United we Stand – Divided we Fall
Volume II Chapter 3
The Riverlands
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Twenty miles west of Lychester's Castle, 199 A.C., fourth moon, first fortnight
Fall
Martin Melcolm POV
Nine moons later
"How long before we can set off again, Captain?" he asked the carpenter who had joined their convoy, despite refusing to join the volunteers for the Night's Watch.
"The axle tree is broken, my Lord. I will need the day to repair it and a part of tomorrow morning if you want to continue with the convicts inside. If there isn't any load on it, I can knock up something that should last until will reach a keep or a town with a smithy, or Gods be good, a wheelwright's shop. It will be ready before mid-afternoon."
Despite not being a Lord anymore, it was nice being called one, thought Ser Martin Melcolm.
If anyone had told him he would find some peace of mind by joining the Night's Watch when he had become Lord Martin Melcolm, more than twenty years ago, Martin would have laughed and called the person a drunkard.
After all, why would he join the Night's Watch? Why would he leave Old Anchor, his family, his castle and its harbour for some remote place at the far end of civilisation where you couldn't pee without freezing your arse off?
Losing his eldest son in the Rebellion and witnessing one too many acts of cruelty had broken something inside him. There wasn't a night he didn't have nightmares about the butchered civilians, the raped girls, the maimed fathers or the blank eyes of the young levies.
For this reason, when he returned home, several moons ago, his family barely recognized him. He had aged more in the year he was away than in his twenty years as Old Anchor's Lord. His hair and beard had gone white as snow. He had lost weight and above all, Lord Martin Melcolm had lost faith – both in men and in Gods.
The priests' sermons sounded hollow, the tales and customs of the knights looked empty and a fool's game. His life had lost its flavour.
Lord Melcolm had needed a new fresh start.
His nephew on his sister's side had ruled Old Anchor in his absence. Fearon had been fostered at Runestone, under Lord Andrew Royce. House Melcolm and House Royce didn't pray to the same Gods anymore, but an old friendship had formed eons ago when both Lords fought together against pirates or against common enemies.
His house had turned to the Seven after Artys Arryn had won the long war for dominance over the Vale in the Battle of the Seven Stars, whereas House Royce had kept up with the Old Gods.
House Royce had become one of the Arryn's most powerful bannermen while his own House had lost a lot of influence and wealth since Aegon's Conquest due to poor choices and a lack of acumen from the Melcolm's Lords, himself included.
His nephew, however seemed to possess what had been missing under his rule: he knew when an occasion was available and he was business minded.
This was no doubt due to the fact Fearon hadn't been taught since his youngest age that a respectable noble should show interest in nothing but the martial arts. Fearon had been taught how to fight, naturally, and what any highborn worth its salt needed to know. But as he had been considered at the time to represent his House Melcolm in important business with trading partner, Fearon had grown surrounded by merchants and sailors as well.
Despite, or rather because of the civil war, Old Anchor had been more active than he had ever seen. Merchants and sailors could not be enrolled as levies as they weren't residing on one land. Moreover, wars meant shortage of food, of arms, of men.
The merchants were more than happy to sell edible goods or weapons and sailors could earn more than they normally would by transporting men or goods – if they didn't fear pirates and war galleys that is.
Fearon had used the need for transportation and under his rule, Old Anchor was once again humming with activity when he came back to Old Anchor. Old quays and docks were being repaired and several buildings had been converted to warehouse or shop along them.
Not a moon after returning to Old Anchor, Lord Martin had named Fearon his heir, shared with him the things only the head of House Melcolm should be aware of before boarding the Sea Shanty that was sailing to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with almost three dozen of volunteers or convicts where he had been warmly welcome by the Night Watch.
Unfortunately he had learnt at Riverrun that a plague was hitting his former home quite hard since three moons and he feared how many of his nephew's people would die. The consequences would set his nephew's projects several years back.
Now, here he was, in the Riverlands with fifteen Black Brothers, crossing Westeros from Lannisport in the west to Dyre Den in the Crownlands, on the eastern shore of the continent. They were picking up more convicts at every keep or castle. Some volunteers, too, but not many.
