Titus
Men were gathering to him, stepping gingerly aside to avoid the butcher's yard that the Vulture King had left in his wake.
Baldric's army was marching far below them, so that they were smaller than ants. If the height did not ensure their obliviousness, then it was surely done by the howl of a strong breeze between the mountains.
What now, Titus thought despairingly as he gripped Doom in his hand. As he scanned the slope beneath the plateau, he could not see a simple way down the mountain.
Cayn's sudden cry of alarm stirred Titus first, only to see a horrific sight.
Several of the bloody corpses, still wearing leather and cloth over their bodies, leapt to their feet. Men cried out in terror, even as the corpses emitted shrieks of their own and brandished weapons in their hands.
One of them stood close by Cayn, who was too stunned to even recoil. He fell as the corpse struck him down with a mace.
Titus forgot his terror. He sprang forward and ran the corpse through with Doom. The man gave a great wail of pain, until Titus withdrew the Valyrian steel blade and beheaded him.
"Rally," Titus cried out. "Rally!"
It was no use; chaos had gripped his war band. Men had sprang back from the corpses, only to lose their footing and fall backwards down the mountain. Others had been cut down where they stood, like Cayn. Even when they fought back against the living corpses, missiles descended upon them.
Alyn had followed Titus' lead, cutting down another one of these ambushers, only for a sling stone to strike his shoulder. Baelon Massey held up his shield to protect himself as he ran towards Titus. "Look out!"
Titus turned to where Baelon gestured.
Pikemen were advancing, wearing the plundered armour of Branston Straw's men. They marched slowly, in order to preserve their formation, but their discipline did not waver.
"Shield wall!" Titus shouted. "Shield wall!"
Men heard his call. Slipping on the bloody ground, they formed up as best they could, locking shields and extending whatever spears that remained to them. None of them had the range of the pikes, but Titus saw no other way to fight. "Archers behind," he shouted again. He bent down and picked up Cayn where he lay. Don't be dead… please don't be dead…
"Titus!"
"Help me," Titus called out to Baelon.
Without another word, Baelon knelt beside Titus and seized Cayn's limp form. As men formed up around them, they pulled the squire away from the pikes. "Maric," Titus shouted as they went. "Maric!"
"Milord!"
His other squire was wounded too. An arrow had pierced his leg and another had pierced his arm. Alyn stood over him as a soldier of House Targaryen administered rudimentary aid to the lad.
Titus set Cayn down on the ground and put a hand on Maric's head. "Be brave, lad."
"Milord…" Maric whimpered. He was pale and trembling. "It hurts…"
Titus wanted to forget about the battle. He wanted to kneel down and hold Maric's hand. He wanted to make sure that Cayn still breathed. He also knew that he could do neither of these things. "Look after them both," he told Alyn. Then he grabbed Baelon. "Come on."
Together, they turned back to where their men had formed up and held firm. Archers fired over their heads from the rear, even as Titus and Baelon ran past them towards the front lines.
"Hold firm," Titus called as he pushed his way past the rear ranks. He held Doom over his head; the black blade was dark with men's blood, but the hilt glinted beneath the sun. "Stand your ground!"
Soon, he and Baelon were in the second rank. Titus was tall enough to look over the heads of the men in front of him to stare out at their foes.
Their pilfered armour was also shining, as were their weapons. Their two front ranks held their pikes so they were pointed forward. Every time one was struck by an arrow, another took their place.
"They have a wider range," Baelon muttered beside Titus, "and we've got a sheer drop behind us."
At least their enemy had ceased loosing their own missiles, but Titus knew that his own archers would have a difficult time hitting anybody once the two sides clashed. The rear ranks held their pikes upward to deflect any volleys sent against them.
The pikemen slowly advanced, shouting insults and taunts at Titus and his men.
"Come on," one man shouted louder than his companions. "Afraid to die?"
What sane man wouldn't fear dying? Titus did not give voice to that thought. Instead, he looked at Baelon. "Mayhaps he's got a point."
His old friend gave him a strange look. "What do you mean?"
"They're daring us to charge," Titus mused. "Only because we'd be fools to do it."
"Aye," Baelon replied slowly. One corner of his mouth was curling upward.
"I always did like to surprise my enemies," Titus quipped.
Baelon grinned. "Just like old times."
"When I give the signal, we march forward. Stop just short of their weapons' range. Break their pike shafts first, close the gap, and cut the fuckers down where they stand."
"Is that wise, my lord?" It was one of the Targaryen soldiers who asked; his nervous gaze flickered from Titus to the advancing pikemen.
"We shall see. Tell the others. We advance on my signal." Titus waited as the word was spread across the lines. Then, he lifted up Doom so that all his men could see it. "Charge!"
