Baldric
Baldric sat to the side with his remaining sons. Titus was in attendance, as were Cameron Bolt, Karl Penny, and Garvey Sawyer. Lord Caron's principal bannermen were also present. All of them were regarding Lord Pearse Caron and the woman at his side.
Baldric was impressed with her; another woman as young as her might have been awkward or frightened to be in the presence of these lords and knights, but she held her head high and met their gaze.
"This is Hallia Melaine," Lord Caron told the others in a pompous tone. "Her grandfather was Ser Mago Melaine of Barca's Valley. She was taken prisoner by the Vulture King when he took her village for his own. Evidently, she has been leading a small resistance movement against him since she escaped."
Baldric thought it a paltry explanation. So, too, did Hallia, based on how grimly she glanced at Lord Caron. He, of course, did not notice as he continued addressing the other men.
"She sought us out and exposed the false guides for the traitors that they were. She and her followers can lead us to the Vulture King's lair."
"Is that true?" Titus spoke not to Lord Caron, but to Hallia. Baldric was struck by how grim he sounded, but he could not blame him. The numb misery which had gripped him since learning of Kresimir's death was beginning to thaw. A dark rage was slowly building inside of him, filling him with an eagerness to hunt down Royce Storm and drag him back to Blackhaven behind his horse.
"His lordship speaks truly," Hallia said in response to Titus' question. "The Vulture King has fortified the main pathways into our valley, but I know of other ways into Barca's Valley."
"Surely the Vulture King will know of them too?" Now it was Garvey Sawyer who spoke. "There may be others in your village whom he has pressed for knowledge."
Hallia nodded. "That is also true, my lord. But I have slipped in and out of the valley several times without being recaptured. We can create diversions to disguise an attack."
"Good," Baldric declared. He stood up and gave Hallia a respectful nod. "You are a brave woman to risk yourself thusly. In victory or in defeat, such is deserving of a boon. Ask what you will, and if it be in our power, we shall grant it."
Hallia's scowl did not fade as she regarded Baldric. "I would have gold to rebuild our village," she replied frankly, "and I would have the Vulture King."
Baldric flinched. He felt Titus' eyes upon him, and he gave a sigh. "The former we will provide," he answered, "but the latter is a thorny matter. My goodbrother has lost a son to the Vulture King's evil works, and I have lost two." He gestured to Cameron Bolt. "Ser Cameron lost his father, a leal knight in my service."
"And I lost the man I loved," Hallia retorted heatedly. "I lost my maidenhead to the Vulture King's followers, more than forty times over. I lost my cousins. I lost my aunt. I lost my grandfather! I lost my sister! I've lost nearly everyone I've ever known in my life!"
So furious was the passion in her voice, so agonised was her countenance, that Baldric was tempted to look away.
"This is getting us nowhere," Lord Caron interjected. "The longer we argue over who has the right to slay the Vulture King, the less likely we will succeed in taking him."
"Wise words," Titus drawled, "from the man who has nobody to grieve."
Baldric reacted quicker than Caron. "Titus, please!"
Titus sighed and folded his arms. "If this is the price we must pay to bring down the Vulture King, then I will agree to it." He spoke those words through gritted teeth in a harsh voice.
Baldric sympathised with that bitter sentiment; the rage in him revolted at the very notion. All the same, he had given his word to this woman, and she had answered him truthfully
"Very well," he conceded. "Since you are presumably your grandfather's heir, and since the Vulture King wronged you and your people before he wronged us, we shall concede to your prior claim to justice."
Hallia nodded curtly at this concession.
"Very well," Lord Caron interrupted again in an irritable tone. "Shall we continue?"
Continue they did, well into the night before they halted for rest. They resumed the following morning as they ate a meagre morning meal. Hallia scrawled out a crude map, explaining her plan to the others.
Later that day, once all their dead were accounted for and buried, the army was divided once more. Those who were too wounded to fight were left behind in the valley, guarded by a sizable contingent of Dondarrion and Caron troops, along with the remnants of the Targaryen soldiers from Summerhall. Those that remained behind also included Titus' squires, as well as Baldric's son Geraint, who still needed to recover from his infection.
"When the wounded are fit enough to walk," Baldric ordered, "depart from these mountains and make your way back home. If the gods are willing, we will meet you on the journey back."
Twenty-eight hundred men, half Caron and half Dondarrion, followed Hallia down a lesser-trod path out of the valley. Several of her followers joined her as they marched. Like her, they were dressed in ragged gear and looked as if they had gone hungry for weeks. But they were sure-footed and strong, bright-eyed and clear-headed; as per the strategy which the allies had concocted, Hallia and her followers became guides for different groups of men, disappearing down winding trails.
Hallia herself guided Baldric and a complement of five hundred men, alongside an older man called Eremon. They were both as agile as deer, showing no effort or sign of fatigue as they regularly darted ahead of the others.
