Baldric

Baldric was not fooled by paltry attacks; these watchers on the mountain slopes were mere scouts, toying with the army, testing their resolve. After Titus had taught them to be cautious, they kept a wary distance. Still, they were never fully out of sight. Baldric knew what they were capable of, and he made sure that a full third of their army was on guard at all times.

This had its own consequences, however. By the fourth day of their march into the mountains, the men were growing weary from extra packs and from lack of sleep.

"We need to take a slower pace," Titus suggested to his brother-in-law. "Men cannot fight if they are tired."

"And if we tarry too long," Baldric countered, "then our allies will be alone."

"I doubt it," Titus retorted. "They will be having the same troubles that we are facing. Especially if they retained their carts and horses."

Baldric ran a hand through his thinning grey hair. "Maybe so, but I cannot take the risk. You know that, Titus. You are a father too."

Titus did not dispute that, but the discontentment was spreading amongst the rank and file.

Baldric's own younger sons were also growing tired of the campaign. Kresimir and Geraint were realising what being squires in war truly meant. They had not yet felt the terror of danger and violence, but they were getting a good lesson on the maddening monotony of slow travel. They still performed their duties, but it was clear that they would much prefer to be home in Blackhaven.

They also missed their older brother. They'd been just as surprised as Manfred when Baldric had sent the latter to march with Lord Caron. Truthfully, Baldric loathed the decision, but it was for the best. He did not want all his sons together in the same place, should disaster afflict the campaign. Moreover, he thought of Cassana's wish to have Manfred take more responsibility. Well, this will be the best opportunity. Pearse Caron is a cautious man, and Manfred will learn from him. Mayhaps he will be more receptive to caution and thoughtful leadership when it is not coming from me.

On occasion, they came across forked paths, following Agripinia's guidance on which one to take. Other times, there were small valleys and even a creek or two which emerged between the mountains. Aside from men refilling their water canteens, however, the army marched past the water sources, led on by the dusky woman in plain garb.

Baldric had made it clear that no man would molest or mistreat her without suffering his wrath. They had duly obeyed, but Agripina was too comely for some men to resist trying their luck with charming her.

Much to Baldric's surprise, Agripina did not prove as lusty as the Dornish reputation implied. Baldric noticed several men disappointed in their attempts to claim her. He dispatched a few of his older knights to keep an eye on her, in case someone let their jealousy get the better of them.

After eight days of slow travel, he was beginning to wonder if he could trust Agripina. When supper was being prepared, he summoned her to his presence. "How much further, do you think?"

"Difficult to say, milord," she replied demurely.

"Difficult?" Baldric was losing patience. "You made it clear that you traveled these paths before! Several times!"

"I never travelled these paths with three thousand men, milord." Her answer was calm and polite, but Baldric could not shake the sense that she was mocking him.

"So be it, then," he conceded grudgingly. "Does the trail become easier, at least?"

"It does, milord," Agripina assured him. Her voice was husky, which only enhanced her complicated accent. "We have passed the worst of the trail. We shall reach the valley in good time."

Baldric reflexively looked at his map of the valley, as Agripina had described it when she first arrived. According to her, the valley was flat and wide; there were five trails which led to the valley, with the Vulture King's lair guarding one of those ways. The others were overseen by sentries and archers, Baldric did not doubt that.

He had gone over that plan with Titus and his commanders prior to the mountain march. Ser Cameron Bolt and Ser Branston Straw would mass the Dondarrion infantry where the valley began, drawing the Vulture King's attention. Meanwhile, Titus and Baldric would lead their best troops, as well as the sellswords, to fall upon the Vulture King's lair by a lesser known goat track that Agripina had identified.

All of them had supported it, albeit with varying levels of reluctance. Baldric didn't blame them for that doubt; he simply couldn't concoct a better strategy, at least not until Lord Caron appeared with his troops. With luck, they will be approaching the valley at the same time as us. Then we will be able to combine forces and destroy the Vulture King between us.

The monotony of the march was broken that night, around the hour of the owl. That was when Baldric was roused from sleep by a Dondarrion knight.

The fighting had already ended by the time he'd gotten dressed for battle. The surviving foes had already fled by the time Baldric approached the corpses of those men that were slain.

The tale was swift in the telling. One shift of guards were ending, even as the next shift was preparing to replace them. At this moment, a small band of men had struck the main collection of supplies. It had been a surprise, and several had been slain before the alarm was raised. Those wagons which had survived the journey were hacked to pieces, and a few fires had been lit. Nonetheless, several hedge knights had rallied and mounted a countercharge. Many had joined the fight, driving the raiders back into the dark mountains from whence they'd descended.