The men, to their credit, put aside any doubts they might have had. Every one of them advanced towards the pikemen, shields held upright to deflect any pike thrusts.
Several men marched too far forward. Pike points struck shields, embedding into the wood. Titus leaned over the man in front of him and hacked at several pike shafts. Baelon did the same with his long-handled axe.
The second and third pike ranks thrust with their own weapons. Titus could hear men screaming down the line. "Stand firm," he shouted urgently. The man in front of him suddenly fell to his knees, shrieking as a pike blade took his eye.
Titus stepped forward so that he was in the first line. Immediately, he was struck by two pikes as he continued to flail furiously at their shafts. Others were doing the same, closing the gap between the two hosts.
Now it was the pikemen who were suffering. Titus could see several of his men thrusting with halberds and lances, as well as several pikemen falling to the ground with ghastly wounds. For his part, he could not yet strike the men in front of him, but he did his best to break as many of the pikes as he could.
He gave a cry as he felt a pike blade slash his leg. He brought his shield down hard so that the rim broke through the shaft. Another pike struck his shoulder. He was fortunate that the angle caused the point to glance off his pauldron, but another managed to graze his neck.
Several of his men had fallen, pierced by pikes in their effort to hack through the thicket. Their screams and whimpers rang out, filling Titus' ears. The pikemen before him were no longer laughing; battle had been joined, and now there was just the grim determination to kill or be killed. Titus gave a roar as he tried to plunge Doom into one of those faces. He fell short, earning another pike in his shield for his trouble.
As he tried to recover his footing, Titus realised that the pikemen were advancing too. Several of them had snapped their pike shafts in two, taking advantage of the shorter length in close quarters.
In these close quarters, where Titus' men were hemmed in by the shield wall, the joined battle proved an evil killing ground. More men were screaming.
Madness. Titus crouched to avoid a pike thrust. This was madness. How many men are dying on my account?
Beside him, Baelon Massey suddenly fell with an unearthly screech. Titus quickly saw why. His friend had held up his shield to protect his face from a pike thrust. Whilst he'd done so, another had been rammed into his groin.
Titus was screaming too as he tried to protect Baelon from other attacks as his friend writhed helplessly on the ground, sobbing in pain.
"Pull back! Pull back!"
Titus had not given the order. The enemy had. Much to Titus' surprise, he saw the pikemen step backward, leaving their dead and dying behind. Titus could see that many of the men were red-faced, breathing heavily, and some even collapsed to their knees. How hard were they being crushed together? Titus saw with astonishment that several of their dead had not been cut down by weapons. This is how they are willing to die?
It was a small comfort that the pikemen were regrouping. As his surviving men made a new shield wall in front of their wounded, Titus looked about at the devastation. Their side had suffered far worse casualties than their attackers. Several of the fallen had been his household guards. They'd served him loyally for years, some of them as squires and wards. Now they breathed their last upon that evil plateau, some of them bleeding from a dozen pike wounds.
Hosteen Terrick was one of them. A piece of pike was embedded in his throat. For a moment, Titus saw not just the boy Hosteen had once been, but he also saw Ser Garrison Dalt, sprawled on the ground with the tourney lance through his neck in almost the exact same manner. Titus felt the ground lurch beneath his feet as he turned away.
He found himself staring at Ser Todrik of Duskendale. He'd taken him in when he was twelve years old. His father had died at Durran's Mound under Maekar's command. Titus had taken him in and given his mother an allowance to live on whilst her son squired for Titus. He'd been so proud of Todrik when he'd triumphed in his first tourney joust. Now he lay on his side, with a long shard of wood piercing his eye. All those dreams for nothing… all that promise wasted…
"Titus…"
He looked back at his friend. Baelon was whimpering softly, weeping as both hands clutched the pike which had impaled his groin. Blood was seeping out of his wound, soaking his hands, breeches, and the rocky ground beneath him.
Titus looked about wildly for a healer, screaming for one. Two men approached, examining Baelon with shaken expressions.
"Titus… please…"
Titus knelt beside his friend, holding his head with both hands. "I'm here. I'm still here Baelon." He could not speak his friend's name without his voice cracking from emotion.
"Make it stop…" Baelon begged, weeping harder than Titus was. "Make it stop…"
Titus looked at the healers. Their faces were pale and their countenance was frightened, but they resolutely shook their heads.
No… Titus' hand shook as he drew Doom. It was a mercy, he urged himself, it was what Baelon wanted. All the same, he felt every part of him rebelling against this dreadful action.
"I'm sorry, Baelon," Titus whispered as he leaned forward and kissed his friend's forehead. "I'm so sorry."
He stood up and raised Doom over his head. He forced himself to keep his eyes open, for fear that his swing might go wild. When Doom descended and clove through Baelon's neck, it was Titus who gave a scream of agony.
