THE PRIVATE
The trees along the King's Road sighed in the gentle breeze, their leaves sheltering the warriors of the Free Folk from the summer sun beaming down from a deep blue sky. Beyond the shade were rolling fields and little brooks, the crops growing tall in some places, others full of cattle, no fences or hedges to divide them.
The humidity rolling off the Green Fork just within sight to the west filled the air; not as badly as the Neck's nasty fog, but enough to make it harder to breath when the breeze stopped before starting again. It was close to paradise, except for the blood pooling in puddles all over the road, the iron smell of it everywhere; the horses neighing and men moaning in pain as they lay in piles among the dead.
Standing atop the small rise beside the road, Louis found the victims of the ambush spread in a wide arc below him. They tried to get around us. They tried to flee. They didn't succeed.
Three nights now Duquesne had brought Louis and the others to fight small Lannister outrider groups. With infrared night vision and firearms that could defeat any medieval armour in existence, they were not so much battles as massacres. Those few outriders that had survived had been handed over to the locals for trial once the Laughing Tree had passed by.
But after what they had found on entering the first village on the first night, Louis hadn't cared. He had been the one to stumble upon four men raping a fourteen year old in the stables of Septon's Rest by the King's Road. He had been the one to draw first blood. He couldn't help himself. Something had rose up from inside him, taken control of his body and mind, and put the four down.
That event had been all the justification that Duquesne had needed. Maybe he had even hoped for it.
On the third night, the LT had issued a warning by raven from the small keep of Sevensguard, telling everyone on the route to the Isle of Faces that getting in the way would result in fighting.
Louis wasn't sure if it was a tactic to scare the Lannisters into withdrawing or legal cover so that fighting to the magic island wouldn't cause trouble, but either way, he had no problem with it. Let the bastards die, he thought.
Until now.
On the morning of the fourth day, the wargs spotted a far larger and much better armed force of cavalry coming north on the King's Road. They would reach where the Laughing Tree was encamped by the afternoon.
Duquesne immediately decided on fighting. There was no refraining from deploying Canadian arms to battle now, unlike at the Last Inn against the Norreys.
The Lannister scouts were allowed to pass and dealt with behind the main battle site by Jon Stark and his riders. Duquesne's warning was nailed to a post in the middle of the road a few clicks further south; the enemy would have no excuse to say they didn't know they were in danger.
Without their scouts to look out for threats, the main body of Lannister men rode straight into a V-shaped ambush, facing archers and pikes on both sides of the road and Zheng with the machine gun in front of them.
Louis had been the one to signal the attack, braining the lead noble's horse with a shot from his scout rifle. That had been the beginning of the sick feeling that now gripped his throat.
The horse hadn't done anything wrong even if its rider had. The man wore gleaming plate armour, the breastplate etched with a burning tree in bronze. He looked like every part of the knight of medieval history and fantasy stories, or what Louis imagined those to be anyway.
Bullets had raked the entire length of the Lannister column from vanguard to rearguard, and arrows sailed through the trees and roadside shrubs. The horses were the main targets at first. Duquesne wanted as many prisoners as possible, and most importantly, no one to run back to tell the tale.
Now the knight stood among a fraction that had remained alive, favouring the leg that hadn't been caught under his horse when it was shot, his sword tossed on the ground.
"We yield!" he shouted, "We yield!"
For a terrible moment, Louis thought Duquesne would ignore it. Another burst from Zheng on the machine gun chased a pair of runners further down the road, the tracers flying over the heads of the surrendering knights. Arrows flew at them, though they took the shots on their shields and were unhurt by them.
"Cease fire," Duquesne ordered over the comms, before standing to repeat the order at full volume, "CEASE FIRE!" The shout hurt Louis' ears, the LT was right beside him. They can hear you, sir.
The attack stopped dead at once, though not quickly enough to O'Neill's satisfaction. "Took you a minute there, sir," the Sergeant said flatly.
Tell me about it, Louis agreed silently, preferring to look up at the sky rather than down at the carnage.
"Had to make sure no one could ride away," Duquesne responded, before turning to Louis, "Sayer, with me. Watch my back." He quickly strode by and slid down the embankment onto the road.
Louis waited until just before his hesitation would be noted, trying to gather up the sky before being forced to look at the ground, and followed. Once on the road, every step was wet with ichor with blood. The LT had positioned himself in the centre, where he knew the enemy commander would be… and where the most killing had to be done. And it had been done, by Louis no less than the others.
Duquesne moved carefully, aiming his rifle at this man or that, not trusting anyone no matter how injured or helpless they seemed. He also kept the lane of fire for Zheng clear, in case those still standing were playing games.
Louis thought that was very wise, and did the same as he trailed behind. Terror might be on their faces for now, but even a hint of weakness and even the injured would be on their feet with daggers in their hands. Compared to him, many of the knights seemed to be built like athletes or gym bros. Guys who could bend you in half with their bare hands. Getting all the food then training daily to move around in full metal armour will do that…
The LT skirted a dead man with an arrow through his armour and chest to the feathers, one of Ygritte's magic shots if Louis was any judge. He blinked. There's no way she should've been able to shoot through that steel with a bow! It caused the stitched scar on his face itch again like it had just happened yesterday. God, how close did I come to having my face carved off by that wight's arrow?
The LT halted in front of the circled knights that remained, rifle up.