As they travelled, Baldric was left to ruminate on all which had befallen him and his family. Geraint had wailed in dismay at the loss of his hand, and wept louder still when told of his brother's death.
Manfred had wept too, but only when he thought nobody could overhear him. Baldric had heard him sobbing to himself as he feigned sleep, and it had only driven him into a deeper pit of melancholy.
Besides his sons' misery, Baldric was also fearful of what he would have to tell Cassana when he returned empty-handed. She will never forgive me for cheating her out of her revenge, he thought despairingly, even if it did bring about his downfall. He found himself hoping that Hallia would at least make Royce suffer for his crimes.
Recalling the demise of Uthor Dalt was a check on this wish, but Baldric knew he must endure it. This would be vengeance for all he and his family had suffered, and justice against one who had wrought such a havoc across Dondarrion land.
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On the cloudless evening of the second day, Baldric's contingent halted at the base of an especially tall mountain.
"That is Barca's Peak," Hallia told Baldric. "I will go on ahead and begin the diversion. When the sun's shadow reaches this point," she said, pointing to a spot on the ground, "follow after me, and do not delay. You will only have a brief opportunity to strike."
"How will I know when we've arrived?" Baldric asked. He held up the crude map which Hallia had drawn, but saw no indication of where to go."
"The trail has only one purpose," Hallia replied. "We use it to bring our livestock to House Wyl. You will know when you have arrived."
Baldric nodded, still doubtful, but she and Eremon had already resumed their stride, never once looking back.
He wondered if the others had also reached their places in time, and fretted whether the plan would succeed. Hallia seemed quite confident in herself, and in the plan, but Baldric could no longer put aside his doubts.
"It won't be much longer, milord," one of his bannermen said assuringly as Baldric continued to pace back and forth. He was a younger man named Morfans. Although he'd been cursed with a homely face, he had nevertheless proved his valour in battle, leading Baldric to personally knight him, along with forty others who'd been similarly brave.
"Aye," Baldric replied. "That's what worries me." He looked back to the trail before them, wondering what they would find at the end of it.
"Form the men up," he told Morfans. "We had best be ready to march."
As the order was carried out, Baldric found himself thinking back to what he'd been told of Kresimir's death. How could Royce murder his kinsman so brazenly? What happened to him which drove him to such a ghastly action, and how can he justify it to himself, let alone to the gods?
As he'd done several times since the great battle, Baldric strove to remember all that he could of Royce Storm before he'd abandoned Blackhaven. He'd been a quiet and humble man, or at least he'd put on that appearance. Before he'd been accused of murder, Baldric would never have imagined him to be a villain. He'd been one of Ser Lomas Tarly's squires, knighted by his master, and had become a prominent member of the garrison. Ruddy Royce, Baldric recalled, unable to reconcile the memory of that man with the monster who had slain two of his sons.
Inevitably, this led him back to thoughts of Cassana, and how she had been so convinced of his villainy. No matter how much he loved her, Baldric could not deny that Cassana was capable of great cunning. He also knew that she kept secrets from him, and refused to confide them to him even after their son had been slain.
That, coupled with his memory of Titus' confession, drove Baldric into a despondent mood. He had always thought that House Dondarrion, whilst certainly disharmonious, was a welcome relief from his own upbringing in Stonehelm. More and more, he could not help but think of his own childhood, horrible as it was, as being far more normal in spirit.
He could not dwell on such morbid subjects. He turned away and watched as the men under his command formed up. One of them was being assisted by his squire, whom Baldric mistook for a man grown until he realised who they were.
"Ser Arlan," he called as he approached them.
"Lord Baldric," Arlan wheezed as he bowed hastily.
"It gladdens me to have you here," Baldric told him. "And your squire." He gave a brief glance at Dunk, who blushed furiously and stared at his large feet.
"We'll stand with you till the job's done right, milord," Ser Arlan affirmed, thumping his fist against his mail-covered chest.
Baldric patted him on the shoulder, then spoke to other men down the line. He was the Lord of Blackhaven, and if he was going to have men fight for him, he would show them the proper respect they deserved.
He put on a more confident air than he felt. He alternated between praising men and japing with them in good spirits. He spoke of House Dondarrion, reminding them of the legacy for which they fought. By the time he'd made it halfway down the ranks of men, he was no longer sure if he did it for the men's sake or for his own.
"Milord! The shadow!"
Morfans was pointing to the same patch of ground where Hallia had pointed.
Baldric turned to the men crowding around him. "After me," he called, "but save your breath as much as you can. If the gods are good, we will eliminate the Vulture King once and for all!"
And with that, he began ascending the trail. He did not look around, but he could hear the plodding of hundreds of feet.
