. "You know…if we win this, maybe we'll get our own tale written by them Maesters." One older villager chuckled, thick bearded and missing a good few teeth. "The Defenders of Fairmarket or the…Crash at the Market! How do those sound?"
"Bah! You'd be a poor bard going with titles like that!" Someone jested, drawing laughs as spirits were lifted. Even Marcus couldn't help but smirk a bit.
"Alright, much as I'd prefer just laughing our enemies away, they aren't going to do so." He handed out quivers, being split among the militia. "Back to work men. Nearly time to show them our first surprise!"
…
Half an hour later, the Brave Companions were now getting through the second barricade. They now had the challenge of crossing the second trench, requiring more bridges to do so. A few that had been discarded in the opening moments of the battle had been retrieved. The heavy troopers armed with tower shields formed up into a turtle formation to provide cover as the bridges were being hauled forward. It was a slow process getting them past the first trench, even more with them being targeted by militia archers.
Marcus knew this was the critical point of the battle, a chance to really shake up the tide of the battle. Looking to Ogatto, the Dothraki having an eager grin as he tightly wrapped the grips of a large sling in both hands. It was big enough to hold a large ball, one big enough to fit in a grown man's hand.
"Make every toss count now." Marcus urged the Blood Rider as he got out a glass and leather bound filled with a clear yellowish fluid inside of it. The liquid was some of Marcus's strongest alcohol along with a mix of Zarin's special alchemy to increase its potency. Sticking out from the orb was a thick hemp wick coated in wax. Striking a flint to light the wick, he carefully fitted it into the large sling.
"Lucky I've had plenty of practice…now watch!" The Dothraki flexed as he arched and rolled his powerful arms about, spinning the orb about in the sling. His stance widened to brace himself before giving out a fierce yell out as he arched his final swing forward.
The fire bomb flung into the air, arcing far towards the trenches. Ogatto's fling was true as the fire bomb was heading right towards the shieled bridge. The mercenaries defending it could see the orb, keeping their shields overhead as the glass sphere smashed against it. Highly flammable fluid doused over the shields and men, which the freed wick quickly ignited. Yells and howls followed as the troops panicked as wood and clothes were now aflame. Soon the bridge they had been carrying was practically a pyre which they dropped aside, tumbling into the first trench.
"Keep at it! Set the trench alight!"
Already Ogatto was throwing his second bomb while other more burly members of the militia threw out their own. While they lacked the accuracy of the Dothraki, the spreading pools of flames along the narrow space between the trenches was forcing groups of sellswords back. Eventually, the pitch within the trenches caught on fire as well which was no doubt horrifying for those stuck in them. Desperate pleas for help followed by howling cries as the men were being burned alive, no doubt intensified for those in plate. At the least, the distance along with the thick smoke obscured the gruesome sight.
"Fall back! Fall back!"
The order echoed around as the choking fumes and the heat of the burning pitch was too much to handle. Adding in the blind fire from the militia, there was no chance of pushing forward. It was a defensive retreat with the shielded units covering the others trying to get out of range. The sight of the fearsome Bloody Mummers running away drew rowdy cheers among the militia, feeling accomplished in forcing a retreat.
Marcus did give a small sigh of relief as they now had some respite for a few hours. While pitch was quite flammable, there was only so much coating the bottom of the trenches. By the time the flames and smoke cleared, Hoat would surely have a new battle plan set…perhaps having one already.
"Alright enough celebrating! Get the most badly wounded to the Three Kegs and restock all our arrows! We have to make every minute count from here!"
No one hesitated in following his orders, men going to the tents to carry off the injured on stretchers to the pub or the dead to other tents. Marcus moved to the tents that stored their more unique weapons, mainly their fire bombs for the next wave. Glancing at the tent flap, he could see the bulky form of Doric waiting outside.
"So…how does it look from your experience?" The Northerner asked the knight.
"We've held them off, that is all that matters." The knight calmly stated. "Can't be sure on their casualties, though the trenches took plenty of them."
"Maybe a hundred or so…no doubt more injured. They were practically throwing themselves at our defenses." The thought made Marcus pause, feeling unease now.
"They are putting on a violent show. Keeping our attention divided as we expected.
"Aye…question is for what though?"
Neither gave a clear answer as Marcus left the tent, patrolling alongside the wall, approaching Shadow's watchtower. At the base, Ogatto was speaking up at the assassin.
"So how many you think you got Shadow?" The Dothraki laughed out.
"More than you!" The assassin yelled back. "I can shoot right through a helmet slot, while Doric there can barely hit the side of a barn!"
The knight didn't comment on the insult, only his unseen stare showing his disagreement.
