Lomas

Lomas had never heard anyone in Daemon's company say a good thing about Lord Butterwell, but he had finally made himself useful with his letter. Butterwell had included important details about the army that was assembling to approach the Aegonfort, and it had been sent so quickly that Daemon was given ample time to make preparations for his flight.

Ser Quentyn Ball took charge of the counter-attack immediately. Daemon took his family, his servants, and a handful of knights with him to Antlers, while several lords fled to their own lands to marshall their own bannermen. That left Ser Quentyn to marshall as many men as could be found. Many of Daemon's remaining guests were knights and lordlings with their own retinues, forming a core group of about three hundred mounted men. Another three hundred Blackfyre levies were collected from the villages, of whom maybe six were armed with swords.

"Give them bows," Lomas had advised Ser Quentyn. "Keep them well away from the fighting and set them to loosing shafts at the enemy." That had been the Dornish way when Lomas had ridden to war against them; they had made use of the land, so that the archers could rain death upon any attackers from safety.

Ser Quentyn, a man who earned his moniker 'Fireball', had balked angrily at first. "You would have us hide behind arrows like cowards?"

"Our pride is a meagre price for victory," Lomas countered. "If we lose, it will not matter that Daemon escaped. It will not even matter if we survive our defeat. The realm will see that our cause has no strength, and our allies will abandon us. We must show them a victory, or else all will be lost."

Eventually, the Fireball had relented; Daemon himself had appointed Lomas to be the second-in-command to Quentyn, and however much he chafed or begrudged advice that went against his notions, Ser Quentyn respected the Black Dragon too much to snub Lomas.

Two members of the Kingsguard were leading a force of around two thousand men. Some of them were gold cloaks and men-at-arms sworn directly to House Targaryen, but most would be assembled from the levies of Stokeworth and Hayford.

Lomas, who had spent the last six years living in the Crownlands, was especially cheered by the news. Ser Lavaine Harte, the leader of Daemon's contribution to the Skagos expedition, had sent back several letters detailing the men who made up Baelor's forces. These included Lord Stokeworth, who had taken his best men north to serve as one of Baelor's top commanders. His heir, a green boy, was left to lead their remaining forces towards the Aegonfort, and these men would be little better than a rabble. Lord Hayford, meanwhile, was an older man, and although he did not have a bad reputation, he did not have an exceptional one either. Lomas did not doubt that command of the army would go to the two Kingsguard, specifically Lord Commander Sebastion Cave.

The Blackfyres prepared themselves for battle, even as scouts led by Ser Harrold Osgrey rode out to find suitable places for an ambush, and also to spy on the approaching loyalists. In the meantime, Daemon's maester sent all his ravens to deliver the message for which the flock had been purchased in the first place. Lomas wondered how much Daemon had truly understood of Bittersteel's plans, and whether he would have ever truly declared his intent if the crown had not forced his hand.

One of the ravens sent out was meant to fly for Duskendale. The ruling Darklyns were loyalists, but their distant cousins, the Dargoods, were far more sympathetic to the Blackfyre cause. Ser Quentyn ordered them to send a raven to the Aegonfort to tell them from which direction the army would approach the Aegonfort.

"They will take the roads," Lomas predicted confidently. "How else will they maintain any sort of discipline?"

The sun was hanging low in the western sky when Harrold and his men returned on weary horses.

"No sight of the enemy yet, but we have our locations," Harrold explained eagerly. "The only question now is where our enemy will go."

Lomas was resolute in his prediction. Daemon's territory was on the coast, between Duskendale and Rook's Rest. The countryside was often hilly, with various small woods and copses between the grasslands and settled land. There was only one road – and Lomas thought that a generous term – which connected the Aegonfort to the Duskendale road to the west.

Ser Quentyn ordered the army to rest, but warned them to be prepared to leave as soon as they were told. Lomas hated such moments; it was the anticipation of battle before it was waged, when a man was left to stew with his fears and doubts, allowing them to fester inside his being. For his part, Lomas went amongst the smallfolk and promised that they would only have to fight with bows. If they break, we might very well be routed. They must keep the will to fight, for then they will fight again.

There also remained the matter of Daemon's smallfolk. Before he left, he had permitted any woman, child, and old man to enter the castle and stay inside it to avoid enemy attacks, should there ever be an assault upon his lands. Many of the smallfolk were alarmed by the prospect of war, and so a good number of the levies sat with their families.

Luckily, word came from Duskendale soon after Harrold's return. Ser Camryn Dargood proved Lomas' prediction correct; Lord Commander Sebastion Cave was marching north on the Duskendale road. Most of his men were on foot, while fully half his infantry were not wearing mail. From what Ser Camryn could tell, they intended to march into the night and take the Aegonfort by surprise. He had sent a few riders to shadow the host and ride ahead to seek out the Blackfyres with further information.

