"Bluff the Old Lion hard," Brynden said earnestly. "Young Robb and Bloodless Bolton will need all the time you can give them."
"I seem to remember thinking this ruse up in the first place, you ugly old fish," Willam replied wryly, before turning his destrier toward Lohgun, who squatted nearby atop a small black and white garron. The two old friends looked at each other a long minute, neither saying anything.
The Badger finally broke the silence, "Joy."
Willam nodded his head and whispered back, "For Ned. Joy." Lord Dustin then trotted off to his new squire, Olyvar Frey, now betrothed to twelve year old Lyanna Dustin. The young man currently held the reins for the three horses carrying the caged ravens trained to fly to Riverrun, Fairmarket, and the Twins. Together, the pair galloped off to join up with the faux northern army heading southeast, back towards the Kingsroad. The decoy force Lord Dustin would lead consisted of Robett Glover's mixed command of five hundred outriders, seven hundred men and a hundred horse from the Rills under Roger Ryswell, two hundred mounted Frey banners commanded by Ser Tytos, a grandson of Lord Walder from his fourth son, and the four hundred horse and eighteen hundred foot of the Barrowlands.
'Forty five hundred total men with which to trick Tywin Lannister into thinking the North desired battle with him. But for how long?' Lohgun wondered.
"Quit daydreaming Badger, the last of Robb's van is about to enter the Crossing," Brynden hectored.
"Stop yapping your gums, bub," Lohgun grumbled, unhappy to have his musings interrupted. "And how can I daydream when it's night?" Nevertheless, the Lord of Tumbledown Tower put spurs to his diminutive mount and galloped to catch up with Robb's thirty five hundred cavalry and the four hundred mounted Frey troops commanded by the tired, old weasel Ser Stevron. This force would travel through the night and push itself hard each day until it could relieve Riverrun. 'Maybe some of the Riverlands' scattered banners will glom on to us,' he hoped.
The Blackfish and the Badger rode wide around the newly pitched tents of the remainder of the Northern host, some thirteen thousand men and two hundred horse. On the morrow, five hundred of them would remain behind with Helman Tallhart to take up residence in the Twins and ensure the 'Late' Lord Frey's good faith in the new alliance. Then the rest, along with close to three thousand Frey bannermen led by Ser Hosteen, another of the over numerous fruit of Walder Frey's loins, would march across the Green Fork and make for Fairmarket on the Blue Fork with all speed.
"Get there firstest with the mostest," the Badger muttered. "Firstest with the mostest."
Robb's horse stood still in the main square of Fairmarket as he gazed out across the river facing side of the large open space currently devoid of its usual merchants and shoppers. An inconspicuous wooden bridge, just wide enough to handle a single wagon at a time, spanned the high banks of the Blue Fork. More of the town, all-in-all large by Northern standards, sprawled out in disorganized fashion on the other side of the moderately paced river. A few hours of daylight still remained; sufficient time for all the young lord's mounted force to cross, assuming the unassuming structure could withstand the strain.
"We have to cross that rickety thing," said Winterfell's heir, with more than a hint of disbelief to his voice.
Lord Jason Mallister chuckled, "It's stronger than it appears, my lord. The last one got washed away in flooding, oh … six or seven winters ago, during my youth. You'd have to go back a century or two to discover a bridge that served Fairmarket longer than this one."
"I am somehow not reassured, milord," Robb grunted, eliciting hoots and snickers from those around him.
Brynden cut through the laughing magpies, "My lord nephew, we must not dawdle."
Chided, an emulation of Ned's lordly mask descended over the teenager's face. "Uncle, would you and Ser Patrek kindly lead the five hundred men of Seagard over first and scout ahead? We know not for certain how far the Kingslayer's scouts roam."
Lord Mallister's son and the Blackfish both snapped him a quick salute and then started yelling for the men of the Riverlands to move out.
"Theon, Littlejon, Ser Wendel, Black Walder," Robb continued, addressing a portion of his personal companions, "Take a hundred men each up both sides of the river and scour the banks for any boats, no matter how small, and sail or row them back here."
Horses promptly began moving to carry out his command.
"Eddard, Dacey, Ser Perwyn, Daryn, do the same downriver. Lord Bolton must find a fleet here, no matter how ragtag, when he arrives in four days. It will not do if he finds all fifteen thousand men must march to the Ruby Ford," spoke Robb quite sternly.
More horses immediately departed.
