chapter 36

Ser Davos was proud to be a leal servant of King Stannis. His Grace was a hard man, but a just man. Some would say that executing the Mountain while the enemy still had captives was a foolish thing, but King Stannis was not one to play games. He had said that Ser Gregor was to die, and so there had been no point in waiting.

It took several men to hold Ser Gregor down, even bound and injured as he was. By his own request, the Greatjon was granted permission to carry out the execution. The massive man hefted a huge axe and had a satisfied gleam to his eye.

The Mountain was gagged, yet his roar could still be heard. Ser Davos shook his head; the condemned was more monster than man. Lord Umber raised his axe, and Ser Axell Florent hissed out, "Remember the words!"

The executioner paused, grunted, and then intonated with middling zeal.

"In the name of Stannis of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and… ah, Protector of the Realm, I, Jon of the House Umber, Lord of Last Hearth, carry out the sentence of death. Die, you wretched whoreson."

The axe rose and cleaved into the Mountain's shoulder. The muffled howl of pain rose to a crescendo as the Greatjon lifted the axe again.

"Must have missed; let's try that again."

Ser Davos frowned. The Mountain deserved this sort of pain, but it did not reflect well on the King that Lord Umber had taken it upon himself to draw out the man's death. The axe rose again, and this time it struck true, cleaving through the thick muscle and flesh of the Mountain's neck. Umber spat on the steaming corpse, then turned to the King.

"You have my thanks, Your Grace."

The King gave a curt nod and turned to Davos. "Lead the hostage exchange; I have had quite enough conversation with my niece. Use Stark's men; keep any from the Vale away."

"Yes, Your Grace."

The sharp-tongued girl was trouble. Davos had shamed himself by revealing openly that Stannis had used some sort of creature to attack. Stannis had asked Davos for advice about the plan to assassinate Tywin Lannister. Davos had no compunctions with assassinating someone as foul as Tywin Lannister, but he had cautioned against the use of strange magics by Lady Melisandre. He had been overruled, but that did not bother him. Stannis was King; while he would listen to advice, the decisions fell on him.

Something had gone wrong though; somehow Myrcella had become the target. The whole situation was odd to Davos. Lady Melisandre had been incredibly confident and sure of success. That it had not only failed to kill anyone but somehow wandered off and targeted someone else was a staggering failure. After Stannis had recovered, he had said, "I was wrong to depend on her; sorcery is powerful but difficult to use, and it has harmed my cause."

That had been a decision Davos had supported fully. It was time to do this cleanly on the battlefield. There was no need for tricks or guile. King Stannis's claim was just, and they had the numbers. After the hostages were exchanged, they would have one night of sleep, and then they would cross and confront Ser Barristan. Lord Stark believed that the enemy would retreat before them due to the disparity in numbers, but who could say until the day arrived? There was many an eve at sea that seemed calm, only for a sudden squall to bring danger.

Davos gathered men from Karstark and Glover to serve as guards. With prisoners being exchanged, the limit of five had been done away with. Most of their prisoners had some sort of wounds, but only two required being carried. Lady Myrcella arrived promptly with a large entourage. This time, Ser Barristan was there as well.

"Ser Davos, has my uncle grown tired of conversing with his family?"

Davos shrugged, "I cannot say, only that I was put in charge of the exchange."

The Lady of Storm's End nodded. "Let us proceed then." She raised a hand and four of her men carried a bed; on it lay Lord Nestor Royce of the Vale. They brought the bed closer, and Nestor raised a hand in greeting to Ser Davos.

"Has my uncle reconsidered? Will he trade the Mountain for the Lord of House Royce?"

Davos shook his head. "He will not. Ser Gregor Clegane has been executed for crimes beyond number." He looked at Nestor, "I am sorry, but we could not agree to let such a false knight live."

Myrcella smiled. The smile reached her eyes, and those azure lenses to her soul seemed to come to life.

"You killed a knight that you had taken captive, while we still have captives? Do you know what is now expected of me?"

The one-time smuggler felt uneasy. He had no great affection for Vale knights, their refusal to proclaim His Grace the King had rankled, but he had no wish to see them harmed.

Myrcella looked to Nestor, then closed her eyes. "My grandfather will be displeased – alas, my uncle knows me too well. He has won this battle of wits and called my bluff. It is not within me to harm those taken captive in valiant battle."

Davos was grateful for that. As they were talking, the captives they had agreed to swap were moving to their side of the army. All was progressing as it should; there was no hint of subterfuge or going back on what had previously been agreed upon.