Thus, Ser Quentyn's army hastened from the Aegonfort. The knights and men-at-arms were well-mounted, whilst all the horses in Daemon's stables had been brought out for the levies to ride, whether they were stots, drays, or destriers too old for war.

"No doubt Daemon will want recompense for his lost horses," Ser Gideon Farring japed to Lomas while he glanced at the smallfolk. Some men were awkwardly riding destriers whose upkeep had cost more than most of these men would earn for the rest of their lives.

"No doubt Daemon will find ample replacements in the stables of King's Landing," Robin Horpe observed with a laugh.

"You'd better get used to calling him your king," Lomas chided Robin, but he did so with a smile. He was fond of his former squires, and it made him proud to see them grown tall and proud. Squires are the sons we choose, not the ones which are born to us. The gods can play such cruel tricks on us with our children. It was a blessing that I never played into their mockery.

Eventually they came upon a small wooded area which lay just a few paces from the road. Harrold dubbed it the False Godswood due to someone having carved a weirwood face into an elm tree, though whether that was for a prank or because they wished to worship the old gods, nobody knew. Lomas was surprised to hear that Clifford Straw had taken an axe to that tree until the carved face was unrecognisable. It's a miracle that the tree didn't topple on the fool, Lomas thought when he beheld the tree for himself.

The archers were arrayed along the tree line, with the nimblest men amongst the branches. Lomas and Quentyn split the cavalry into two groups, placing them on either ends of the woods, ready to charge when battle was joined.

The sun was beginning to set. The sky was purple to the east and red to the west. The sun was a yellow orb which hovered over the hills as the ambushers waited for their quarry.

The wait was spoiled twice by Dargood riders who stumbled upon the ambush. They informed Quentyn and Lomas that the loyalists were not far behind them.

"Kill the horsemen first," Lomas instructed the archers. "Spare their horses if you can, we can make good use of them later. And if any man in the infantry is holding a torch, kill them before the others. We will deal with the rest. And don't leave the forest until the fighting is done!" Lomas shouted his last sentence so that every man and boy heard him. "We shall ride down any man we see, and the sky is growing dark!"

With that, Lomas rode back to his position. He had command over half the horses, but Quentyn had made it clear that he was not permitted to charge until after Quentyn's unit. Let him chase glory if he wants. I am too old to be so rash.

His cavalry were sitting beside their horses, muttering amongst each other. None of them were permitted to carry torches, and they'd also been ordered to wear cloaks over their armour until the time of attack. Lomas sensed nervousness in their tones, but also excitement. This will serve them well. A sure victory to put fire in their bellies. The gods know they'll need it.

Even after so many years, Lomas still remembered his first battle. He had been a young knight, riding alongside his companions of old, patrolling that part of the Dornish Marches which House Tarly claimed. A group of Dornish raiders had ambushed a group of Tarly troops close to the Red Mountains. Lomas and his friends went out to find them. Pyke Beesbury had had the good sense to bring along a brace of hunting hounds, so that they might sniff out the Dornishmen before they escaped down the Prince's Pass. The Dornishmen had outnumbered them two to one, but they were caught by surprise, resting in their camp. It had been the hounds which had demoralised them, the way they had bounded amongst them, baying and biting them as Lomas and the others had ridden in on their destriers. The first man he slew had gazed up at him in terror, screaming with pain as Lomas's sword bit down where his neck met his shoulders. Lomas had laughed that day, and cheered whilst he stood amongst the corpses.

It had been one of the greatest days of his life. He had felt like a man grown, a proper knight. Pyke Beesbury had embraced him, laughing with relief. How long has it been since I felt that way? I felt as though I could have conquered Dorne single-handed.

Gideon Farring and Robin Horpe sat nearby with Dain Rankenfell and Karnac Thorne. Lomas did not know what they were saying, but all four were in a gladsome mood.

Clifford Straw and Harrold Osgrey sat together, speaking quietly to each other. Lomas had sensed their closeness when he first saw them together; he envied them for that connection, remembering how it had felt to fight alongside Pykewood Beesbury. Much to his shame, he felt a tear in his eye when he remembered Pyke. Tears are a curse on men by their mothers.

"At last, Ser Lomas."

Lomas turned. Ser Byren Flowers, the bastard born to one of Lomas' friends, was running a whetstone along his sword whilst leaning against a tree. He was known as Black Byren for his having inverted the sigil of House Leygood into a black field with three orange lightning bolts.

"At last?" Lomas echoed, confused.

"After all the stories, I finally have the chance to fight alongside you," Ser Byren explained with a grin.

"Aye," Lomas agreed. "It was an honour to fight alongside Aegon. You take a great deal after him, I see it every day." That part was true. It was almost painful how much Byren took after Aegon Leygood. Were it not for his altered sigil, Lomas could have sworn that he was speaking to his old friend again.

A boy suddenly appeared from out of the forest. "They're coming!"