"You can boast over your kill count after we win this battle. Right now I want everyone alert, especially you Shadow. If the Mummers try anything, I want to know immediately."
The assassin sighed, giving a short mock salute with one hand. "Aye aye fearless leader." He snidely remarked before setting his gaze to the battlefront, squinting to see through the smoke.
Marcus along with the other Grims made their way back to the center of the camp. They had to oversee just how heavy their losses were so far, along with trying to get as many of the injured back into the fight. Right now, anyone who could contribute to the battle was going to be needed.
…
Geralt and the Winter Wolves – A miles north of Fairmarket
The Winter Wolves had armed up this morning, certain that they would arrive at Fairmarket that day and likely in the heat of battle. It was quite a shift from everyone being in full armor, especially the Umber heavy cavalry in their imposing gray iron. If anything Geralt felt a tad under armored with his Wolf Witcher gear, making him feel Bear School armor would be more suitable for a battlefield. Sadly, he didn't have Mott and the time needed to craft such complex armor.
"Not getting nervous are yah Witcher?' Thoros remarked, the Red Priest riding close beside him.
Geralt smirked though did nod slightly. "Don't have the best luck on battlefields. Most memorable one was the Battle of the Yaruga, which was practically chaos."
"Ah I remember you muttering that before! Stuff about that Nilfgaard Empire invading."
Again Geralt nodded. "It is a long story, but overall me and my companions at the time got caught up in a battle between Nilfgaard and the army of Rivia. Had no way of avoiding it since both sides of the river had an army blocking the way. Didn't have a choice but to use the ferry we had to board the bridge."
"Which was no doubt slog full of soldiers. Hah, crazy move but that's how you do it! So how that play out?"
Yet before the Witcher could continue, someone further back along the formation spoke up. "Smoke! Smoke ahead!"
It was easy to see the black plumes filling up the sky in the distance, making mutterings drift between the troops. They were no doubt thinking the worst outcome was happening, Fairmarket being put to the torch.
Beric cursed under breath at the sight. "Damn it, are we too late?"
Geralt shook his head. "Hopefully not. If they have started burning the town, we can still sweep in and try to salvage the situation." He remarked back. "How much farther until we reach them?"
"Ehh…by my estimates within the hour if we leg it." Graffin answered.
"Then give the order! If the caravans can't keep up, tell the craggonmen to hang back and guard them. Now let's move out!" With the new directions given, Geralt was quick to take the lead as he kicked Roach into a gallop, with the rest of his companions following along. Everyone was itching for a fight, Smalljon being quite eager with how he laughed out while leading his men.
"Come on! Time to show them what real warriors are like!"
…
The Militia
It was nearing the second hour since the trenches were set on fire, the layer of pitch starting to burn through. By now the militia was fully rallied and resupplied for the next expected wave. With the smoke thinning out, Marcus could see the sellswords getting back into their formations. From what Shadow had detailed, they had flame censures for their archers, likely to try setting aflame the wall or the nearby buildings. Between the river and wells, he was certain they could handle any fires that broke out. The cavalry was also formed up into lines at the rear, ready to make their own charge once the infantry had made the final push forward.
"Steady men. There will be no more breaks at this point. We fight to our last or until they've fled." Marcus spoke out as he paced along the line of archers. While he felt tense, there was a gut feeling that there was something very wrong afoot. His fellow Grims felt the same, but they could do little more than wait and see.
Soon the smoke was starting to thin out as the fires were now limited to a few patches. At that point, a horn was blown and the sellswords began their march forward. They were keeping to their reworked tactic, keeping all their shielded troops to the front to protect the new sets of bridges and archers. They kept a slow march, not rushing into the militia's range.
"Hold…fire on my mark!"
Bows were notched and drawn, Marcus aimed his crossbow with them. Yet from the corner of his eye he saw something at the edge of the north eastern tree line. His heart raced as he recognized the bulky shape in the shadow of the woods.
"EVERYONE TAKE COVER!"
Most were confused but quickly did so just before that massive bolt slammed right into the northern facing of the palisade wall. The powerful missile broke through the wooden barrier like it was nothing, logs and men flying from the impact. Now there was a clear opening with only the embedded posts surviving the attack.
"What the fuck was that?!"
"Was a freaking bolt! Big as a log!
"The bastards had a ballista the whole time!"
"I should have known…" Marcus cursed as he stood up. From the trees he could see the figures of riders, the predicted remainders of the Mummer's zorse riders. Already they were forming up, getting ready to charge from the north where they had no trenches, only a single line of barricades.