With the end of the Blackfyre's Rebellion, order had slowly been restored – almost every fief had had an increase in banditry over the last two years.
As a consequence, the cells of many a lord held men who chose to serve at the Wall rather than lose their head at the executioner's hand.
Their train consisted of five carriages containing each up to ten men. Two oxen were towing each one. Three men of the Night's Watch were responsible for each carriage – the volunteers were divided between them to help with the many duties that befell to any gaoler: feeding the recruits, letting them out to relieve themselves, make sure none escaped, stop any fight between the inmates… not an enjoyable task, but one that was necessary.
Two merchants who were selling goods from village to village went with them. It was always better not to travel alone, even more in these days.
Martin's thought came back to the present and the carriage's broken axle.
"Do your best to repair it as quickly as you can. The recruits will be divided between the four other carriages until we reach Lychester's castle. I don't want to stay in the open too long."
The last keep they had visited had warned them against a group of outlaws that was roaming on Lord Deryck Lychester's lands. Martin didn't want to be ambushed by them with only fifteen men and less than ten untrained volunteers to fight back.
His eyes went to the girl – or young woman he corrected himself – and her brother who were helping the Captain. They were a strange lot, he mused. Lucas and … he didn't remember the lass's name. They had joined his train south of Riverrun, where they had awaited the convoy.
Lord Roger had enquired about his route through a raven that had awaited him at Sarsfield, explaining he could send a batch of convicts together with a travelling merchant and a carpenter with his children.
The merchant hadn't been anything special. But the carpenter… he was a taciturn man who looked more like a sailor than a carpenter, to be true. His talent was undeniable and more than once, when they set camp and there was some manual work to do, he had seen how handy the man was. Moreover, he was a practical man and he would suggest good alternatives when asked about.
His children were quite out of the ordinary too. They were looking constantly after each other and would always stay together. They were always either speaking together in a low voice or helping their father. The boy, Lucas, would practise with his bow every day before sunset. He lacked strength but his technique was very good. His bow was unlike any he had seen, however. It seemed to be made of several variety of wood.
The carpenter had offered to help the Black Brothers in their journey with his skills in exchange for food and protection during the journey. Martin had accepted with the added condition that his children would help with the food delivery. So far, he hadn't had any reason to complain about Captain Hook or his children. They were wary enough to never let the girl alone, be it with the men of the Night's Watch, the volunteers or the convicts. A good thing in his book. By the look of it, they had learned more than one difficult lesson the hard way.
With nothing else to do or to say to the carpenter, Martin went to the nearest carriage where Meryn, his second-in-command, was overseeing the food that was given out and ordered the recruits from the broken carriage to be divided in four.
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Darry, 199 A.C., fourth moon, first fortnight
Fall
Five days later, dawn
"May the Seven guide you!"
"And may they help you too in rebuilding Darry to its former glory, Lord Simon" answered Martin to Lord Simon Darry. "With my thanks for your hospitality and your generosity towards the Night's Watch."
Even if the words were addressed to the young Lord, they were meant for his mother, Lady Joanna who was acting as her son's regent until he came of age, in two years. Like many a Lord, Simon's father had been killed in the civil war.
Martin had been positively surprised by Lady Joanna. She was the first daughter of the previous Blackwood Lord – and aunt of the current one - and seemed to be doing very well despite her husband's death.
He could have done without her trying to poach his carpenter, however. When he had met Captain Hook, Martin had hoped to convince the man to join the Night's Watch, or at least the village nearby. Skilled craftsmen were always needed.
He didn't know how, but Lady Joanna had get wind of his talented carpenter's turned wheelwright and had offered him and his children a good place with a decent wage to help rebuild the harbour.
He was almost happy that Captain Hook had declined Lady Joanna's generous offer.
Captain Hook wanted to live by the sea and had answered such. He wanted to go to Duskendale. As such, he and his children would be part of his train until Hayford's castle.
