Baldric
After nearly three days of marching the mountain trail, Ser Karl Penny's group was the first to descend from the higher slopes. Several men were injured, but not from combat.
"It's treacherous up there," Penny grumbled. He had not descended from the mountains unscathed; he'd twisted his foot and was walking with a limp.
"No sign of the enemy?" Baldric was unable to hide how incredulous and disappointed he felt.
"None, my lord," Penny replied, unable to suppress a shameful tone from his voice. "They kept well out of sight."
"So be it," Baldric sighed. "At least they did not harass us on the trail. I suppose I should be grateful for any respite."
He could say that as eloquently as he wanted, but he was growing very tired of this campaign. He had no intention of leaving the Red Mountains until he found the men responsible for his son's death, but he was not sure how long he could keep his army together. There had been no word from Lord Caron or Manfred, and the longer he went without word, the more he fretted over their fates.
Still, it did no good to blame Ser Karl or his men, so he kept his temper before them.
"Any sign of the others, by any chance?"
"A few, my lord," Penny replied, "but not for over a day. We all went our separate paths."
Agripina was another matter; she was insisting that they were very close to the Vulture King's lair, but Baldric had lost patience with her. Now he approached her where she sat beside the small tent which had been given to her.
"Where is this accursed valley?"
"Not two days from us, by my guess, milord." The soft subservience in Agripina's voice was enough to drive Baldric's temper to new heights.
"You have been spinning this story for as long as you've served as a guide," he growled. "How do I know that we are as close to the valley as you claim?"
"Kill me, then, milord." The woman knelt before him and bowed head as if she were about to be executed. "I have no fear of death, and I would sooner have a clean death by your hand than torture by the Vulture King."
Baldric scowled; he did not doubt her words, but he recognised the calculations behind them. "Your death may not be as clean as you would hope," he warned her. "You would not be the first whom I have ordered to be burned alive."
Agripina stiffened, but she kept her face turned away and said nothing.
It was an empty threat; Baldric had no means to burn her, and nor did he have the stomach to do such a terrible thing again. So long as Agripina believes me capable of it, that will keep her in line.
Baldric felt awkward in the silence. "We march anew with the sun," he ordered. "Rest while you can."
"Father!"
Baldric turned.
Kresimir was hurrying towards him, wide-eyed and panicked. "Gerry is hurt!"
"What happened?" Baldric knelt down and grabbed his son's shoulders.
"We were by the creek," Kresimir stammered. "One of the horses… it bit him… It happened so fast…" Such was his pallor that he seemed ready to faint.
All else was forgotten. Baldric arose and grabbed Kresimir's hand. "Take me to him!"
A maester was already attending to his son in his tent. Garvey Sawyer had brought Maester Brome from his household to serve the army as a healer. His mousy-brown hair had grown very long whilst dark brown whiskers had sprung up in patches across his cheeks and jaw.
"Your son lost part of a finger, my lord," he declared as Baldric strode into the tent. "I gave him a little milk of the poppy so he would sleep through the pain."
Baldric knelt beside Geraint, who slept soundly as Maester Brome finished wrapping a cloth around one finger. He looked up at Kresimir in dismay and outrage. "How did it happen?"
"It was the horse!" Kresimir recoiled from his father's response. "We were by that little creek, hopping on rocks! Gerry was balancing with his hands out, and one of the horses leaned over and bit his hand!" He was trembling as he recounted this tale.
Seeing his son in such a state, Baldric forced himself to speak quietly. "That is a strange story, lad. Do you swear that you did nothing to provoke the beast?"
"I do," Kresimir insisted. "We weren't even looking at it!"
Baldric gave one last glance to Geraint's still form before he arose. "Which horse did it?"
"Yours, Father," Kresimir replied nervously.
"Ebony?" Baldric shook his head in disbelief. He'd owned that courser for three years; never before had he displayed any sort of violence against his children. They certainly weren't strangers to Ebony; they'd regularly fed Ebony apples and other treats.
"What sort of madness is going on?" Baldric turned and walked out of the tent, with Kresimir trailing behind him. The sun had disappeared behind the mountains, so Baldric grabbed a torch from one of the guards.
