Devan
Devan still couldn't quite believe that he'd been given the men he asked for, even as he rode up and down the short line - five ranks wide, ten ranks deep - to inspect his men. My men, isn't that a nice thing to think about? Devan wished he'd brought a Blacktooth standard or two with him, the ancient blue lion roaring its defiance upon a golden field would have been quite a sight to see. Our people could do with a reminder of who the true lions of the West are. No one knew for certain which Western house first used the roaring lion as a sigil, but legends said that House Blacktooth had been given its land by a Casterly of the Rock, not a Lannister, meaning Harlon Blacktooth and his blue lion predated Lann the Clever and his gold one. I suppose the Reynes might have been the first too, but they're dead and gone now, who gives a damn about them?
The excitement of leading his very own army started to wear off as they marched, and Comet's Keep dwindled in the distance, whereas before Devan rode up and down the lines so he could admire the men that he now had command over, now he did it to truly inspect them, he didn't like what he saw. Half of them seemed to be over fifty, and the other half were almost of an age with him. Not one was a man in his prime. I beat such men in the training yard every day when I was at Silverhill, it's more than possible for a green boy to beat a grown man. Battle was different, though, Uncle Royle had always said so whenever he spoke of the Greyjoy Rebellion. How different is it? Will I even be any good at it? Devan shook his head to clear his thoughts, it didn't matter now, he would have to be good at it, or else.
Devan got bored about three hours into the march; the fact that he was riding at the head of an army didn't change any of the scenery, and he'd seen all of it hundreds of times. I should have brought some friends along, if I have to spend every day looking aloof and riding at the pace of an eight year-old until we deal with these outlaws I'll go mad. He took another cursory look over the ranks, and spotted a man at the front who looked to be in his early forties. Not horribly old, he's around Ser Reynold's age. He seems to be something of a leader around here. "You there!" he called out, he wasn't sure how to get the attention of the man he wanted, he certainly didn't know any of their names. I really should have made a better effort at that, it would have been useful. He resorted to pointing instead, which seemed to do the trick, as the man he wanted inclined his head, while no others did. "Come here, I wish to speak with you." The man came over and made the best bow he could while still managing to keep up with Devan's horse. "Do you know how to lead a horse?"
"Of course, my lord, I used to lead Lady Ellinor's pony around the castle very often, I did the same for you too when you were a child. I'm not surprised you don't remember though, you were very young."
Devan felt his cheeks heat up, and tried his best to remember the face in front of him, it was rough-hewn, comely in a common sort of way, with what should have been a very memorable birthmark above the left eye, but still, Devan had no idea who this man was. "Well, this is a good time for us to renew acquaintances. Take my reins, we'll talk." The man held the horse steady while Devan slid out of the saddle and onto the ground. The two of them set off walking again, matching the pace of the men behind them. "Right then, I appear to be at a disadvantage, you know my name, but I don't know yours."
"The name's Hugo, my lord. I've been part of his lordship's guard since I was eighteen."
"You're a loyal man, then," Devan noted. "I'm glad to have someone like you at my side."
"I'm honoured to be marching with you, though it's strange, like marching to battle behind a seven year-old." Hugo laughed, spooking Devan's horse somewhat. He quickly soothed the beast, still laughing, then stopped abruptly when he realised Devan was completely straight-faced. "Yes, well, of course, you're a man grown now."
"Indeed." Devan was happy to be familiar with the men he commanded, but for them to think of him as a child … that was unacceptable. "You're the serjeant here, yes? Tell me, what do the other men here think of me? Do they share your struggle to reconcile my youth with me now?"
"Some do," Hugo conceded. "The older men all remember you as a child, as I do, unless they were taken on later in their lives, though those are few. The younger men have no such issues."
"That is good to hear." It wasn't, the majority of his fifty men were old, less than twenty were younger. This was not going well so far. "How about you tell me a little about yourself ..."
That question proved to be a valuable gateway into a better understanding of this man who had been a part of Devan's life since he was a babe. Hugo spoke about himself at length, rarely needing to be asked more questions, he loved stories, but couldn't read, and had to rely on those told by others. His wife was called Amabel, she worked as a scullery maid, and together they had three children, Amy, Hugo, and Jocelyn. Devan listened patiently, occasionally making encouraging gestures or noises to keep him going, and digesting all the information as best he could, until Hugo faltered, and ran out of things to talk about. Devan sent him back to lead the ranks, and picked out another man to hold his reins and talk his ear off.