Martin was disappointed that the man had refused to follow him to the wall, but if he was honest with himself, he could understand the craftsman's decision. Life was easier in the Crownlands than at the Wall and the weather far more pleasant here. A bit less dangerous too, without the threat of Wildlings' raids, even if the Riverlands nearby were the playgrounds of most wars on Westeros.
Martin's attention came back to the present as he bowed to Lord Simon before getting on his horse. Once he sat astride his chestnut horse, he steered his mount towards the castle's gate and crossed its moat, leaving the highborn family behind him.
Something was amiss, he mused while crossing the new village surrounding Darry's untouched castle. He couldn't say what, couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew something was in the air.
The guards were acting normally, they didn't seem tensed, which probably meant they weren't part of it.
But Martin was ready to bet his warmer fur coat that Ser Harbert had looked tensed.
He went to the village's – or what was left of it – southern border. A new palisade had been built to protect the new village from any nightly raid.
As he crossed the ditch dug in front of the wooden palisade, Martin went over the few facts he knew.
Simon – no doubt named after their overlord, Lord Simon Tully in a show of loyalty that was too sycophantic to his taste – was only fourteen. The lad was listening to his mother's and his uncle's advice, Ser Harbert. The young lord didn't seem stupid but he seemed keener on learning the sword than ruling – like most boys of his age.
Lady Joanna was an intelligent woman; of that he had no doubt. She had been a perfect hostess but at the same time she had used her son's questions to learn as much as possible about the lands he had travelled over and their lords. It hadn't been subtle, but still polite. No doubt she had been the one who prompted these questions.
Next was Darry's current Maester – Martin hadn't heard him except when he greeted him.
Then came Ser Harbert. Besides being Lord Simon Darry's uncle on his father side, the knight was Darry's castellan. And if he was not mistaken, he was more than just Lady Joanna's good brother. The two looked at each other just too fondly for this to be only platonic friendship.
But this was none of his business. As long as he could collect more recruits and was offered hospitality, Martin wouldn't care what happened behind closed doors. The fact that House Blackwood followed the Old Gods had probably played in his favour, explaining why she had welcomed his party more warmly than any other Lord or Lady since they began their trip through Westeros. Fifteen more convicts and five more volunteers had joined them. It may very well be the most fruitful recruitment journey since he joined the Watch, he mused.
What was it, then that had drawn his attention? He pondered while riding to his aim.
Was it this very young knight of maybe seventeen nameday who hadn't uttered a word during dinner? Young knights were more often than not the first to make themselves known. But this one had been very discreet, something which had drawn his attention. He had seen him train in the courtyard before leaving castle Darry and there was no doubt that he knew how to use his weapon with accuracy – the man possessed skills and had visibly be trained by excellent teachers. Martin believed him to be a hedge knight as he didn't wear any blazon – but it didn't make sense.
His eyes had the hardness of those that had taken part in several fights already and breathed in the Stranger's whiff one too many times. He would have been fourteen or fifteen during the civil war. A young age, but not uncommon either.
No, the former Lord of Old Anchor didn't believe it was the young hedge knight that made him uneasy.
Martin was positive it had to do with the Blackfyre's Rebellion.
Houses Darry, Cox and Hawick had been hit quite hard by the civil war, to say the least.
House Mooton from Maidenpool had, unknown to anyone, secretly declared for the rebels and they had attacked their unsuspecting neighbours when and where it hurt the most.
The devious lord had awaited until Darry's levies had left their lands to rush the castle with a force of almost three hundred strong cavalrymen. They had destroyed the village surrounding Darry without even trying to take the castle, crossed the bridge over the Trident north of Darry – the only one for miles – before burning it.
The rebels went to pillage the small village located on the Kingsroad north of House Cox's keep where the latter's levies had been camped. House Shawney had joined Lord Mooton's cavalry under Cox's keep in a pincer move.
The levies had been slain to the last man in the attack.