He was a magnificent animal, bred from the herd at Summerhall; Baldric had paid a hefty price for such a fine horse. Jet-black all over, strong-limbed, fearless, Ebony was a prime stallion. Baldric had hoped never to ride to war again, but he felt better with such a horse to bear him.
As they approached him, Ebony showed no sign of hostility. He nickered softly when Baldric put his hand on the horse's snout. He turned to Kresimir. "Touch him."
Kresimir shook his head, quailing. "I don't want to lose a finger too…"
"Look at him! He's not going to harm you!" He picked up his son and held him close to Ebony's head. Although Kresimir whimpered and tried to shy away from the large beast, Ebony made no attempt to harm the boy.
Baldric put his son down, more puzzled than ever. He scratched Ebony's neck with one hand as he fed the horse an apple with the other. "What fit of madness possessed you?"
The question went unanswered, much to Baldric's chagrin. With a frustrated sigh, he left the horses. "A bloody pox on this Vulture King," he cursed. He looked up at the mountains around him. They no longer looked so red as usual now that the hour of the bat was upon them.
He turned back to Kresimir. "Go and rest with your brother. No more wandering about, either. You will stay by the tent or by my side."
"Yes, Father," Kresimir replied quietly. Baldric heard the resentment and misery in his voice, but chose not to address it. What is there to say? Should I ask him if this is what he thought war would be like? Did he think it would be some great adventure to avenge Caspor?
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"Milord!"
Baldric gasped as he opened his eyes. His dreams had taken him back to a battle in the Vale, though he couldn't be sure which one. Now he blinked his eyes and tried to recall where he was, even as one of his guards knelt beside him and shook his shoulder.
"What?" Baldric was seized by a yawn before he could finish the word. Dispelling it as quickly as he could, he repeated himself more loudly.
"Agripina's gone," came the grim reply.
Baldric sat upright, gaping foolishly. "Where in the seven hells has she gone?"
"She slipped away when the watch was changed. One man never came in from his post. We just found his body. She cut his throat to the bone."
Baldric sprang up, reaching for his sword. "I'll hang that bitch from the Lord's Tower!" He was about to stride outside when he felt a hand grip his forearm.
"Begging your pardon, milord," the guard urged, having also stood up and run after Baldric, "you'd best put some clothes on first."
"Of course," Baldric muttered, feeling utterly foolish. He began pulling on clothing as the guard gave a short bow. "Before you go, tell me the hour."
"The hour of the nightingale, milord," answered the guard.
Baldric cursed. It would be some time yet before the sun rose. We'll never be able to catch her. She's escaped. "Did Ser Branston and Lord Titus return yet?"
"No, milord. There's been no sign of them."
"Gods be fucking damned." Baldric was too tired and angry to hide his true feelings. "I am going back to bed. We cannot do anything about this now. Wake me when the sun's risen."
It was a paltry council which was assembled hours later. Baldric had barely slept as he'd pondered the state of his campaign. Now he fidgeted in his crude seat as he glanced at his remaining commanders. Garvey Sawyer, Karl Penny, and Cameron Bolt were still rubbing sleep from their eyes and trying to stifle their yawns; the sun had not yet appeared from behind the mountains.
Titus had left behind half the Targaryen host which he'd brought from Summerhall; their commander in Titus' absence was Ser Tommen Gower. After fighting under Maekar's command during the southern campaign and the Redgrass Field, he'd become the captain of Maekar's Summerhall garrison. Although he was the youngest man at the council, apart from Cameron Bolt, there was a streak of grey hair across his temple from a battle wound.
"Agripina was in league with the Vulture King all along," Baldric declared. "For all I know, her companions are also spies. We can only guess where they've led Lord Caron." He struggled to keep his voice calm as he thought of Manfred.
"She has been leading us astray," Garvey mused bitterly. "Who knows where the Vulture King really is."
"Worse than that," Karl observed. "We've undoubtedly been led into a trap."
Reflexively, the men looked around at the peaks around them. There was no sign of any foes, but the silence only made them more agitated.
"We cannot stay here," Cameron Bolt urged.
"True enough, ser," Tommen Gower observed. "But where do we go?"
Baldric turned to Nicol, who had been brought in as a scribe for the council. "The map?"
