Lyonel knew his delaying tactics had failed when he saw the enemy catapults crank back into a firing position.
"I suppose they didn't take the last message well," Captain Torne joked.
"They were going to realise I was just playing for time before long anyway. Just another day would have been nice though."
Lyonel had made it to Pyle Castle three days before the enemy had arrived a week ago. He was pleased by what he found there. The larders were fully stocked, all non essential people had been removed and the garrison had made what preparations they could with the time they had. Lyonel's three hundred additional men had come as a welcome addition. Pyle Castle was not one of Westeros' great keeps. It was a strong keep surrounded by a strong wall with a tower at each corner. The total garrison of five hundred men was more than sufficient to man it completely.
The enemy had not come immediately looking for a fight and sent Captain Torne to discuss terms. Torne had not mentioned that he was present in the castle, but had drawn out the negotiations for as long as he could. He would bring messages back to the castle and only reply the next day. He claimed illiteracy and that the Maester was old and slow. Then they had responded with counter offers. When the enemy offered to let the garrison go, Torne had demanded that they be allowed to go with their weapons, arms and everything of worth from the castle itself. Thet met terms that were not too harsh with demands that no besieger would ever accept. It didn't matter to Lyonel. He wasn't looking to retreat from this place, only to buy time for his sister to rally his army and come to his aid. He judged the enemy force here numbering perhaps five thousand, it was hard to tell from this distance. But he was certain that enough forces could be gathered and brought in time to save them.
But it seemed that playing for time was no longer an option. The enemy had grown tired of his attempts to delay and the catapults, the last of which had been completed two days ago, were now arming to shoot. "Ready to positions, thin out from the west wall," Lyonel said. The catapults would shoot from that direction, he didn't want to lose men on the wall. The archers would rush back on when the enemy catapults stopped shooting, which they would do to stop hitting their own troops on the way in.
He couldn't stop himself flinching with every hammering crash of stone on stone. One catapult stone skimmed off the top of the wall, ripping off part of the battlements before landing in the courtyard below, crushing one of his archers.
As the stones continued to hammer against the western wall, his archers on the north and south walls began shooting down at enemy attacks. He didn't need to worry about the east. The eastern wall and keep were built against the top of a steep ridge that would require ladders to scale before they even got to the wall itself. The enemy hadn't even bothered putting a camp on that side of the castle.
"Take shelter!" Lyonel yelled down from the keep. The archers and knights in the courtyard ran from the centre to huddle by the walls.
He wanted to walk the walls, get a better look at how things were down there. But he was needed at the keep, to send groups of soldiers where they were needed. If he was on one wall, he couldn't react to a threat to another. So he relied on the lieutenants he had placed on each wall and tower to command the immediate defences. He would join where he was needed when he was needed.
So he had to watch as the west wall was pounded and ladders were brought against the north and south. Lyonel sent soldiers in groups of ten where they were needed. He had to watch from afar as enemy soldiers scaled the walls only to be cast back down by the knights leading the defence. He admired his archers, and one to one against common levies he would put all his silver on them even in close combat, but knights were something else.
But there weren't enough, and the enemy were able to secure a foothold on the southern wall, right by the south-western tower corner. "More men up there, now!" He ordered. As more men rushed for the walls, he saw the enemy break into the tower. "Torne, you have the keep." He said, snatching up his bow and quiver and racing for the walls. By the time he was racing along the wall to the south-eastern tower, the enemy had taken their target. Men on the ladders were passing up banners to show their victory.
Lyonel took the stairs two at a time and burst out onto the top of the south-eastern tower. The door was still swinging open as he nocked an arrow to his bow. A band of enemy soldiers atop the opposite tower were cheering their victory, one hurled one of his archers to the courtyard floor. He raised his bow and shot. The arrow flew true and punched through the neck of a soldier holding one of the banners. House Rowan, Lyonel noted. The man lurched, blood spraying from his neck. The banner dropped and was caught by a second man before it touched the floor. Lyonel's second arrow pierced his heart. He loosed arrow after arrow, every one finding it's mark, but the enemy still kept their banners high, some tried to huddle behind the walls, others tried to use the bodies of their fellows as shields. But whenever a part of them was revealed he punctured it with an arrow. "Alright then, you want to play it like that. Lyonel drew two arrows. He fired them in quick succession, they ripped through the banner where it was attached to the pole and the next gust of wind tore the cloth from the wood. The soldier currently holding the banner stared at it for a moment before Lyonel's next arrow went into his eye.
