Chapter 14 - Decisive Victory

Chapter XIV: Decisive Victory

2 BC

Lemonwood

House Rada's troops mustered at numbers and speed that defied common imagination; in just the span of a week, twenty thousand troops of House Rada faced twenty thousand of House Martell's in the lands of House Dalt.

House Martell's army, as was the staple of every single Westerosi army, was composed primarily of feudal levies, an avalanche of colours and variable insignias and mismatched equipment, the Sunburst banner outnumbered by other banners. Its troops were a poor excuse, standing half-at-attention with the nobility carrying themselves like arrogant snobs - all bark and no bite - though it had its fair share of seasoned veterans from a decade of pointless border skirmishes.

House Rada's army was a uniform gleaming silver, the crimson banner of the Fox [1] the only banner on display. Its troops carried themselves with pride and discipline, deploying their square formations swiftly without mistakes. The generals, though having only fought bandits before, lacked the casual Martell arrogance found in its nobility, most from humble origins and all elevated by their merits alone.

"Hm… this will be a more difficult battle than I anticipated…"

Quentyn Sand [2] was an aged general with decades of experience under his belt. A wizened, elegant and dignified noble, he was a far cry from the young arrogant nobles under his command, a quiet confidence and contemplation reflected in his piercing yellow eyes. His plate armour had a misty finish, marred by several chips and rents decorating the metal like badges of honour.

"If House Rada had the same quality of troops as us, I would say that we would have a slight advantage. If anything, I would expect that having to deal with so many vacancies would dampen their ability to muster a powerful military, but I severely underestimated them. No, all of Dorne underestimated them."

Quentyn heaved a heavy sigh.

"To think Arin could so casually turn on the established hierarchy and turn Dorne upside down according to his own whims, an arrogant yet talented individual who cares only for his own ambitions and not the stability of the Princedom. A man who cares nothing for the consequences involved for all, including his own family and friends - a man I despise more than anything else."

"The battle has not even started, and already you curse Arin at the tip of your tongue? The snake's venom must be dripping rivers from your mouth."

Nymor came to Quentyn's side, the old man glaring harshly at the assembled formations of House Rada.

"You say I am a snake, yet Arin is like a fox - double-natured until the end," Quentyn remarked, "He claims to ally with House Targaryen, and yet I feel that the moment they serve their purpose, he will turn on them and seize power for himself, just as he turned against House Martell. Such a man is unworthy of any trust or peace."

"A sentiment I share, Quentyn," Nymor nodded, his eyes simmering with anger, "And to think I once believed that he was loyal to us… How stand our troops?"

"Lord Nymor, our troops are all accounted for and our commanders ready to commit to battle, and we've stocked enough provisions to last up to three weeks," Quentyn reported, "Our men are highly enthusiastic and well-rested, and ready to earn their glories."

"Good, and House Rada?" Nymor asked.

"...Similarly well-prepared, and I heard from our spies that they have enough supplies to last them half a year," Quentyn begrudgingly stated, "They can afford to take their time, while we are bereft of that luxury."

"Yet another thing to curse House Rada for," Nymor concluded, "No matter; with this battle, we must demonstrate to them our power and resolve and crush their hopes of ending House Martell's hegemony; nothing less will suffice to restore the rule of House Martell on the errant provinces."

"And may the Sunburst Throne reign eternal," Quentyn intoned.

"Ready the troops, we march to battle," Nymor ordered.

It was do-or-die, and there was no turning back for both sides involved.

The sun shone brightly in the sky, oppressively leering domineeringly over the battlefield like an adjudicator of the heavens as it prepared to render its ultimate verdict.

IIOII

"Huang Xue, is the new weapon ready?"

"Yes, My Lord. At least three dozen mounted on chariots."

"What about the Tucosar Fire [3]?"

"Eight wagons full of the substance are ready, all packed into ceramic jars."

Arin felt an evil smile creep onto his face, gazing at the army of lambs ready to enter the slaughterhouse. He almost pitied House Martell for not knowing the nasty surprises he prepared as the main course for this Banquet of the Seven Hells [4] he so meticulously prepared for his dinner guests.

"Sound the horn," He ordered.

A soldier blew the horn and a crisp, shrill note like a fox's cry of anger rumbled through the battlefield, announcing House Rada's entry to the battlefield. House Martell soon blew its own horn, a mellower tone announcing House Martell's own entry.

Light cavalry soon approached House Rada's square formations, spears levelled in preparation for a charge while archers nocked arrows on bows.

"Come, my brothers! This day, we claim our glories! Death to House Rada!"

Martell cavalry charged first, eager to spill first blood in testing House Rada's square formations, inspired by their general's words.

Alas, Quentyn Sand's attempt to instil bravado was short-lived as from within the Rada formations, wagons were unveiled to reveal scorpions mounted atop the carriages, and they quickly fired upon the charging cavalry. Many officers and scores of troops were quickly slain with the initial salvo.