"No wonder their march here was delayed. Getting a such a weapon across the Forks intact would be a difficult task." Doric remarked.
Ogatto for once seemed nervous seeing the power of the weapon, the Dothraki still new to such battlefield weapons. "How quicky does that thing shoot? If it's like Marcus' crossbow, we won't have a wall at all!"
"Of course not, takes a lot of manpower to crank that thing." Marcus quickly replied. "Takes minutes to ready it, maybe shorter if it's manned by a skilled crew."
His mind was spinning since that weapon alone put everything at risk. Already the troops from the east were picking up the pace of their march, knowing that their secret weapon was spreading panic among the militia. Marcus knew that their defenses were going to collapse if they didn't adapt fast.
"Stay at your posts! We hesitate now and they'll be at the walls in moments!" He yelled out, silencing the panic. "Archers fire! Whatever you do don't stop!" Quickly the men obeyed, snapping out of their shock as they began raining arrows at the enemy who were closing in on the first trench.
With the offense back on track, Marcus looked to their knight. "Doric! Take the strongest men to barricade that breach and any others that come up. Use anything on hand to do so!"
"Understood. You heard him, follow my lead!" The Gray Knight hurried off to the north side of the wall, the more burly members of the militia close behind.
"Urgh! I should help them!" Ogatto growled. "I'm worth two men in strength alone."
"I know my friend, but I need you manning the east wall. Going to need you to long throw as many of those fire bombs as you can slow them down. Just need a much fire out on the field as possible!"
The Dothraki scowled but nodded in understanding as he took up the large sling and gathered up the fire orbs, loading up one to begin throwing.
"Shadow!" Yet looking up at the tower, Marcus could see the assassin was busy firing his wicked arrows into the crowds of sellswords, not letting the surprise of the ballista distract him. "Just…keep doing that!"
Hefting his crossbow, he joined up firing with the other archers. By now the mercenaries were slowing down bypassing the second trench as the militia threw everything they had at them. In turn the sellsword archers returned fire, now with burning arrows thrown into the mix. The added weight made them less accurate, but a solid strike was all that was needed to spread the flames.
"Fire at this side of the wall!"
"Get water over here!"
"Few patches here! Get dirt onto it!"
At that point, another ballista bolt launched at the east wall. It was a higher shot that clipped the upper end of the section it struck. Any men in its path were thrown aside…with a few unfortunate to be pierced clean through by the powerful missile. Some of the archers yelled in terror, hesitating in firing their arrows.
"Don't you dare stall!" Marcus growled, stirring them back to attention. "No matter what happens, keep fighting on!"
…
Vargo Hoat and the Brave Companions
"Seems they didn't expect that." Hoat chuckled darkly as his ballista rained destruction on the town walls. Despite this, the militia was holding out, no doubt because of the leadership of the Grims. It didn't matter in the end to him, once his men got into the town, victory was assured. "How much longer until we can make our charge?"
"The bridges for the last trench should be set soon sir." Urswyck's answered. "Once a wide enough breach has been made, we will have no issues charging right into the town."
"Good…time to put this rabble in their damned place when they fuck with me!" The mercenary commander growled, grinning as he donning his iconic goat-like helmet. His spurs dug into his zorse, the striped beast pacing about tensely. "Let's put them in the salted earth!"
…
Geralt and the Winter Wolves.
Cresting the hill, Geralt along with his companions were the first to get an overlook of the battlefield. It had been a long time since the Witcher seen a battle of this scale, hundreds of men forging their way towards the fortified town. From what he could tell the fighting must have been going on for a few hours already, with the common folk just holding out.
"Looks like we're in the nick of time." Thoro grunted. "Seems they haven't noticed us…no doubt not expecting us."
"All the better for us." Beric remarked before a resounding crack filled the air, everyone watching as a ballista bolt flew out at the town from the nearby woods. The missile flew far, striking close to the gates of the town wall. "A ballista?! Miracle the town has held out against that!"
"So what are your orders Geralt…I mean…commander?" Graffin asked.
It was odd to be spoken in such a role of authority, but this was the moment of truth for him. This was to be the Winter Wolves first battle, the first clash between the North and the Lannisters. His sharp perception took in the whole battle, noting the grouping of zorse cavalry just south of their position, bordering the stretch of woods were that ballista was firing from.
"Smalljon and Dacey, lead your troops against the riders to the south. Wait until they make their charge for the wall so you can corner them off."
The Umber gave a grin, nodding before glancing to the female Mormont. "As you command! Come on Dacey, let's crush these cowards!"
"Gladly! Let's ride maidens!" Dacey yelled out, her fellow warriors giving quite the fierce cry. The two groups rode out, hanging back until the enemy made their first move.