Finally, the two rebellious lords and their army had rushed together at Saltpans and its small harbour. House Mooton's and House Shawney's men had set fire to the warehouses and Saltpan's fluvial harbour that made most of House Hawick's wealth. Several boats full of soldiers belonging to House Mooton had awaited the attack to come out of their hiding place and take the Hawick's garrison from the inside.
The attackers had left through Mooton's boats, leaving behind them two ruined Houses, a strategical bridge destroyed, more than two thousand dead civilians and an extinct house.
The brutality of the sacking as well as the execution of every member of House Hawick had been on everybody's mind during the first moon of the rebellion.
The fact that Lord Mooton had surrendered when the rebels had retreated to the Dornish Marches, like House Bracken, meant that they had taken advantage of the King's pardon to any Lord who would yield and abandon Bittersteel's side. As such, no compensation had been paid by House Mooton to their neighbours – an injustice that many Riverlanders lords had still trouble accepting it. (1)
In the aftermath of the Rebellion, House Mooton controlled the only harbour sitting on the Bay of Crabs, whereas Saltpans' didn't exist anymore and House Darry's river port, less important to begin with, was reduced to a mostly destroyed quay. House Hawick, which was sworn to House Darry was having a succession crisis with two Hawick's male pretendants on a secondary line fighting for the succession.
House Cox, for its part, the second House sworn to castle Darry, once a powerful masterly House that controlled the traffic Trident River, had lost so many men it would need several generations to come back to its former demographic number and economical might.
No, that wasn't it. He was missing something else.
As he approached his convoy and his men, Martin had to turn his thoughts to more pressing matters.
"Is everybody ready, Meryn?" he asked his second-in-command.
"Yes, my Lord. We have twenty more new recruits, of which five are volunteers. A most fruitful stop."
"Indeed, Meryn, indeed." Martin didn't want to say more on this subject. He saw two new carriages had joined the convoy. Lady Joanna had told him about merchants that had awaited a convoy to travel to the Crownlands while using their numbers as further protection against outlaws.
"Let's go, I want to set camp just north of the border of House Mooton's lands in four days. There is an inn that sells one of the best ales in the Riverlands" he shouted to cheer on the men.
The men shouted their approval approval and they set off.
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Later that day, when the carpenter came to him after the midday's pause, Martin was still trying to figure what had made him feel on edge since leaving castle Darry.
They had stopped at the end of a small crest. To the north began the river's valley with its fertile lands and castle Darry was still visible far away. To the south, barely visible from where they stood, one could see when the weather was right like today a very small keep, nothing more than a bailey and a small tower that overlook the Kingsroad and marked House Darry southern border. It seemed it had miraculously survived the civil war unscathed. To the south began a moor several miles long, known for sheltering many bandits. Hence the tower's presence. They would reach it in four days if all went well.
The carpenter respectfully awaited until the former Lord of Old Anchor acknowledged his presence before speaking. The man seemed tensed.
"What is it Captain. Is one of the carriages giving you trouble?" he asked, seeing the skilful man stern face.
"No, mylord, nothing of the sort. I wouldn't disturb you if this wasn't important… but my son reported something very strange. I'm not one to tell hearsay. But this seemed important enough to warranty your attention."
Martin used an old trick as an incentive: praise.
"You have been helpful so far, Captain. Tell me what bothers you."
"My son tells me that the fifteen new convicts are all armed with daggers and wear boiled leather armour under their clothes. He is not one to claim something he is not sure of."
Martin considered the carpenter's words carefully, like he had done when he was lord of Old Anchor. This went against every logic. Why would the convicts, who were under the five volunteers' watchful eyes, be allowed weapons and armour? Unless they weren't convicts but something else.
It was a resolute wandering Crow that came towards the Darry's conscripts and volunteers, followed by several trusted men.
One of Darry's volunteers stepped forwards when he saw him and his men come nearer.
"How may we help you, Lord Martin?"
"Are you speaking on behalf of your comrades?" Martin's stern expression expressed how serious he was.
"Indeed, milord. How may I be of help?"
Martin looked him in the eyes, assessing the man for several long heartbeats before coming to a decision.
