Chapter 87 84

Lord Axel Arryn.

Where the besiegers' camp had once stood near Grey Glen there remained the memory of something well-built: properly structured, laid out with care, with sentries who had taken their posts seriously, deep trenches and close-packed palisades. It might have been called a model military encampment once, but the sudden departure of three-fifths of the army and the narrowness of the thinking behind it had left it exposed. Now it was almost entirely ash.

"Morgan, you Dornish whore, what took you so long?" Despite the words, I was glad he was in one piece. While we embraced he answered.

"Sorry." There was not a shred of remorse in it. "We went a bit further west than planned and misjudged the time."

"How many riders do you have left?"

"After this battle, five hundred at most. Now, now, don't start." Seeing my frown, he talked faster. "On the way back our friends from Redfort shared some fresh horses, enough for two hundred riders. And I imagine Lord Tollett won't object to parting with his." At least Morgan had not lost his sarcasm.

Uthor Tollett would not object to anything. He had followed his family into the fire. House Tollett was officially dead. There might be bastards somewhere, but they were of no particular importance. Grey Glen would pass to one of my loyal supporters. I had not yet decided who. There had been too much else to think about.

"Get all the fit riders ready. We march tomorrow." Then I remembered something. "Anyone in Tollett colors, put them down." I had no intention of making the same mistake twice and leaving people behind who had every reason to hate me.

"It will be done."

...

Communication plays an enormous role in any war or battle. The speed of orders, dispatches, coordination of forces, intelligence gathered, all of it can decide the outcome of any engagement. Battle standards, sounds like drums and horns, messengers, birds, signal fires, flags and much more all served this purpose. You could divide communication roughly into two parts: strategic and tactical. Strategic covered everything that could carry information across long distances. Tactical covered the immediate surroundings.

Thanks to Helum and Khamul, my enchanted eagles, I held an overwhelming advantage on the strategic level. Where an ordinary lord relied on ravens or riders, with all the delays those entailed, my birds flew directly to specific people. It had not been difficult to gauge how quickly the rebels communicated. Within the Vale, the Blackfish received a message on average once every two days. I received mine within half a day.

A coordinated night assault from two directions gave the remaining besiegers no chance. The sentinels were killed, the alarm was raised too late, and Morgan caught them completely unprepared. That helped to a point, but the men left behind were precisely those with whom I had a blood feud. Very few surrendered. Most fought to the end, and that meant losses, serious ones.

I had not expected the Blackfish to sacrifice two-fifths of his army in exchange for a clear road to Stannis. The plan had assumed they would move as a single column, and then, joining up with Morgan, I would have bogged down their advance. The rearguard had been accounted for, but on a far smaller scale. The plan itself remained the same, but we had lost a great deal of time, and I would have fewer men than originally hoped. Now it was a matter of days. If the Blackfish's army linked up with Stannis, it would give him exactly the momentum he needed to break through Andar's defenses. I needed to give chase as fast as possible.

...

By morning, five hundred and forty-four riders stood before me. Infantry would have to be left behind. Speed was everything now. To my disappointment, not all of them were my mercenary companions. More than two hundred rode under Redfort colors, led by Jasper Redfort, future lord of the castle bearing his name.

Dismounting from Annatar, my Morgul steed, I came face to face with him. The first thing that set Jasper apart was his height. He was a massive brute, two yards of him. Tousled fair hair, brown eyes, and certain lines of the face that recalled Desmond enough to make the family resemblance plain. All well and good, but his gaze was something I did not like. There was arrogance in it, and a trace of contempt.

"Lord Arryn, glad to see you in good health." Redfort opened with the standard greeting. "I have come to break the Blackfish and put an end to this rebellion against you. I bring two hundred of my house's finest guardsmen." An interesting ordering of priorities.

"Let us crush the traitors together." I offered my hand as a gesture of trust.

He could not very well refuse. Even so, Jasper could not help himself and tried to crush my hand in his grip, but what he found was a surprise, because I had already begun squeezing first. He was strong, perhaps stronger than uncle Yohn, which was saying something. I had watched the elder Royce hurl a fully armored knight aside with one hand. Even through gloves you could feel the calluses, which meant he spent a great deal of time with that greatsword of his. It was mildly reassuring that the arrogance had some foundation.

"You need not doubt it, my lord," Jasper said through his teeth.

So crafty old Horton Redfort had decided to take his heir out for a proving run once things had grown relatively safe? Entirely in his character. On the surface it was a generous gesture, handing me his heir and his household guard. Only this great lump had made his own aims perfectly clear and would push straight into the worst of it. The heir was not only a show of goodwill but an irritating noose around my neck. Yes, this was war, and anything might happen in war, but there was an unwritten rule that a lord should do what he could to keep his vassals alive.

Jasper wanted glory and honor, and that was a problem. The inexperienced always pushed to distinguish themselves, to win renown, but more often than not they simply died for nothing. I would have to keep an eye on Redfort so he did not get himself killed while under my care.

...

Night.

"King Stannis! Forgive the disturbance, but this is an emergency, please, you must rise." That was the cry that woke Baratheon.

Five minutes later the king was on his feet receiving a messenger's report. What Stannis was told killed any desire for sleep and left him briefly unable to move. Calling for his guard, the king mounted his horse and rode at full gallop toward the scene.

This is impossible. That means they broke through the defensive line. But a large enough enemy force to break through should have been spotted well in advance by the regular units. Stannis reached that conclusion and shortly voiced it to the officer on duty.

"Your Grace, regarding that... Neither the garrison nor the regular army reported any engagement." The duty officer was no less confused than the king.

"This is impossible, unless the whole thing is a false alarm." Though the king was beginning to talk himself toward that explanation, he did not slow his pace.

Five minutes later, King Stannis, his guard, and the advisors who had ridden up behind him were staring at what lay before them in blank disbelief. No one could explain how it had happened. Every man in the camp was roused, scouts were sent out in every direction, the soldiers on watch at the time were questioned one after another, and every answer was the same: all had been quiet.

And yet King Stannis stood watching his food stores burn.

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