"Theon,take the archers to capture that ballista. Right now that is the most dangerous weapon on the field. Plus their position will be the best spot for you to shoot from."
The young man nodded in agreement. "We'll capture it in no time!" A sharp whistle as his unit headed for the stretch of woods, spreading out to no doubt surround the battlefield weapon.
"Lastly, we take on the commanding force." Geralt gestured towards the eastern riders. "We take out Hoat and his lieutenants, cut the main force from their leadership."
"Then mop up of the rest of the bastards. Solid plan." Graffin chuckled before fitting his domed helmet over his head.
Beric nodded in agreement as he handed Geralt a spare calvary spear. "Then best take one Geralt. I know you favor your blades, but better a spear during a charge."
"Can't argue with that." The Witcher muttered, getting a balance for the weapon in his grip.
"Blade, spear, fist or those Signs…anything's good for him." Thoros laughed out. "Lead the way commander!"
Geralt couldn't help but smirk as he lead Roach forward, making sure to swiftly cast Axxi on the mare. Toughened as she was to fights, he didn't want to risk her panicking at an unfortunate time. "Alright then…let's go!" Facing eastward, he gave a short yell and cracked his reins to send Roach into a sprint, his fellow troops doing the same. They'd ride slightly east then turn south, a blindside charge against the Companions who were all focused on the town.
…
Theon
It was strange yet exciting to be in charge, at least on this key objective. The crack of the ballista firing along with the laughter of the mercenaries made it easy to track them down. "Slow down…let's dismount and get the jump on them." He ordered at a hush, being the first to slip off his horse. Drawing his bow, he quickly and quietly stalked forward, using the trees for cover.
"Alright load it up! Let's take out that tower next!" One of the mercenaries ordered.
Peeking out there were about four men working on the weapon with about eight others standing by on guard duty. Considering how relaxed they were though, they weren't expecting the fight to come to them. Even if they were alert, the Northerner archers greatly outnumbered them. The men working the ballista were getting another bolt ready, with the weapon already cranked to fire.
By now the rest of his group was in position, waiting to move when he did so. Notching an arrow, Theon stepped out of cover with his bow aimed. "Hands up all of you!" He barked out, making men jump in surprise. One of the guards tried to level his crossbow, only to get an arrow to the eye from the Ironborn. Despite the shock, one of the ballista men grabbed the firing mallet off the ground before turning to try and strike the firing latch. The other archers reacted as the mercenary got three arrows into his back, but with what strength he had left brought the mallet down.
"Ah…fuck…" Theon muttered as the crack of the ballista firing made him and the others flinch. While his men hurried to subdue the sellswords, he watched helplessly as the bolt flew right for the base of one of the town's watch towers.
…
The Militia
"Damn it…should have made more arrows for all of you!" Shadow cursed under breath. His firing arm was sore, fingers aching with how many times he pulled back the bowstring. By now the Mummers had gotten bridges over the second trench and breaking their way through the last barricade. After that, it was down to whatever remained of their wall. Just as he was readying another arrow, his sharp gaze caught something big moving right for him. "Oh you got to be-"
He didn't get to finish his sentence as the bolt slammed at the lower half of his tower. Grasping the wooden rail, he felt the structure begin to tetter abut. Just him shifting to keep his balance was enough to make it tilt more towards the wall before crashing down.
"Shadow!" Ogatto howled out, the Dothraki hurrying over to the wreckage. The watchtower had become a crude ramp over the side of the wall, which was partly crushed under it.
Marcus also hurried over, squinting to see through the thrown up dust. "Yell out if you're still alive!"
The dust clouded the area started to dissipate, though coughing and an annoyed groan hinted the assassin was alive. "Bastards…dropped the tower on me!?" The assassin had tumbled a few yards away from the wreckage, having luckily landed on the grass instead of under a timber. Facing towards the enemy though, he could see a few of the mercs having gotten through the last barricade…and rushing towards him. "Ah come on!" Quickly locating his ironwood bow close by, he scrambled for it and whatever arrows cluttered around to defend himself.
"Marcus, cover me! I'll get him out of there!" The Northerner didn't have a chance to argue as the Dothraki put his pony-tailed helmet on before hopping over the side of the half crushed wall.
"Crazy bastard!" Marcus grumbled, gesturing for a few of their archers to pair up with him in hindering anyone going for his companions.
Ogatto hefted up his heavy arakh in both hands, making sure his buckler on his left forearm faced forward. Shadow just got his bow and an arrow, but already a sellsword was ready to strike down at him. Course that was interrupted as he got body tackled by the Dothraki, staggering him back before getting his head cleaved off with one swift cut. A few arrows flew at him, yet the buckler and his sturdy armor let him ward them off.