Some tried inching closer, unwilling to forfeit the charge due to just one volley of scorpion bolts. However, with a wave of Huang Xue's fan, soldiers knelt down and archers sprang up behind the shieldwalls, unleashing hails of arrows upon the Martell troops. Scores more of Dornish cavalry soon fell like flies, unable to escape the onslaught in time. Dornish horse archers tried to retaliate, firing arrows of their own and managing to injure and kill some troops, but they could not change the tide of battle.

Then, Rada cavalry sallied forth to engage the Martell cavalry. The Cataphracts, equipped with superior lamellar armour, shields and spears clashed with the light cavalry of House Martell, and soon proved their superiority with flexible manoeuvres and superior tactics as Martell cavalry sustained heavy casualties.

Worse still, at that moment chariots came rushing towards the Martell cavalry, spearmen tossing them from their steeds and scorpions felling scores more of their number.

"Damn, to think he would bait our cavalry in like this…!" Nymor cursed, "And not only do their bows have longer range, those meddlesome chariots are keeping us from flanking the infantry!"

"Be calm, Lord Nymor," Quentyn reassured, "This battle has yet to enter its bloodiest phase yet."

With the initial probe a failure, Quentyn nodded at the bannermen who waved his flag.

Here, Martell troops began to launch their main attack, the infantry vanguard charging in, spears gleaming with bloodthirst and throaty roars at the top of their voices. Archers loosed arrows once they got into range, to which Rada troops seamlessly raised and locked shields. Several volleys were loosed and Martell men fell, but their shieldwalls endured despite the losses, and soon they neared arm's reach of the square formations.

At this, Arin gave the order, and the troops swiftly prepared accordingly.

"Brace yourselves!"

The Martell troops clashed with the Rada shieldwalls. True to form, the Rada shieldwalls held firm like a rock against water and refused to budge an inch, and where brute might and shield failed to budge unmoving rocks, spears struck through gaps like water through cracks.

The Martell troops fought like beasts possessed, fiercely clashing and pushing forward with all their might and strength; shields beat against shields, and spears found purchase in gaps through shields and armour. Several bodies fell to the ground in the ensuing melee, and for a moment it looked as if the Martells would win with how fierce the Martell push was, the Rada troops straining to hold their ground.

Finally, the central Rada formation took steps backwards in the face of the fierce Martell push while the wings spread out. As if anticipating an eventual buckling of the centre, more Martell troops charged in successive waves, crashing like hailstones against a wooden palisade. The Rada troops began to struggle even as cavalry ran sorties around the infantry, working to whittle down their numbers and prevent flanking of the Rada formations.

Yet Arin and his officers did not stir, and Arin himself calmly smiled as the battle unfolded, the third wave of Martell infantry testing its mettle against the Rada central wing.

For a moment, it seemed as if the fourth wave would finish off the centre, and the Martell troops were emboldened. Their way forward was clear, untroubled.

Too untroubled, to Quentyn Sand; it was clear as day they were falling into a trap.

"Signal the troops, they must pull out immediately!" He shouted to Nymor's alarm.

But it was too little, too late.

"Now!" Arin ordered.

The wings quickly enveloped the Martell infantry in a pocket, and Rada spearmen and archers slew thousands of troops that day. From within the Rada formation, clay jars landed on the Martell troops, erupting in fire and immolating countless hundreds clustered together. Those who tried to run were either trampled upon by their own comrades or mercifully ended by spear thrusts and arrows.

They saw that the rear of the formation was left open, and seeing this as a way out, thousands of Martell troops struggled to flee the slaughter that ensued. Woe to them, however, for Rada cavalry and chariots slaughtered these survivors to the very last.

Quentyn grit his teeth at how badly he was outmanoeuvred, and reluctantly, he broke the news to Nymor.

"The battle is lost, My Lord."

Nymor quickly grabbed Quentyn by the scruff of his neck, his eyes wide with disbelief and his face red with anger.

"We cannot retreat! If we concede this battle to that upstart, House Martell is finished!" He screamed at the top of his voice.

Beneath his bluster, Nymor knew that if they lost the battle, there was nothing stopping House Rada from crushing all opposition in his path with the bulk of House Martell's military might destroyed; paltry garrisons and puny walls would not stop this juggernaut incarnate from exterminating all their political enemies in sight, just as he orchestrated the slaughter of their noble rivals, Nymor realised.

And yet Quentyn's remarks forced him to reconsider, mercilessly crushing his hopes.

"We have already lost thousands of troops in this battle, My Lord, and every minute we delay the retreat is a hundred more lost," He urged, "If we retreat, we can still preserve whatever remains and force House Rada into a battle of attrition; it is clear we cannot best him in the open field. Please, My Lord, we need your permission."

Reluctantly, Nymor let go of Quentyn and heaved a heavy sigh, his anger fading like the wind.

"Retreat."

It was the bitterest curse he uttered on his lips, and the shame of this day would never leave his mind.