Nicol quickly brought out a crude map of the Red Mountains. The only true details which had been drawn was the mountain path which they had been taking. Here and there, forks appeared which hadn't been explored, as well as other paths which had formed crossroads with their trail.
"At present, we have only two options, sers," Baldric told the others. "We can press onward, or we can retreat and find our own way. It will be a blind journey either way."
"This was the trail which Agripina led us down," Garvey exclaimed. "We cannot trust it!"
"Nor do we have any idea where those other paths go," Tommen observed as he pored over the map. "Mayhaps we should send scouts in both directions? It would not be wise to march blindly."
"It's been two days since we last saw another pathway," Karl objected. He was resting his injured foot across his knee. "And then who knows how far they will have to journey to find any sign of the Vulture King. What do you propose we do while we wait here?"
Baldric was growing furious. He had been forced into an impossible position. He could only imagine how heartily the Vulture King was laughing at him now.
"We march forward!"
The others turned to him in surprise; Baldric wondered if they were more surprised by his resolution or by the forceful way in which he'd given it.
"My lord," Tommen began softly, but Baldric interrupted him.
"We cannot stay here, for a myriad of reasons. Chief of which, this is where Agripina abandoned us. I don't doubt that she expects us to be enveloped in some sort of trap. And I don't doubt that the Vulture King expects us to withdraw. Any sane man would."
"True enough, my lord," Karl Penny observed.
"And that is why we are pressing forward," Baldric reiterated. "Mayhaps we can take the Vulture King by surprise. He will doubtless have planned for our retreat, and made some cruel trap behind us. Well, I will not play into it. And besides," he added, "I will not abandon Branston or Titus. They were going to reunite with us in the valley ahead."
"If there is a valley," Tommen warned.
"That is a risk I will take," Baldric insisted. "We press on, and with all haste. I mean to steal a march on these brigands."
None of the men liked his decision, Baldric could tell, but there was no good way out of this mess. Thus, they did not challenge him when he gave the order to depart.
It was a mild day, with a great deal of wind, so few suffered beneath the sun. Some might have taken it for a good sign, but Baldric had long ago abandoned any faith in the weather for signs.
Much to his relief, there was no attack upon them for the entirety of their march that day. It seemed that his gamble had been a wise one, or at least he hoped. It was a mad decision, he told himself. No man would have made it; that is why it will work.
More than his own decision, he fretted over his son. Geraint was weary and weak from the milk of the poppy which he'd consumed. He refused to go anywhere near Ebony. Baldric did not blame him, so he had one of his bannermen lead the horse down the trail.
Such was their increased pace that by the time the sun was setting again, they could see that Agripina had not been lying about the valley. The mountain path opened up to a more open space, but it was still too far for Baldric to see any of it.
"We should reach it by midday tomorrow," urged Cameron Bolt. Now that the valley was in sight, he'd recovered his desire for vengeance against the Vulture King.
"Tomorrow, then," Baldric promised. "We shall see what awaits us in that valley. Until then, make sure the men are fed and rested. And be sure to look out for the others."
The path was still narrow where they ordered a halt; as always, there were a scattering of trees and green patches amongst the mountainous terrain. Baldric ordered these trees to be cut down and dried for firewood.
As camp was made, Baldric went back to his tent, where Geraint was being examined by Maester Brome. Much to his dismay, Geraint's condition had not improved.
Maester Brome removed the bandaging which he'd wrapped the day before. The finger stub no longer bled, but it was oozing pus. Moreover, the remaining fingers of his left hand were swollen.
"What is the meaning of this?" Baldric stared at the maester.
Maester Brome sighed and shook his head. "I've seen this before; sometimes a wound can fester… I do not know what caused it. Mayhaps it was something in the horse's bite?"
"Will it kill my son?" Baldric had to force himself to ask that question softly, so that Kresimir and Geraint did not hear him.
"I cannot be sure, my lord," the maester murmured, but his face suggested otherwise.
"What must be done? I will do it!" Baldric felt himself start to shake. "I cannot lose him!"
"There is one thing we can do, but it was ever meant as a last resort."
The maester did not elaborate, but he did not need to; Baldric understood his meaning.
"Gods…" He stood up, blinking back tears. "We must make a fire," he told Kresimir. "Burn Agripina's tent first, then add wood to the flames." If the boy had any questions about the purpose of this fire, he kept them to himself.