Louis' hands tingled, his trigger finger most of all. The armoured men may have dropped their swords and maces, but they held onto their shields and at the short distance could probably overwhelm the two of them if they were willing to sacrifice most of their group to do it. Don't try it, assholes… he thought, trying to transmit the notion as much as just talking to himself.
"Toss those shields and sidearms away from you!" Duquesne commanded, "Then uncover your faces, kneel and put your hands on your heads!"
There was reluctance to obey those commands. Heads turned this way and that, gauntlet fingers curled around the long knives at their belts. But the leader with the burning tree etched on his armour gave a wave of the hand towards the ground, raised his helmet's visor and threw his own shield and dagger into the roadside ditch behind.
The rest followed suit, but they waited until their leader had knelt to do the same. Only then did all of them put their hands on their heads. Louis took a breath of relief. Even without weapons, he didn't like the odds. There were as many as thirty of the men still combat capable.
The LT sauntered over to the leader, like he was on a stroll. Putting on an act? Louis thought, as he followed.
"Ser Addam Marbrand, I presume?" Duquesne said, standing over the knight, "I am Lieutenant Michael Duquesne of the Canadian Army. And this is Private Louis Sayer. My condolences, you are now a prisoner of war."
Marbrand did not reply. His dark brown eyes just looked up at the LT with hatred from his slim face, a string of orange-red hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat.
"Don't be salty," Duquesne frowned, "I did warn you. You rode on past my sign like you owned the place. You're sitting there now because of your own poor decisions. Be more polite before I decide to be less magnanimous."
The prisoner's eyes flashed with anger. "You would harm men who have yielded to you for not deigning to speak?" Marbrand asked, "There is nothing to say."
The LT shook his head with disbelief. "No, I would give you to the locals for trial. From what I have seen and what they tell me, your men have treated them like shit. I would imagine they did so on your orders. I may have to hand you over anyway, I have nowhere to hold all your men as prisoners. Don't make that decision easy for me."
Any thought of the mercy falling silent, Louis felt revulsion creep up his throat at the memory of what he saw at Septon's Rest. Maybe we should just shoot this guy.
A rustling to the left turned his head, and he found one of the injured riders crouched beside, a long dagger in his hand. Fuck! Louis raised his rifle and shot the man in the chest twice. The man slumped to the ground again, gurgling blood out of his mouth. The revulsion grew, the increasing smell of shit and blood not helping.
"That wasn't wise," Duquesne said, thumbing at the newly created corpse, "Did you order him to do that?"
"I apologise for that," Marbrand replied quickly, not admitting if he had ordered the attempt on the LT's life, "He should not have done it. But it is not just for you to hand us to the Riverlanders, nor is it in your interest. Ransoms will be offered for our return. We are only following the command of our liege-lord, as no doubt you are only following the word of yours."
Louis grit his teeth with anger. "I bet," he half-shouted, managing to get his , "We've been hearing all sorts of stories about your liege-lord's orders, you piece of shit."
Duquesne shot him a look to calm down. Louis felt a burning shame at the outburst, which was soothed a little by the LT's own reply to Marbrand. "Private Sayer is correct. Where we're from, 'just following orders' is not a defence."
The knight rolled his eyes. "Why do foreigners always think to lecture us… Lord Duquesne, we are not 'where you're from'. I thank you for your mercy, but spare me your foreign morality. War is not a kind thing, you must live sheltered lives to think otherwise."
Duquesne clicked his tongue. "You're inside the exclusion zone, Ser Addam," he said with a gesture around them, "Here, it is our ideas about the conduct of war that will be entertained, not yours. But we'll have plenty of time to discuss it. I'll see your men receive medical attention as best we can, but we don't have one of your maesters to help."
He waved his arm and the Laughing Tree moved in from both sides of the road. Two lines of pikes approached slowly, while the archers jumped the wounded and dead on the ground to either drag them out of the way or tie their hands.
Ygritte and Ryk soon appeared, Ygritte's bow hand sticky with red sap and the top of Ryk's long spear coated in a liquid of the same dark red colour from the inside of someone he had stabbed with it. The pair avoided the dead and dying like they were the worst scum of the Earth, rather than a threat. Louis thought that very wise.
The spearwife's eyes quickly locked onto Lord Marbrand, and tilted her head in confusion. "Why are these ones still breathing?" Ygritte asked Duquesne, "Kneelers aren't any good to us alive. They won't thank us for it neither."
"Intelligence gathering," Louis said before the LT could, "We need to know what they know. How big the Lannister army is, what sort of soldiers they have. That kind of thing."
"Exactly right, Private," Duquesne said approvingly.
The lowering evening sun painted the sky and the nameless village below in a much more pleasant warmth than had beamed down at midday. The settlement was in a hollow between three hills, allowing the scent of cooking horse meat and open ale casks to hover everywhere.
Only a few hours had passed since the battle, but everywhere the tribe of the Laughing Tree's men and women caroused; eating, singing, screwing each other in the bushes. Even Jon Stark was coming out of his shell a little, drinking with Val and laughing with Zheng, all three of them sitting on top of a house's low roof.
The locals joined in the partying, putting aside their prejudices to welcome the killers of those that had ransacked their homes and storehouses hours before. Mostly, they just jeered at the closed doors of their sept, inside which the prisoners were being kept and tended by the local septons and septas. Atop its spire, the Maple Leaf flag flew lazily, the white turned a fiery orange, the red darker like blood.
