Chapter 13; Battle of Landfall;

Characters of the chapter

Marco Sergeant in the Tully army

On the shore of Westeros a force of around a thousand Tully soldiers were taking cover at the treeline in front of a stretch of shore. Currently the trees around them were burning and shattering as the Orlesian ships bombarded their positions relentlessly. Normally an enemy fleet that found its intended landing site contested would sail away and land elsewhere, but apparently the Orlesians had different ideas. They had decided to take this landing by force and now were attacking the defending Tullys with every piece of artillery they had to soften the defenders up for when the Orlesian soldiers touched the shore. The bombardment aside, the Orlesian intention to attack was all well and good as far as the Tully soldiers were concerned. This way they could cause casualties disproportionate to their numbers before retreating to safety, leaving the invader that much weaker for daring to come here.

A soldier named Marco grit his teeth as one projectile struck the tree above him, flaming debris scattering everywhere. Somewhere far away he could hear someone laughing maniacally, most likely out of stress more than anything. Marco found himself hoping that he could do something comparable, to just laugh in the face of danger. This was already one of the most frightening experiences in his life, made all the more so because there was nothing he could do except cower and hope death would not come to claim him. He clutched his bow tighter to his chest and offered a silent prayer to the gods, asking for the mercy of being allowed to live. He was not typically a religious man, but paradoxically he felt he needed the gods at times like this, when it felt that the gods had deserted them altogether.

The silence, when it fell, was sudden and absolute. One moment the air was full of the sound of violent impacts, the next there was no sound except the breathing of men and the soft crackle of flames here and there. Marco stood up, takin a look at what the enemy ships were up to now. He saw a large number of them now approaching the shore, each one full of troops, while the larger ships were holding their positions further away.

"Stand up. Form up." He commanded the soldiers under his command, and all around him men picked themselves up from the ground and took their place in a formation two ranks deep as other sergeants were repeating his orders all along the line.

"Set bowstrings." he gave his next command, and his men began to make their bows ready to fire. Marco glanced at the Orlesian ships again, noting that the first of them had almost touched the shore.

"Nock arrows!" he heard the voice of his commander from somewhere to his right. "Nock arrows!" He shouted placing an arrow to his bowstring, hearing moments later the command being repeated by someone to his left.

The first ships reached the shore, ramps were lowered and throngs of soldiers began disgorging onto the shore.

"Draw!" Marco shouted, feeling feathers brush against his cheek, lifting the tip of the arrow to point towards the sky.

"Loose!" Came the order from their commander, and a thousand arrows rose to the air as one. They fell on the enemy like rain, and in moments the shore was littered with corpses in blue coats of padded armor. Those that survived took shelter behind their shields and sought to gather their ranks into ordered formations, while scattered groups of enemy archers began to return fire, sending stray arrows their way. A few of his soldiers fell, their bodies pierced, but those that lived continued their attack regardless. The first volley of arrows had not even finished falling when they sent another cloud of arrows after it. Longbowmen like they were able to keep three arrows in the air while firing over long distances. At this moment they were closer to the enemy, so this feat was not possible, but with proximity came greater effects as well, each volley leaving more enemy fallen on the sand. Volley after volley the Tully's fired to the relentless rhythm of "Nock, draw, loose!"

"Empty your quivers." Marco thought. "Empty your quivers, and we go." That had been the order that had been given before the battle had begun, and it was the thought that passed through his mind with the every arrow he fired. One more and one more and one more…

With the unrelenting rain of arrows the Orlesians were struggling to establish a foothold, their fallen beginning to carpet the ground. Marco felt a sense of grim satisfaction at the sight, accompanied by a feeling of encouragement that the battle was going in their favor. Of course they could not destroy the entire Orlesian force, but they were causing them some serious losses, making it that much easier to beat back this invasion in battles to come.