"How many men attacked?" Titus asked. He and several of his men had arrived in the midst of the tale, causing the tellers to start anew.

"Difficult to say. We slew twenty," Branston Straw explained. He gestured to the fallen brigands. Sellswords had already looted their corpses before proper order was restored.

At first, Baldric was affronted by such behaviour, until he recalled that any one of those twenty men had been involved in Caspor's death. He spat upon one of the corpses. "How many did we lose?"

Branston gave a helpless shrug. "We're still counting, but we came off worse. Thirty dead so far, twice as many wounded."

"Still," Ser Baelon Massey interjected, "they didn't do much to our supplies. Most of it's still intact."

Titus glanced at the corpses. "A good effort," he observed in a voice which might have been mocking, "but it will take far more than twenty good men to hinder us."

Baldric turned back to Branston. "Where are those knights who rallied the camp?"

His master-at-arms needn't have told him; several men had been standing nearby with the Dondarrion guards, but now they eagerly stepped into the torchlight.

One of them, a stout greybeard with a scared-looking squire who was twice his height, was evidently familiar to Titus, for he gave the man a nod. Baldric approached the group and asked for their names.

The stout man was called Ser Arlan of Pennytree, and he gave Baldric a solemn bow. "I remember you well, milord," he explained when he was addressed. "I was at the Redgrass Field."

Baldric started; he did not recall many men from that terrible battle. Still, any man could say that to ingratiate themselves to him. He turned to Titus, who affirmed the scruffy man's claim with a nod. His respect for Ser Arlan rose immediately.

Still, he did not wish to single the man out when so many others had been equally valiant. "You have my thanks," he told these hedge knights, "and I regret that this is all I can offer you now. But I will not forget this. When the campaign is finished, I will seek you out."

All of them accepted these words, and they duly gave their names to Nicol, a weedy young servant whom Baldric had brought along as a scribe.

A troubled expression was on Titus' face as he observed this. Baldric met his eye and made a brief gesture with his head.

Together, they walked back to their tents, out of earshot.

"I wish it did not have to be done like that," Titus muttered. "Who knows how many of those men will survive long enough to claim their rewards."

"Such is the way of men who sell their sword," Baldric reminded him. He gave a loud yawn. "What concerns me more is this attack. It was very feeble."

"Aye," Titus agreed, but he seemed bemused by Baldric's tone. "Mayhaps this Vulture King is more desperate now that he's facing an army this size."

Baldric shook his head. "I saw what they could do. They have always known what would happen if they slew my son, laid waste to my lands. There is something afoot."

"What do you think it was, then?" Titus stopped outside his own tent.

Baldric tried to think, but his head was beginning to ache from interrupted sleep. "Little was done," he mused, "but this was no reckless assault. The attack occurred at the perfect time, and it would have been devastating if they'd only had larger numbers." Two hundred men would have cut a swathe across our camp. They had hundreds of men; where were they?

Titus frowned. "Was it a test, then? Some way to see our ability and our resolve?"

Baldric sighed. "I cannot think what else it could have been. Or else it was a diversion."

Instinctively, the two men looked around, as if another attack might begin. No such sounds were in the air, and they relaxed after a moment.

"How did they do it?" Baldric resumed his wonderings. "How did they know when our guards were being relieved? It hasn't been a regular rotation, either. The attack could not have been more perfectly timed." He gazed at his goodbrother with growing unease. "Even if they were observing us, how could they have known?"

Titus shrugged. "It is a strange riddle, Baldric."

A movement caught Baldric's attention, but when he turned, he saw a mongrel hound gazing up at him with big black eyes. He sighed and gave the hound's ears a scratch.

"*"* "*" *"*"*"*" *"*"*" *"**"*" *"*"* "*"*" *"*" *"*"*"*"* "*"*"* "*"*"* "*"*"*" "*

The following morning, Baldric continued to ponder the events of the night before. He was compelled to make an inspection of the camp, as well as receive Branston Straw's report.

"Thirty-three slain," the master-at-arms explained as he led Baldric along the healing tents. "Five more on their way. Healers can't do anything about them. The rest of the wounded will recover with time."

Baldric nodded. "They must know we are close," Baldric decided aloud. "I'll wager that they're saving their strength for their final stand. This was merely to weaken us. Mayhaps more such attacks will happen as we press on."

"I'll increase the guards," Branston assured him.

Nearly half of us will be awake at all times, Baldric thought despairingly.