"We need an axe," Baldric told one of his servants when Kresimir was away. "See that it is sharp."
When Baldric picked up Geraint, his pale skin was drenched with sweat, and he whimpered incoherently as the milk of the poppy set in. Kresimir was sent away on some errand so that he would not see what became of his brother.
Only four men were in attendance: Maester Brome, Hador the blacksmith, Ser Loholt of Blackhaven, and Baldric himself. Loholt held Geraint's little arm across a block, whilst Maester Brome and Hador stood by, ready to take immediate action once Baldric did his task. A long metal poker was in Hador's gloved hand, the tip glowing orange from having been warmed in the fire.
Warrior, Baldric prayed fervently as he lifted the axe over his head, guide my hand. Mother, look after my boy…
His cheeks were wet even before the axe began to descend, but he forced himself to focus on his target. As soon as the axe sunk into the wood, Hador sealed the wound with the glowing poker. A hissing sound filled Baldric's ears, and the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils.
He could not stop himself from falling to his knees and retching noisily. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but shook it off as he gave a strangled cry. Gods, what madness is this? Is this some sort of punishment for my sins? If so, then why must you punish my boys?
"My lord!"
Baldric turned.
Geraint's left arm was being bandaged by Maester Brome. Hador and Ser Loholt stood by meekly, refusing to meet Baldric's eyes. Do they think I will blame them for their role in this?
Baldric looked upon his son's face. The poppy had done its work; he hadn't even changed expression after losing his hand. Gods help him when he wakes up.
"It is done," Baldric told the maester, as if Brome needed the confirmation. "Will he live?"
Brome once again refused to give a clear answer. "We shall do all we can to ensure it, my lord."
Baldric gave a curt nod, restraining his wish to grab the maester and shake him for not giving him a more hopeful answer. "The hour is growing late," he told Ser Loholt. "I mean to lead my army into the valley tomorrow."
He left them, but before he went to his tent, Baldric took the sharp axe to Ebony's neck. As the horse gave a final scream, Baldric grimly wiped a streak of blood from his face. "He will be our breakfast tomorrow," He told a startled attendant before going to his tent.
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The sky had only just begun to lighten when Baldric and the army resumed the march.
"We shall set a new camp where the valley begins," Baldric decreed to his remaining commanders. "Our line of retreat must not be cut off, whatever awaits us in that valley. Moreover, Titus and Branston must have a safe place to rally before joining us."
A new battle plan was necessary, especially given the betrayal by Agripina, but Baldric wanted to wait until he saw what awaited him in the valley.
There was no attack upon them as they marched beneath the brightening sky, but Baldric could not shake the feeling that they were being watched. Whether they were friends or foes, Baldric could not be sure.
Nor could he be sure whether Gerain would recover. Despite the movement and clamour around him that morning, the boy did not awaken from his stupor. His pallor was still alarming to behold, and he muttered feverishly under his breath.
The new camp was made fewer than two hundred paces from where the mountain path opened up to the valley. Two hundred Dondarrion spears and nearly two hundred archers were chosen to guard the camp and the mountain pass. A troop of mounted scouts, most of them hedge knights who still retained their horses, were chosen to discreetly inspect the valley whilst the army prepared to attack.
Baldric was assisted into his armour by both Kresimir, his remaining page, and by his squire. The latter was called Colby; as a son of a ferryman, he would never have expected to become a squire, much less for a lord such as Baldric. However, his uncle had been Ser Vin Storm, one of the men who had rescued Cassana from the Swanns and helped take Stonehelm for House Dondarrion and the red dragons. Cassana had insisted that Vin's surviving family be compensated for their loss, and that futures be provided for his brother's children. Vin's two nieces were maids to Baldric's daughters back in Blackhaven. May the gods allow you to see them again, Baldric prayed silently as he accepted his helm from Colby. "You two will stay here in camp," he ordered the lads. "Help keep Geraint safe."
The sun was still reaching its peak as the scouts entered the valley. So far as Baldric and the others could see, it was surrounded by mountains and cliffs, some of which were sheer rock faces that looked impossible to climb. A small grove of leafless trees was in one corner of the valley, beside a pond with bracken-looking water.