He aimed his next arrow down at the wall, but saw that his knights had nearly cleared it, some were already racing into the tower. So instead he aimed at those scaling the wall, taking them off the ladder one after another until his fingers snatched at empty air. WIthout any arrows, remaining on the tower served no purpose, so he hurried back down to the wall. He was halfway across it, heading back for the keep when the gates shook violently.
He skidded to a halt and ran in the other direction, pushing through his soldiers, who were levering ladders off walls with long poles. He went through the retaken tower, passing corpses and wounded men and out onto the west wall as the gate shook again. He looked down through a gap in the battlements and sure enough, a covered ram had been pushed against the gate and was hammering against the reinforced barrier. His archers were ignoring the ram, which was the right move. They had no means of getting through the covering at the men swinging the ram itself. Instead they were focussing on the men outside the ram. Every one killed was one they wouldn't have to fight in the castle walls.
Lyonel left them to it and raced down to the courtyard level. His engineers were already at the gate.
"How long?" He demanded.
"The gate is reinforced, my prince, and strong. It'll be a little while." The gate shook again. "With fortune."
He looked up at the sky. "Half a day and they're already at the gate." He muttered. "Is there anything more we can do to reinforce it?"
The engineer looked around the courtyard to see what they had to hand. "I might be able to give you a couple more hours."
"Whatever you need, do it." Lyonel ordered. He ran back to the keep, he needed a better view than from the courtyard.
"Good shooting my prince," Torne said as Lyonel joined him. "How is the rest of the defence going?"
"We've repelled several attacks, but the enemy has more than ten men for every one of ours, and we have nothing to counter that ram."
"Are we killing ten of theirs for every oneo fo ours?" Torne asked.
Lyonel shook his head. "Time is the only hope we have now. We must buy as much of it as we can."
"Will the Princess be here?"
"Shireen has never let me down."
Torne nodded. "Then we'll just have to keep fighting."
Whatever the engineers did to the gate seemed to have worked, for the sky was turning orange when the gate began to splinter. "It's coming apart, my prince, a few more hits at best."
Lyonel nodded. "Sound the trumpets, everyone back to the keep, prepare to secure the doors here."
The trumpets sang out and his men obeyed. The archerts gathered what arrows they could and hurried back, the knights retrieved their weapons and followed just behind. With the walls empty, the enemy started clambering over the battlements unopposed as the gate began to break. "Inside, get inside now!" Lyonel yelled from the doorway, beckoning his people in. He nocked one arrow to his bow as the archers and knights came past him. "Prince Lyonel what are you doing?" Torne asked from further back.
The gate creaked and splintered. He raised his bow, posture perfect and as the gates broke apart he released a single arrow that arced through the air and slammed into the chest of the first enemy soldier to cross the threshold of Pyle Castle's gate. Point made, he turned and walked calmly back into the castle as his soldiers closed the gate behind him.
The keep gate wasn't as strong as the main gate. But as it was just at the top of a set of steps, the enemy wouldn't be bringing their ram against it. "Well done everyone," Lyonel addressed his men. "Take a moment, drink, eat, we have a little while."
He already had troops on the roof and strategic arrow slits and windows, ready to repel any attempt to scale it. But in truth, he doubted they would try. The keep was strong and the enemy had to know he had ample troops inside, their best hope was to get in through the front door.
A blow hammered against the door, then another, and another. "What is that?" One of his men asked.
"Axes, I would imagine," Lyonel said. "It'll take them a while to get through that door, get the wounded upstairs and take drink, all of you."
He hoped the door would buy them a substantial amount of time, possibly even into the next day, but he could see sunlight coming through the arrow slits when it began to splinter under the repeated heavy axe blows.
"Arms," Lyonel ordered. His knights drew their swords and archers nocked their arrows. They stood behind makeshift barricades of turned over benches and desks and anything else they could find. As the door splintered around the lock, one of his soldiers overturned a bucket of water on the stones by the entrance to make it more slippery.
With a final crash the door gave way and was driven open by a wave of enemy soldiers. Lyonel's archers didn't need an order and sent a hail of arrows at the footmen charging through. Many were killed as they slipped on the wet stones, others met their end with Lyonel's knights. The combined storm of swords and arrows left a carpet of bodies on the floor by the door, moaning dead and dying. But they kept coming, pushing Lyonel's men back step by step, overwhelming two of his barricades before the sound of enemy trumpets sang through the open doorway.