As the last prisoners were exchanged, Myrcella spoke up again.

"Ser Davos, Lord Nestor is clearly no longer of use to me as a hostage. I could send him to my grandfather, but I fear for his safety. Instead, I will release him and the other Vale knights to you as well. He has several injuries, and I've provided some notes to give to your Maester of their extent and…"

"But why?" Davos interrupted. "Why would you give back the Valemen for nothing?"

"I have no desire to hold onto captives. It is an important principle to me; if you have taken a prisoner, you are obligated to care for them. Keeping him safe from harm in the middle of a war with severe injuries would tie up many of my men. With his injuries, he will not be riding out against me anytime soon."

Davos wasn't sure what the trap was, but he knew there had to be one. No one acted this way; there had to be some catch that he was missing. He could not see it, but he never claimed to be the wisest; King Stannis and Lord Stark would know what to make of it.

"In that case, I will gladly accept his release, Lady Myrcella."

He watched as she bent down and said something to Lord Nestor before carefully grasping his shoulder. Suspicion filled his mind; the gesture seemed genuine. She lifted her head and called out to have the other Vale knights returned as well. And then she was gone without another word, riding hard back to her camp. A camp that had already diminished in size and was now being rapidly deconstructed. Within 24 hours, the agreed-upon cessation of violence would be lifted. It seemed clear that the Stormland army would be gone and many miles south by then.

"Lord Royce, are you well?"

"No thanks to your King, but yes, while I have some significant injuries, there is no sign of infection, and given rest, I will heal."

"My lord, he will be the King of the Seven Kingdoms. He is our King."

Nestor snorted, which drew a wince.

"Gods, by rights I should be dead. I will have words with Stannis about this. We rode under his banner, and this is the thanks we receive? I mean to speak with him, and then I plan to make for the Vale; my injuries need seeing to."

Davos knew that his King would not like that. Keeping Lord Nestor with them by force, making him a hostage, would draw the ire of the Vale. Battle and sailing were simpler than dealing with these political considerations. He did not envy the hard decisions that awaited the King.

***

Robb yawned and then shook his head, trying to shake off the sleepiness. The last two nights had both been interrupted by harassing attacks from the enemy. After the first night of baying horns and scattered arrow fire, it was obvious that no true attack was coming. And yet, it was hard to sleep hearing those war horns. Or the random cry of someone unlucky enough to get struck.

Robb knew that the camp had responded quickly and charged into the night; that had proven to be a mistake. Horses and men crippled by traps, and the attackers melting away into the night. It wasn't completely one-sided, but charging after the harassers caused far more death and injury among their own.

Then there were the heat and flies. Now, south of the Trident, the flies seemed to be everywhere. Ser Barristan had trashed the King's Road, and so their forward progress was further delayed. Riding or marching on the remains of the road wasn't extremely difficult, but it made things harder. Men who had already marched a long way from the North were now travelling even further, without the benefit of a road. The levies especially had less than ideal footwear, and slowly injuries and even infections from burst blisters had taken their toll.

There was also a deadly war going on between the armies' outriders, and at every turn, the men loyal to Stannis were suffering horrendous casualties. When they sent in the heavily-armored cavalry, which Robb had gone out with once, the unarmored riders were easily able to flee, and they could not catch the enemy. When they tried to just fight with their lightly-armored outriders, the enemy always seemed to lead them through traps or even small archery units, who made them pay a terrible toll. Put simply, they were running out of scouts.

Harrion Karstark was riding with him and was also in an unpleasant mood. The heir of House Karstark had proven himself adequately, but had not helped against the Mountain. He also felt somewhat responsible for the Smalljon's death. The nightly raids, the flies, the march, and the inability to come to grips with the enemy was wearing his patience thin.

"We need to do something different. Force march through the night, send waves of horsemen forward; damn the traps, let them take their toll, but we outnumber them so badly, we'll still win."

Robb grimly shook his head. "Maybe, they always seem a step ahead of us. Outside of small units of archers, we haven't seen the bulk of their foot. They could all be waiting for just such an action, or they could be days further south."

"They are running, off to save the boy King. If we dawdle, they could break away fully, and the Tyrells will have the Lannisters and Ser Barristan to deal with. If we force them to fight, we'll make sure the Tyrells win."

