"How many have we lost? Tristan asked, not taking his eyes from the Brotherhood's strong position atop the Redhill. They had attacked three times, morning, afternoon and evening, attempting to storm the strong position up there, but each time they had been thrown back. Arrows, slings and bolts had met them on the slopes and as they reached the crest sharp speartips and swinging flails drove back his men. His cavalry hadn't gotten close when they'd attacked this morning, they had gotten closer on the two subsequent attacks when they attacked afoot, but the end result was the same.

"Thirty four dead," Dom told him solemnly. "A similar number are wounded, though most of them should pull through.

Shield echoed Tristan's growl and he ran his fingers through the wolf's fur.

"A night attack might work," Daryn suggested. "It would shield us from their ranged attacks at least."

"That hill is slick with mud, even more so now our feet have torn up the soil. I wouldn't want to try going up there in the dark," Cley replied.

"No, it would be a muddy mess in the dark and a bloody one in the dawn," Tristan said.

"So what's the plan?"

Tristan curled his hand into a fist. He was supposed to be riding around the Riverlands, stamping out dissent, hunting down brigands and restoring Robb's peace to the land while they had the time granted to them by a truce. That time was limitted, if the truce ended and war resumed they would be needed on the front lines again. But he had spent his entire time here hunting down one group of marauders, now he had them and he wasn't going to let them go. Part of him wanted to attack again, to finally snuff out this Brotherhood of the Sevens' Sword so he could return to his other duties. But another part of him recognised that the very fact he had spent his weeks here hunting down this one particular band who had remained ahead of him at every turn, meant he couldn't underestimate them.

"We surround the hill," Tristan said simply. "We can call on fresh supplies, they can't, we'll starve them out." Part of the reason he wanted to move quickly was to not put too much strain on the already worn out resources of the Riverlands in any one place, but this had to be done.

He kept watching the Brotherhood from their position atop the hill as his men spread out to block all routes of access to them. He tried to judge their number, several hundred at least, it was hard to tell behind their wagon line. Why here? There was no castle at Redhill, and the village here, though large for a village, lacked resources of any great military value. So why come out in the open here? What did they hope to achieve? Whatever it was, there was nothing to it now. They were surrounded, trapped, and soon would be defeated.

He turned away and returned to his bedroll, by tomorrow it should all be done, and this Brotherhood of the Sevens Sword destroyed. This 'Handless' whoever it or they were, would be dragged before him and he would have answers from them before they were hanged.

He awoke to hot breath on his face in the dark of night. "Shield?" He croaked, then sat bolt upright. Why was Shield here? He had not summoned Shield to his side. Shield was supposed to be far away, leading his cousins through the woods, keeping them from the paths of hunters looking to thin the pack, and from humans they might see as fair meat. Tristan made a point to check on him every day, and he had been deep in the woods yesterday. It put him too far away to call at will. But calling was no longer necessary for Tristan, simply reaching out with his mind would alert Shield to his need, if the wolf didn't know already, and he would come running. But Tristan hadn't called him. He still needed the wolf packs brought to heel so that the people might hunt and travel safely. Shield knew that, so why had he come?

He threw the covers off and shook Elmar. "Elmar, wake up," he hissed.

His squire mumbled, turned over and then pushed himself up. "Lord?" He asked.

"Something's happening," Tristan said, eyes scanning the darkness. Apart from the faint glow coming from the torches lining each camp, there was nothing.

"What is it Lord?"

"I don't know," Tristan kept looking. Should he wake the men? Why had Shield come? It wouldn't be for no reason.

"Lord, the hill!" Elmar hissed.

Tristan's eyes snapped back to the summit of the hill, where more flames were sprouting. Flames that moved, flames that were coming down the hill.

"They aren't." Tristan hissed.

"My lord, I think they are."

"Everyone up, everyone get up now!" Tristan yelled, just as the lookouts began ringing the alarm bells.

Soldiers rolled to a seated position, groggy and uncertain. But these were war veterans now. It only took them moments to be on their feet calling for arms and armour.

But the camp was still in disarray when the wagons tore into it. Sheaves of hay and bramble had been strapped to the sides of each one and set alight. The flames licked up from the wagons and the men recoiled crying out in alarm and pain. And lit up like spectres against the dark, the men riding the wagons let out their ululating warcries. They span weapons over their head that flashed with reflected firelight, some of them tossed flaming shot and brands from the wagons at passing soldiers and tents.

"They're mad," Tristan whispered half awed, half bewildered.