Knights charged in, mounted on barded warhorses, lances lowered. The unsuspecting attack drove into his forces and scattered his knights around the door. They then charged on, wheeling around his barricades to attack the archers behind. One knight even charged straight at a barricade and leapt it, arrows chinked off his armour and one lodged in the flank od his horse, but he landed and brought his sword down, cleaving through the arm of one of his archers, sending the other three scattering.
"Retreat to the stairs!" Lyonel ordered, the hall was lost. "To the upper levels!"
His men for the stairs in the corners of the room. No orderly retreat this time, those that heard ran, grabbing their companions along the way while the Rowan knights tore through the great hall. Lyonel was nearly at one of the stairs when Torne pointed over his shoulder. He spun to see one of the knights bearing down on him, mace raised high. Without a thought he raised his bow and fired an arrow that took his horse in the eye. The beast skidded and screamed before collapsing, the knight being thrown bodily through the air and crashing to the ground at Lyonel's feet. He tried to crawl, but Lyonel whipped out his hammer and smashed in into the man's helmet, caving in the visor. Blood leaked out through the air holes.
"Come my prince!" Torne said, grabbing his arm. Others were turning in their direction at the sound of the dying horse.
Lyonel turned and hurried up the stairs. He was only a few steps up when he heard armoured footsteps coming up behind him, he turned, whipped out another arrow and raised his bow, when the rowan soldier appeared, Lyonel loosed his arrow. At this close range it punched right through the side of the plate helmet and he toppled, tumbling back down the stairs, those behind him swearing. "My prince, behind us!" He turned and hurried up the next few steps, past a pair of soldiers blocking the stairs with shields. "We'll hold them my prince, go!"
He didn't need telling twice and raced up to the upper floors. The stairs in the keep ran counter-clockwise, allowing his soldiers to fight with their dominant hands while the attackers would find it hard to use their weapons, unless Lord Rowan had a surfeit of left-handed warriors in his service. They would make a fighting retreat to the upper floors and then they would seal the doors at the last moment, preparing for the next attack.
After they pulled back to the upper floors, the fighting died down. The Rowan force made a few attempts to breach the doors, but clearly the day of fighting had worn them down and soon they were given a reprieve. Lyonel put his freshest men to watch the doors and windows, in case there was an attempt to scale the walls and told the others to sleep. It wouldn't be comfortable. There were no beds and few bedrolls and everyone would be sleeping at their posts, but when Lyonel sat down, propped against a wall, sleep came to him easily.
The attacks continued the next morning. The enemy forced their way through the doors to the upper floors. Lyonel's men fought them room by room, corridor by corridor, delaying and harrying the enemy, counter attacking where there was weakness and retreating where there was strength, but minute by minute, hour by hour they were forced back, until Lyonel and a score of surviving men were pushed back to a last room. They were joined by Torne, who had been watching the roof.
"They came up with graples and ladders," Torne said, gasping for breath as the last two knights of Lyonel's force pushed a heavy crate against the door. "We held as long as we could, but there were too many."
"Coming from above and below," Lyonel muttered. "Were there any survivors?"
"Just the four I brought with me. I heard more fighting throughout the castle, but I saw no one else except you."
"Then others may still live," Lyonel said. He'd estimated losing well over half his force the day before, but had been so tired he hadn't been able to count properly. Five hundred down to a score in this room, perhaps a little extra elsewhere. But by the gods they had bloodied their foe. Enemy corpses littered every corridor and every room they had taken had been bought with blood. Lyonel would have preferred they pay with time.
"Is Ser Ecter secure?" He asked.
Ser Ecter had been a knight of the garrison. His armour pierced by three crossbow bolts before they dragged him inside the room. Lyonel had brought a Baratheon banner with him and planned to hang it from this window, a last sign to reinforcements that they still held out. But they had nothing to secure it with until Ser Ecter offered his body with his last breaths. The banner was tied around his middle and fed out the window to flutter down the wall. Someone would see it and come, they had to.
"Yes, my prince," Torne said.
"Good, then we wait."
They waited. Soon enough enemy marauders would try this room and they would be fighting again. It could have been minutes or perhaps an hour, but soon the door handle was tried and then blows started raining against the door.
"My Prince," Torne said with a whisper. "Are we going to die?"
"No," Lyonel said. "Reinforcements will come."
Torne swallowed and nodded, retrieving his last arrows and handing them to Lyonel. "There isn't room for more than one archer in this room anyway." He said.
Lyonel took the arrows wordlessly. Six arrows in total. He would have to make them count.
Another blow on the door. He nocked the first of his arrows. "Get ready everyone," he said. The gripped their weapons tighter. The door was smashed off it's hinges by the third blow and the enemy charged in.