Robb didn't necessarily disagree, but they had been so completely outmatched in the skirmishes that he had a healthy respect for his foes. It was King Stannis and his father's decision, of course; he and Harrion could advise, but they weren't going to make any decisions. Robb had even asked his father to take Grey Wind and Duty and a strong contingent to prepare a surprise the next night, but he had been rebuffed.

"Our fathers and King Stannis will make the right decision."

They arrived to where the next camp location was being constructed. Latrine ditches, palisades, and tents were already being set up. Theon greeted him.

"Robb, Karstark, we figured out why our camp constantly smells like a dung heap."

Theon's sword-arm was heavily bandaged. The Maesters had stitched the wound and told him that he should avoid using it for several weeks and to avoid combat. Theon, like them, looked haggard, but even more so. Despite his rough look, his biting tone was not dispirited.

"Why?" Harrion asked.

"Those cunts have shoveled their nightsoil all over the place! They buried it with a smidge of dirt, but not enough to get the damned smell away."

Robb had learned that war camps always had an issue with shit. His father had taught him that latrine pits or ditches should be away from any drinking water and a decent pace away from the main camp. Couldn't be too far away – if it was, men would disobey the orders. Horses of course also just shat where they wished. The thought that they were taking their own leavings and spending time burying it just to frustrate the advancing army seemed… petty. Not a tactic he would have thought Ser Barristan would use.

"What does the King mean to do about it?"

Theon shrugged. "I think there's talk about moving the camps away from the road by a mile each evening."

Robb frowned. More delay. Which allowed more time for the enemy to continue to break the road, set pitfalls, and play their disgusting nightsoil scheme. But what choice was there, really? Maester Lewin and father had spoken about the dangers of the bloody flux and other camp diseases.

"Your Uncle Edmure and the advance force of the Riverland army will be here soon as well. He's the one leading the army, with Lord Hoster staying behind in Riverrun."

It would be good to see his uncle again. Edmure had visited Winterfell one time around a decade ago. He remembered that the man had been pleasant and enjoyed jests and drinking father's wine, but little else. His mother had taught him that family was important, so he would do his best to get on well with him.

Robb met up with his father, and they joined the King in waiting for Edmure. With the King were Ser Davos Seaworth and Ser Jaspar Redfort. Ser Jaspar oversaw what remained of the Vale forces. Lord Nestor Royce had taken over half of what was left, including most of the knights, back to the Vale. Robb had not been present, but Lord Royce and King Stannis now had some bad blood between them.

Soon enough, the Tully banners appeared. Robb estimated that it was near enough a 1,000 mounted cavalry. The rest of the horse, and all the foot must still be far away. Along with the Tully banners, he saw the banners of Bracken, Blackwood, Piper, and Vance in number.

Robb immediately saw the family resemblance. Like Robb, Edmure had a similar build and similar coloring of eye and hair. Edmure's auburn hair was a brighter hue than his own, and he had a fiery beard that Robb did not have. They both had a stocky build and were of similar height. Robb had reached the age of maturity, but he might end up being taller if he continued to grow.

There was a cluster of lords around Edmure, some older, but also several younger ones. Robb could place some of them by their sigils but did not know all their names.

"Seven Hells, look at the size of that wolf," a man with a unique sigil, a nude maiden on a field of blue, said.

Edmure lightly slapped the man on the shoulder and then dismounted.

"My pardons, Your Grace, Ser Marq is easily excitable. Would you have us swear fealty to you now or save it for some later ceremony?"

"Later is fine. Come with me and bring those knowledgeable of your supplies and manpower with you," Stannis replied.

Edmure picked out Ser Marq and Lord Jonos Bracken to join him. One of the taller lords protested, but Edmure gave him a weary look. "My Lord, I need someone capable to integrate our soldiers into the camp; I can think of none better than you."

The man appeared mollified with that, and Robb followed the group into Stannis's tent. As soon as they were inside, Stannis fired off a barrage of questions. He wanted to know the composition of their forces, how many foot, light horse, heavy horse, how many sell swords, how much food, how many wagons, the latest information on any Lannister forces still within the Riverlands.

Edmure began confidently enough, but soon had a haunted look and leaned on Lord Jonos for information. Bracken did not have all the answers either. Robb knew that these questions were important but thought that pleasantries should have been exchanged first. His mother had often told him that in the south a certain level of flattery and idle talk was expected before anything else. The King didn't seem to think that that was necessary. Robb could appreciate directness, but it was beginning to be clear why few spoke fondly of King Stannis.