The next man was young and shy, far quieter than Hugo, his name was Henry, and Devan found himself doing a good deal more of the talking than him. He was able to coax out his age - twenty two - and the name of the girl he was going to marry, a tavern wench from the Comet Town by the name of Betty, but for the most part he preferred to let Devan talk about history. He especially liked to hear stories of the Dance of Dragons, so Devan focused on those, even if it pained him to talk about Lord Marberry's foolishness and think on what could have been. Henry particularly enjoyed it when Devan brought up the old Shadow King Henry; he didn't have the heart to tell him that he was the last of the Shadow Kings, who gave up his throne to the Lannisters.
There were ten others that Devan walked with before he called a halt for the day. He was exhausted by the end of it, both physically and mentally, but he had a better understanding of the men he was supposed to command, and that could only be a good thing. They made camp just off the road - more of a trail than anything else in truth - and four men were sent out to scout around for any signs of outlaw activity. Ten others were assigned watch duty, and the rest all went to bed, with ten more scheduled to be woken after four hours.
Devan walked around the camp while he waited for his tent to be put up, he'd picked a good location, atop a slight incline where the trail sloped either side. They would be able to see anyone who approached long before they arrived, and the sheer cliffs on either side would keep their flanks secure. This will be a good place to fall back to if we need a strong, safe location to hole up for a while. Gods willing, it won't be necessary though. There were no trees of a decent size nearby, so the only wood they had available came from what they'd brought with them, and the supply wagons themselves. A small barricade was built with spare wooden planks, and reinforced with the wagons to create a solid wall with an entrance either side. We'll make this our base for now, if the gods are good, the bandits will be nearby. Devan stifled a yawn and looked over his shoulder where his tent was just about finished. "Good work," he told the men who'd done it when he got there. "I'm going to bed, wake me if an enemy is sighted."
His sleep was fitful, every few hours he would be woken up by the sound of men shuffling around, reaching for a sword that wasn't there to fight an enemy he'd made up in his head. There isn't going to be an attack, for sevens' sake, the bandits don't know we're coming for them, and we're far too well defended a target for them to attack without reason. Still, Devan struggled to sleep, and he was groggy when he woke the next morning. He considered waiting in the camp for the rest of the morning, officially, so his men could get some training done, but really so he could wake up properly. That idea was immediately dashed when he was informed that two of the scouts returned late last night. They'd found a village, and discovered that a small bandit hideout was only two days' march away. "The villagers said that they would give us a guide to take us right to it. They aren't sure how many men there are, but it can't be more than forty." This scout was one of the men Devan spoke to yesterday, a man by the name of Barrick, whose brother owned a farm.
"Forty? In one hideout?" Devan hadn't been expecting so many. It must be the stronghold they operate out of. That's audacious, just three days away from Comet's Keep. If they had any sense, they would be deep in the mountains.
"That's what I was told, my lord," Barrick confirmed.
"I see, well, they won't be expecting us, and they should be far less well-equipped. We can deal with them easily enough man-to-man. Ten will stay here to guard the camp, the rest will head for this village. Once we break the bandits, they'll scatter among the mountains, some will try to run away back to their homes, but others will never give up on their criminal ways, the more we can kill here the better." Devan didn't feel good about this. It made no sense for the bandits to position themselves so close to Comet's Keep, advantageous position to attack the Gold Road be damned, they would want to be deep in the mountains, far from any heavily fortified stronghold that could be used as a base to attack them. So why are there so many men at that hideout? Devan shook his head, they would find out once it was taken, perhaps this was just the result of a complete lack of opposition from Houses Lydden and Brax; it had made them arrogant.
Devan had Henry help him with his armour, it wasn't particularly difficult, but it was tedious, especially since most pieces were scavenged from Comet's Keep's armoury, and weren't designed to fit together perfectly. He forwent his helm, which would be tied to the side of his horse, but wore everything else, a gorget to protect his neck, a cuirass over his torso, pauldrons, rerebrace, couter, vambrace, and gauntlet on each of his arms, and a greave, cuisse, and sabaton protecting each leg and foot. He felt invincible when he wore it, even if it was dented and used. He cleaned all of it the day before they marched out, so it reflected the morning sun perfectly. He'd been offered a shield when he left Comet's Keep, but he chose not to bring one, a free hand could be useful in combat, and his armour made a shield mostly redundant.