"Mayhaps it is best if we take the fight to the enemy," he later suggested to the assembled commanders. "I suggest we lead excursions into the mountains and ambush these raiders when they try to mount another attack."

"A good idea, Lord Baldric," Cameron Bolt affirmed.

"All the same, but it will be difficult to carry out," Titus observed. "These men might have eyes on us now, as we speak."

"Let them watch," Baldric replied. "So long as they stay beyond the range of our arrows, I don't care."

He was growing weary of this campaign, and he wanted it over as soon as possible. His eyes went from left to right, looking each man in the eye. "I need three men to lead companies into those mountains. Who will carry out that task?"

Titus stepped forward. "I will."

"You can count on me, my lord," Ser Karl Penny declared as he raised his hand.

"I will go too," Ser Branston Straw added.

Baldric gave a grateful nod; he knew the worth of these three men. "Choose your companies as you will," he told them, "but I suggest you travel light with plenty of bowmen. When we make camp tonight, ascend the cliffs and go about as you see fit. But try not to stray too far; I will summon you with the muster call." He indicated his trumpeter. May the Seven watch over you." And may they guide you, too, for Agripina must stay with us.

The rest of the day was another slog. The night attack had left many men agitated, and all were losing sleep due to the frequent watches. More fights were breaking out amongst the sellswords, and even amongst the Dondarrion bannermen.

"When you choose your companies," Baldric told Karl Penny and Branston Straw after they'd broken up yet another argument, "be sure to take some of these troublemakers with you. Best keep them busy and absent for morale."

Eventually, they made camp beside a mountain creek. It was a chance for all to refill their water, and the ground was high enough that they could see a fair amount of the trail ahead.

Karl was the first to leave, taking what seemed to be a hundred men from his own territory. Most of Karl's men were archers, but he'd also taken a small company of men armed with axes and halberds. Baldric could also make out several unruly sellswords accompanying Karl, and it was clear that they went grudgingly.

Next to leave was Titus. He took his squires, all his bodyguard, and half of the Targaryen troops sent by Maekar.

"Good luck," Baldric told him as Titus was about to leave. They were the first words that occurred to him. He was too diffident - or too conflicted - to offer his hand for Titus to shake. True, he had not offered to shake hands with Karl Penny either, but Titus was not merely his bannerman. He had not resolved his feelings over the secrets which they had exchanged that night over rounds of cider.

"And to you," Titus replied, equally curt and equally reserved.

It was a strange moment for Baldric, and he pondered it long after Titus had departed into the mountains with his company. Even with their differences and with Cassana's hatred for her brother, he felt closer to Titus than he'd ever felt about his own brothers. Titus had come south to personally lead reinforcements and lend his support to avenging Caspor. And yet, Baldric still could not reconcile himself to Titus after everything which had transpired. It was as if he could not allow himself to be too close to Titus but also not too apart, either. For better or worse, he is my kinsman.

His moral quandary was forgotten when he bade Branston Straw farewell. He clasped his former squire's hand and patted him on the shoulder. "Be careful," he urged Branston.

"I will, milord," Branston affirmed, even as he went to the head of his company; just as Karl had done, Branston took a number of the most unruly sellswords, with most of his troops consisting of Dondarrion archers. Bolstering their numbers were a score of Baldric's household guards, one of whom was Royce Storm.

He did not know if Branston had chosen Royce, or whether Royce had volunteered. Royce certainly gave no indication either way; his face was impassive, and he turned away before Baldric could study his countenance.

Once again, Cassana's words and suspicions returned to Baldric; he had little interest in dealing with those recollections. I have bigger things to worry about. Besides, mayhaps Royce will meet his end in those mountains.

He briefly wondered whether it might have been better to instruct Branston to have Royce killed, but he revolted at such an unworthy thought.

By then, the sun was setting again. It was a depleted camp, with four hundred men away in the mountains. The remaining troops were quieter, but also more subdued.

For his own part, Baldric was restless. He had brought two flasks of black tar rum purchased from a Summer Isles trading ship. As he and his sons waited for supper, he took one of the flasks and emptied a quarter of it into his goblet.

It was not long before he felt far more relaxed, though he also felt dizzy. Kresimir and Geraint were still sullen, until he dismissed them to go play for the rest of the evening. "Eat when you are hungry," he told them. "I'm sure Unwin will have something left over."

After they left, Baldric summoned Nicol and two of his guards. "Those hedge knights who I commended," Baldric declared, trying to sound as sober as possible. "Do you still recall who they were?"