It was answered by a loud laugh that he recognised. Turning, Titus saw a man emerge from out of the pikemen's ranks.
Horror gripped Titus, fixing him to his spot as he lowered Doom back down to his side. "Royce?"
The bastard of Blackhaven laughed loudly as he clapped his hands together.
Titus felt as though he were drunk. "You were the Vulture King all this time?"
"Nothing gets by you, Titus." Royce spread his arms apart. "Behold! Your punishment has come at long last! By the hands of one whom you wronged worse than any other!"
He speaks as if he were a septon at the pulpit. "Monster," Titus screamed.
"If I am a monster, Titus, I am a monster that you created."
He no longer looked at Royce. He was looking at a weeping old man, dying from a sword in his guts. He was looking up at Titus with horror and revulsion, calling him a monster. "I am the monster you created." I said that to Lomas. There was no way that Royce could have possibly known about that exchange. Or was there? Titus was rooted to the spot. Have the gods truly worked through him?
Royce stepped forward. "Come now, Titus, be a man! Did Lomas truly teach you nothing?"
Titus did not pick up Doom; the sword leapt into his hands. His boots hurled themselves forward, only for a man to lunge in the way and seize him.
"No, milord!" Ollo of Lannisport was stone-faced and grimmer than Titus had seen him since his trial in Crakehall.
"You want to know how manfully Lomas faced death?!" Titus snarled. "Go ask Lomas in the seven hells!"
As Royce laughed scornfully, he was joined by several of his followers.
"Tell me," Royce called, unabashed by Titus' furious threat, "did you ever find out what happened to your precious Aliandra?"
The strength left Titus' limbs. This time, Doom fell from his hand, clattering upon the bloodstained rock. "Liar. You weren't there. Anyone could have told you what happened to her."
"A sellsword can find himself in the most unlikely places," Royce's tone was heavy with mockery. "I cared little for the red dragons or the black. Instead, I took gold offered by Hiram Martell. His efforts were a failure, but we did triumph in one regard!"
Titus felt short of breath; he might have fallen to his knees if Ollo did not hold him in place.
"Lost your tongue, Titus? Go on! Ask me how many of us made sport of her whilst we tortured her!" Such was Royce's triumphant delight that his voice was shrill. "Shall I tell you how many men used her ere she passed? Or how many men made use of her warm body after she passed?"
Titus felt eyes upon him from every direction. His tears were hot on his face. Ollo was whispering something to Titus, but he could not make out a word he said. Blood was pounding in his ears and temples.
And yet, he somehow found his voice again. "If the gods would reward a man who did that to Aliandra, then surely they are as evil as you."
He could sense the surprise of men about him; not even Titus' despair and anger could excuse such talk of the gods.
Royce's smile had vanished too. A fey mood suddenly possessed his countenance, much to the surprise of his men.
"The gods are just" Royce shouted furiously. "They promised me justice and revenge! All this blood is on your hands, Titus!"
He seemed almost apoplectic for a moment as he paused to catch his breath.
"But I am not without mercy," he resumed in a calmer tone. "Surrender to your destiny. Come out and hobble to me on your knees! Beg for a merciful end! And give me that sword of yours!"
Of course, Titus thought dully. And then he will torture me to death anyway.
As if Royce could read his thoughts, he shouted again, in a solemn voice. "By the sacred Seven, Titus, with both our armies witness, I will swear this oath. Do as I command, and I will behead you with that sword. It will be a far sweeter end than you deserve, and it will be a fate that all will share if they surrender with you!"
Some of the Targaryen troops looked to Titus. Are they expecting me to accept those terms? Will they hand me over if I refuse? Before any of them could act, someone else spoke to Royce.
"I will never surrender to you," Ollo shouted. "What do oaths mean to a liar and a turncloak?" He pointed a finger at Royce. "You cared not for the black dragon, did you? You spoke much finer words about him when we drank together!"
Royce shook his head contemptuously. "You serve a man who fought that precious king of yours!"
"Aye," Ollo retorted. "And his honour is still worth more than yours!"
The older man turned to the others. "Do not be swayed! He will promise us the sky and then betray your trust! This is the Vulture King! He has had women and children murdered and mutilated! We are standing in a butcher's yard of his own making! What sort of mercy can we expect from him?" Several men voiced their approval, all of them survivors of Titus' household guard. Those Targaryen troops which might have wavered now recovered themselves.
"So be it," Royce declared. He clapped his hands together in mock applause of Ollo's speech. "Live bravely, then. And while you and your gallant men die here, you can be assured that I will be in the valley, fulfilling my promise to your goodbrother!"
Titus had forgotten about Baldric. In his surprise, he also noted how early it still was in the day.
"Royce," Titus addressed him. "You cannot win this war, even if you triumph here! Do you think that you can defy King Daeron forever?"