No carts today, Wyl, Baldric thought, recalling his mad trek through the Vale alongside the maddest lord of them all. He nearly burst out laughing as he recalled Wyl's determination to pray before battle. Father, see the justice of our cause. Mother, shine your mercy upon us. Warrior, give us the strength to smite our enemies…
It was not the first time during this campaign that he'd thought of Wyl Waynwood, but this ascension was a visceral reminder. Will the battle be resolved by the time we arrive? Will that happen again? Wyl's ghost would like that.
Despite this brief attempt at levity, Baldric felt a terrible panic at the notion of being too late. It overwhelmed any lingering fear he had for battle and death.
The trail which Hallia had taken was at least a simple one. True, it wound its way around the slope of Barca's Peak, but there were no forks or dead ends. The biggest problem was that it was narrow, so that only two men could ascend it at a time. Baldric did not want to look behind him and see how long of a line his men made.
The sun matched their pace, downward instead of up. At one point, Baldric paused to take a breather, and looked up to marvel at the natural tapestry of reds and purples forming above him. His admiration was short-lived, for this, too, was an incentive not to waste time. Climbing this mountain is bad enough now, he thought frustratedly. How will we do it in the dark?
Hallia's words echoed in his mind as he continued his cumbersome climb. He tried to imagine himself as a simple shepherd, trying to keep order of his sheep and goats as they clambered upon the trail. What use are shepherds, Baldric thought absurdly. Those animals can scale rock better than we ever could. By what arrogance do we see fit to act as though we are guiding them?
He was already admonishing himself for ridiculous ruminations when he saw the beginning of Barca's Valley.
It was as Hallia had described it. Like the last valley in which Baldric had fought, Barca's Valley was like a green oasis among the red rock.
Only now did he find the nerve to turn around and see how his men were faring. Morfans was in front, gasping for breath. His face was slick with sweat, as were the others.
Even now, after all his trials and tribulations, all his years of being Lord Dondarrion, he was astonished that these faithful warriors should so readily follow where he led.
But still, they had not all finished climbing. As for the ones who had, their weariness could not be ignored. Baldric had not wanted to acknowledge his own fatigue, but he had to admit it in the face of reality.
He sat down heavily upon a rock, gesturing at others to do the same as more of their companions arrived.
Baldric could not sit still for long. When the bulk of his men had reached the end of the trail, he made his way as far into the valley as he dared.
He could see several buildings standing in an orderly fashion. Most were made of wood, but the biggest had a foundation and tower made of stone.
Some of the wooden structures were newer, by their appearance. They were also built in a cruder manner. Baldric could see watchtowers, including one built very close to the beginning of the goat track. There were also walls made of logs with sharpened ends serving as crude spikes. Skulls had been placed along these spikes, most of them having been reduced to the barest of bone.
Three men were visible atop the watchtower closest to Baldric, but they did not sound any alarm as Baldric recoiled and hid himself in the shadows of the mountain pass. Where is the diversion? Where are the others?
He looked back to his men. Most had sat down to rest their feet. A few were still struggling up the slope.
That was when he heard horns blowing. He nerved himself to look back into the valley.
Immediately, Baldric noticed that there was more smoke than usual, coming from several buildings. He could even see the occasional flash of flames.
As for the men atop the watchtower, their focus was also on the fires. One continued to blow a horn as the others shouted at unseen companions and gestured wildly to the burning buildings.
Now or never. Baldric turned back and raised his sword. "Up, Dondarrions! Do you hear the signal?"
He waited for them to assemble with him. He grabbed Morfans. "I need archers in the first rank."
Morfans repeated the command, calling as loudly as he dared for archers to make ready.
When several score of swordsmen and bowmen had arisen and stood by him, Baldric took a deep breath and ran into the valley.
The men atop the watchtower had not heard the newcomers. They barely had time to react before the first marcher arrows pierced their bodies.
Baldric pointed to the wall before them. "Climb over that! Hurry! Archers in that tower!"
He envied the younger men who still had ample energy and strength to haul themselves up the wall.
Others took up axes and began hacking several of the logs. As they did so, sounds of battle could be heard from behind the wall. Baldric stood by, shaking with anticipation as the horns continued to blow and smoke continue to rise.
Trumpet calls suddenly joined the din. Hope leapt in Baldric's heart and he gave a loud cheer. He grew yet more jubilant when he saw Dondarrion men reach the top of the tower and loose arrows deeper into the valley.
Finally, two of the logs were pushed over, leaving a gap in the wall. Baldric was one of the first through it.
Groups of his men were fighting their way deeper into the valley. Pikemen were attempting to form up against them, but it was too late. Knights and men-at-arms fell upon them with a fury. Archers felled them from the watchtower which they'd taken. Wherever Baldric looked, the Vulture King's men were falling back, especially as dozens more of Baldric's men joined the fray.