"Can you stand? Rather not haul you back over."
The assassin nodded, using his sturdy bow to help prop himself onto his feet. "May have a lame leg, but not a damn cripple!" He stood behind Ogatto to protect himself from any arrows as they began to back up towards the wall, all while taking what shots he could at the enemy.
"Heh, always the survivor!" The sellswords were now focusing more on the two as they got past the trenches, eager have a direct fight.
The Dothraki grinned wickedly as a heavy infantryman with a greatsword closed in. When that heavy weapon swung down at him, he twisted his sickle like blade about, using it's crescent shape along with his monstrous strength to put his foe off balance. While the man was in plate, his helmet wasn't a closed one, making it easy for the spiked hilt of the arakh to pierce through the underside of his jaw. Shoving forward just drove it deeper along with forcing the heavy man backwards before getting shoved off with a bash from his buckler.
Retreating back towards the fallen tower, a small group of mercenaries though were close behind. A few getting shot at by Marcus and his archers, but they were closing in, intent on using the toppled tower to bypass the wall.
"I'll hold them off! Get back over!" Ogatto urged the assassin, who was already climbing over the wreckage.
Three sellswords charged him at once, the Dothraki standing his ground. His blade cleaved down at one, blade sinking deep into the shoulder despite the chainmail the man had. Using his buckler, he blocked back a swinging axe though got struck in the gut by a mace. While the breastplate softened the blunt blow, it did draw a snarling grunt from Ogatto. His buckler swung out in a bash to force the two back before hooking the sickle blade into one of their sides. Drawing his foe closer, the mercenary got two skull shattering strikes by the ridge of the buckler before collapsing. While he yelled fiercely at his last opponent, he didn't get a chance to attack as the man got a bolt to the throat, making Ogatto turn to the wall.
"Get back over here!" Marcus yelled out. "Need you to push the tower off the wall!"
Grunting in acknowledgement, the Dothraki sprinted forward, deftly crossing over the fallen tower. Once on the other end, members of the militia gripped the fallen timbers of the tower, grunting out as they tried to lift it off. Marcus and Shadow were too focused on shooting the mercenaries, stopping them from climbing over.
"MOVE…DAMN IT!" One militia member growled out.
"Hold on." Ogatto had his weapon and shield dropped aside, crouching low to grip the lumber. "Lift…now!" With a roar, he and the others lifted the remains of the watchtower off the wall, making it tumble fully over the other side. The impact of it crashing down made the loosen lumber fall apart, sliding and rolling towards the attackers as a hindrance.
"Ugh…too fucking close…" Shadow panted, the man clearly winded as the adrenaline was burning off slightly.
"Well it's going to get a lot closer at this rate." Marcus warned as he pointed out at the sellswords who were hauling the battering ram across the last trench, having a clear path to the gate. "Ogatto, still up to fight?"
While the Dothraki was panting, he grinned and nodded. "Always. I'll get the men to the gate to brace it."
"Good…" Yet Marcus' attention shifted when he noticed a group of riders coming from the northeast. At first he thought it was more riders for the Mummers but noted how they lacked the colorful uniform the mercenaries had. Instead their colors were dark blues and gray along with banners showing a forward facing white wolf's head and the more recognized gray direwolf of the Starks. "What in the Hells…" Marcus muttered, a surprised yet thankful smirk crossing his lips.
"Marcus! They're nearing the gate with the battering ram!"
"Damn it!" Quickly he hurried down the wall and towards the gate, the men following along. "Those on the wall, keep firing and drop anything heavy on their damned heads! Everyone else, we brace the gate and make our stand there!"
…
The ballista had done a lot of damage on the north side of the palisade, forcing Doric to have one of the supply wagons rolled to the biggest breach to barricade it. Doric, as always, was steadfast in directing the militia in refortifying. Glancing beyond the wall, he could see the riders were forming up and starting to head towards them. He knew the skill of the sellswords calvary, who would easily bypass the barricade.
"Do we still have our trap intact?" The knight questioned one of the militia.
"For at least two sections, ser."
"It will have to do." By now he had noticed the ballista hadn't fired on time. He had been mentally tracking the pace of its shots, which had suddenly stopped. Perhaps the weapon had a mechanical issue, whatever the cause, it gave them some breathing space.
"They're charging!" One of the archers yelled. "Wait…ser there is more of them?! Two other groups coming from behind the woods!"