Louis leaned against a wall around the building opposite, a wooden mug of ale in his hand, glancing between the flag and the party. He wondered what journalists or the 'brass' would think of this scene, and what his mother would say about what he had done. He didn't imagine any of them having favourable opinions.
His mood had caused most of the spearwives chasing him to go find more entertaining men to be stolen by, for the moment, with the exception of the two Louis almost expected to stay.
Iola sat on a stool quietly beside him, drinking cup in one hand and her other pulling moulting feathers from the body of her snowy eagle. The bird cooed and turned its head at every pull. The new warmer climate was affecting all the animals that had come south.
Grette on the other hand was not being quiet. She was leaning beside him on the same wall, a crossbow under one of her arms. She laughed loudly at the antics of the other Free Folk around them, pointing out this or that thing. She had shared anecdotes now and then, but Louis could only half remember them. He felt bad about it, but was too caught up in his own thoughts to allow himself to participate even knowing that.
The fact that both of them were what would be considered a state of undress anywhere but a beach barely registered too. It was only when Grette pressed herself to him that he realised. It was hard to ignore her when she did that. She matched Louis' height at five foot ten, had red hair and blue eyes that were almost purple, and had what O'Neill called 'assets'. God, I feel half-asleep. What is wrong with me?
"You're not drinking," Grette laughed, "Why not? We won!" She kissed Louis on the cheek and then on the lips for good measure, which did make him feel better. Thank you Grette, he thought. Whatever was distracting him had melted away a little.
"He doesn't drink," Iola said, not moving her green eyes from her bird.
Grette scoffed. "Then he would've died of thirst, witch." She took a big gulp from her own mug, made of some sort of dull metal.
Louis frowned. Grette didn't like skinchangers and wargs, for some reason.
Iola finally stopped pulling her eagle's feathers and aimed a glare at the taller woman. "He drinks water. He doesn't drink ale. You'd know that if you paid attention to anyone but yourself."
A snarl on her face, Grette pushed herself off the wall to stand up. "Aye, I'm just standing here trying to cheer him up for my own bloody amusement. After a victory. How selfish of me."
Iola glanced at the weapon in Grette's hands, before raising one of her own to the sky. The eagle flapped off immediately, beginning to circle overhead. "He doesn't need cheering up," she said, remaining seated, "He needs to think what he's thinking for a while."
Grette shook her head in disbelief. "What sort of shite is that…"
Louis exhaled, not wanting to enter the argument but not wanting them to fight over him. "Do I get a say in what I think I need?"
"No," came the reply from both.
Not intending to take that as a real answer, Louis opened his mouth to object but let it hang as he noticed a group of riders approaching from the north. He shut his mouth again and stood up from the wall. "Kneelers," he said to the two girls with him.
"That big Umber and some other Starklander lords," Iola corrected, "Saw them riding towards us earlier." Through her eagle, she meant.
Louis bit his lip and looked around for Duquesne. He was nowhere to be found. Neither was O'Neill. Where the hell are they? "Let's greet them before they ride into the party."
Grette snorted. "Last thing we need is that big Umber on his horse in the middle of all this," she agreed with a wave to the revelry, "They'll think someone shaved a giant and taught it to ride a horse. Man must be seven feet tall."
"Who knew they stacked shit that high?" Louis chuckled.
Iola and Grette looked at each other and laughed, Louis smiling to himself at how easy that had been as he threw the assault rifle's sling over his head. The greatest hits of Hollywood, stolen so I can make girls laugh. Sometimes this place is heaven. "Come on then."
The three of them wandered to where the King's Road met the village, the shadows of the cattle in the fields nearby getting very long. The riders were still at some distance, which gave Louis time to turn on the flashlight on the end of his rifle and attach his night vision goggles to his helmet.
Nothing like a little near-magical technology to scare the shit out of them. The irony of it wasn't lost on him. No doubt the Europeans had thought the same when wandering the wilds of North America, once upon a time. But when barbarians straight out of Europe's past want to kill you for some random insulting thing you did, Louis wanted every little piece of help to not get split in half by a broadsword.
The approaching column was surprisingly colourful, the sigils of the various Stark-sworn houses having every shade of the rainbow. One even wore pink.
The 'Greatjon' Umber was leading the riders, as promised, dressed in mixed plate and chainmail. He held up a large fist and the riders slowed. The man's brow was knit tightly with annoyance, until he realised who Louis was. A toothy grin appeared as he peered down from his saddle. "Lord Sayer," he said, "We were just inspecting your handiwork up the road."
Knew we should've buried the dead. Louis bit down a remark that it wasn't his handiwork, it was the fault of the Marbrand asshole. "Decided to catch up with us, did you?" he replied instead.
"Imagine the Starks fighting their own battles," Iola agreed, "What a sight that would be."
"Cover yourself up, wildling," said one man wearing the Karstark sunburst, "Lest one take the sight of you for a whore and treat you accordingly."
Louis felt his stomach burn at that. Who the fuck does he think he is?
Iola stared back at the guy… and her eagle circled closer. "Very brave for a man who saw what we can do. With or without clothes."
Louis pointedly raised his rifle, just high enough to make the threat apparent and allow an easy snapshot against the Karstark.