Finally, his lord's attention turned to himself. "Badger, we've had no word from Lord Dustin in the four days since we left the Twins. Pray find whatever lord or maester for this town keeps its ravens. I am eager for news on well his ruse goes against the gods damned Tywin Lannister!"
Lohgun lofted a salute. Soon he and his two score bannermen from Tumbledown Tower were searching for the tallest buildings in Fairmarket, under the assumption one of them would hold the town's aviary.
The Blackfish and three score outriders, all wearing boiled leather and odd pieces of mail, burst their mounts out of the stream that curved through the modest open dell in the northeastern part of the Whispering Wood. As they raked spurs across their horses mud splattered flanks, riding heading hells bent for leather toward the apparent escape offered by the tree line ahead of them, stained, torn banners showing the Naked Maiden of the Pipers and the Leaping Silver Trout of the Tullys rippled in the wind overhead. A cacophony of shouts and galloping hoof beats chased after the intrepid band, seeking vengeance for the dozen outriders of Lord Jaime Lannister's mobile force slain in an ambush not long after the sun set. A full moon, welcoming the New Year, now hung low in the sky, lighting the way for eight hundred men charging their mounts full out beneath golden Lannister lion, purple Brax unicorn, and six Westerling seashell styled banners.
Unobtrusively, Lohgun slithered his slight garron in between the much larger war horses of Robb's personal companions until he reached the front rank. The first of the fleeing men reached the edge of the pines and the first of the Westerlander splashed into the stream, now even with the Stark heir's hidden position on the flank of the valley. The Badger drew a short, curved sword, and then another even shorter, curved sword, awaiting the sound of horns, from the Mormont and Umber forces secreted on the opposing flank of the earthly basin, to signal the attack.
Lohgun felt his senses expand. Time slowed. He merged with the blaze of motion, sounds, and scents.
A third of the Kingslayer's forces had now passed out of the stream.
"Woooooh! Woooooh! Wooooh!" blared into the night sky.
The short, stout man's diminutive, lithe mount burst from between trunks and over scrubby bushes into the valley's meadow before the heavier warhorses of the other Northerners, and Riverlanders too, could build up any momentum. The Badger sped forward. He saw the charging Lannisters slow and bunch up into several disparate groups, confused by the sudden sounds and shadows racing out from three sides at them, but not unfortunately for long.
"Ta-deeeeee! Ta-deeeeee!"
A rally call blew in the center of the valley. The silvery moonlight at last revealed the golden armor of Jaime Lannister, sword pointing up the gentle slope at the wave of Starks, Freys, and Cerwyns sweeping down at them. Admirably, a third of the Westerlands turned west and trotted forward, forming a loose wedge with the Young Lion at the point, and then increased their speed to a canter.
Donnel Haigh, one of the plentiful Freys, Torrhen Karstark, and then Jon Snow, Ghost racing by his side, drew even and soon passed by the Badger in their foolish, youthful rush for glory, blood, agony, and death. On the boundaries of his vision, Lohgun noted Hornwoods and Karstarks thundering down on the Lannisters still north of the stream; and Mallisters, Umbers, Mormonts, and Manderlys slicing down like a scythe from the east.
The flying wedge tightened up and three hundred Lannister stallions, geldings, and mares suddenly bolted from a canter to a gallop. Only seconds remained before the first clash of steel. Thankfully, Lohgun discerned no lances were held by the charging red cloaks.
The garron responded instantly to the tug on the reins and drafted in behind Jon's sturdy piebald, eating the clumps of mud and grass the bigger horse's hooves churned up. The wedge and the charging shadows collided. The Bastard of Winterfell lifted his shield and shrugged off the clanging swing of the first enemy passing on Jon's left side. Lohgun sliced out the wakisashi and took the rider's mount in the neck, causing both horse and man to tumble bouncing to the earth. With his right hand the katana lashed off the foreleg of another horse while tilting his head back to avoid a decapitating blow. The knight cartwheeled off his maimed mount, landing with a bone crushing impact.
Ahead, the direwolf disemboweled some Banefort man-at-arms' steed before ripping part of the soon falling man's arm off. Lohgun smiled savagely, approving of the beast's methods. This was war. There was no honor inherently natural to a horse or a pretty knight or the noble rules governing how to kill another human being. The Badger's thick, muscular arms swung both blades in a tireless whirlwind, a life's light dimming or ending with each effortless swing. Gore, some of it his own, stained his chain hauberk and dripped off his face. The wicked, lustful, familiar song throbbed and twisted deep in his soul, each note accentuated by the rhythmic beat of steel on steel, filling his belly with a warmth more satisfying than any woman or wine. The only honor lay in who and what you fought for. The Mad Badger felt his conscience reach the point of dissolution, only the compulsion to kill remaining, a berserker rage. Time stood still.