Doric moved up to the wall to see what was going on, indeed seeing a second group following the first a fair distance back. Yet he recognized those colors, drawing a small smile under that full helm. "The gods old and new bless us today." He muttered to himself. "Be calm! Stick to the plan and be ready to spring the trap!" Heading back down to the ground, he joined a group of men who were gripping a sturdy rope line connected to the wall.
Despite the helmet and din of battle to the east, his trained hearing could pick out the nearing riders closing in. While he knew the archers would shoot at them, he doubted they could hit such fast moving targets. "They're at the barricade…bastards jumped it!" A sentry declared.
Flexing his grip, Doric tensed before yelling out. "NOW!" He and the other men pulled the rope line with all their might, releasing the logs contained within the palisade. The slope on the north side had proved perfect for a log defense like this, with the barricade meant to entrap them.
The knight hurried to watch the chaos as the mercenary riders realized what was rolling at them. Those at the front of the charge didn't have the time to reverse their course, even with their own horses realizing the danger. The heavy logs tripped and crushed those who didn't retreat back, filling the air with the whines of the mounts and the cries of their riders. The knight took no joy in the suffering of the animals, but in battle it was unavoidable.
With the mercenaries forced to retreat back over the barricade, they realized heavy calvary was bearing right onto them. There was no means of diverted away, they could do nothing more then take the blunt of the Northerner lancers charging right at them.
…
Smalljon and Dancy
"Hah! This militia are cunning ones!" Smalljon laughed out, his great helm bellowing his amusement. At the lead of the charge, he lowered his steel tipped lance. "Like we practiced boys! Make them piss in their saddles!"
Just as they crashed into the mercenaries, all the men gave out a fearsome howl that indeed made their enemies flinch. Between their full on charge and heavy lances, the first lines of riders were battered aside. With their enemy in shambles, they had no trouble splitting off to the sides, giving the shield maidens the space to follow up.
Dacey rolled her eyes at the excessive bravado of the Umbers, though led her fellow warrioresses with a battle cry of their own. Their spears pierced through any sellswords who had endured the Umber's charge, while drawing the rest into melee with their blades and axes. They were truly unrelenting, leaving the Umber troops free to attack the eastern forces.
…
Vargo Hoat and the Brave Companions
It was becoming frustrating how determined these peasants were. Even with the ballista taking out parts of their wall and a tower, they didn't faulter. However, he realized something was off when he noticed their weapon hadn't fired. "What is going on over there? Did the fools break the damn thing?!"
"Could just be a delay." Urswyyck tried to assure. "Even so, its given our forces the means to close the distance." However before he could continue, someone spoke up.
"Commander! Riders from the north! Their flying banners of the North!"
Hoat's bloodshot eyes widened in anger as he glanced in that direction, seeing this unexpected enemy. The sight of the gray direwolf banner made him roar with anger. "The Starks!? How the Hells did the Starks get here!?" Tightly grasping the reins of his zorse as he already was turning about to face the Northerners. "Form up you louts! We're not letting these bastards make fools of us!"
Urswyyck did a more organized lead on getting the calvary formed up, though the pale mercenary knew they were at a disadvantage at the moment. When the group had changed their facing, Hoat drew his saber and gave a fierce yell to urge his men forward, most giving the same battle cry.
"Ugh…this isn't going to go well…" The lieutenant muttered to himself as he charged along with his commander.
Geralt and the Winter Wolves
"Seems they caught on, they're moving to charge us!" Beric warned.
"Hah! At least we get a proper challenge!" Thoros laughed out, seeming more excited.
Geralt though stayed more focused as the two groups started to close the distance, noticing them suddenly throwing something at them. "Javelins!" The timely warning had most of riders of the front get their shields up, though a few of the thrown missiles struck the horses, making them and their riders tumble aside. Geralt though flexed his left hand into the Aard Sign, throwing half a dozen of the throwing spears aside.
Moments later the two sides clashed, Geralt among the first to charge in. With adrenaline pumping through him, everything seemed to move at a crawl as he stared down one sellsword armed with a round shield and spear. It'd be tricky for most to aim past the shield, though for the Witcher he stabbed out with pin-point accuracy. In what split moments left, the man gave a shocked look as he had the spear stabbed into the front of his neck before Geralt whipped the weapon around to tear what remained of his throat.
The rest of the clash played out around him, his companions momentum giving them the edge in dueling charge. The Winter Wolves and Companion riders were now locked in a melee, the only way to tell anyone apart being the difference in uniform color. Geralt stabbed out with his spear, his mutant strength letting him pierce through a chainmail side, only for the weapon to break from the strain.