The attackers leapt off their wagons just before they came to a crashing halt, the vehicles breaking apart, their flames spilling out. The attackers charged. They ignored Tristan's men who were stunned into inaction, and instead ran into the camp, were they trying to escape, no, Tristan saw.

"They're going for the horse lines, stop them!" He raced forward and grabbed a spear from a nearby soldier, spun it in his grip and hurled it. It took one of the attackers in the chest, the rest didn't stop.

"My lord!" Tristan turned and snatched his sword out of the air, ripping the scabbard off with the crook of his elbow and letting it fall.

"Arms men, attack!"

His men charged to stop the attackers, if they reached the horse lines they would scatter the horses and it would take days to recover them, if they could be recovered. One of his men tried to stop them armourless and holding only a dagger. He stabbed the first man, but the second crashed a flail into the side of his head, the next followed with a spear, the fourth with an axe.

But now his men were closing in. They wouldn't let the horse lines be cut and be made to fight the battle afoot. Shield charged with a growl, weaving among legs and flashing weapons, racing for the horse lines himself.

"Prince Tristan!" He spun, Elmar was gesturing wildly at the path the burning wagons had taken. Figures were coming out of it, dark and gleaming with weapons and mail. "Rally men," Tristan roared, charging towards them. He met the first man, a thin spearman, easily dodged his clumsy thrust and opened his throat with a single cut. His men followed him, and a swirling melee broke out at the edge of the camp as more attackers emerged from the dark and more of Tristan's men converged from within the camp.

"Throw these bastards out!" Tristan screamed, the fury at being attacked like this was fire in his veins and he became the dancer of death again. Few of the enemy came close to him, and those that did died, they died with punctured hearts, slit throats and opened guts and, even unarmoured, not a single cut nicked him in turn, Whenever a wave of attackers drove his men back, Tristan held out until his men returned again. Dozens died. At first his men, freshly wakened and unarmoured, suffered worse, but as the minutes passed the last tiredness fell away and more men entered battle clad in steel plate, a few had even unhitched their horses from the horse lines and rode amongst the enemy with abandon. But still the enemy attacked, again and again, some retreated into the dark to rest for a few moments, but they returned again and again until almost all were dead and the one that wasn't was held down by his own soldiers as the dark blue of dawn began to creep into the sky.

"Bring that man to me," Tristan growled. Shield came up beside him, maw and claws red.

Two of his men dragged the prisoner up to him. He thrashed like a dog, trying to pull himself free. He only stilled when Tristan stood before him. "You," he spat fiercely. "You are Tristan Stark."

"I am."

He laughed a phlemy laugh. "They were right about you, you are a warrior without equal, even with only one hand." He laughed again. "The man with one hand beaten by the man with none!"

The man with none. "The Handless," Tristan barked. "He's here?"

The prisoner laughed. "He was right about you, you didn't see our attack coming, you underestimate us like everyone else."

"Who is this Handless?" Tristan demanded, pressing his sword hard against the prisoner's neck. "How did he- Gah!"

As soon as the blade was touching his neck, the prisoner jerked with all his strength, slicing his neck open on Tristan's sword, his blood spurting over the ground and sheeting over his chest.

"Fuck me," Tristan cursed, stepping away from the man as the guards dropped him and he flopped on the ground, writhing in his death throes.

"He was devoted," one soldier said with grudging respect.

"I'm devoted," Elmar replied, looking alarmed and slightly ill. "That is something else."

"I agree," Tristan replied. "Don't underestimate these people. This attack was suicidal, look how none surrendered, this man had to be forced to the ground. Whoever or whatever inspires the kind of loyalty that overrules instinct and sense is someone that must be treated with caution. Secure the camp, and send riders to the others, I want news on what's happening there immediately."

The next minutes were a whirlwind of activity as Tristan oversaw provision for the wounded and the security of the perimeter, cones of firelight shooting out into the darkness from torches and lamps.

"They won't try that again," Elmar muttered.

"No, they'll try something else, be ready," he replied.

He waited in the dark. "Where's the fucking sun," he heard one man mutter.

"It'll come when it comes, stay alert," Tristan ordered.

They waited. The riders returned. Similar attacks had been made on the other camps, and been driven off just the same. Had the Handless overplayed? If he had concentrated on one camp, he might have been able to break through to the horselines. Instead he'd frittered away his strength against each of his camps. A few slaps rather than a driving punch.

"Prince Tristan!"

One of the lookouts called him.

"What is it?" He barked. "Another attack?"