"Dondarrion!" Baldric cried out as he ran to catch up with the foremost of his men.
The first of the buildings in their path appeared to have been a mill, but it had clearly been fortified. Crude platforms had been added to the outside, as well as a ladder. The Vulture King's men held that platform, but now they were targeted by the watchtower. Dondarrions were attempting to storm the platforms, but several pikemen held them at bay from the top of the ladder.
Baldric picked up a shield from a fallen Dondarrion warrior and held it over his head as he ran to the ladder. Arrows thumped into his shield, followed by pike points as he stood beneath the ladder.
As he hoped, the pikemen rammed weapons as hard as they could against his shield. Doubtless, their intent was to pierce his arm on the other side. Instead, the pike points sunk into the wood and became stuck.
With all the strength that he could muster, Baldric pulled away from the ladder. He felt strong resistance as the pikemen clung to their weapons.
"Kill them," he shouted to the men who surrounded him. "Kill them all!"
Men pushed past him, eager to obey his command. He saw nothing from behind his shield, and did not lower it until he heard screams of agony and felt the resistance on the pikes slacken.
The platform was taken, quickly filling up with Dondarrion archers. Baldric turned and made for the next building. That one was aflame, so he shirked it and made for the next one.
He could see other groups of men wearing the Dondarrion sigil. Titus led one of them, wielding his black sword. The Caron flag was flying too, but Baldric did not linger to look for Pearse.
Instead, he led his troops to the largest building. A fire had begun here too, judging by the smoke pouring out of the upper windows. Men and women were fleeing out the main doors; Baldric could not be sure which of them were prisoners and which were the Vulture King's men.
"Take prisoners," he shouted. "Take prisoners!"
As his command was echoed by others, he halted before the hall, as he perceived it to be, and turned around.
Everywhere he could see, the Vulture King's men were being cut down. Others were attempting to flee, only for archers to target them. Only one of the watchtowers was being held successfully against the attackers.
Baldric was about to order men to the fray, until he saw flames begin to lick at the tower's foundations.
Baldric gasped as he heard Uthor Dalt's screams once more. He stumbled forward, protests already leaving his mouth, but he was too late. The flames licked their way up the new wooden structure. Men at the top were screaming, even throwing themselves from the top.
Titus stood by, beholding the spectacle as he cleaned the blood from his sword.
"Are you mad?" Baldric could not help speaking thunderously to his goodbrother.
"You think this is my doing?" Titus asked indignantly. He jerked his head to the right.
Hallia was standing by, along with Eremon and a few of her followers. Framed against the darkening sky, reflecting the bright orange flames, her countenance held such malice that Baldric felt a shudder going down his spine.
"Lady," he called out to her. He was hesitant to speak at all in the face of her vengeance, recalling all that she'd suffered at these men's hands, but the men in the tower were screaming as they were being burned alive. "This vengeance… it will do you no good. I speak with experience."
Hallia's face was impassive as she regarded him coolly. Then she turned back to the watchtower and ignored Baldric.
"Rest assured, Baldric," Titus interjected. "When we get our hands on the Vulture King, we can at least know that he will suffer for what he did."
Baldric shook his head. "Where is he, then?" He turned back to Hallia. "Has he been captured?"
Hallia shook her head, still watching the tower burn. "We will find him soon enough."
She was wrong. There was no trace of Royce Storm to be found among the dead, wounded, or captured. It was not until they began interrogating the prisoners that they revealed the truth.
"He's gone," one man declared. "He went out with a band to go raiding, he said. You fuckers came upon us instead."
Baldric was outraged. Yet again, he has escaped. But how could he have known we were coming?
He turned on Hallia. "Could he have known about our plan?"
"Impossible," she countered, equally as furious as he that her enemy had evaded capture. "It must have been that bitch."
"Agripina?" Baldric frowned in confusion. He had not noticed her amongst the prisoners either, and that had puzzled him mightily. "What does she have to do with this?"
"Not her," Hallia snapped. "The skinchanger!"
At that, Titus gave a start. He'd been listening to the discussion in silence, brooding on missed vengeance. Now he stared at Hallia in shock. "A skinchanger? Royce Storm has a skinchanger among his ranks?"
"Aye," Hallia replied. "She is his eyes and ears across the Red Mountains and the marches."
"Why didn't you mention her before?" Titus shouted. He looked like he was about to attack Hallia. Beneath his rage, Baldric also sensed some other emotion, likening it to dismay.
He had no time to ponder his goodbrother's mood, however. Neither did Lord Caron, who chose that moment to shout over the others. "Enough! We are wasting time! If the Vulture King isn't here, and if he's abandoned his lair, then where would he go?"
The answer struck Baldric almost as soon as Caron spoke the question. Panic surged through him so violently that he nearly screamed aloud in terror. He locked eyes with Titus, who seemed to have made the same guess as he.