At the other end of the valley was a scattering of buildings and tents. Dozens of figures were gathering, but it was impossible to glean how large their numbers were. Baldric could see that several were carrying the long pikes which had decimated his cavalry. We finally found you whoresons.
"Did we catch them by surprise, milord?"
Baldric turned to the scout who'd spoken. "Difficult to say." He scanned the valley one final time before leading the scouts back.
It was not long before Baldric retraced his steps, this time at the head of his army. Nearly all were afoot, for Baldric did not trust in cavalry to win the day. Only the Targaryens under Ser Tommen Gower had their horses, but even they were ordered to dismount and lead their horses on foot. "You will only mount up as a countercharge or a rout," Baldric informed the scarred captain.
Despite his advantage in numbers, Baldric was cautious. His infantry formed a half-circle around the archers, with Gower's men as a thin rearguard and reserve. Any man who had a spear or a lance was placed in the front lines, with archers in the rear ranks. Baldric took command of the centre, with Cameron Bolt on the left and Karl Penny on the right.
By the time that the whole army had stepped out from the shadow of the cliffs, the outlaws in the valley were forming up. They were more numerous than Baldric had supposed. A square of two hundred pikemen formed up between the largest of the buildings.
"Clever," Baldric remarked, "but not clever enough. We may not be able to flank them, but our arrows will cut them down." He gave the order to advance in formation.
As they crawled forward, Baldric heard a warning horn being sounded on his right flank. He turned as his army faltered.
He soon realised what the matter was; a sizable force emerged from between two cliffs. Sunlight glinted off their weapons and armour. As they formed up, they raised a single banner. Baldric gave a cry of delight as he saw the purple lightning bolts on a black field.
"Is that Titus or Branston?" The question was passed down to Cameron Bolt, but none could be sure. No matter. They can take these pikemen from the rear whilst we hold them at bay with our archers. Hope leapt into his heart as he drew his sword and ordered his men to advance once more.
Once they were well within range, he called for a halt. The pikemen had not moved; they kept their pikes upright as a deterrent against arrows. That won't save you, Baldric thought.
"Fire at will," he shouted, smiling as the order was repeated down the lines. It was not long before the archers' bows began their sweet music. To the seven hells with you all.
Before the first volley landed amongst the pikemen, however, the screams began amongst Baldric's troops.
He turned in astonishment, just in time for an arrow to descend and slay the man beside him. As he quickly held his shield over his head, Baldric cried for Colby and Kresimir to stay close. Both boys cowered at his side as Baldric stared with dismay and fury at the attackers.
The Dondarrion reinforcements were loosing their missiles directly at Baldric's troops. Baldric could not tell how many men were struck by the arrows, but none had been prepared for such an ambush. The screams rose in pitch and volume as the second and third volleys rained down upon them.
"Rally!" Baldric declared. "Pivot!" The spearmen tried to obey, shifting so that their shield wall would face the newcomers. All the while, arrows continued to land amongst them as Baldric frantically wondered what was going on. Are we betrayed? What happened to Branston and Titus?
Baldric felt an arrow embed itself in his shield as he also turned, only to see a terrible sight.
The supposed reinforcements, which still flew the Dondarrion sigil, had formed up so that their archers were scattered in loose lines behind a pike square. Behind them, charging in their footsteps were more pikemen. Hundreds of them formed up before the archers, until four squares of two hundred men each were assembled.
Much to Baldric's shock, they did not stay still; with several cries, the pike squares charged towards the Dondarrion army, joined by the pikemen who'd lured the attack in the first place.
"Stand your ground!" Baldric hefted his lance; terror gripped him as he watched the pikemen charge forward. Despite their cumbersome weapons, most were lightly armed, and they were quickly closing the distance. The Dondarrion archers were preoccupied with the enemy bowmen; now it was up to the infantry lines to stand against these pikes.
"Hold firm!" Baldric was not sure where his fear ended and the other men's fear began. The shock of being outmaneuvered, coupled with the remarkable discipline of these men, had left him almost breathless.