The journey to the village wasn't long, it took a couple of hours, which only afforded him enough time to speak to one new man after he caught up on sleep on his horse. This one was called George. His family used to be farmers, but they'd lost their farm to bankruptcy thirty years ago. George was born in the Comet Town ten years later, and helped his father earn money by working as a tanner's apprentice before getting kicked out onto the streets for stealing. He was fortunate enough to find work as a guard in Comet's Keep, and held that job ever since. Devan hadn't been aware that he was a thief, that was usually enough not to be taken on at Comet's Keep. Perhaps he had some sort of favour with the captain of the guards, that wouldn't surprise me.
The village was quiet when they arrived, even as the sun was at its zenith in the sky. They must be afraid of the bandits, they look like easy prey, the bandits must raid them often. "The elder's house is just up there," Barrick pointed to a small building upon a little mound. "He's the one who promised me a guide."
Devan slid from his horse as they reached it, and gestured for the man closest to him to knock on the door. He recognised Henry, the shy young man who enjoyed learning about history. A few seconds later, a little girl with long brown hair answered the door. "Hello, my lady," Devan smiled, lowering himself as much as he could manage in his armour to be less intimidating. "Is your father home?" She couldn't have been much older than nine, but to her credit, she didn't look scared at all.
"Yes, mister, one minute." She closed the door in his face, much to his chagrin. There were a few chuckles from behind, which only slightly settled down when Devan shot a glare over his shoulder.
The door was soon opened again, revealing an elderly man with thick arms, a wide chest, and a white-silver beard. "You must be the 'lordship' your man there told me about. You're chasin' them bandits, yes?" His accent was typical of the commons in the mountains, difficult to make out, and always over-pronouncing some letters while forgetting to pronounce others.
"I'm told you know of a hideout in the mountains nearby, and can provide a guide to reach it."
The old man stroked his chin, looking Devan up and down, appraising him. "Aye, I could do such as that, would need somethin' in return though."
Excuse me? You want me to pay you for killing the bandits that doubtless have been terrorising your pathetic little village for years? Devan considered throwing the offer back in his face and trying his luck without a guide, but the sooner he squashed this hideout, the sooner he could question some of the bandits and get a better idea of their numbers. "Fine, what do you want?"
"Men 'ave to feed their own, twenty silvers to the guide, and ten to me for finding him, you've a deal there." A few of his teeth had fallen out in his old age, making his smile eerily toothy. "I don't know how you 'ighborns make deals, but down 'ere we shake on 'em." He held a hand out, which Devan grasped firmly. He was a little surprised when the elder started shaking his hand up and down, but he supposed that was to be expected from something called a handshake.
"I'm familiar," Devan lied. "My supplies are back at my camp, I'll send some men back to retrieve it for you."
"Ah, no need there, milord," the elder protested. "I'll send a few lads up with your boys and they'll bring the lot back themselves."
"I can arrange the transport of a few silvers myself, thank you very much." Devan didn't like the idea of smallfolk poking around his camp. Even the most honourable men might turn to thievery when they're destitute, and this man doesn't look particularly honourable. "Find me your guide, I want to set off as soon as possible."
"Of course, milord, 'e's me own son, after all." Why am I not surprised? "He'll be with you before too long."
Before too long had turned out to be well over an hour, and when the guide finally emerged from the elder's house, well-built, with a bushy brown beard and cropped hair, Devan had grown so impatient that he insisted they set off at once. He'd thought about talking to a few of the townsfolk to pass the time, but none were out in the streets, and he didn't want to go around knocking on doors. Instead, he settled on finding another of his men to talk to, this one by the name of Barth. He couldn't remember half of what he said a few seconds after they began marching, he'd barely been listening.
Devan remained on his horse for a few hours, stewing in anger at the fact that he had to pay these people for the help he was giving to them for nothing. If I was born a prince of the Kingdom of Shadows, he would never have dared to make a request like that. He might have been able to threaten and cajole his way around it, but that would have required time which he didn't want to waste, and patience that he didn't have. Perhaps I still should have tried, for the principle of it at least. Devan shook his head, making his helm scrape against his gorget. What's done is done, I can only look to the future.
Eventually, Devan's poor mood subsided, and he removed his helmet. It was an imposing piece of armour, and it was good for covering his face, but it got horrendously hot, even on a day like this, where the sun was obstructed by clouds and a cool breeze blew dust across the floor. There was little chance of being attacked until they were close to the bandits' hideout, and even when the visor was flipped up, it made talking to anyone difficult. Shortly after, he was bored again, but instead of calling one of his men over, he chose to talk to the guide who was up at the head of the small column, pointing the odd rock formation or sidepath out to Hugo. "Do these bandits attack your village very often?" he asked, getting the attention of both men.