"Damn it…" Two riders singled him out before he could draw his steel sword, making him cast an Igni broadly at them. The burst of flames set the riders aflame and seared the front of their striped horses, but despite that the zorses continued their charge. Geralt had to tug his reins hard to force Roach to weave between them, though one side tackled the mare. The whine showed that the hit snapped her out of the Axxi, though didn't break into a panic.
The short pause let him draw his steel blade before riding through the battle. Unlike his spear, his steel blade had no trouble cutting through any armor as he swiftly cleared a path among the mercenaries. Making his way through the melee, he kept track of his companions in the fray. Beric was busy keeping the men rallied, yelling out orders which Graffin swiftly followed. Thoros practically going off on his own, sword on fire as he crossed blades with a fearful pale skinned man.
"White hairs!" A snarling voice yelled out among the din of battle. Geralt heard the stomping hooves, turning Roach quickly as he partly parried a swung saber, only for it to curve along his blade to just nick at his shoulder. The Wolf armor repelled it, but the attack showed his foe was a highly experienced horseback duelist. Quickly he focused on the attacker, a man with a goat styled helm which made his identity easy to deduce.
"Hoat…" Geralt growled back before the man yelled as he kicked his zorse into another charge. The Witcher met his attack, sword and saber clashing as they made passes against each other. Despite his greater strength, the Witcher was at a disadvantage in a mounted fight with the mercenary commander. Their next short charge had the two lock blades, forcing Hoat to use both hands with his weapon to not be overwhelmed. "Your forces are outmatched. Its over!"
"Not yet…" The man snarled, hate burning in his eyes. "I won't lose like this…to a freak and some…peasants!" His armored boot lashed out suddenly, kicking at the side of Roach's neck which made the mare whine out in pain.
It threw Geralt off balance in his saddle, giving Hoat an opening to slash out. Quickly he had his left arm up, blocking the saber with his Stark bracer before pulling back to punch the man in the side. Even with his armor, the studded glove and Witcher strength knocked the wind out of him along with cracking some ribs.
The mercenary commander didn't let the injury stop him as he pushed his zorse forward to tackle against Roach, the striped horse baying fiercely as it tried to bite the mare. If it weren't for the armor along the neck and head, Geralt bet the frenzied animal would maim his mount's face. At this point the Witcher's anger at the ruthless man reached a breaking point as he slashed out wide with his sword, forcing Hoat to block with one hand bracing his saber. With him distracted, Geralt thrusted his left hand out, fingers flexing the Aard Sign as a powerful burst of telekinetic energy was unleashed. The force of the simple spell was enough to knock the fearsome zorse to the ground with its rider.
Hoat howled out in pain as his mount toppling over crushed his left leg, which didn't help as the zorse thrashed about trying to get up. The swift draw and fire of his crossbow into one of the zorse's eyes ended the crazed beast, keeping it pinned on top of Vargo. Reloading the weapon in the blink of an eye, he aimed the weapon down at the scowling man.
"No…it is over."
All around the skirmish was winding down as the Companions realized their commander was bested. Those who began to yield were surrounded, either dropping their weapons or being forcibly disarmed. Thoros though had his opponent on the ground, the pale skinned merc gripping the right side of his head where that flaming sword had sheared off his ear.
"Bah! That was too short!" The priest complained as he swung burning sword about.
Beric's gaze looked towards the town. "Still need to stop the attack on the town. Seems like the Companions are ready to break the door down."
"Then let's get at them! Forward men!" Thoros declared, already moving to charge off to the next battle.
Geralt shook his head seeing his friend run off like that, though it should have been expected. "Beric, keep some of our men to ensure Hoat and the others are secure. Graffin and everyone else…follow me!"
Everyone quickly followed the Witchers orders, forming up with him as they all chased after the Red Priest who had a good head start on them all.
…
The Militia
"HEAVE!" The yell lead into a cracking slam as the battering ram struck against the already splintering gate. The blow nearly forced Marcus and the others back, but they kept themselves braced against the gateway.
"Hold it together men!" Marcus yelled out before the next bash followed. Even Ogatto was struggling to keep the gate shut, the Dothraki's biceps bulging from the strain of going against the mob outside. Shadow meanwhile was on the wall, shooting normal arrows into the crowd at the gate, though it was difficult with them throwing javelins back. They had ran out of firebombs as well, having used them up in the pitch of battle.
"MARCUS!" The booming voice of Doric snapped the Northerner's attention to see the imposing knight stepping forward with reinforcements. "The north side is secure. Some unexpected aid."
"I noticed! UGH!" Again the door cracked, the split big enough to see through.
"Its not going to hold!" Ogatto warned.
"Then we fight them face to face!" The next strike came before Marcus snapped out. "Back off! Archers and slinger to the back, anyone with a shield up front and those with spears behind us!"