"Stark! Boy! Fight me, fight meeeeeee!"
'No.' He knew that voice. He fought to remember it, to remain in the present. A giant black bird flew across the silvery face of the moon, casting an immense shadow of beating wings over the valley floor. "Kingslayer," the man called Lohgun at last whispered, returning to himself.
The Badger turned his spritely, undersized pony toward the source of the threats. Jaime Lannister struggled no more than thirty feet from Robb, blade spitting out death in an impossible blur of speed and strength. The garron's knees started to buckle. 'Fool,' he cursed himself for getting distracted and losing the flow of his surroundings. A sword drew back from next to his leg, pulling a long, blooded blade from out of his faithful mount's lung. Lohgun kicked his feet from out of the stirrups and hopped to a stand on the saddle as the horse began collapsing. Eight to ten riders separated him and the Kingslayer. The Badger sprang.
Horseback. A Lannister. Wakisashi to kidney. Step.
Horseback. A Frey. Grab backward swinging arm. Steady. Leap.
Horseback. A Lannister. Incoming swing. Side step away.
Horsefront. A Brax. Knee to face. Crouch. Jump.
Horseback. Already dead. Hop.
Horseback. The Badger watched Theon's horse, from the Kingslayer's shield side, push Owen Norrey's now mountless charger to out of the way. The smug youth drove his swordpoint straight at the Golden Lion's exposed thigh. Without seeming to have looked, Lannister lowered the wooden guard and deflected the blow while stabbing his blade across the front of his chest and around the edge of the shield. Theon's eyes bulged, and then his face went pasty white, as an inch wide and six inches long piece of steel passed through mail, leather, bicep, leather, and mail. To the boy's credit, while he dropped his sword he raised his shield just in time to knock back the Kingslayer's withdrawing blade and then successfully catch two more lightning fast strikes before the Lannister moved relentlessly forward toward his goal. The Kingslayer now came within a sword length of Robb.
"Die!" the Golden Lion roared.
"Die!" the Badger cried, leaping off of horseback, flying over the helm of some knight, and stretching into the air. He wouldn't make it all the way. Robb hid behind his shield, desperately trying to catch the Kingslayer's hurtling thrust on his own blade. Grey Wind snarled. The Badger tucked tight.
His upper back and lower neck hit hard into the well churned earth, but his momentum kept him rolling forward. Toes and feet brushed the ground and Lohgun pushed down hard, launching him at an upward angle. The wakishasi and katana both buried deeply into flesh. Jaime Lannister's war horse reared on its hind legs in unimaginable pain. The Badger saw the barest glimmer of recognition and then the Young Lion's blade flashed down. The wildling released his two embedded blades and raised his clenched fists, hoping to catch the slashing attack. Snickt! Snickt! Six armored claws popped from the backs of his hands. Too late. He howled. He bled. The Kingslayer cut through the meaty part of his upper left arm, down to the bone.
The Badger stabbed with his right hand, finding shield, but the hardened claws penetrated through wood, steel bands, and into the Kingslayer's armored forearm. A blaze of light burst through the puncture holes, illuminating Lohgun's face. The Young Lion bellowed his own pain, yet also refused to yield to it and beat his sword down again, this time catching the wildling in the crook of the neck, splattering gore in the air.
Lohgun slumped heavily, strength draining from his body with every spurt of blood. But the angle of his claws, piercing into the Kingslayer's shield and arm, held stubborn to the foe, not releasing their grip. The stout man's heavy body now became a deadweight hanging off the Young Lion, trying to pull the Lannister from his saddle. The strong man heaved hard against his stirrups and shook his shield with terrible might trying to dislodge the wildling. Jaime Lannister cried louder with every shake, each movement causing the trapped claws to turn and further ravage the inside of his forearm.
Lohgun's eyelids fluttered. A glittering blade slashed through the moonlight. Sparks and another burst of light sprang into the air. An eerily detached Badger watched the Kingslayer's body fall to the earth on one side of him, the man's hand, still clutching his golden sword, land to the other side of him, and a wolfishly grinning Robb Stark complete the swing of his blooded steel. Before he lost consciousness, Lohgun saw the Kingslayer's fingertips spasm mechanically on the pommel and a spark shoot out of the glistening stump. "Pierce," he whispered.
Darkness … and a dream about a strange blackbird, with three shiny, unblinking eyes, followed.