Chapter XIII: His Grace's Men

Ser Jonos Edgerton

High Hills of Braavos

Ser Jonos had been entrusted, along with the two hundred horsemen under his banner, to escort the envoys that Braavos had sent to join King Baelor's host during his great raid. It meant that he would miss out on some of the plunder and looting of Pentoshi estates, but he valued service to his King above all else.

Jonos was a tall, and broadly built man of two and twenty, black of hair and with a birthmark the shape of a marten under his left eye. Though young, he had spent the better part of a third of his life in royal service and had seen rewards for it. He was the fifth son of Manly Edgerton, Lord of Moorcastle and Master of the Horse, as his forefathers had been since Aegon's Conquest. His brother Symon was to take these duties one day after his father; his brother Damon, a merchant, also served the king, as part of the envoys to Braavos. Another brother, Criston, was the King's Counter, and his ambitious wife hoped that one day he would become Master of Coin.

He had been born his bastard son, his mother a novice at Maidenpool who had broken her vows and died in his infancy. His uncle, the Elder Brother at Quiet Isle, had fostered him with Ser Nicol Colman, the Master of the Hunt, where he learned the rudiments of swordsmanship and hunting from the man's two sons, two giants known as Omer Stone-Crusher and Samwyle Tree-Breaker.

He had first set foot in his father's castle at the age of nine, when his sire had sent from him. The Lady Edgerton had thought him a fosterling, until she had noticed the birthmark under his eye, and in a moment of panic began to count how many times she had given birth, momentarily unsure. She had accepted him though, saying "The Seven have marked him so, so I might be his mother instead of the one who perished, whoever she was and wherever she was." And soon, he had become her favourite son, the child of her soul.

He had fought in Dorne with the Young Dragon and had earned his spurs and name from the late king himself, after, with the impetuosity of youth, he had rode to the gates of the shadow city of Sunspear and had boldly requested that their Prince should hand over the keys to his fortress. Since then, he had served as he was bid to. He had led the sand steeds that King Daeron had acquired for the royal stables. He had at the behest of his king and his father, been quite busy acquiring all the necessary horseflesh for the expedition to Pentos. After that, King Baelor had entrusted him with the duty of raising two hundred riders from Crackclaw Point, and he had been occupied since with teaching them all the tricks of riding and taming their half-wild nature.

He was escorting the Braavosi from their coastland to the meet the army of the King. Seeing that his men were few and far away from the rest, they had not the opportunity to loot extensively, for they could not carry the plunder with them.

They had passed through the northern lands of Andalos, were the power of Pentos and Braavos had been waning and waxing across the centuries. No magisters had manses and estates here, for the lands were hilly and forested, and full of tribesmen, savage men. The vagaries of time and the current political situation held to the wisdom that these High Hills, quite debatable lands, now belonged to the Braavosi, but their power had not been often felt too strongly among the people. The Andal remains that dwelt here were more alike to the Crackclaw riders who formed his banner – stranger and unruly to every power but their own, than to what a Westerosi would think Andal to mean.

They had been halfway through these lands when they had met one of such, a lone rider clad in a bear's fur, carrying with him a cloth of parley held on his spear.

"Hail" he yelled, in an Andalic dialect that Jonos had, with some difficulty, understood, for his brother's lessons on Old Andalic has rooted deep in his mind. "Are you men of the dragon king?"

"We are His Grace's men" answered Jonos. "What business would you have with us?"

"I am Argos, son of Armen, come on behalf of the knight, Ser Qarlon of the Shady Vale. He would welcome you into his village and host you through the night. Come and he shall tell you what he seeks from you."

"I would not think it wise." interjected Galeo Zalyne, one of the envoys, "These men are known to be raiders, and I would not like to be robbed and slaughtered in the night". The man seemed to speak out of his own ignorance, for these Andal tribes had never raided the Braavosi, only the Flatlands, and had even served as warriors for Braavos a few times in the so-called brigand bands, according to the other envoy.

Argos, looking upon their whisperings, intervened again: "My knight would offer you the salted bread, to honour you as guests, as it be your custom across the Sea. I would swear this sevenfold."

"I see the man keeps the Seven and has offered us guest right" answered Jonos to Zalyne. "I would hear the man, and if he proves false, I have two hundred good men to keep you alive through the night."

After a long ride, they had arrived at a vale, hidden deep in a forest, were they found a hamlet. Protected by a ring of wall made of earth and wood, it held maybe two or three hundred houses within and corrals for their sheep and goats. The most striking were the blacksmith's shop, a sept which was one of the few buildings made of stone and a bastle house made of stone, which seemed to be the home of their knight. On the slopes of the hills were fields of barley and turnips, eking out whatever existence the land would afford them.

They were welcomed by a tall, fair-haired man of perhaps thirty years of age, with a seven-pointed star carved upon his forehead. He introduced himself as Ser Qarlon, "Knight of this Vale". The knight welcomed them into his hall, full of similar men with stars carved upon them, though he insisted on speaking with Jonos alone.

After Jonos and his captains had been fed, Ser Qarlon made his plight known, speaking in the Common Tongue, though strangely accented: "I have heard tales, last I was in Braavos that your dragon king across the sea, gathered a host of knights and warriors to make war upon accursed Pentos. And now I have heard word that across the Flatlands, a great army marches alongside your king, dragging the magisters out of their estates by the beard, and breaking the chains of my people. Is this what I speak of true?"

"It is, I am one of the knights in His Grace's service and I now go to join him to war." said Jonos.

"I am a knight and warrior among these hills, and with me I had gathered all the great warriors of the land. In all, we could gather four or five thousand men to join the king in battle." offered Ser Qarlon.

"His Grace has a great deal of swords and lances, men bled in conquest, and has no great need of your men, nor does he know what purpose you seek by helping him in war."

"Does he not call himself King of the Andals, and do we not thus owe him our service? Has he not been crowned by your High Septon to rule over your people and mine?" the warrior argued slyly. "As I had been judged worthy and made a knight by the septon, has not he been judged worthy by the Voice of the Seven to lead the Andal people?"

Jonos had grown uncomfortable with the man's talk, for he was no envoy to have authority to treat with these men, and no septon to argue if the King had been crowned to rule over Old Andalos. He had no intention of overstepping his bounds and said as much: "My king has given me no leave to treat with you, and I can offer you nothing in exchange for your service. If you would wish to join my king, you could speak and treat with him yourself."

The warlord conferred with his comrades through the night, and by the morning, Jonos' party had more envoys to bring forth to the King. He hoped that the King could disentangle this new, wretched knot, and would ask him to use him only for war, for he had no mettle for diplomacy. And onwards they went, towards the headwaters of the Little Rhoyne, where word had come they were to join the rest of the army.