Lord Umber eventually waved the man off, and he and the other lords listened with diplomatic patience as Grette threw in her two cents too. "Heard you were away at some bridge or something, begging some other kneeler lord to let you pass, Umber."
The Greatjon erupted with a growl from deep in his chest, but it wasn't directed at the Free Folk women taunting him. Louis breathed a little easier. "Aye, something like that, though hearing it from the likes of you, I do not love. Walder Frey drove a hard bargain for his toll. Where's Lord Duquesne?"
Louis still didn't know, but he couldn't say that. And he didn't know how the other Free Folk would react to the Stark lords waltzing in. "Dismount and I'll bring you to him. The rest of your guys can tie up the horses at the stables and stay there."
"Lord Bolton, Lord Torrhen and Lady Dacey will join me," the Greatjon rumbled, "We're here to talk to Lord Duquesne. No point in me going by myself, even if I am leading this host."
Louis shrugged. It was reasonable enough, and four lords couldn't win against his rifle anyway. "Okay, just keep your weapons away and let me do any talking if someone gets angry."
One of the locals allowed the use of his inn's main room for the lords to rest for the night, and as a place to talk to away from the ongoing party. It was a cozy room, just about large enough for the meeting to take place, but well lit with candles and the fires burning in hearths along one wall. It smelled of cooked meat; much of the horse steaks that had been consumed earlier had been cooked there.
The Stark lords sat down along one side off the long table that took up most of the available space, its surface a large slab of sandstone. Louis recognised the pretty but tall Dacey Mormont from Moat Cailin, a mace hanging from her belt. The thin and stern Torrhen Karstark joined her, his sunburst logo covering most of his chest. It was also impossible to not recognise Jon 'the Greatjon' Umber, the barrel chested giant of a man that was very much a younger version of his uncle, Mors.
The fourth of the lords Louis didn't know, which seemed strange. The man was smaller than he was, but about average for the 'northmen'. His skin was pale and slightly red at his cheeks, and he was clean shaven, unlike almost every lord he had come across. Where the others were boisterous, he was quiet and aloof. He wore a pink cloak with blood drops around his shoulders. His sigil seemed to be a diagram of a human body too. What's that all about?
The nobles were greatly pleased as the innkeeper laid out ale, wine, cheese and bread for them. Louis could only think that this was exactly the welcome they expected in the Riverlands; liberators to be cheered and rewarded. Except we did the fighting, not them, he thought with annoyance as he waited for the response from the LT on joining the fun.
In the end, Duquesne and O'Neill refused the immediate 'invitation' to speak with the Stark lords. They were too busy in the sept with the prisoners. They hadn't said so, but Louis was sure they were interrogating Marbrand in some way. That didn't leave much choice in who could deal with the Stark lords.
"When will Lord Duquesne join us?" Lord Umber asked cheerily, chewing away at some bread, "I would congratulate him on his victory, and talk about what happens next." The other lords made noises of agreeing with the question from their throats, though Lady Dacey Mormont just looked up from her mug of ale.
Trying to figure out an answer, Louis decided he needed to play for time. He chose to begin by very deliberately sitting down at the table on the empty side, and threaded his hands together in front of him in the most business-like posture he could think of. Right in front of the Greatjon's seat opposite.
It was claimed the man was seven foot tall. Louis knew that wasn't true, no more than the claim that the Wall was seven hundred foot tall. Umber was still large enough to reach over the table and drag whoever annoyed him across to be dealt with. Somehow that was a more scary prospect than fighting White Walkers. At least I can shoot White Walkers and I won't destroy the peace.
Having followed Louis into the inn, Grette and Iola took seats to either side, neither side betraying any sign of nervousness. How do they do that? he wondered, as he gestured for some food and drink himself to buy another minute.
The brown ale in a ceramic jug with mugs soon appeared, and he poured Iola, Grette and himself some as the bread and cheese arrived.
The Greatjon repeated himself. "Well? Where is Duquesne?"
Louis picked up his mug and pretended to drink, before clearing his throat. It wouldn't do any good for his voice to squeak when talking to Lord Umber. God, give me another White Walker to shoot instead.
"Not coming," he said firmly, "You were not expected, and he's in the middle of something, so…"
"What do you mean he's not coming?!" the Greatjon asked, "He would insult the lords of the North by not receiving us?"
"No," Louis said, "Someone else is coming."
"Who?"
The door to the outside opened, and the answer came walking in.
Zheng had her green regimental beret on instead of her helmet, but otherwise was fully equipped for battle with armour and weapons. She hadn't been wearing either when Louis had last seen her.
More importantly, she wore a face that looked like she could tear a man's throat out with her teeth. Despite what that implied could happen in the next few minutes, Louis was still glad to see her. The Greatjon couldn't overwhelm the two of them.
Zheng paced quickly from the door to the Canadian-Free Folk side of the table. Louis smelled wine on the air as she arrived beside Iola. She began by tapping the skingchanger on the shoulder. "Up," she commanded.
Iola scowled but knew better than to argue with Zheng. But Iola was Iola. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, she stood out of her chair and settled into Louis' lap, throwing one arm around his neck and picking up his ale mug for a drink. She wiggled in place for a moment, green eyes locked to Louis' gaze.
Though he couldn't say he wasn't pleased, Louis glanced towards Grette, expecting a bad reaction. He found her brow raised, like she regretted not thinking of that herself. Great, they're competing for real.