"What is your name, son?" the man was quite young, after all.
"Daren, milord."
"Walk with me, Daren."
Martin gave a nod to his second-in-command before moving away with Daren for a more private conversation. Deliberately he went to Daren's right side. He stopped walking before speaking.
"It's uncommon to let convicts with their armour and weapon. A more suspicious man could became wary and act rashly. This is your only chance to explain yourself. Do not make me regret this." His left hand seized Daren's right wrist while his right's hand was on his dagger's hilt, ready to be unsheathed.
The man seemed to understand the situation as he made no effort to free his right arm and slowly raised his open left hand in the universal sign of surrender.
"I know this might look suspicious, but I swear you have nothing to fear from us, milord."
"From who, then" Martin didn't let his guard down.
"Several villages on our southern border with House Mooton have been pillaged and dozens of villagers killed. Lady Joanna sent several patrols but they all came back empty handed. Ser Harbert suggested we mingle with the next convoy to protect it."
"I don't like me and my men acting like a fucking lamb in your plot, boy. What is it you believed happened?"
The silence stretched and Martin's right hand was tightening around his dagger.
"Ser Harbert believes House Mooton is trying to slow down our efforts to rebuild our lands. They have lost any political advantage they had before the rebellion and Maidenpool will act as the Riverland's port on the Bay of Crabs only as long as Saltpans and Darry's port aren't restored. The plan was to help you should your convoy be attacked and capture as many attackers as possible to interrogate them."
Unorthodox but not unlikely. But Martin didn't like playing the proverbial bait at his men's expense.
The former Lord pondered quickly. His guts were telling him that this smelt like a dead beach whale, ready to explode at any moment. He couldn't wait here more than necessary, but to move forward towards a potential trap wasn't appealing to him.
He needed a least a confirmation that Daren's men were trustworthy. For this, he needed to send a courier. But he didn't want to send one of his trusted men, as they were already outnumbered by the fifteen new members.
His eyes went to the youngest member of his convoy who stood by his father, together with his sister. The lad knew how to ride and was quick to understand. Sending him would allow him to keep all his men should they be attacked or betrayed. And should he be attacked … it wouldn't lessen the number of men he would bring back to the Watch.
Ser Martin motioned to one of the Black Brothers, Stonyfist to come up and stay near Daren. Stonyfist had saved Jaremy, his natural son, during the ranging three years ago, when Harlan Mormont was killed and the baby girl was saved – a story he had quickly heard when he joined the Watch. With a mere glance, Martin let Stonyfist know to keep his eyes on Daren while he went to speak to the boy.
As expected, Lucas didn't want to leave behind his father and his sister and wanted to stay with them should anything happen. It took his father and his pledge to defend them should they be threatened to have the boy accept his task reluctantly.
Soon after, the boy left with their best horse and a written message northward, setting off at a trot, back towards castle Darry. If they were lucky, he would be back just before nightfall.
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Their convoy waited until Lucas came back at dusk with a letter from Lady Joanna. Lucas held out the message without a word: it contained Lady Joanna's excuses and explanation.
Only then did Ser Martin relax a bit, and only after berating harshly Daren and his men for this stupid idea. He knew they were not responsible for setting this half-baked plan but seeing as he couldn't tell Lady Joanna what he really thought of such behaviour, he took it out on her men.
The war and the short time he spent at the Wall made him far less accepting of political manoeuvres when up front actions enabled the same results with less uncertainty.
Only then did he notice that Lucas hadn't come back alone.
The silent young knight, armed to the teeth, had been riding with him on a powerful bay horse, followed by who must be his squire, even though he was older. Both of them had stopped to let Lucas catch up and move forward to give his report. A fourth horse was tied with a long lead rope to the young knight's warhorse.
Martin went to greet them, at bit ashamed not to have done so earlier.
"May the Seven bless you, young Ser. May I know your name and the reason you came so well prepared?" he asked, pointing to the package attached to fourth horse's saddle. There were spears, and helmets and various weapons.