The guide nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, aye, milord, at least once or twice a month, that's why none of the folk were willing to come out of their 'omes when you came, it's fear."
"I see, then why don't you move further away? Surely it would be safer."
"Ain't nowhere that's safe from them bandits, they attack villages all over when there ain't any merchants to be robbed on the road. Aye, we could go somewhere safer, far from the Gold Road, but this is our 'ome, has been for 'undreds of years, we won't leave it for nothin'."
Devan was taken aback, that seemed far too noble a reason to stay than a peasant had any right to have. The smallfolk have the potential to have honour, that is no shock. "I understand," he said. "My family has lived in our home for thousands of years. I could never dream of abandoning it."
"Easier said when your 'ome is a fortress, if milord don't mind my saying."
"He does," Hugo interjected. "Keep your mockery to yourself."
"My apologies, not every day I get to talk to a lord." Devan didn't like the way he apologised, it didn't sound genuine in the slightest.
"Apology accepted," he said anyway, he'd need to abide by this man for at least the next two days - though blessedly this day seemed near its end, judging from the sun - so he would need to get along with him at least somewhat. "Say, you never told me what your name-"
"Stop!" The man roared suddenly. "Do you hear that?"
"Halt!" Devan called, prompting the entire column to freeze. "Hear what?"
"I 'eard somethin'," the guide insisted. "I'm sure of it."
"What?!" Devan demanded. "Where from?"
"I don't know," the guide mused. "It was from up the road somewhere."
Devan looked around, he couldn't see anything, and there was too much confused conversation for him to hear whatever it was the guide thought he heard. It was probably just an animal of some sort, or maybe some rocks tumbled down in the distance. Devan squinted in an effort to see further down the trail, but all he saw was the same narrow, winding path, flanked by alternating sheer cliffsides, brush-covered roughland, the odd branching trail, and rocky, but manageable descents. Maybe a patrol of bandits. Why would they be sending out patrols, though? They don't know we're coming, and there's no other threat in the region. He looked behind him, most of his men had started milling about, only a handful were still standing at attention. "Men! Don't just-"
"Look out!" Devan felt a heavy weight slam into his back, knocking him to the floor with a thump, made all the worse by the heavy armour weighing him down. He struck his head against the hardened dirt, and his ears started to ring.
He pushed himself up on one hand enough for him to see over his shoulder. "What the fuck was that-" the words died in his throat as he saw Hugo dropping to his knees, an arrow lodged in his throat. "Hugo!" He cried out, bile rising in his throat as the man gargled and bled.
"Brave fool," the guide spat, Devan's eyes shot to him, he was standing over him, brandishing a long butcher's knife "You want my name, boy? You'll 'ave it, tell your sisterfucking ancestors it was Qarl who sent you to 'em." He swung it down, Devan moved before he thought, there was a loud clang as his vambrace blocked the blade. Qarl cursed and raised his knife for another swing, Devan was still lying almost prone on the floor, weighed down by his armour. He knew he had no chance of getting up and drawing his sword before the next attack came.
Qarl raised a foot to stamp on Devan's head, he seized the chance to aim the hardest kick he could manage at the one supporting all of the backstabber's weight. His leg was swept from under him, and he too came crashing down with an animal cry. "You little shit-" Devan put all of his strength into a leap on top of him that knocked all the air out of Qarl's body. He tried to raise his knife, but Devan slammed a gauntleted fist onto his wrist, making him cry out in pain and drop the weapon.
Sword's too long for close-quarters. Devan told himself, as he reached for a knife he soon realised wasn't there. He grabbed Qarl's dropped blade instead, and quickly drew it across his throat. It was a move he'd done hundreds of times in the practise yard, but it felt so different to have done it to end another man's life. My first kill, and it's always going to remind me of when I almost got killed by a damn peasant, fuck me.
He slowly got back to his feet, feeling a little dizzy even as he did. Not that I'm complaining about you saving my life, Hugo, but you could have been a bit less rough. Devan instantly felt horrible for that thought, he could still see said man's corpse kneeling not two feet away from him. The blood was one thing, Devan could handle that, he'd had his fair share of accidents and scars over the years, the eyes were another altogether, they shook him to his very core, glassy and lifeless, where once a man with a family had been, now there was only the cold embrace of the Stranger. A family, a wife and three children, two girls and a boy with his name. Devan resolved to have his body sent back to Comet's Keep. At last the ringing in his ears subsided as he went to retrieve his helm, but what that allowed him to hear shook him to his core.