Zheng shot Louis a stare, which said more than words about what she thought of his situation. Louis felt his face glow red, but hid it as best he could by grabbing a piece of bread, mashing a piece of cheese onto it and eating it. It didn't help much.
"Are you okay, Sayer?" Zheng said in English as she sat down, with a glance to Iola on his lap.
Louis' mind raced back to the events of the day. "I've been better."
Zheng exhaled and rubbed her forehead. "Yeah, know what you mean," she said, "But we've got work to do here. I don't expect these lords to be cooperative at first. We're going to play good cop-bad cop with them. Wanna guess who's the bad cop?"
"Me?" Louis joked back. There was no way in hell she meant him.
"Ha. Ha."
Zheng relaxed in her seat, and gestured to Umber. "Lord Jon Umber, you're late."
The Greatjon smirked toothily. "You're not the first person to say that. And you're not Lord Duquesne."
Zheng shrugged, and began to pour herself a mug of wine from a jug on the table. "I'm just as good. And I thought the proper way to address a Princess was 'Your Grace'?"
"Quite right, your Grace," the quiet lord said, so softly that Louis had to stop himself craning his neck forward to listen.
Zheng nodded in thanks to the man and took a gulp of wine. "Now, what brings you to us, Lord Umber? We expected your army to catch up with us yesterday. We got off the King's Road twice to deal with Lannister outriders. Was there trouble at the bridge Lord Stark wants to cross?"
It wasn't Umber that responded, but instead the quiet lord.
"Lord Frey asked a high price for use of his bridge," the man half-whispered, "And it took some … extensive negotiation."
The Greatjon gave a great nod. "Aye," he boomed, "The weasel demanded Robb set aside his betrothal with the Karstarks and marry one of his brood instead!"
"My father was displeased by the proposal," Torrhen man added, "Offended, even. As was I. I had heard tales of the duplicity of the Freys, but…"
The Greatjon cut him off with a glare. Too much information?
"I guess an alternative was found, or Robb himself would be here?" Louis wondered aloud.
"Disappointed, are you?" the Umber smiled.
Zheng grinned back. "It would've been convenient if Lord Frey had made our plan into the only plan," she admitted, "But now I'm more worried about what it cost you to be here."
"Nothing that concerns you," said the tall Lady Dacey Mormont, "Lord Walder wanted marriages. He got them."
"But it will mean naught if Edmure Tully does not agree to marry Roslin Frey once he is free," the quiet man added, "Lord Frey has said that his support depends on that. Otherwise he will withdraw his bannermen again and declare a peace with the Lannisters. That could concern all of us."
Louis didn't like the sound of that. "Could he do that? Isn't that treason?" he asked, "I mean… you outnumber the army of a single lord, right? Wouldn't you just attack his troops as they left?"
The lords looked at him like he had just suggested eating a baby… Except the quiet one, whose eyes seemed to gleam with something else. What the hell did I just say? Louis thought.
"Nobles have the right of refusal," Torrhen said, "It's only treason if they illegitimately fight against their liege-lord or if they leave in the midst of battle."
Great, they'll go on strike, Louis thought.
"We agreed that the Freys shall have no further part in the war," the Greatjon said firmly, "And we're men and women of our word, Lord Sayer. You'd do well to remember that."
"Though it applies only to the northern lords," the quiet lord added, "I doubt Lord Edmure will be pleased to hear the Freys will not fight unless he marries them."
This is nuts. "Sounds like they're unreliable and you should fight them now," Louis continued, "You already have the troops. You can't have a potential enemy in the rear."
The Greatjon slammed a fist on the table, knocking a jug over and causing the room to be evacuated of the local innkeepers. "Are you going to come along with us and break their walls like you did to the Night's Watch?"
"He won't fight your battles, kneeler," Grette said, flicking her hair out of her eyes.
"Then he should shut his mouth," the Greatjon thundered before Louis could speak for himself, "The Twins are two castles with a bridge between them. Taking them could take moons, and many men would die doing it! Even if we did destroy Lord Frey's banners on the road."
The Corporal raised her hand and clicked her fingers repeatedly. "That's enough," Zheng declared coolly, "He gets the picture, Lord Umber, and you're not being very diplo..."
"Don't tell me when it's enough!" the Greatjon interrupted, "We've got a war to free Ned to fight, we've no time for warring with the Freys!"
Rather than arguing, Zheng produced O'Neill's pistol from the small of her back and put it on the table next to her mug. Again, the quiet lord's eyes gleamed.
She stared at Lord Umber, who quickly quietened and looked like a cow chewing grass for a minute. "You don't speak to us like that," she said, "Especially him." She tilted her head sideways at Louis. She's defending me…
Eventually, the Greatjon sat again and watched, like something he had expected was just confirmed.
He wanted to provoke her… Louis knew why, and why the weapon had such an effect on the lords. He wanted confirmation that it was those sort of weapons that did the damage.
The dead from the battle on the road had been left where they lay, once stripped of useful things. The Stark lords now knew the power of modern firearms and their effects on the human and equine bodies. And Zheng had been the one taking lives with the same sort of weapon just hours before.
"Perhaps we should move on," Dacey Mormont said, after the awkward pause stretched on just too long, "What have you been doing in our absence, Princess Zheng?"
The Corporal did not answer for a moment, staring at the Greatjon as she took another sip of wine. She looked to Mormont. A warning.