"You came all this way, from your homes to this distant shore where you do not belong." He thought. "Yet the minute your feet touched this soil you died. This land curses you, you who came here blades in hand, intent upon causing harm, intent upon conquest. You should leave now, leave and never return. Otherwise this place shall kill you all, one by one."

It was at that moment that he saw movement on one of the ships that had yet to make it to shore. A man stood up on the boat and pointed a staff at them. To Marco's astonishment a bolt of fire erupted from his staff, flashed across the intervening distance and exploded amidst his people, killing a good dozen of them at once. Marco gasped at the sight and took a step back. Around him the archer line was being attacked in similar manner, with balls of fire, lightning and in one place a white cloud that turned men to ice statues.

"What? What kind of hellweapons are these?" He thought, trying to contain the fear in his mind. He, like many others, had heard the rumors speaking of the Thedosians with queer and potent weapons of war, stories of people with unnatural abilities, able to cause death and destruction by calling upon the powers of the elements. But he knew full well the nature of rumors, how they moved from place to place, growing more outlandish with each time the stories were told. That knowledge had made the rumors easy to dismiss. Until this very moments they had been just that: stories, invented by people who wanted to appear scarier than they actually were. It was like when priests claimed that they could work miracles through their gods. Yet now it seemed that those rumors had come to life, and they were facing individuals with powers far too close to what he would expect from gods to his liking.

"How can we fight that? How can we fight people in command of such powers?" He wondered in his mind, his confidence in victory gone. He glanced around himself, noticing that his soldiers had stopped firing, clearly as shaken as he was. "Keep shooting! Give them everything we've got!" He shouted to them, placing a new arrow to his bow, deciding to set aside his concerns. His troops began to respond to his command, sending fresh arrows against the Orlesians, who had already taken advantage of the brief respite to gather their ranks. "Resume firing!" He bellowed, and other sergeants took up his call, urging their charges to continue fighting the enemy. "Empty your quivers, and we go." Marco repeated in his mind.

Just then a horn sounded to Marco's right, and looking in the direction of the noise he saw a column of cavalry emerge to the beach at the flanks of the Tully force, the hooves of horses churning the sand. Another horn answered the first one moments later, followed by a second column of riders from the opposite side.

Briefly Marco was confused, unsure of what was happening or who these newcomers were. Then he saw the banner fluttering at the head of the column: A black hourglass on a field of bright yellow. With that sight hope leapt in his heart. He recognized the sigil as belonging to the upstart house Kronos. They had not expected to see this house here, particularly since relations had in the past been strained between their house and house Kronos. Yet now they were here, riding to their aid as comrades in arms. Together they would push the invasion back to the sea. A huge cheer arose from the Tully's, the soldiers greeting the arriving knights.

Marco's smile died on his lips when the cavalry columns made a sharp turn and smashed into the Tully flanks and the cheers turned to shouts of horror. Almost at once their flanks were thrown to disarray and began to disintegrate, some soldiers routing, while others turned to engage the horsemen, only for most of them to be cut down immediately for their audacity. His confusion returned with a vengeance, coupled with a dose of panic. Briefly he wondered if there had been some king of mistake, that house Kronos had mistaken them for the enemy. Then more horns sounded and more cavalry appeared directly behind them, beginning to smash into the Tullys all along the line, splitting their force to several segments. That was when he knew the truth. This was no accident, it was far too coordinated for that, far too certain and single-minded in their intent. With that knowledge anger began to burn in his chest like fire.

"Defend yourselves!" He yelled to his people, still seething. Turning around to face the enemy and saw an enemy knight charging toward him at full tilt. He placed another arrow to his bow, aimed quickly and fired. He hit the knight where his helmet met his breastplate. His horse rode on, with him still dangling from the saddle, gurgling as he went. He quickly made ready to fire again, aiming for another knight. Noting that this one was even more heavily armored than the first one, he instead chose to fire at the horse. The horse went over screaming, throwing its rider. Marco thought to shoot the knight while he was down only to realize that he had run out of arrows. Instead he drew his sword and strode to where the knight lay on his back, unable to stand up in his heavy plate. Just before Marco plunged his sword through the eyeslit of his helmet the knight tried to say something but he did not care to hear it.