Everyone was quick to get into formation with Marcus, Doric and Ogatto being front center. The Northerner had a sturdy round shield and his trusty hand axe at the ready, having used up all his crossbow bolts on hand. The gate was bashed at more, axes being swung at it to chip it away. The next slam of the ram threw the gate wide and with it a swarm of sellswords.
"For Fairmarket!" Marcus roared, the men yelling with him as the two sides clashed. He grunted out as a mace slammed down onto his shield arm, shoving the weapon back before chopping his axe deep into the shoulder. A bash from his shield sent the mercenary into another, giving Ogatto an openly to cleave his large blade into another. Doric was unmatched in defense as nothing the sellswords had could pierce his armor while his shield kept maces back. Course his own crushed helms and plate like it was paper.
The rest of the militia, while fearful of an up close battle, were determined to protect their homes. What arrows they had were shot into the crowd before sling bullets followed. Spears jabbed out, impaling into charging soldiers. Toughened clubs cracked down on shields and skulls as the militia gave everything they had. There were of course losses, a blade sinking into someone's gut, a stray arrow into an eye or mace breaking a limb. Those alive were pulled to safety before another rushed to fill in the gap.
Brutal seconds drew out into a minute, the militia holding the flow of mercs back since only so many could get through the busted gate. Marcus lost track of how many men he hacked down, his fierce drive making glancing blows feel like nothing to him. Suddenly there was the distant crack of the ballista in the distance, making him tense as he thought it would slam into the crumbling palisade. Instead it struck into the mass of mercs pressing towards the gate, shocked and angered voices filling the air. The confusion gave the militia more time to press on, now having the enemy pushed back. More yells followed as further back, Marcus could see the North riders attacking from the rear and north, surrounding the Bloody Mummers.
"Where they Hells did they come from!?"
"It's the North! The fucking Starks!"
"Where's the damn commander!"
At this point the Bloody Mummers were starting to lose the will to fight as they were quickly becoming outnumbered and maneuvered. Gradually those attacking the gate were trying to retreat back only to be pinned in by their comrades. With the militia closing in, they realized the odds were against them at this point. Soon yells for surrender filled the air, weapons dropped as the battle for Fairmarket was coming to a close.
Marcus was panting, adrenaline dying down as the ach from fighting started to hit him. "Gods…we won…" He muttered, Ogatto stepped up to lend him a shoulder to lean on. "We were damn lucky."
"I recognized their colors and banner. The North and the Starks by the looks of it." Shadow remarked, from the wall. "And…well…one fellow at the lead." For once the assassin had a clearly tense look on his face. "It's that Geralt, the WItcher Zarin told us to keep an eye on."
The news made Marcus' exhaustion fade as he moved up to the wall, looking over to the east. Doric and Ogatto were close behind, the three watching as at the lead of the Northern troops was a white haired man with two blades at the back.
"He was practically carving his way. Swords cutting through plate a like and…doing some weird stuff I can't explain." The assassin informed.
"Heh like what? Shooting fire out of his hands?" Ogatto jested, though the stare the assassin gave made the Dothraki's smirk fade.
"This complicates matters." Doric stated thoughtfully.
Marcus didn't remark just yet as he studied the Witcher who was directing his men around, rounding up those who surrendered and dealing with those refusing to yield. Geralt…the growing legend, from breaking the Mountain, escaping King's Landing and now the turning the tide at Fairmarket. Even from a distance his gut instinct could sense the dangerous aura around the man.
"Yeah…it does…" He at last muttered. "He damned saved us today…and in the end he's our quarry." Gradually the Witcher and what be his trusted men were getting closer as the way to the busted gate was cleared.
"Friend and foe. What an ironic twist…"
…
Notes: Phew, can say doing my first major battle was a challenging one. As things ramp up with POVs, it got a bit tricky making it all flow together without losing track of everything. Can say at least the Fairmarket Militia had more sound defense tactics then what we last saw in the show at least! Overall an action filled chapter as promised!
Anyway the next chapter will also be a dense one, being the season finale that wraps things up for now. Expect plenty of POVs from Geralt & co, Hadrian, the Lannsiters, Renly and the Tyrells and lasty with Ciri & Dany. There will be some exciting twists, shocking moments and pieces set into place that will further change the course of events.
It's a fresh year and hopefully I can keep a good pace going on chapter releases! At the least, I will do my best to ensure good quality to my writing. I am thinking of setting up a Discord to chat about GoT, Witcher and other nerdy stuff, so if anyone is interested just ask about the idea! As always, share a review or send me a message!