"I told Lady Joanna that even if you didn't write it, a bit of material help would help you forgive her" answered Lucas.
His tone wasn't smug like most boys would be, too excited to recount their achievement. He was speaking matter-of-factly. "Ser Dameron and his friend offered to deliver the weapons and come with us ."
Ser Martin looked from Lucas to the young knight. It was unheard of a knight to let a mere boy speak for him. The third man answered his silent question.
"Ser Dameron doesn't speak, buddy. I'll convey any message he may want to address you. By the way, my name is Arwyn."
The young man, heavily armed too, of maybe twenty nameday had the same harsh look than Ser Dameron with an ugly scar that began under his helmet, but there was something else. Something Martin had seen in resourceful men. They were often found playing dirty tricks. Someone to be wary of. His mocking smile wasn't enticing.
"You will address Lord Martin respectfully!" admonished Meryn before he could say a word. Martin's hand found his sword's hilt. He wasn't about to be insulted like this by some green boy – letting him do it would undermine his authority.
Arwyn's right hand moved deftly towards his spear but Ser Dameron moved between them. With a glare, he sent Arwyn away. Turning his head toward him, he respectfully bowed it before catching up with his travelling companion.
Everybody relaxed as the two men moved further away. Martin decided to let it go. Today had been full enough of drama as it was.
It was too late to continue so they set camp. Ser Martin ordered the carriages to be put in a circle in order to shelter the people inside it. He had learnt this during the Dornish War. It protected at least from direct mounted attack, but not from poisonous arrows.
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The next day, they set off again early.
Three days later, by midday, they had reached the tower marking the border with House Mooton. Contrary to what Ser Martin had believed yesterday, the Yellow Tower, as it was named, had been attacked recently. While the tower hadn't been directly hit, the village that had blossomed along the Kingsroad had been almost completely destroyed.
Ser Martin was warmly welcomed by the landed knight, Ser Rudow, who held the Yellow Tower and invited him to ate with him. While the former Lord of Old Anchor was sharing the knight's meal, he learnt however that it wasn't the rebels that had burnt and pillaged the village.
"Three moons ago, more than two dozen bandits launched an attack on our village during the hour of the wolf. It took us by surprise and we suffered a lot from the attack and the following fire. To my shame, we weren't quick enough to stop them or catch one of these outlaws."
Ser Rudow didn't have anything else of note for them, except that crossing the moor would take two or three days of march, depending of their speed.
The break was short, and soon, they set off again.
The silent knight Dameron and his fellow, Arwyn, went ahead to scout. Ser Martin liked it better that way too. It made for a less tense journey.
The landscape changed and became that of a moor. Unfertile and monotonous too. Grooves of trees and heather went as far as one could see. They marched until dusk and broke camp early the next day, hoping to leave the gaunt landscape the same day. The carriages couldn't go as fast however and it was only on the third day that they left the moor behind them in the afternoon.
An inn came into view a bit before sunset and it was quickly decided that there would sleep there. Everybody was delighted.
The convoy stopped in front of the inn. Two young men stepped outside the inn to help take care of the horses and oxen. They led the animals to a small stable.
Ser Martin was looking around when he heard several giggles. Turning his head, he saw several young women enticing the men to enter and buy a drink. Before he could order some men to stay sober enough, they had all rushed inside, the prospect of ale and women too strong for most of them.
Ser Martin was about to enter and grab some of them by the scruff of the neck when Stonyfist came behind him.
"Let the lads enjoy the night, milord. They deserve it. I will sleep now and keep watch during the first part of the night."
"I don't like this." he grunted. But the former Lord knew there was no point of denying the men at least a bit of relaxation.
Soon, almost everyone was inside, enjoying ale and the giggling women. Ser Dameron went away alone on his horse – the knight was a lonely man who avoided as much as possible the company of others, except his friend Arwyn and, strangely, the Captain and his two children with whom he seemed to have found some peace.
Speaking of Arwyn, Martin saw him leading a girl to a bedroom. Martin knocked back his beer before crossing the inn room and going outside.