From behind, he heard battlecries, screaming, the clash of steel on steel. Devan spun on his heel, and his heart flipped when he saw his little makeshift army being set upon from both sides. Terrain that Qarl had claimed was impassable gave way to hundreds of men wielding swords, axes, halberds, dirks, any weapon they could get their hands on. He knew at once that he and his men were severely outnumbered. "Form up!" He shouted as loud as he could manage, jamming his helmet down over his head and leaping onto his horse to join the battle. Getting in formation isn't going to do any good if they get behind us, we need to get back first. "No, retreat-" Devan caught himself, if he told these men to retreat without reestablishing order, it would soon turn into a rout. "Form up, I mean! Form up and fall back!" He drew his sword, and rode headlong into the chaos.
Seconds became hours as he hacked in massive arcs all around him. His castle-forged steel found no resistance but thin cloth and boiled leather, and scythed through both like a hot knife through butter. "On me!" He called out desperately, using the vantage point his mount afforded him to look over the newmade battlefield. They still weren't surrounded, and men were starting to rally to him. Some were injured, some lay dead on the ground, but those men were few. Scavenged weapons were only so effective against steel armour, even if it didn't cover the whole body like Devan's. "To me! To me!" He shouted once again, positioning himself in the centre of the tight ball of guardsmen. "We have to run, but do not break formation. We run together, or we die separated! Follow me!" Devan put his heels to his mount, and cantered back the way they had come, drifting from side to side to scythe his sword down at another cluster of assailants. He couldn't have said how effective it was, or if he killed or injured anyone, but it kept them back while his men tried to run while remaining in a protective square.
Devan looked up the road, the roughlands were replaced with cliff sides only a few hundred metres up the path, if they reached that they would be able to choke the passage and defend against any number of enemies. Their attackers knew that though, and were quickly moving to block their retreat, fully surrounding them as Devan had feared. "Charge those men blocking our path, scatter them to the wind, and reach those cliffs!" Devan called out, but even as his men made an affirmative roar, the roadblock was reinforced more and more, he estimated there were as many as fifty men in just that small force blocking their path, and yet that was only a fraction of the force attacking them. Who are these people? Is this the bandits? How can there be so many? There were only meant to be ninety, one hundred at most, it looked to him that there were more than two hundred attacking them now. Devan slowed down to start shepherding his men forward and hacking apart anyone who tried to give chase, but he was making a negligible impact on their numbers, and when he looked up the road, he realised with horror that the bandits were holding out against them. If they managed to get them bogged down into a fight on all sides, they would inevitably be annihilated, there was only one option left.
"Comet's Keep!" Devan roared, kicking his horse into a canter to charge the defenders himself. Some foolish men got in his path, only to be trampled under the hooves of his horse without a check to his progress. His own men had the good sense to get out of the way as he thundered past, but the men trapping them on the roughlands didn't do the same. They fought ferociously, grabbing for his reins any chance they could, even as Devan chopped hands from wrists and heads from necks. Don't stop, if I stop, I die. Uncle Royle had told him what happened to knights who got dragged from their horses. Ten mangy dogs can kill a lion, when he's lying on the ground. He could only hope that his men were running behind with all their might, if they weren't, he wasn't sure what he would do.
Devan missed one man who went for his reins, just one, and that was all that was needed. His horse stopped, whinnying in fear as the peasant yanked to the side. Devan struggled to stay in the saddle, and swung his blade down on the peasant, lodging it deep enough in his skull to take a second or two to wrench out, by then, the rest were upon him. He felt hands close in all around him, trying to pull him down. He hacked at them, but more and more came to replace them, faster than Devan could move his sword. He started to panic as his reins got grabbed again, he couldn't keep moving forward, and he could feel himself being pulled down.
"Betty!" A familiar voice cried out. Seriously, Henry? You shout your betrothed's name as a battlecry? Devan wouldn't have cared if he shouted his own sister's name though when the hands grabbing and pulling at him receded, and the enemies all around were replaced with friends. "Quickly, my lord, we're breaking them!" Henry shouted as he passed, burying his sword in a man's chest. True enough, the bulk of the men blocking their escape had been cleaved through, all it needed was one last good charge. He gave his horse a soothing pat on the neck, and dug his heels in one final time. The enemy fell away in the face of the charge, and what was left of his men filled the gap they left, running after Devan towards the safety of the passage.