Chapter 225 - 225: A "Perfect" Defeat

Just as everyone was stuck between a rock and a hard place, a young and eager voice broke the deadlock.

Patrick Morrison stepped forward, face flushed, and called out his request without hesitation. "My lord! Give the most dangerous position at the front to us! The warriors of House Morrison will not disappoint you!"

That single genuinely-meant declaration was the last weight that tipped the scale. It cut off every remaining excuse the other unit leaders had been clinging to. What kind of people were these? It seemed there was no avoiding spending some of their family's resources after all. They clenched their teeth and bowed in acceptance.

Dawn broke under a grey sky. A thin mist lay across the plain outside Deddington Castle.

Following Solomon's orders, the combined force's line began pushing forward, the sound of heavy footsteps and grinding armor spreading through the still morning air.

To work up their own courage, several of the Deddington knights with loud voices rode up and down the front of the formation, shouting with everything they had toward the Ironborn camp in the distance.

"The Riverrun relief force is coming!"

"Four thousand soldiers on the road right now!"

"The Drowned God himself cannot save you!"

"We will put you in the ground!"

The words carried clearly across the open plain and into the Ironborn camp. Rodrik Greyjoy shoved the woman beside him aside and grabbed his axe on his way out of the tent.

One of his longship captains stood with a grim expression. "Four thousand reinforcements? Is the information reliable?"

Rodrik spat. "Reliable or not, we treat it as reliable. If the Tully bastards actually show up, we haven't got enough men to give them a decent fight."

But when they climbed up to the rough watchtower and looked at the advancing alliance, much of their tension eased. The bannermen units arranged across the front and flanks were ragged and poorly dressed, their steps uneven, their banners crooked. They looked exactly like farmers who had been handed weapons an hour ago.

Rodrik's eyes carried a flicker of contempt. "Looks like this Black Lion isn't so special after all. What kind of arrangement is this?"

It was obvious. The man was no different from any other Westeros lord, putting the expendable conscripts up front to tire the enemy while protecting his own people, without apparently considering that it might cause a chain collapse.

Rodrik made his assessment quickly. More men on their side, yes, but hollow at the front. Only the center formation looked like anything real. One hard charge, cause a rout, and the center would have trouble holding too.

He turned and bellowed at the men around him. "Pass the word! We have to smash through these soft-legged cowards before those damned reinforcements arrive! Then we get on the ships and go!"

The Ironborn did not wait for the alliance to walk to them. With a surge of war horns and animal roaring they poured out of their camp in a counter-charge, crashing forward like a wave, running straight at the alliance line.

The bannermen units, who had been dragged into this fight against their will from the beginning, had never faced anything like this. They raised their shields and spears in a token gesture, loosed a few scattered arrows, and then the Ironborn were close enough to see the wild faces and swinging axes clearly. There was brief close contact. Blood flew. Whatever mental resistance remained collapsed in an instant.

The farm conscripts at the front threw down their pitchforks and ran crying. The rout spread like sickness through the entire vanguard in moments.

The knight commanders tried to hold their men but it was hopeless. They could see the Ironborn already at close range and Solomon's center standing like stone without moving a step. They understood immediately that they had been used as shock absorbers. They cursed, turned their horses, and pulled back without ceremony.

The vanguard dissolved across the entire battlefield in a single wave of panic.

Patrick Morrison and his hundred-odd family soldiers were still trying to hold a line. He swung his sword hard and cut down an Ironborn who had reached him, shouting to push his men forward. But his resistance against that flood was a pebble thrown into a river. He was swallowed and swept back with the rest, fighting and retreating all the way.

The Ironborn broke through the vanguard and surged forward roaring, trying to ride the momentum and destroy the entire alliance at once.

Solomon watched from the elevated position at the rear, his expression unchanged. This was exactly the outcome he had arranged for. His own army had been standing in a prepared formation the entire time: spear squares with locked shields, bows and crossbows ranked behind them, all trained forward.

When the Ironborn charged through the chaos and reached the center, they ran straight into a wall of armor and discipline.

The moment the Ironborn entered one hundred and twenty paces, Solomon raised his hand and brought it down sharply.

Brin turned to the crossbow crews beside him, both the windlass-cranked heavy weapons and the lighter bolt crossbows, and gave a single word. "Loose!"

The triggers released together. A dense volley of bolts screamed through the air, each one heavy enough to punch through light Ironborn armor, and tore a lane of death straight through the charging formation. The men out front dropped in clusters, bristling with bolts.

The Ironborn left several dozen bodies behind and the charge broke. That fierce wall of men had been stopped cold.

Solomon saw what he needed and did not order a pursuit. He signaled Ludo to sound the withdrawal. The horns rang out and he led his own untouched center formation, along with the scattered remnants of the routed units, back toward Deddington Castle in a slow and orderly withdrawal.

Behind them on the battlefield, the victorious Ironborn erupted in celebration. They had broken an army much larger than their own, again. It felt like a complete and satisfying victory. But when the cheering died down, Rodrik turned cold and clear-headed.

They had won, yes. But the enemy's main force had not taken a single serious loss. That disciplined formation with all its crossbows had left a deep impression. And the information about four thousand reinforcements, "accidentally" let through by the other side, was still sitting in the back of his mind demanding attention.

Rodrik made the most rational decision available to him. That same night the Ironborn camp was dismantled in complete silence. They boarded their ships under cover of darkness and slipped away from the area without a sound.

The next morning, when Deddington's scouts rode out to check, they found an abandoned camp with nothing left but a mess.

In Deddington's great hall, Lady Roslin gripped Solomon's hands tightly, tears running down her worn face. "Little Solomon, you are House Deddington's savior! We will remember your loyalty forever!"

She ordered a heavy chest brought in, filled with gleaming gold dragons.

"Five hundred gold dragons! You must accept them! It is what your family deserves!"

Solomon smiled and let Ludo and the others collect the chest, offering Lady Roslin his warmest thanks.

It had been a perfect victory, satisfying to all three sides.

House Deddington won. The Ironborn were off their lands and headed somewhere else to cause trouble.

Solomon won. He had driven the enemy from the territory at minimal cost to himself, collected his liege's reward, and added yet another layer to his reputation.

The Ironborn won too. They had beaten a much larger force in open battle and successfully escaped before the promised relief army could close around them. They were free to go light fires somewhere else.

The only losers were the Riverrun relief force, who had pushed through a hard march and arrived ahead of schedule, only to find an empty camp and cold ash. If word got out that they had failed to destroy the Ironborn, the situation at Seagard would keep deteriorating through rumor after rumor.

And now they had no idea where to look for them.

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