"We killed three Lannister outrider groups over the last three nights. Dead to a man. Obviously the main force was expecting regular reports from them, so they came riding up to investigate when that didn't happen. Our skinchangers spotted them long before they arrived. We set an ambush. It went well. Everything else is just detail." She made a dismissed wave of the hand nearest the pistol.
It was bloody, Louis wanted to say, Our enemies didn't know what hit them. But there was no point in saying that. He didn't want another lecture from the Stark lords about war. The thought of that made his insides curl.
The Greatjon stroked his beard. "Did you kill them all?"
Zheng shook her head. "No, we have about fifty locked up in the sept right now, mostly knights. We have their leader, Addam Marbrand."
The mention of that name boiled Louis' blood. "Ser Addam 'Just Following Orders' Marbrand," he complained aloud.
"Just following orders to his doom," Grette joked, "The Burning Tree was beaten by the Laughing Tree."
Iola and Louis both snorted at that, even though they both knew she was still trying to cheer Louis up. It wasn't particularly funny, but it broke the tension. The northern lords exchanged their own smiles too, but for different reasons.
"This is excellent news," the quiet lord said, "He will be a valuable hostage. A firstborn son to one of Tywin Lannister's most useful bannermen. A friend of the Kingslayer. And he is second perhaps only to the Mountain in the field among the cavalry marshals of the West."
Zheng cocked an eyebrow. "Bolton, who says our prisoners are yours to use?"
The quiet lord, named Bolton, waited for an explanation as if he was owed one. Louis waited for Lord Umber to explode.
"No one said," the Greatjon said deliberately, "Though I don't understand why you wouldn't give them to us. Tywin would give much to see Ser Addam returned, as would Lord Marbrand. Perhaps we would pay more to bugger the chances of that happening. And you can trust us more than you can him, if you've any sense in your skull."
Surprised that the man could speak without shouting, Louis realised Umber's bluster was half for show. He's unreasonable because it's expected of him, and lets him move the conversation.
The Corporal spread her hands. "We'll not give up our advantage," she said, "If he's valuable to you, then you're less likely to screw with us and so are the enemy. Maybe we'll hand him over after we get where we're going, if you play nice."
She picked up the weapon on the table and held it in profile.
"As for his friends, if they get in our way, maybe I take my pistol and threaten to plug Ser Addam in the head with it."
Louis blanched. There's no way in hell the brass will forgive us for that. And no way in hell I escape blame for not stopping her, somehow.
Lord Bolton shook his head slowly. "You are a woman to be feared, Lady Zheng," he said, "That much is apparent. But you're not a woman to execute a prisoner in cold blood."
We hope, Louis thought.
Zheng tilted her head and pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "How do you know I won't? We've spoken twice, for a couple of minutes."
Lord Bolton pointed a finger straight at Louis. "Your subordinate's face when you described your plan for Ser Addam."
Louis felt like icewater had just been poured down his neck out of nowhere. It was a mistake to stay here. I've given away something I shouldn't have.
The Corporal glanced at Louis and frowned. "He doesn't really know me either, and I killed over a hundred people today," she said, "Two hundred, even."
Lord Bolton's brow raised, creasing his forehead deeply. The other nobles exchanged looks, like they didn't believe it. Lady Dacey looked to Louis questioningly. He gave her a single nod. Believe it.
"Let's say you're not talking shit," Zheng continued, before she put down the pistol. "I would still lie about shooting Ser Addam to the Lannisters. And I would kill you if you tried to take him from me, regardless of our treaty. Do you believe that?"
The quiet lord didn't reply, and his face betrayed no feelings either. Note to self, Louis said, Don't play poker with this guy. "Yes," Lord Bolton replied flatly.
Feeling they needed to move on again, Louis took out the written warning that had been posted on the King's Road out from his bag and unfolded it.
"We should discuss our next moves," He slid the paper across the table to the Greatjon. "We sent this message to everywhere between here and the God's Eye. Don't think we sent it to the Twins, so you haven't seen it yet."
The other lords moved closer to read, which was no trouble. The chicken-scratchings were written up with large letters, easy to see from a distance. Four mouths produced frowns as the eyes above examined the document. Even Lord Bolton's set.
Torrhen Karstark finished reading first, and leaned across the table on his palms. "You warned them?" he said, "You warned Tywin Lannister that you're coming? Are you mad?"
"We're following our laws," Zheng replied, "We're not at war with the Lannisters. But we are allowed to fight anyone that would prevent us getting … where we need to go."
"And we're allowed to fight people who go raping and murdering along the way," Louis added.
Nodding, Zheng leaned over the table her self on her hands and got in Karstark's face, "In fact, you should spread the word to your own troops. We wouldn't want them to die suddenly in the night. Finding themselves in a FAFO situation would be terrible."
Louis smiled. Zheng really did not give a damn.
Torrhen Karstark stood up from the table, brow knit with confusion. "Fah-Foh?"
Zheng sighed. "Never mind that," she said, sitting again, "The warning also makes the enemy think all your knights and soldiers are coming with us. How'd we tell the Lannisters to get lost without that threat behind the warning? So we can push forward with that in mind."
"Our strategy is set in stone, Lady Zheng," Lady Dacey said, "By command of Lord Robb Stark, we are to advance only so far to engage the host of Tywin Lannister, and to keep as many of us alive as possible for what happens after."