The crash of pikes was sickening to hear; many struck shields or armour, but enough found marks to provoke screams. The second line of pikes were not far behind either, thrust forward by grim-faced men. The pikemen were ragged and dirty, but they were fearless as they pushed forward. Baldric had lowered his shield to deflect a pike blade on the boss. Another one buried itself into the wood just above his arm. The force of the charge knocked Baldric's front line backward. Baldric could sense the men behind him losing their footing, even falling backward. "Stand your ground," he wanted to shout again, but half the wind had been knocked out of him. It was all he could do to rally himself and stay upright.
Seizing an opportunity, the marcher lord tried to stab one of his attackers with his lance, but the pikemen were too far for his lance to have any proper impact. Fear seized Baldric so strongly that he nearly cried out. I will die here, impaled just as Lanval and Orryn were.
All around him, others were reacting the same. They thrust out with spears or lances, only to find that they were outmatched. Men behind them tried to swing halberds, snapping dozens of pike shafts. However, these were easily replaced as the pikemen pressed forward with ruthless purpose.
Desperately, Baldric dug in his heels as he readjusted; instead of a spear, his lance became a javelin. The point went into the open mouth of a pikeman, cutting off whatever death screech he might have made. Thank the gods, they are mortal after all.
Others followed his example, hurling their lances and spears point-blank. But even that did not deter the pikemen. They pressed so thickly against each other that Baldric saw some faces turn red as they gasped for breath. Gods… this is how far they will go to attack us?
All the while, archers continued to send arrows upon the Dondarrions. At one point, Baldric could hear the sound of hooves as dozens of warhorses charged across the valley, and the arrows seemed to stop, but that did nothing to stop the pikemen's advance.
"Pull back to the trees!" Baldric shouted, recalling the grove that they'd passed. He heard the orders passed along, but then he sensed something which made his blood turn cold.
It began as a trickle, then swelled to a flood, but panic had seized his army. His order only added to the confusion. Some men tried to walk backwards, but these men collided with those who had not heard the order, or else were too afraid to move. More and more men began to turn tail and run.
"To the trees!" Baldric shouted as loudly as he could, praying that the men would at least be able to rally when they found shelter. "To the trees!"
Thankfully, enough men seemed to hold their nerve to stand against the pikes, but they paid a terrible price for their courage. From the corners of his eyes, Baldric saw men impaled by pikes, sometimes four or five at a time. A pike blade glanced off the side of his helm. Men spat and jeered at him as he and his men made a slow retreat.
The jeers halted as the ground began to shake. Men and horses alike screamed over the noise of battle. Baldric felt his heart rise as he continued to step backward.
Suddenly, there was a sickening crash of metal and flesh. The pike square which menaced Baldric's centre suddenly halted as the men turned about in confusion. Through the forest of pikes, Baldric saw a horseman appear. Though he quickly fell, others followed him. Gower!
"Pull back! Rally beneath the trees!" Baldric pulled his arm free of his impaled shield, then turned and sprinted as fast as he could. He wept as he heard horses wailing in agony, as did wounded men who could not join the retreat. While one of the pike squares had been halted by Gower's onslaught, the others were chasing after the retreating Dondarrions.
As he'd hoped, hundreds of men were fleeing towards the grove, gathering beneath the skeletal branches. Baldric saw Cameron Bolt, staggering about as he tried to staunch a wound on his arm, even as he continued to shout orders. A few archers had climbed into the trees and were loosing arrows at the pursuing enemy.
Gasping for breath, Baldric collapsed to his knees once he passed the tree line. Already, the grove was full of men, and more were joining. "Form a shield wall," Baldric cried out hoarsely.
The order was taken up by others, until the majority of his surviving troops began to reform. Two men saw Baldric and pulled him to his feet.
"Are you hurt, milord?"
Baldric shook his head as he leaned on the men for support. As he gulped in air, he turned back to the battlefield.
It was a sickening sight. The green valley was littered with men and horses, alive and dead alike. Pikemen were breaking formation to slay the wounded where they lay, laughing amongst themselves. Others taunted the Dondarrion army to come out from beneath the trees and try again. The rearguard of Baldric's army seemed all but wiped out; they had ridden down many archers, and scattered one of the pike squares, but their achievements had all but wiped them out.
Baldric was not sure if he was flushed from exhaustion, shame, or fury as he pushed his way back to the front line. He took up a discarded shield from the ground, determined to set an example.