Lomas stepped forward, putting a finger to his lips. "Quiet, boy!" He hissed. "Get back with the others, and remember your orders!"

As the boy vanished into the shadowy copse, Lomas wordlessly signaled for every man to mount his horse, even as his own squire assisted him onto his own mount.

His name was Normund Tarly, and he was the son of Lomas' youngest nephew. Lomas had agreed to take him back to the Aegonfort, knowing full well that his relatives wanted to curry favour with Lord Daemon. Ten years ago, Lomas might have resented it, but life was too short for such a grudge, especially in the face of war.

"When the fighting begins, go join the archers in the woods," Lomas instructed the lad. He wanted Normund to watch a battle play out before he found himself in the middle of one. Normund resented this instruction, but he nodded obediently.

The first that was seen of the approaching host was the light of their torches. As they drew nearer to the copse, Lomas could see how the firelight glinted off the armour of those in front. Two men wore the shining white armour of the Kingsguard, as well as other knights who wore plate and mail. Behind them were a group of horsemen and a long line of men striding on foot. As they passed on out of sight, Lomas felt his heart racing.

Time seemed to slow down; Lomas resisted the urge to move his horse forward to look beyond the trees. He had to put his trust in the smallfolk and Ser Quentyn to set the trap.

Then the screams began.

He did not hear the sound of arrows, but he heard men crying aloud in pain or anger, and he heard other men shout orders. All of this was drowned out by the sudden blare of trumpets, war cries, the thunder of hooves, and the clang of metal.

"Charge!" Lomas drew his sword as one of his own men gave trumpet blasts of their own. All around Lomas, men shouted "The Black Dragon" as their horses sprang forward and overtook Lomas.

As the old knight rode his horse around the copse, he beheld a mass of men, milling about in utter panic. What few torches there were, and what little light was left in the sky, illuminated dozens of armoured knights smashing their way through the horsemen at the front. Lomas beheld his men colliding with the rear ranks of infantry. Swords and spears and other weapons struck bodies as horses and men screamed alike.

Lomas saw several other horsemen behind the infantry, but rather than engage, they turned and fled past a straggling line of wagons. Of course.

"Make safe the baggage train!" Lomas shouted at the nearest of his knights. He did not know whether they ignored him or did not hear him, but they instead raced after a group of infantry who was scattering eastwards in blind panic. Ser Quentyn's voice boomed, though Lomas could not make out what he shouted, and the Blackfyre cavalry hailed as they routed the survivors as best they could.

Turning his horse towards the forest, Lomas called for his squire. "Fetch me a torch!"

Normund wasted little time with the command. He was also joined by a number of archers who were curious about what was happening.

"Come with me," Lomas told them. "We're going to secure their supplies."

He led them away from the battlefield, making sure to stand his horse between them and any knight who might mistake them for the enemy. When Gideon Farring saw what was going on, he rallied several other knights to join him.

The killing was soon finished; dozens of men had escaped into the darkness, and it would be useless to find them all. Quentyn and the others cheered themselves hoarse, even as they grabbed discarded torches to look at what they had wrought.

Leaving Gideon to oversea the wagons, Lomas rode back to inform Quentyn who had removed his helm; both horse and rider were streaked with blood and sweat, and when Fireball saw Lomas, he gave a sneer. "It seems we finished the work too soon for you to join in."

Lomas was stung, but he swallowed his anger. "I captured their supplies," he told the hot-blooded knight.

Quentyn paused, then nodded. "Good." He said nothing more on the matter, but his voice lost that derisiveness when he spoke again.

Instead he gestured to where bodies lay across the road, some of them feathered with arrows. "A good day's work. Both the kingsguard dead." He gestured to two white-cloaked corpses. The elder had taken arrows to his eye and throat, whilst the younger was unrecognizable from all the cuts and blows to his armour and body. "Sebastion Cave was one of the first to fall. Jeffory Norcross was one of the last. Gave him the chance to yield four bloody times. Stubborn fool."

It occurred to Lomas that Quentyn had long wished to join the Kingsguard, and Daeron had never allowed it. A fitting revenge for you, Ser.

"What of the other commanders?"

"The Stokeworth boy is over there," Quentyn answered indifferently, gesturing to his left. "I did not see Lord Hayford."

"That must have been him in the rearguard," Lomas remarked. "He'll bring word to the Red Keep, no doubt."

"Let him!" Quentyn answered with a laugh.

Lomas suddenly noticed Clifford Straw, standing beside his horse, looking upon the corpses with a sick expression on his face.

"No shame, lad," Lomas called to him. "The first killing will stay with you, but it will ease with time."

Clifford shook his head, "This isn't my first killing. My first battle, aye, but not my first killing."

"Then what troubles you?" Lomas asked curiously.

Clifford pointed a finger down at two dead men. "These two served under my command for three years."

Lomas opened his mouth to speak, but he could not think of anything to say.