That's not a strategy, Louis scowled.
"The Freys are not yet here," Lord Bolton added, "Their foot is still progressing down the King's Road to join us. Can we create a new strategy without them?"
"Bugger the Freys," Lord Umber said, "I lead here. Lord Robb commanded we meet the enemy and preserve the host. After what I saw on the road today, I want Lord Duquesne and Lady Zheng here with us when we face Tywin. That doesn't go against his command by any stretch."
Zheng crossed her arms. "I'm glad we agree. Since you're playing nice, I can tell you that Mr. Lannister has taken Harrenhal. So the enemy has a hole to run to if we chase him. A hole he'll die in, but still."
The Stark lords showed no surprise.
"Lady Whent likely hadn't the men to defend that ruin," the Greatjon said, stroking his beard, "Though Lord Shits-Gold may. It'll be the Others' own work to pull him out of it."
Zheng clicked her tongue. "He has twenty thousand men and likes mass murder. That would probably be enough to make a castle surrender, if leadership was lacking inside the castle. Other castles are still surrounded by small forces to keep lords locked up."
The Greatjon grunted under his breath, unable to deny her point.
Lord Bolton cleared his throat softly. "How do you know that Lord Lannister has twenty thousand men?" he asked, "Or that other castles have been put to siege?"
Zheng turned to Louis for the answer. Coordinating the warg reconnaissance and reporting back to Duquesne was his job, courtesy of his celebrity status with the Free Folk.
"We sent a skinchanger's bird south along the King's Road to find his main force when we marched out from Moat Cailin. Harrenhal has lion banners over it, and a large Lannister force was spotted this morning marching towards it from the west. Infantry."
Zheng sighed and leaned back in her chair. "They sent their cavalry ahead to scare the castle into surrendering. As you can see, we have far more complete information on what's going on than you probably will ever have. We're going to use it."
"How?" Lord Torrhen asked.
Louis raised a hand to get their attention. "The plan is to be very aggressive," he said, recalling Duquesne's speech about it, "We'll hit the Lannisters hard with our forces, do everything we can to push them back. Blind Tywin Lannister by eliminating all their scouting groups, attack any vanguard forces at night, that sort of thing."
"We can see everything these Lannister kneelers do through the eyes of our skins," Iola threw in, "And stop them sending those raven messages too. My eagle eats ravens."
The Greatjon smiled at that. "Sounds like a bloody good plan to me," he said, "But eventually Lord Tywin will realise it's just your host, not ours."
"Lord Duquesne plans to trick him," Zheng said, "We'll put Jon Stark's force front and centre in a few daylight attacks. Let him blood his fancy magic sword, and I'm not talking about his cock. We'll let a few survivors go back to Tywin. Without scouts, he'll have to assume the full might of the Stark army is coming to get him."
"We think he'll run," Louis said, "Between your forces and ours, he should believe he's outnumbered and outclassed. He'll run south of the river, back to Harrenhal and recall his garrisons from the castles he's already taken in the central Riverlands to even the odds."
Zheng raised her mug in mock salute. "Once Lord Lannister is south of the Ruby Ford, it doesn't matter if he discovers our little lie. We can fortify the river crossings, giving him only bad choices; fight us where we want him to or cool his heels in Harrenhal. In the mean time, your lord's plan should have worked, and we can go to the Isle of Faces without much threat to us." She drank to that idea.
The Stark lords lips curled like cats that got the milk; they were suitably impressed.
"Your plan is to defeat Tywin Lannister?" the Greatjon asked with a chuckle, "Here I thought I'd have to convince you to join me in trying it."
Zheng raised her mug again. "We're full of surprises."
"The notion to use Lord Snowstark to convince Tywin of the ruse is a good one," Torrhen Karstark agreed, "It will be known by Lord Tywin that Lord Robb and Snowstark are as close as real brothers."
Snowstark? Louis thought, Is that Jon? "Is that what you're calling Jon Stark, Lord Torrhen?"
The man soured at that. "His position is not yet decided," Torrhen insisted, "While we accept his position as guardian of Moat Cailin, his being a Stark will be for Lord Eddard to decide once and for all, after we have freed him from King's Landing."
"And after we've buggered Tywin right up the arse," the Greatjon boomed happily, "I'll drink to that."
Zheng clinked his mug with her own and joined him. Jesus, is she really drunk? Louis wondered if Jon was okay with the moniker Snowstark, and made a mental note to find out.
"If I might ask," Lord Bolton said, "Lord Tywin is known for his cunning. What will you do if he does not fall for the ruse?"
Louis bit his lip, trying to recall what Duquesne said about it. "We'll retreat and make him bleed for every step forwards. Once we get close to you guys, we'll slip away, get around him and go south as planned." If we have the fuel.
"You'll abandon us to him?" Lady Dacey asked.
Zheng laughed loudly. "You're not ours to abandon in the first place," she said, wiping tears from her eyes, "Like I said before, we're not at war with Tywin Lannister or anyone else. Our job is to kill enough of his people to get him to leave us alone, nothing else. Unless we get orders otherwise."
Louis felt that was a little too bad cop. "But you probably don't need to worry. Lord Lannister isn't going to let us pass without a fight, but he won't rush to fight us either until he knows what's going on. From his reputation, he's great at killing the helpless but he doesn't take big risks. That's why Lieutenant Duquesne thinks his plan will work."