With no new enemy immediately attacking him he had a moment to consider the situation. He realized that he had now fired all his arrows as had most of his people. By the orders he had given he could now leave. Sure, some of his soldiers still had arrows left, but what of it? This situation had now developed far beyond their original orders. Briefly he considered ordering a retreat, but he realized that between House Kronos cavalry and the Orlesians most of them would not be making it.

He looked at his troops, who were waiting for him to tell them what to do now. "Those of you who wish to go, go. The rest of you, follow me!" he told them, drawing his sword.

"For Westeros!" He roared with all his strength and charged toward the Orlesians. A few of his soldiers turned around and headed in the opposite direction, but the rest followed him.

That was how he found himself in the waterline, straddling the body of an enemy he had managed to push into the water. His opponent struggled in his grip, trying to lift his head above the water but Marco kept him down, while at the same time he tried to align his sword to strike. Eventually he managed to get it to a good position and plunged it down and through his enemy. His foe's struggles ceased and as he withdrew his blade, a gush of red blossomed in the water. Marco picked himself up, wiped his brow and looked around himself. All around him his soldiers were fighting and dying, the lucky ones managing to take down an Orlesian before they died. Where the rest of the Tully force were, he was not entirely certain. Considering all that he had done quite well. He had never considered himself to be much of a swordsman but he had managed to kill several enemy soldiers. Yet with every boat that made it to the shore more of the enemy entered the fray, overwhelming them that much more.

He found himself disturbed by the enemy he was now seeing face to face, so to speak. The Orlesian soldiers snarled and cursed and shouted like any other fighter in battle, but the steel masks they wore over their faces betrayed no emotion. Yet for all that he hated the troops of House Kronos more at this moment. Currently their cavalrymen were riding up and down the shore, slaughtering Tullys as they went. Seeing this he felt angry bile rise in his throat yet again. The King and the Queen would punish house Kronos for this treachery, of that he was certain. Whether he would live long enough to see it was another matter entirely.

Marco tried to charge into one of the boats but was driven back by the pikemen it carried. And then he found himself surrounded by half dozen Orlesians at once. He swung wildly, trying to keep them away from him, even managing to kill one that came too close. Then a pike was pushed to his flank and moments later another through his shoulder, causing his sword to drop. He fell to his knees, then an arm wrapped around his throat from behind and a sword pierced his body. Deciding that he was as good as dead, the Orlesians went on their way. All strength having left his body, Marco crawled forward as another Orlesian boat made landfall just near him. With blurry eyes he saw how a warrior jumped over the side, feet landing in the water with a splash. The warrior was set upon at once by two soldiers of house Tully. The warrior drew a sword, slashing at the soldiers with the same motion. The moment the sword left its scabbard it ignited with a golden light too bright to look upon. It was like someone had taken a piece of the sun and hammered it into a weapon. The weapons of the Tully soldiers rose to meet it, but the sword simply cut through them like the opposing blades were made of butter, droplets of molten metal spraying from the point of contact. That single swing cut down both soldiers and the warrior charged forward in search of new enemies to fight.

"What in the hells, are we fighting swords made of bloody sunlight too? That ain't fair…" Marco thought before collapsing to his side on the sand. That was where he died, bleeding out through his wounds, water lapping against his body. One by one the Tully soldiers who remained fighting were cut down by Orlesian soldiers and the Knights of house Kronos until none remained on the field. The warrior with the glowing sword went on to slay a good number of enemies before the battle's conclusion. With the battle finished more ships continued to make landfall, beginning to offload supplies and equipment along with more troops.

And so the invasion of Westeros had begun in earnest.