"No, prince," the lookout said, pointing to the hill. A pale blue light was rising in the east gently illuminating the hill which stood tall, ringed by makeshift palisades, and empty.

Tristan stared at the hill for a long time. He wasn't sure how long. It took Elmar tugging repeatedly on his arm to get him to look away from the empty hilltop.

"What do we do?" His squire asked.

"What do you think we do?" Tristan asked with forced calm. "Horses!"

It wasn't hard to pick up the trail. Despite hurling flaming wagons into all of Tristan's camps, there were clearly others left. Once the sun had risen fully it was possible to find the tracks that traced a line between Daryn and Domeric's camps, heading south. Tristan split his force into two, one led by himself, the other half led by Domeric and Daryn, coming up behind.

After an hour of carefully following the tracks, they came within sight of the Brotherhood's retreating force. Half a dozen wagons and dozens, perhaps hundreds of soldiers marching alongside them.

"How do we proceed Tris?" Cley asked.

Tristan frowned. "They're holding close to the wagons. I wouldn't want to try and break through that with a single charge. We follow them for now."

"Just follow them?"

"For now, yes, follow them."

And so they followed the Brotherhood as they made their steady progress south. Tristan kept his eyes on the brotherhood's party. Was the Handless among them? Was he looking back at Tristan now? Were they locking eyes at even this distance? Several times Tristan came close to ordering an attack, when the brotherhood moved to cross a river or when they were in the middle of an open field. But every time their formation folded and shifted to compensate for the weakened position they were in, and so Tristan's men kept following them at a safe distance, never closing in, never giving in to the anger and determination to avenge the last night's humiliating attack. They followed until the shadows grew long and the night closed in.

"Tris, if we're going to attack, it has to be now," Cley said.

Tristan took one last look at the brotherhood's formation. It was slowing, certainly, but their formation was still tight, too risky to charge into. "Then we don't attack, follow them until they make camp."

The Brotherhood made camp against a copse of trees, the wagons providing makeshift defences.

Tristan led his men out a short distance away and then ordered them to dismount.

"We should put the horselines out behind us," Cley said. "We don't want a repeat of yesterday."

"No," Tristan replied, and his men turned to him. "No horselines tonight. Stake your horses next to your bedrolls, keep your weapons to hand and sleep in your armour. If we're woken by an attack in the night, I want everyone mounted before the enemy know what has happened."

His men groaned at the order. Armour was uncomfortable at the best of times, sleeping in it was even worse. And sleeping beside your horse could be dangerous, all it took was for the horse to misstep in the night. But it was necessary. Tristan would not be attacked in the night again, not without being ready for it.

So he lay his head on his saddlebag, his mail coif pulled down to rest around his neck, his helmet on the ground beside him and his sword hugged to his chest. His legs, aching from a day in the saddle, were stiff in his plate and comfort was impossible to find.

But at some point he did drift off, because suddenly he was being shaken awake by Elmar. "My Prince, they're coming."

In an instant he sat up, his sword clattering to the ground. He growled and snatched it up as he clambered to his feet. "How do you know?" There were no sounds of battle, no smell of blood.

"Shapes in the dark, my prince, just beyond the torchlight."

"Show me, and bring the horse." Tucking his helmet under one arm, he made for the side of the camp facing the Brotherhood's own. Other lookouts were staring into the dark, alert, scared. Shapes in the dark, Elmar had said. Was that just fright, or was something genuinely moving out there? He pulled his coif up over his head, tucking a few stray hairs under it. Shadows flickered. Curse it all.

Tristan drew his sword.

"Do you see them Prince?" Elmar asked hastily, his hands shaking on the reins of Tristan's horse. "Shall we rouse the camp?"

"No," Tristan replied quickly. He wouldn't rouse his men unless they needed to be. And right now he didn't know. But he could try and work it out. He stepped out confidently until he was ringed by torchlight. He gently turned his blade in his hand to reflect and flash the light. "I can see you out there cowards!" He called suddenly, letting his voice carry into the darkness. "Tell me, are you only capable of attacking in the dark? Would you dare face me in the light, Handless?" He spread his arms wide and stood in the light. If anyone was there, they would surely see the open target. But he waited for a count of ten and nothing happened. Just shades it seemed.

He turned and walked back to the camp, and just as he opened his mouth to say it was nothing, a force slammed into his back and knocked him to the ground.

"My prince!" He heard Elmar scream as he pushed himself back to his feet. Keeping his head low against whatever had hit him in the back. He made it back to the camp.