"Aye," the Greatjon agreed, drawing out the word to twice its usual length with a scratch of his beard, "Tywin sat out the Rebellion until it was clear who would win. When taking King's Landing, he didn't attack himself, but had his pet Grand Maester convince the Mad King to open the gates. He'll delay until he has the advantage of walls or numbers."
"So you agree our plan is the way forward," Zheng said, "All we need is for you to keep your 'host' moving as fast as you can, so you can support us quickly if the Lannisters decide to make a fight of it."
The Greatjon drank, considering the idea. "I'll agree on one condition," he said, "And that's if we reach the Ruby Ford, you lot will fall under my command for the battle. I'll not budge on that."
He's screwed us, Louis thought, his jaw tightened with annoyance, Fucking nobility, it's a brain condition.
"Now who's abandoning who, kneeler?" Iola asked venomously, drawing great affection from Louis for it. He couldn't play the bad cop, after all. He had to look like the reasonable one. He wrapped his arms around her waist, as if trying to restrain her.
Lord Umber shrugged his massive shoulders and drank again, the criticism falling off of him like rain. He's making his play, Louis realised, An ultimatum.
Lord Bolton gave a knock of his knuckles on the table, and ignored Iola in favour of speaking directly to the Corporal.
"Creatures with two heads do not live, Lady Zheng. You should consider that, and offer reasonable conditions for placing yourselves under Lord Umber's command. We possess the larger host, no matter how deadly you are. By rights, this grants us the command. I'm sure that is true even in your… world."
Louis and Zheng both knew that it was impossible, and it fell to only one of them to make that clear. The bad cop.
"We can't do that," Zheng replied firmly.
The Greatjon's face was blank when he placed his large hands on the table to push himself up out of his seat and leave. The rest of the lords began to do the same, shooting disapproving glares across at Zheng in particular.
Louis shot to his feet in a half-panic, putting Iola onto the table from his lap with a yip. They'll go out and get killed by the Laughing Tree wearing faces like that.
"Lord Umber, you can stay," he interrupted, "Take this inn to sleep in tonight. No point leaving now, you'll be riding through the dark." And maybe Duquesne can talk you down tomorrow.
The Stark bannermen paused and considered it. "That's kind of you, Lord Sayer," Lady Dacey said graciously, "We thank you." The lords seemed to accept that as a conciliatory gesture, and sat down again.
Louis restrained another blush, Lady Mormont was very attractive, and cleared his throat. "No problem," he said, before turning to the others, "Let's go."
Grette got up and Iola hopped off the table. Zheng did so afterwards only with reluctance. Together, they left the inn, back into the party atmosphere of the town. Louis could see brawls now, with circles of men and women cheering the fighting on as the fighters tested themselves. The sun was down entirely now, the only evidence of it an orange smear to the west.
The minute the door shut, Zheng turned to the two Free Folk women. "Leave me with Sayer for a minute."
Neither of them did as they were told. Zheng took her carbine into her hands. Iola and Grette stood their ground. Iola even crossed her arms.
Louis bit down a laugh. "They're not soldiers," he said in English.
"Not yet," Zheng replied, looking the pair up and down, "Anyway, I just wanted to ask how you were… something bothering you?"
Louis felt his answer catch in his throat. "Guess there is. Can't say what, but there is."
Zheng frowned. "I bet I can. You never signed up for combat. Now you're waist deep in other people's blood. You're supposed to be wandering around the NWT, shooting bears and shit."
Louis couldn't restrain his laugh this time, though it came out a bit manic. "I guess I am. You seem okay, though?"
The Corporal kicked a stone out of her way. "I'm not. I did sign up for blood, and home is only a few hundred clicks down that road. I've been better prepared for all this than you have. But it's been months and we've not had a single day where we could relax."
She looked out over the town. "Always on guard against zombies, ice demons, medieval nobles with delusions of grandeur… even the Free Folk and their thieving, raping ways." She thumbed at Grette.
"What are you saying?" the tall spearwife asked in the Common Tongue, with a roll of the eyes.
Zheng ignored her. "You go rest," she said, "You're relieved of duty for tomorrow too. Tell your skinchangers to report to me."
Louis blinked. "Can you let me do that?"
"Watch me. I'll chew Duquesne and O'Neill up if they try to stop you."
"What about the Stark lords? What about the plan?"
"Good thing about the LT's plan is we don't need them to agree for it to work. I think that's why he sent me instead of interrupting his interviews with the prisoners."
She poked a finger into his chest. "Now go do what I said. Relax. That's an order, Private. Excuse me, I need to go make sure those idiots fighting down there don't damage anything permanently."
Zheng stalked away with intent, carbine balanced on her hip. Louis didn't watch her, but returned his attention to the two women who remained. Orders are orders.
"What did she say?" Iola asked.
"She ordered me to take tonight and tomorrow to do whatever I want."
"What about whoever you want?" Grette joked.
Louis shook his head, unable to keep the blush and grin off his face. "Not quite ready for that, Grette. Not sure you'll be able to come with me to Canada."
Grette pouted, but understood. Iola did too. Louis wasn't going to go that far with either of them unless he knew for sure they could come home with him. But he didn't want them to abandon him either. I don't know what I'd do without them.
"Want to go bet on the fights?" he asked to cheer them up.
Iola and Grette both grinned.