Lyonel's men met them in a bloody brawling melee. His first arrow killed a soldier wielding a morningstar. His second killed the man behind him, but their fellows charged in. He saw one of his knights fall, and four of his archers weren't far behind. His third arrow bounced off a knight's armour, his fourth killed a crossbowman levelling his weapon at Torne. Two more crossbowmen fired through the door but missed. Lyonel's men killed two knights and a handful of warriors with him, but more were coming through the door. Lyonel's fifth arrow killed the knight he had failed to kill with his third. With his last arrow Lyonel tore out the throat of one warrior, the tip burrowing into the cheek of the man behind him who screamed out in pain.
Two warriors charged him and he dropped his bow into Ecter's lap, unhooking his hammer. The first warrior thrust too soon. Lyonel sidestepped him and broke several ribs with a well aimed blow. He then brought his hammer back around with a wide swing that sent the other to the floor, clutching his helmeted head.
A knight charged Lyonel with a heavy maul. Lyonel raised his weapon, but the knight swung first.
Pain erupted in Lyonel's chest as the spiked maul broke through the side of his breastplate and into the body beneath. He felt ribs shatter and his mouth filled with blood. He couldn't scream.
The knight pulled his maul out with a sickening squelch, the end trailing blood and flesh.
"My prince!" Torne roared, charging in with two other archers. His captain cut the knight's leg with his falchion and the others tried to get under the knight's arms, but he smashed one's aside with a backhanded blow from his gauntlet and disembowled the other with the spike of his maul.
Lyonel staggered, raised his hammer and brought it down with all his remaining strength on the knight's head. His hammer broke through steel, and stuck in the skull beneath. He fell back with a gasp, blood spurting from his mouth. He slid down the wall beside Ecter, gasping, every breath rattling.
Torne crawled towards him. "My pr-" a spear went through his back and into his heart, pulling out again just as quickly.
Lyonel tried to cover his wound with his hand, his fingers were going numb.
He blinked tears and spat another mouthful of blood. The battle was over. His men were dead and the surviving enemy were picking their way through.
They said something, but his ears were ringing. Everything was swimming.
Then he saw someone before him, looking down at him. He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus. "Lord… Rowan…" he wheezed.
"I thought it might have been you," Lord Rowan replied. His helm was under his arm. "When my men said that an archer had shot one of my flags from its pole, I thought there was only one archer I knew who could do that. When they told me someone put an arrow through the eye of a charging horse, I knew only one could do that." Lord Rowan squatted down to Lyonel's level. "The castle is ours, but the fight you put up is beyond words." He gestured to one of his archers. "Some of the garrison yielded, but not one of these men surrendered. Not one. You should be proud of them."
Lyonel tried to speak, but it hurt too much, so he nodded.
"I'm sorry that it has come to this, Lord Lyonel. I always had great respect for you. And for your defense here, you have earned a final boon. Is there anything I can give you in your last moments?"
Lyonel gagged and more blood dribbled from his mouth. "I don't suppose," he wheezed. "You could send my body whole to Dragonstone, back to my mother?"
Lord Rowan shook his head with genuine regret. "King Joffrey wants your head. I would endanger my own house were I not to deliver it, they would need proof of your death."
Lyonel let out a wet laugh. "My mother will be so cross with me," he said.
"Is there anything else I can do, I final message I can send?"
So many things he should have said, but only his lips could give them. He shook his head. "Then I have… only one… request," he rasped.
"Name it," Lord Rowan said.
"Leave me… to die alone… amidst the ruins of my post."
Lord Rowan considered, then nodded and stood tall. "We will come back in an hour. Clear the room, and place a guard on it." He commanded.
Lyonel wouldn't last an hour, already he was fading. The indignity of decapitation would wait.
House Rowan's soldiers departed the room. Lord Rowan left last and he gave Lyonel a last remorseful look before the door clicked shut behind him.
He let out a moan of pain as he sagged against the wall. He had failed, failed everyone. His mother, his father, his people. The angels were coming to take him away, beyond his ringing ears he could hear their trumpets calling. He forced his head to turn towards the window, he raised his arm with the last of his strength, scrabbling for the window. Perhaps he could see them coming for him, to take him from this place to the realm of the stranger. But his fingers failed him and his arm fell limp to his side as darkness closed upon him.
"Mother… Father… Amalia… Shireen. Forgive me. I leave everything to you."
Lyonel's last words were his last breath as he died alone, surrounded by the bodies of his men and the ashes of his dreams.