The sun was nearing the horizon, illuminating the inn's door. Walking by the water trough, Martin was going to the latrine when he saw the shadow of someone approaching quickly from behind with something in his hand as if to strike him.
Years of sharpening his reflexes and weeks on the northern sides of the Wall made the difference. He turned around with his unsheathed dagger and attacked his would-be assailant who was too surprised to react quickly enough. Martin didn't stopped when the man dropped his weapon after the first hit. He grabbed the man's head, shutting his mouth in the process and cut his throat in a single movement. Blood erupted from the severed artery and sprayed him red.
He looked around, noticing how quiet everything had gone. But before he could do anything else, a brawl started inside the inn where he heard several voices shout or scream and objects shatter against the walls.
Despite the sun blinding him, he saw something move fifty yards away. Without thinking, he jumped to take cover behind the water trough, barely avoiding an arrow.
Several of his men exited the inn at this moment but two went down at the same time, hit by arrows. He saw the Captain and his daughter near a carriage – they took shelter under it before he shouted.
"Take cover!" But he couldn't do anything more as one of the assailants was shooting at him anytime he was trying to see something.
The men did as ordered but already another another got hit. Six of them reached the nearest carriage. They had daggers and one even had a sword, but going against several bowmen without armour would be suicidal.
"They freed the prisoners!" shouted Meryn, pointing to the inn. It explained why his men had been overwhelmed.
There was a lull in the fight outside while the one inside the inn continued. The short break was interrupted by an arrow and one of the assailant screaming as it hit him.
Lord Martin looked who had shot and was surprised to find the boy, Lucas, on the roof, using the chimney as a protection and already shooting a second arrow. Like the previous one, it hit its target accurately and another assailant went down. His comrade tried to shoot at Lucas but his higher position and the chimney protected him well enough. Again, the boy lost an arrow. It missed this time, but their assailants were now forced to take cover.
Martin heard the heavy and rhythmic beats of an approaching horse. Before he could take a look, he heard several yells and the characteristic noise of another arrow shot.
Taking his chance, the former Lord caught sight of a charging bay horse. Their assailants were trying to shoot with arrows him but both the horse and the horserider were well protected by chainmail.
Martin recognized immediately the silent knight, Ser Dameron, who had left them during the afternoon to scout ahead. He charged at the outlaw's back and was cutting through them like a hot knife through butter. The arrows were ricocheting against his armour and his sword was decimating the bandits like they were nothing.
Ser Martin used the lull to launch a counterattack with his fellow men of the Night's Watch and the Darry men, all armed and used to spill blood.
"Charge!" he yelled and began running towards the fight. The six men did as told, armed only with close ranged weapons and they assaulted the outlaws.
One of the bowmen saw them approaching and drew back the string. Martin thought he was going to be shoot almost point blank, only for the bowman to be hit in the head by a well-aimed arrow from Lucas.
It was a bloodbath, the attackers not being trained or fit with armour to withstand a close ranged attack against an experienced knight on horse. Ser Dameron didn't lose a heartbeat and went on, finishing off or killing the last men surrounding him, never missing, never stopping, his sword shining redder than silver. Martin and his men were fighting ruthlessly, like men who had survived long enough north of the Wall who used every dirty trick they knew.
"To the inn" shouted Martin as the last outlaws was cut down without any mercy despite surrendering. They couldn't afford to let they enemies attack them from behind.
As they run towards the inn, Martin swore that, should he survive this, he would do something for Lucas's family. The boy had just saved his life, after all.
He quickly brushed this idea off however, knowing this was not the place to make plans about the future. Barking an order to Meryn, they split before entering the inn, using two different doors where another bloodbath awaited them.
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(1) : See Volume I and the Interlude if you want to learn more about Ser Dameron or Jaremy's adventure north of the Wall.
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Ormuzj: many thanks for your review, it is not always easy to know if the story is well received, if the POV used was fitting to the situation, if it is not too gloomy, if there isn't too much worldbuilding or descriptions… in a word, if as a reader, you are hoping for a quick update!