"What was that?"

"My Prince, an arrow."

"What?"

"There's an arrow, no a bolt in your back."

"Fuck," Tristan grunted, he couldn't feel anything in his back, that was probably good. "Rouse the camp, Elmar, unbuckle my plate."

Elmar nodded and got to work immediately. He knew what to do. He unbuckled the breastplate and pulled it apart, reaching into the gap and pulling out the bolt through the breastplate. He showed it to Tristan. Certainly a crossbow bolt. "Buckle me back up!" He ordered. As Elmar rebuckled the open side of Tristan's breastplate, Tristan examined the bolt. It had made it through his plate mail, but the head had been completely flattened, and there was no blood, so it hadn't broken his skin. That was good.

All around him, his men were waking, arming and mounting as bells rang out calling them to battle. As soon as Elmar had finished buckling his breastplate, Tristan hauled himself up on his horse and slammed the visor of his helmet down, he didn't want any arrows finding his face.

"Form a line!" He ordered, raising his sword high and leading them forward. Like the expert warriors that they were, they formed a line in the light, facing outwards, lances held high. Shield slunk out of the darkness from wherever he had been to be at his side. They waited in the ring of light just as the Brotherhood's attackers charged into view.

They came in screaming battlecries and waving weapons but pulled up short when they saw just what opposed them. Tristan could see the confusion and surprise in their eyes. They had clearly thought this would be just like last time, an attack on a camp asleep and unalert, and the sight of armoured horsemen formed up and waiting for them so quickly was not what they were expecting. Tristan resisted the urge to charge and nudged his horse forward a few feet.

"Good evening," he called out to the Brotherhood. "I'm glad you could join us. I was hoping to speak with the Handless, bring him forward." Silence met him, the brotherhood overtaken by this turn of events. "I will ask once more," Tristan said carefully, hearing the distant tremors that he'd been waiting for. "Where is the Handless?"

"I am the Handless." One voice piped up.

"Who was that?"

"No, I am the Handless," said another voice."

"I am the Handless," said a third.

"Enough," Tristan roared. He couldn't let them build up their courage after the shock of seeing his men ready for them. "I know the Handless is one man, this is your last chance, show yourself, or be forever labelled a coward."

"The Handless is all of us!" Another voice called out. The tremors were getting closer.

"He is us and we are him."

And there it was again, brewing beneath the surface, the fanaticism, the same blind faith that led the man from the previous night to slit his own throat at first opportunity before he could be interrogated. Asking again would only rouse them more, and besides, there wasn't much time anyway, he could feel the ground shaking through his horse, even some of the brotherhood, the less fanatical, were looking around, fearful.

"As you say," Tristan replied. "Very well then, my handless friends. I'm afraid this is it for you."

He sat back and waited as the tremors got closer and the hoofbeats sounded through the air. When the warhorns sounded, he ordered the charge.

It was a decisive victory. His men hit the brotherhood in the front just as Domeric and Daryn's riders charged around the camp and hit them in the flank. The Brotherhood were not ready to receive a charge and were quickly broken and ridden down. Only darkness allowing the survivors to escape. But Tristan was satisfied that at least two hundred had been cut down, without losses, except for Harlon Tannon, who twisted an ankle as he dismounted when Tristan called off the pursuit. It had been a quick battle, perhaps it was inappropriate to use that word given how quick it was, but it was all Tristan needed for now.

"So," Daryn said, as Tristan met his friends in the middle of his camp. The Lord of Hornwood was leaning on his large axe with a tired smile. "That was eventful. I suppose you did have your reasons for asking me and my men to stay awake all night."

"Dom had to stay awake too, and I notice that he's not complaining," Tristan replied.

Dom grunted, he was resting his head on his hands that were clasping the pommel of his sword . "That's because I'm too tired to complain."

"Well Tris made us all sleep in our armour," Cley said, from where he was sat on the ground, cleaning the blood from his sword. "So we're not much better."

"We can all sleep soundly tomorrow," Tristan said. "The brotherhood won't try another night attack again after that."

"So we're done with them?" Dom asked raising his head.

Tristan shook his head. "No. Not yet. Not until the Handless is headless before me. But now we've defeated them once, they'll be more cautious, and we have shown they are not invincible."

Dom groaned again. "So what happens now?"

"Not, I do what Robb ordered me to do with the powers he gave me to do it. Send out riders and ravens. As Robb's captain, I am command them to send me soldiers and riders. No more following them like a dog, we'll hunt them across the riverlands and destroy them all."