Interlude Twenty Five

Fourteenth day, Eleventh Moon, 260 AC (+1 days)

It was a disappointment to be relegated to such a duty. Not a dishonor, merely a disappointment. Even though he was being commanded by a man who forsook his vows for a peasant, being able to properly employ cavalry should have been a balm to his spirits. Unfortunately, scouting had never been something he relished. It was necessary work, but it was drudgery.

The burnt remains of the village crunched underneath his foot, dragging him away from his thoughts. Alan looked about, seeing if he could find the story of what had happened here. As he was the Lord Tarly, he was given a certain freedom that other scouts were denied. Alan had ranged farther afield than was standard, and his knights had not thanked him for it, but he followed a gut feeling. A feeling that was rewarded by the scene in front of him.

"A lot of horses have been through here, my lord," said one of his House's knights, Ser Edder.

"I can see that. Any sign of who was responsible?"

"Nothing so far, my lord."

"Hmm, the Lyseni shouldn't be this close, nor the Volantenes. A rebellious village, perhaps?"

"Perhaps the Golden Company is starting to sack nearby villages for food?"

"They are having food troubles," admitted Alan. "If they feel they are being pushed back and would lose control over the village anyway…" he said, trailing off.

"Barbarians," cursed Ser Edder.

"No survivors?"

"None so far, my lord. There were a few bodies in a ditch on the other side of the village, though. Mostly just the elderly."

Alan frowned. "That sounds more like a slave raid rather than a food raid."

Alan let Ser Edder lead him over to the ditch to look over the bodies. They were all old, except for one young man who had slices along his body and what looked like a whip mark on his back. "Definitely seems like a slave raid."

He stood up and looked back over the village. "How many would you say lived here, Ser Edder? Two or three hundred?"

"Thereabouts, my lord."

"Shit. How many people would you need to enslave a fucking village? To come in and put it to torch, you would need twenty men if you take them by surprise. But to come in and put shackles on them all?"

"One hundred at least, my lord."

"It's probably not the Golden Company then. If they are struggling with food, they won't take more mouths to feed – and to slow them down. This is someone else, with a fairly sizeable force on our flanks."

Ser Edder looked troubled. "Perhaps, my lord. But a bunch of slavers aren't likely to bother with us – they go after the weak."

"True," conceded Alan. "But the thought of a hundred or more cavalry hanging about us like flies isn't something to be tolerated. With our hundred, we could end the threat."

"Slavers might have a lot of coin on them," allowed Ser Edder.

"Might be. The tracks head north, though, and we are already far from the main body of the army."

"It could be a proper fight, though. Cavalry on cavalry."

Alan snorted. "I don't think any slavers would be a match for us knights."

Ser Edder shrugged. "Probably not, but some of the boys are still awfully green. It would be a good way to blood them, my lord."

"Very well. Tell the men we are on the hunt and have Podrik get me a map!"

In short order, his squire delivered him a map while his men readied themselves. "The country gets a bit hillier in the interior, but slavers are likely to avoid the main roads – at least until they are out of the area. If they continue north, Ser Edder, they will likely follow this path," he said, trailing a finger northward.

"If they are lightly armored, they may be able to outpace our fully-equipped knights," warned Ser Edder.

"If they abandon their slaves - if. Regardless, we ride!"

The trail hundreds of people left was clear, and they had an easy ride following it. It hadn't rained in a while, so the ground was mercifully dry. They chased the trail for about ten miles before they found evidence of a camp from the previous night. Two dead bodies were left behind – one looked to be a young boy with what looked like a whip mark that blinded him; the other was a copper-skinned man, with dark hair that looked to have been shorn off after his death.

"Dothraki," said Alan.

Ser Edder spit. "Seven damn them."

"I'd guess at hundred fighting men, plus another fifty camp followers."

"With around two hundred or so villagers."

Alan nodded. "Close to what we expected. Dothraki though," he mused. "The famed horsemen of Essos. It is time to match the skill of knights and those blessed by the Seven against these heathen barbarians! Onward!"

The men, eager after discovering the nature of their quarry, picked up the pace and ate away at the distance. As evidence of the Dothraki's passage became fresher, Alan slowed down their pace and readied the men for the fight. "Knights at the centre! I want a solid charge into their group to scatter them. I want our lighter cavalry on the right and left flanks to head off any who try to escape!"