"Where is your Vulture King?" Baldric screamed as he stepped forward. He drew his sword and banged the hilt against his new shield's boss. "I am Baldric Dondarrion! I am still alive! I still lead my forces! Where is your skulking king? Let him show his face!"
The jeering continued, but much of it was diminished. Pikemen regrouped to form a semi-circle around the grove of trees.
"Vulture King?" Baldric ventured again, trying to sound scornful. "I name him Vulture Coward! What sort of king sends his brutes to murder a child? Is he so afraid to face me?"
"No, Baldric," came a shouted reply, "I was never afraid to face you!"
Baldric froze. It can't be… gods be good, it can't be…
From out of the ranks of pikemen marched Royce Storm. He was still wearing the armour of a Dondarrion guard, though he had removed his helm. Three other men marched with him, holding up their shields to protect him from the Dondarrion archers.
"You always were a brave man, Baldric," Royce shouted. "So why didn't you face me at my trial by combat?"
Baldric did not answer. He had almost dropped his sword out of sheer disbelief. All this time… you pretended to serve us, even as your men spread mayhem across my lands… this whole campaign, you marched with us and ensured we were betrayed.
Another thought struck him; he could not help giving voice to it. "Where is Ser Branston? Where is Lord Titus?"
Royce turned to one of his bodyguards. As he held the great shield in one hand, he used the other to fling something at Baldric's.
Branston Straw's head had been mutilated, just as Caspor's had been. Baldric scarcely recognised the boy who had served him so faithfully as a squire, who had fought alongside him across the Vale and the Crownlands during the Blackfyre Rebellion. You deserved so much better than this.
"Damn you, Royce." Baldric's voice was shrill with fury and grief. "Damn you to the seven hells!"
Royce laughed. "That curse won't touch me, Baldric," he answered. "The gods have blessed me! I swore vengeance on House Dondarrion, and I swore to destroy it root and stem! See how they have answered my prayers? They have brought you and your sons into the Red Mountains, at my mercy! I waited a long time for my revenge, and now it has come round at last!"
"Revenge?" Baldric was stunned. "Revenge for what? What did I ever do to you? How can you justify slaying my son?"
"You stole what was mine!" All the mirth left Royce's face as quickly as Baldric could blink. "Your wife nearly had me killed for a crime I didn't commit!"
Men within the Dondarrion ranks murmured amongst themselves as Baldric spat defiantly. "Liar!"
"Your wife murdered Maester Gerold," Royce snapped, "and then she framed the two who stood in her way to take Blackhaven for herself!"
"You've gone mad," Baldric shouted. "I will not believe this!"
Royce's smile returned. "Bury your head in the sand, then, Baldric, just as you always did. When I cut off your head, I'll make sure to bury it at the bottom of Blackhaven's latrine pit!"
He turned away and walked back amongst the pikemen, even as arrows flew once more over the heads of the pikemen.
Men cried out as they were struck, whilst others held up shields or ducked behind trees. Baldric did the same, standing amongst his men.
"Stand there for now, Baldric," Royce suddenly shouted again. "I will bring your children to you! You can watch as I help them join little Caspor!"
Baldric looked down to hide his tears. He prayed that the camp had fortified itself during the battle, but what could they truly do? There was a sizable guard, but they could not hold out indefinitely. Nor could he be sure that his demoralised men would follow him against the implacable wall of pikes that was waiting for the Dondarrions to charge them again.
Even as he pondered and fretted, Baldric wondered about Royce's words. He had always wondered how Cassana had secured the lordship of Blackhaven. He had wondered why she had hated and dreaded Royce Storm. His words were surely slander; he wanted to dismiss them completely, but the more he thought about them, the more he saw the sense in them. "I never stopped keeping this secret from you, Baldric."
Arrows continued to fly, hindering the men's willingness to charge forward. The pikemen advanced closer, closing ranks. They were too few to overwhelm the Dondarrion host, but Baldric could see that they only meant to keep the Dondarrions at bay whilst Royce overwhelmed the camp.
Baldric gazed once more at the head of Branston Straw. Could the gods be favouring Royce after all, he thought despairingly as he recalled what Titus had revealed, what Cassana had told him of House Dondarrion's past sins, and all that was afflicting him on this terrible campaign. Is this truly their justice upon a cursed house?