A Skin-Changer's Tale: Chapter 8
283 AC
Fang's loss of an eye was irritating, but manageable. I lacked the skills to remove the arrows, but I now had the purses of over a hundred men and could afford a healer. Blood was quickly drying on my skin's fur, turning a dark red and brown that made all nine of them look even more savage than they already did.
As wounded men screamed in agony, their cries echoed through the town as dawn came upon us. The royalist kneelers were streaming out of the town towards the south. It was clear we'd won this raid. It was time to get to looting. It took a little searching through the bodies of the deceased to find a suit of armor that looked near my size. There was no full plate in my size that I could find; however, a black silk gambeson shaped like a tunic with steel plates sewn inside was soon worn.
Almost everyone was looting the bodies and stripping them. I joined in, looking for more purses. My skins started devouring deceased enemies as Alyse and I took their jewelry and valuables. I'd be able to afford an actual Maester to remove the arrows from my bears now with certainty.
"What are you doing?" A man's voice thundered behind me. I glanced in that direction with Alyse's eyes as I continued to switch boots with one particularly well-dressed kneeler that lay dead in the middle of the town's market.
"Getting some new boots," I said, lacing the knee-high leather boots. The man wore white robes, though they appeared smeared with blood and other things. He wore a gold chain with a seven-pointed star hanging from it. A kneeler called a septon.
"No, I mean the beasts feasting on human bodies. You must stop at once!" He hollered, red in the face. "It's a sin against the Seven to treat the bodies of high-born like this."
I rolled my eyes. "Tell the beasts to stop then," I retorted to the kneeler's dismay. He dared not approach any closer than yelling distance, much to my amusement.
"Lord Arryn will hear about this, heathen!" The septon promised and quickly hurried away. I continued filling my skin's bellies at a faster pace. It was likely some kneeler lord would soon come and put a stop to my taking advantage of the free meat to fatten my bears with. Meat is very expensive, and my skins had been going hungry quite a few days while we were unable to hunt due to the forced march.
"They're wonderful, Ned!" A new voice boomed. "Did you see them during the Battle?" A handful of lords drew near on horseback. Much closer than the septon had. "You there, Beast Tamer, what's your name?" The big lord with antlers on his helmet smiled widely at me.
"Veranyr, Lord," I lowered my eyes. He was intimidating for a kneeler lord, I had to give him that. I'd yet to see a man as broad-shouldered as he before. He held a large hammer in one hand and his horse's reins in the other.
"Well, let's do this then!" He slid down off his horse and approached me. "I'm knighting you for killing all those damned Targaryen loyalists." He held out his hand for a sword, and an attendant traded his war-hammer for a gem-studded longsword.
"Kneel," he commanded.
I'd heard of this kneeler custom, and inwardly I felt ashamed of the action I took next.
I knelt.
"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be…" He started the ritual of the warrior class of southern kneelers and knighted me. When it was over, I stood as a southern kneeler in truth. The first of the free folk to become a knight. It wasn't a comfortable feeling. I felt degraded to kneel like this. I would keep this part of my southern adventure to myself when I finally returned to the true north and told my tale to my fellow free folk.
It took some effort to find a healer willing to take the arrows out of my snow bear skins. Eventually, a barber agreed to remove them for an enormous sum of 20 silver stars. Winces were hard to repress as the barber's knife dug under Fang's skin to pry out a broken arrowhead. It took until dusk to remove the arrows from all my skins.
The next day when we marched, I observed that Fang had stopped bleeding. Slathering honey into all the wounds on my skins was recommended by the barber to prevent corruption, and I did as I'd been advised.
A few days later we camped on the banks of a river called the Trident. The Royal kneelers were camped on the opposite bank and looked even larger than our warband. From the talk in the camp, the King's son, a prince, led the other warband. We were going to fight tomorrow.
As the anticipation of battle hung heavy in the air, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread mingled with excitement. The stakes were high, and the outcome uncertain. We spent the evening sharpening blades, reinforcing armor, and preparing ourselves mentally for the clash that awaited us on the morrow.
Under the moonlit sky, I sat by the fire with Alyse, contemplating my next move. The sounds of the river murmured in the background, a soothing contrast to the tension that enveloped our camp.
When dawn broke, we rose with a sense of purpose, ready to make my legend. The Trident shimmered in the early light, a silent witness to the impending clash of nobles and commoners alike.
The war drums beat a steady rhythm as we advanced, our footsteps echoing in unison with the pounding of our hearts. The enemy's camp loomed closer with each passing moment, a looming specter of death and destruction. But amidst the chaos and carnage, I found a strange sense of clarity, a clarity born of the knowledge that my skins could overcome any resistance, even if my warband lost the coming conflict.