"Who said anything about King Daeron?" Royce jeered. "When I return with the Vulture King's head, Daeron will be happy to legitimize me and restore House Dondarrion to Blackhaven!"
Titus felt a cold shiver go down his spine. "You're mad," he protested. "You cannot kill us all!"
"Can't I?" Royce spat. "Mayhaps the gods will let you live. I'll take your tongue and your looks, make you into my fool so you can bear witness to my victory!" He turned to his men and began to delegate orders. Even as he did so, the arrows and sling stones began to fly again.
Titus ducked away from these missiles as his men held their shields up against the barrage. He turned back and walked to the rear, near the cliff's edge, past the archers to where several wounded men were being attended.
He felt wearier than he had since the Blackfyre Rebellion. Helpless fury coursed through his veins as he walked past the bodies of men whom he'd loved for years. Baelon Massey, Todrik, Hosteen, and more than a dozen others from his household guard. He wanted to shut his eyes from the sight of their corpses, be damned if he walked off the edge of the cliff. He even contemplated kneeling down and heaving his body onto Doom's point, just to make an end to the madness.There are others who yet live, he admonished himself. You cannot abandon them.
Maric was still alive, looking wide eyed at Titus as he approached. His arm and leg had both been treated and wrapped with bloody rags.
The marcher lord knelt before Maric. "How do you fare?"
"I don't know," Maric murmured. "I feel cold."
Titus forced himself to appear calm, or at least as calm as he could manage. As he ruffled Maric's hair, he turned to look at Cayn.
He was still motionless. His eyes were shut, but his mouth opened and shut as if he were gripped by some dream.
Titus turned to the healers. "Why won't he awaken?"
"We tried, milord," one answered helplessly. He turned back to a wounded man he was treating. Titus did not press the issue.
Alyn still stood by Titus' squires, bow in hand. When his master stood again, he whispered so that Maric could not overhear. "What is happening?"
"The Vulture King is winning," Titus answered softly.
Alyn shuddered. "I heard what he said about Aliandra," he confided. "He was just trying to goad you."
Titus cuffed at his eyes. Alyn had been with him at Lemonwood when he'd learned that terrible truth. "If he was not there, then others in his service were there. How else would he know about her?" He gave a shaky sigh, unable to stop himself from weeping. "It matters not whether Royce was there or not. He knew that too."
Alyn's countenance was straining as he put a hand on Titus' shoulder. He seemed ready to speak again, but a shout from nearby took both his and Titus' attention.
The pikemen were rallied and advancing once more.
"Lord Titus?"
Titus turned to look at his former squire. "Yes?"
"If we must die here," Alyn murmured, "then I would like to die by your side. As Baelon did."
Titus tried to suppress the sob leaving his body, disguising it by grabbing Alyn in a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry," he gasped. "You deserved better than this. You all did."
Alyn did not answer with words, only with the way he gripped Titus' shoulder with one hand.
Titus hurried back to the front. He would not hang back when men had chosen to die with him.
Ollo of Lannisport was in the second rank, holding Baelon's discarded longaxe in both hands. Titus and Alyn muscled past the others so that they stood beside him. "Where is Royce?"
"He's buggered off," Ollo replied. "Took most of his men and went away. Don't ask me where."
"To the valley," Titus mused dully. "Baldric is there. No doubt he means to give him a good shock just as he did with me."
Ollo's countenance was grim as he stood straightbacked, glaring at the diminished number of pikemen. "Arrogant cunt, he is. Leaving so few to kill us?"
Titus might have once laughed at such a remark. But the jest was too bitter, and he had forgotten how to laugh in the face of death. He could only fret for Maric, for Cayn, for Andrew far below them, for Baldric in the valley, even for Jena and her children. Does he have some plan for them? How far does his reach go?
As he gripped Doom in his hand, Titus cursed the gods. If Royce was right, and he is as blessed as I am cursed, then the gods are evil. Else why would they reward such a man? He is a kinslayer just as I am, is he not? He had Caspor killed. What did that boy ever do to him? And if what he said about Aliandra...
Despair mixed with anger inside of him as he tried to make sense of it. The gods must be evil, or crazed, or… or perhaps there are no gods at all.
He did not know whether he wanted to laugh or cry as he waited for his death. He'd once despaired that the Blackfyre Rebellion's outcome did not matter, but now he was no longer sure if anything mattered. What matters is to fight for those whom I love, he reminded himself fiercely, but that only made him feel more wretched. Fight or flee, surrender or defy, I cannot save them now. I can only die, knowing that they will soon join me.
"At least it's a sunny day," Alyn quipped as he hefted drew his longsword. His attempt at humour was undone by the strain in his voice.
The first line of pikes were approaching him. He raised Doom in the air once more. "A sunny day, indeed. But now comes the night," he answered.