At his command, the Martell troops, dismayed by the turning tide of battle and the slaughter of their own comrades, quickly routed and panicked like headless chickens. The cataphracts, led by Franklyn Doratarn, mercilessly chased and slaughtered what survivors they could, and Nymor grit his teeth at this atrocious act.

Curse you to the Seven Hells, Arin! I know not what hellspawn birthed you into this world, but I swear on Nymeria's grave that her legacy will never end at your tainted hands!

Looking at the retreating Martell army, the Rada troops let out a jubilant roar at this victory; nearly three-quarters of the Rada army were comprised of green troops who had not seen real battle outside bandit clashes, and many shed tears of joy at living to see another day, confidence blooming in their hearts.

Arin merely sighed, looking disinterested at the carnage on the battlefield.

"That Quentyn Sand, he's got a good head on his shoulders," Huang Xue commented, "Through his retreat, he was able to preserve slightly less than half their fighting force and prevented further losses."

"That doesn't change the fact they lost over ten thousand troops in this one battle," Sainalia added, "They will switch to their tried-and-true raiding tactics from here on out. It won't help them, and neither will hunkering down in their castles."

"It will not stop them from trying, but knowing they are doomed no matter what they do almost makes me pity them, just as I pity the poor fools who vainly try to resist House Targaryen's dragons," Huang Xue nodded.

"Truly? I do not see you as the kind to pity your enemies," Sainalia commented, "Surely you are not putting on a clown's act?"

"You tell me," Huang Xue replied.

"Alright, enough chatter," Arin ordered, "Clean up the battlefield and bring me a tally of casualties; we march tomorrow morning."

"Yes, My Lord," They chorused.

In what came to be known as the Battle of the Lemonwood Plains [5] - the first clash between House Rada and House Martell - the seeds were sown for their downfall, one that took place in just a month.

IIOII

Sunspear

Pandemonium spread throughout the court as news of the devastating defeat dealt by House Rada was delivered to Sunspear. Over ten thousand dead, hundreds of officers slain, countless minor noble houses facing extinction, all in exchange for a measly six hundred casualties on House Rada's side. If this was a theatrical play, it was a poorly written one that focused primarily on 'bashing' the villainous side and little else.

Meria was bedridden after suffering sudden, excruciating chest pains upon hearing this, and with Nymor desperately leading counterattacks and ambushes against House Rada with Quentyn Sand, it fell to Deria to keep the court in order.

"I will have order!" Deria bellowed, her voice crisp and clear in the expansive throne room.

The nobles quietened down, fixing all eyes on their pillar of strength.

"I have received word from my father and General Quentyn," Deria began, her demeanour grave and her sickly pallor of great concern, "With our terrible loss in the Lemonwood Plains, House Rada was able to capture the town of Lemonwood and exterminate House Dalt. Now, there is no one left to shield our southern flank, and already they march upon the Greenblood Reefs and Planky Town."

The tension was palpable in the air, thick and sharp enough to cut through steel. Many felt cold sweat on their foreheads, and more than a few fidgeted where they stood.

"In response to this, we must resort to raiding tactics and focus on bleeding them dry," Deria declared, "General Quentyn himself already reported to me that they are making a straight line for Sunspear and are ignoring everything else, so any garrisons that cannot be spared are free to remain in their respective castles and forts."

Some of the nobles sighed in relief.

"My own plantations are near that fort, so it is good these rebels are not trampling there."

"I want to fight for House Martell, but my family is in our castle along House Rada's route, and if they manage to capture it…"

Deria sighed; it was simple Human nature to be selfish.

"In the meantime, we must prepare for what may be a protracted war," Deria continued, "It is clear that House Rada is well-equipped and supplied, and they do not look to be losing momentum, so for the time being we must put forth all efforts to grind that momentum to a halt; we cannot stop a charging bull head-on, so we must remove the source of its impetus - the legs. Grind their momentum to a halt, and from there we can launch our counterattack. Remember, we are Unbowed, Unbent and Unbroken!"

"Long live the Sunburst Throne!" The nobles chorused.

[1] House Rada's insignia since its inception was a sword bearing arm on a field of crimson. When Arin Rada ascended as the next patriarch of House Rada, he changed it to a fox, perhaps feeling that the fox best represented his nature - wily and cunning.

[2] Quentyn Sand - A highly decorated, veteran general in service to House Martell, he was one of very few figures who earned Arin Rada's respect, being a baseborn who rose up the ranks to singlehandedly claim the position of general. In fact, Arin himself regretted that he could not convince Quentyn to side with him after the Battle of the Lemonwood Plains.

[3] Tucosar Fire - Essentially Westerosi Greek Fire, named after the province it was first developed in: Tucosar, under the rule of House Qeffar.

[4] Banquet of the Seven Hells - An idiom used to describe a situation gone terribly wrong, or to indicate a most bloody fight ever fought.

[5] Battle of the Lemonwood Plains - The first battle fought between House Rada and House Martell, it was fought in the open plains just outside the walls of the town of Lemonwood. This battle cemented House Rada's rapid momentum against its mortal enemy for the duration of the rebellion.