It wasn't long until Alan laid eyes on the group, but unfortunately, the Dothraki spotted his men in return. As they wheeled about, Alan took the forward spot of the charge and led the way. The Dothraki matched them, but with as little armor as they had, Alan wasn't worried. As the familiar rumble of the horses began to pick up, he monitored the distance. As they neared 1,000 feet, he kicked the speed up into a gallop. The Dothraki's camp followers and slaves had moved themselves up onto the heavily forested hillside on the right, leaving the field clear for Alan's men. A mistake on their part – now he wouldn't have to worry about trampling some poor slaves.

Alan's hand tightened on his lance as he aimed it at the oncoming barbarians. Before they could clash, the Dothraki, in an excellent display of horsemanship, split their forces at some unseen command and turned to the side – avoiding Alan's charge. His men were raked by arrows, which bounced ineffectively off his armor, and he soon found himself rushing past where the Dothraki had been.

He slowed down and began to wheel about to face them again. Two of his men lay dead from the charge – their horses had fallen after being struck by arrows. "Left and right flank! On the charge, separate from us, and funnel their horses between our two forces! Crush them! No gallop, but a fast pace!"

They charged forward once again, but the Dothraki proved to be crafty barbarians. Once again, they split their forces, but not just once. After they split, they split again as Alan's flanks tried to collapse on them.

As Alan reformed his men, he cursed as he realized he was back where he started, but he was down seven men and had only killed two of theirs. The seventy or so Dothraki across from him began to swap their bows for their primitive swords, but they did so with quite a bit of nervous shuffling.

Alan smiled victoriously. "They are out of arrows, men! Standfast! One more charge to win the day! Flanks, hold steady and be ready to circle!"

Once more, they charged, and the Dothraki rode to meet them. This time, the barbarians' courage faltered as they had to finally face true knights in battle. The Dothraki broke.

They halted their charge and turned tail and began to run.

Grinning behind his visor, Alan slowed down the pace of the charge so that they could run down the barbarians. The sound of horses thundered in the valley, as the Dothraki continued to flee.

A glint of metal from the hillside on the left brought Alan's thoughts to a halt. There were only seventy of the barbarians. Seventy! Not a hundred!

Shit! Ambush!

He slowed down his men and signaled for a turnabout.

Seeing their rouse was up, the Dothraki stopped their flight immediately and turned about as thirty more streamed out of the forest. Compared to his hundred – ninety-three now – Alan knew that they could win man for man. He signaled the charge.

No more games. He signaled for his right flank to push wide and pen in the barbarians. Like dogs hunting a boar, he had them into a corner now. The forest was thick enough that horses couldn't ride through it with ease and would provide the anvil with which he could crush them. As the Dothraki were without momentum, Alan's charge ought to ruin them.

In another display of excellent horsemanship, the barbarians charge quickly picked up speed – whether it was through training or just disregard for their mounts, he didn't know.

But alas, the Seven were with him.

The barbarians crashed into the fully armored knights like the fools they were. They were fearless, Alan could give them that, but the conclusion was foregone. Still, some managed to escape using tricks he had only seen foolhardy squires attempt, but most of the Dothraki had been destroyed.

Alan roared out in victory, "For Horn Hill and the Iron Throne!"

The men cheered in response and began to loot the bodies.

Ser Edder approached him, rotating his shoulder. "Damned barbarians. I hurt my shoulder in the charge – the fool tried to parry my lance and shoved it into his horse. I almost didn't let go in time."

Alan laughed. "Fools indeed, to try and fight true knights. I am a bit disappointed, though. I expected more out of a people that have proven to be a plague upon Essos."

"They were better than many of the other horsemen we have fought so far in Essos, my lord. Perhaps it isn't that they are so good, just that their opponents are so bad."

He couldn't help but laugh again – a good cavalry charge always put him in a good mood. "Maybe that too, Ser Edder. Maybe that, too." Alan grinned. "Still, I think we'll have put our names into legend! The first Westerosi force to fight and defeat the Dothraki!"

"Indeed, my lord. Tricky foes, but I believe that knights can stop scaring their squires with them now."

He laughed. "Very true. I shall have to rely on grumpkins and snarks."

Ser Edder smiled. "A very fearsome foe, my lord."

"You never know, Ser Edder. With Essos defeated, we might finally rid Westeros of those barbarians beyond the Wall."

"One can only hope, my lord."

Lord Alan Tarly smiled wistfully. "Now that would be a legacy."