"I do, m'lord," Nicol replied. If he and the guards noticed Baldric's inebriation, they kept up a convincing act of ignorance.

"Bring them to my fire," Baldric ordered. "If they have squires, let them come too. And tell Unwin to prepare a dinner for all of us."

"Aye, m'lord."

After they departed, Baldric sat and took in the landscape around him. It was an uneven terrain, but at least it was covered with wild grasses instead of barren rock, thanks to the creek. The Red Mountains lived up to their name, but Baldric had been astonished at how much greenery clung to life within the valleys. These mountains take all the rain that Dorne's deserts are denied, Baldric mused as he stumbled along.

There were times when Baldric wished that he was still an ordinary knight, free of the burdens which leadership always brought. What an irony. I always dreamed of leading men to battle in some glorious war. What a foolish boy I was to long for such things.

"Milord?"

Baldric turned.

The guards had returned with the hedge knights in tow. There were a dozen of them, as well as three squires.

Baldric stood up, dispelling any private doubts over his decision. "Welcome, sers," he urged. "Make yourselves comfortable."

The men were clearly as awkward as Baldric himself was feeling; they slowly found seats around the fire, which suddenly seemed far too small to warm such a large group.

Thinking quickly, Baldric took out the flask of rum which he'd opened. "Come now, share a drink with me. Consider it the first repayment for your gallantry. Any of you familiar with black tar rum?"

Any tension was immediately driven away by Baldric's offer. The marcher lord ordered cups to be distributed amongst them, including their squires. Under the careful eye of Nicol, the flask's contents were divided as equally as could be managed.

Baldric smiled as he held up his own refilled goblet. "May the gods give us victory!"

"Hail!" The hedge knights and squires answered in unison before draining their cups.

One of the squires suddenly began to cough violently. Baldric was startled; the squire appeared to be the youngest of them, but he was also the tallest of the group. Rum and saliva spilled out of his mouth as he bent forward. The other squires, older than him, jeered at this embarrassing display. His master, Ser Arlan of Pennytree, chortled nervously as he pounded his squire on the back to end his coughing.

"What a waste of a good drink," one of the other knights observed sourly.

"Come on now, Dunk, you can take it," Ser Arlan shouted encouragingly. As he caught his breath, Dunk shamefacedly wiped his mouth on a ragged sleeve, unable to look any man in the eye. Baldric could not help pitying the lad.

Despite his easy amusement, Ser Arlan's address to Baldric betrayed an unmistakable sense of alarm. "Do forgive my squire, milord, he's never had such rich spirits before!"

Baldric was smiling broadly as he brushed aside Ser Arlan's plea, as well as Dunk's stuttered attempts at an apology. "No need to explain yourself, lad. Why, I made a mess on the floor just twenty minutes after my first drink!"

Ser Arlan wheezed as Dunk shot Baldric a look of gratitude. Several other men were quick to laugh; Baldric did not know if they laughed earnestly or dutifully, but nor did he care. The second serving of rum was coursing through him and warming his body. The cool autumn breeze whipping around him was no longer so strong as before.

"Truth be told," Baldric mused, "we Dondarrions were little better than hedge knights ourselves, once. Until we earned our sigil from the Durrandon kings."

"Here here," one hedge knight remarked. Others echoed the sentiment.

Curiosity seized Baldric, unhindered by hesitation or diffidence. "Has anyone here ever heard the story of how my family's ancestors became lords?"

The men affirmed that they did not know, or else silently shook their heads.

Baldric smiled. "It was a stormy night on the Dornish Marches, thousands of years ago. So far back that we don't even recall the name of that ancestor. He was carrying a message for the Durrandons across the marches when an arrow killed his horse beneath him…"

By the time he was finished with the tale of the first Dondarrion, the sun had fully set and the food finally began to arrive, along with a flustered-looking Unwin.

Over the course of the campaign since leaving Blackhaven, men had brought down a good number of wildfowl whilst travelling the marches and the mountains. As the cook explained, he had done his best to accommodate Baldric's dinner guests by hastily putting several such carcasses on roasting spits.

"Your pardon for the delay, milord," Unwin pleaded as Baldric and his guests were served portions of grouse and partridge, along with bowls of vegetable stew.

It was clear to Baldric that the meat had been liberally spiced with herbs. He could taste a blend of sage, parsley, and coriander.

"It was well worth the wait," he assured Unwin. Would that good things always came to those who were willing to wait.

"Now that we have our food," Baldric announced, "let us finish the second flask of rum!" The men cheered his decision, even Dunk.