Chapter XXII: Wyllful Foes
Lord Wyl
The Boneway
When words came to him of a grand host of Stormlanders marching along the Boneway, bearing the red dragon banner, Wyland Wyl knew that the day of reckoning was near. Even so, he was no craven to await his doom patiently, and thus he gathered his banners, and sent men to ambush the Stormlanders along the mountain pass.
He had gathered his most able men, whatever he had left of them after wrestling enemies for the Stone Way twice now. He had even taken men of his own garrison, for they could be swiftly returned if the Stormlanders did not relent. He had also taken his own son, some men grown and forged in war, some younger and still green, leaving naught but his daughters at his castle. It would not do for the younger ones to grow with softened hearts behind castle walls.
For weeks he had troubled the Marchers, ambushing them day and night – with arrows and stones and logs thrown upon their heads, as they marched along the treacherous path. Though they lost men everyday, those stormy bastards never relented and made their way back.
It was only after a turn of the moon that Wyland realized, with growing unease, that his enemies were in no haste, their advance slow and meticulous, stopping to siege or storm every watchtower along the pass.
The sun set, and in the night a messenger came, and told him of his own folly. He had taken most of what forced remained to him, had crossed the river Wyl and had marched against the obvious enemy. And now word came of King Baelor, that wretched dragon, landing an army at the mouth of the river and besieging his castle.
He had cursed the messenger for not riding faster, and had him whipped for his tardiness, even if he were not so. His men had been roused from their slumber, and they made haste to return to his stronghold, to salvage what he could.
Yet as he rode back to his home, he saw his lands ravaged by his enemy, burned and looted, leaving naught for his horse and his men. It was stricken with hunger that his men arrived at last, only to see a great army surrounding his castle, and hidden behind another row of fortification – hastily assembled wooden ones, but enough that he could not simply strike at them in the night.
And most grievous of all, across the roaring rapids of the river, the sturdy stone bridge he had once used to ride for war was absent, and that which had allowed him his way forward did not allow it backwards. His castle was built south of the river, and he cursed his ancestors – each by their own name. His men needed to ford the river, and whatever ford they reached, soldiers would surely await them.
At last they reached a suitable ford to cross the river, and as they were in the process of it, what he surely knew befell him – dragon men struck forth those who passed the river, dragon men struck from behind – for Baelor's ships allowed him to put men on the other side of the river. Besides the latter, Stormlanders who pursued them attacked, as they had advanced with great haste through the suddenly undefended pass.
And upon that ford, the Ford of Wyl's Folly, Lord Wyland, Wyl of Wyl, once infamous through Dorne and Westeros, saw his host defeated and broken. Half his sons were slain, their red, gleaming blood gushing forth in the waters of the stream, quickly washed away to the sea. It was later said that the river drank so deeply of the blood of the fallen, that when the Lady Wyll had seen the river sudden turn red, he knew that her sons and husbands had fallen, and her cries of woe were heard far and wide.
Ser Walter Waters - a knight of Dragonstone
Royal camp outside Castle Wyl
They had landed in front of the castle, unopposed, for the meagre garrison left had no desire to sally forth and die upon the shore.
They had quickly made camp, and preparations for the siege had begun. Great war engines were being built, sappers began their works, soldiers looted and burned the countryside to deny supplies to returning Wyl forces.
It took some time for that accursed Lord Wyl to figure out the trap he had nicely sprung itself into, a device sprung from the mind of the King itself. At Wyl's Folly, that wretched lord had been captured, with whatever sons he had left. The king had taken one look at him, but not decided yet his fate, and had ordered him and his brood returned as prisoners but asking them to be careful that their presence in the camp should not be known to the garrison. All were to behave as if the fighting men of that House had perished at the ford. Save for the youngest of the brood – Wyllard Wyll, but one and ten of age, who had served as his father's squire, and who seemed to be the least steeped in the cruelty of his bloodline.
The Castle Wyll was a powerful stronghold, and even if stormed, the defenders could easily hid in the caverns and tunnels beneath the castle, and continue their resistance. Rooting them would mean a lot of blood shed.
It was thus no surprise that the king had offered the Lady Wyll, who commanded in absence of her husband, terms for peace.
His Grace had dragged the lady's youngest son beneath the walls of the castle, where a scaffold had been hastily erected and threatened to hang the boy:
"My lady, if you would not cease your unlawful rebellion against your sovereign and surrender the castle into our hands, you leave me no choice, for all it grieves me to do so, but to hang your son, the last of your line. But if you would cease this strife, I am willing to offer life and exile for you and your son, although you shall be stripped of all title, land and income."
The lady's heart was not as black as her husband, and the love she bore her son was great indeed. The castle was swiftly surrendered, the garrison disarmed, and the lady in the custody of royal man, now tearily reunited with her son.
It was then that the king sent his men to bring forth the Lord Wyl and his other sons. Upon seeing them, the Lady Wyl was greatly surprised, and with an accusing face, turned towards the king and spoke:
"It is such the behaviour of a king? To lie and peddle falsehoods of the death of my husband and my other sons?"
The king laughed and explained himself, to the amusement of his commanders and lords: "What lie I have told you, my Lady Wyl? Is not your son born youngest of your womb and thus the last of your line brought in the world? Aye, I have hid the fact that your husband and elder sons have survived the battle from your sight and hearing. But I had no intention of sparing all House Wyl for their castle, for your husband's crimes were most grievous. I judged that your heart was mellow enough that you would surrender but for one of your sons. And I had judged right."
"You foul-minded fiend! You accursed wretched rascal!"
"Someone gag that miserable bitch" the King responded, his words unusually foul. He then turned towards Wyland Wyl, bound in chains and spoke again:
"Do you remember my words, Lord Wyl? For the wicked will be cut off from the earth, and the treacherous will be torn away from it. So I spoke then, and so will be your fate."
He turned then to men-at-arms and commanded them: "Bind him to four sand steeds and let his body be torn apart by the horses."
In frightful agony, his screams horrid and loud as a harridan, Lord Wyl met his doom. The horses being willful, the horses were long in disconnecting the sinews between his body and his limbs, and long were his pains. At long last his limbs were torn, and the lord still yet lived.
The king took his dagger, plunged into the villain's heart, and then ripped out his heart with his hand, raising it high into the sky: "Behold now his false heart! And know that I am bound by my words, hear them and ponder them!"
The man dead, the king gave new instruction: "Have his body cut into pieces and send heralds with each of them to the strongholds of Dorne to proclaim this: When they shall sight my banners on the horizon, the time for mercy would be long past."
After speaking such, the king made to return to his tent, but was stopped by Ser Jonos Edgerton, one of His Grace's confidants, and high in his counsel: "What about the lady and the sons of Wyl, Your Grace?"
The king turned his head and spoke: "Throw them into the pit of vipers and burn their corpses, save for the youngest. I promised him and his mother life and exile. Have them sent to that wretched island, Ghaston Grey, were they are to remain for the rest of their lifes and waste their years. That is exile enough, I believe."
As he looked upon his departing sire, Ser Walter fell in deep thought. He had not thought Baelor Targaryen to have such a hardened heart in matters of warfare. In his brief tenure as Prince of Dragonstone, he had showed a disregard for skill at arms, more content to spend his time writing and reading. Yet, he thought, grief has a way of hardening the hearts of men, and not even the blood of the dragon is spared such.