Nevertheless, the information that was shared allowed Robb to get a better picture. Edmure had roughly 15,000 with him. The Freys had not stirred nor declared for either side. House Mallister kept back about half of their number to guard against any opportunistic Greyjoys. Edmure also shared that his father's health was failing, and effective command at Riverrun was left to Ser Robin Ryger, with a strong garrison in case the army at the Golden Tooth set upon the Riverlands as well.

Robb did some calculations – with the losses they had suffered, a good amount of the Royce strength leaving them, with the new addition of the Tully forces, a comfortable 40,000 soldiers. Due to the outriders having a rough time, they weren't sure how many soldiers Ser Barristan had with them. If Lord Lannister sought to protect King's Landing from the Tyrells he would have needed to go south with the bulk of his army. That would leave Ser Barristan and Myrcella with just the Stormland contingent. No doubt the Stormlands could muster more, but Robb imagined that they would be diverted to King's Landing. Which meant that right now they likely had 3 – 1 odds against Ser Barristan.

Stannis had finished asking his questions, and Edmure had a chance to speak. "Thank you, Your Grace, for dealing with the Mountain. We look forward to dealing with Tywin Lannister as well. When do you believe that we will fight against him?"

Eddard Stark took over and explained the events – well, most of the events – to his good-brother. The Tully heir was disappointed that Tywin wasn't committing to battle again and had instead 'fled' south.

"My force is fresh; outside of chasing some of the pillagers Tywin left to slow us down, we have not faced serious battle. Let us push ahead fiercely," Edmure suggested.

Robb's father explained the situation, "It isn't so simply, Edmure; the road ahead has been damaged significantly. Nightly nuisance attacks on the camp are sapping our men's endurance, and our outriders are getting mauled."

Marq Piper snorted, "I'll see to this, Edmure. I know the Riverlands well; give me command of enough calvary, and it will be their outriders who are defeated."

Ser Davos shook his head, "Ser, it will not be so simple. This is Ser Barristan the Bold across the field. He is confounding us and anticipating our every move. These simple, thrice-damned holes in the ground are crippling our horses. When we think it to be just lightly-armed outriders, our men crest a hill only to have hundreds of archers raining fire. They pursue into a wood, only for the enemy to vanish. When we unleash our knights, they can't catch up. It will be the King's decision, but you seem too eager to approach without proper caution."

"Stick to sailing, Onion Knight; I know the Riverlands, I know where likely ambush spots exist, I will deal with your problem."

Stannis looked to Edmure, "Detailed knowledge of the ground may prove useful. Do you feel that Ser Marq would be successful?"

Edmure nodded eagerly. "Yes, he is a fantastic rider and has feasted at every holdfast in the Riverlands. We are eager to do our part."

Robb had some doubts, but he knew that Grey Wind could do more. He could sniff out where the enemy had gone, he could terrify their mounts, his howl was distinct and could rally scattered groups together.

"Your Grace, if you wish to give him this task, I believe I am suited with my wolf to assist."

His father frowned but did not speak to reject the notion.

Marq looked at Robb, then at Ned, "If you think that he is ready, my lord, I can take him. He still has the look of youth about him though, and…"

Ser Davos laughed. "Ser, Robb Stark is the reason that the Mountain was captured. He also prevented the North's army from being cut off."

Robb found the exchange somewhat amusing. He was gratified to see Marq color slightly and reassess him. Not that the man was much older than him.

The King weighed the notion and then announced his decision. "I wish to hasten our march. This cannot be done safely if we are blind to their movements. Ser Marq, with the Tullys supporting your claims, I will put my trust in you for this task. I warn you, Myrcella Baratheon is not to be trifled with. If you see something too good to be true, it is likely a trap."

The Riverland nobility exchanged quizzical glances.

"She's with the Stormland army?" Edmure asked incredulously.

Eddard nodded. "Yes, Ser Barristan is leading the army, but the moves the Stormlords are making do not fit with how he or they typically fight. These raiding attacks, the horns, the nightsoil, the destruction of the King's Road, these all came from another mind. She's crafty, devious, and far more dangerous than one could imagine."

Lord Tytos furrowed his brow. "Is this a jest? Is she not but one and 10?"

Stannis narrowed his eyes, "This is no jest. She has a sharp mind, and a sharper tongue. It matters naught if it is she, Ser Barristan, or some Essos mercenary who has come up with their stratagems. Do not underestimate our foe."

Ser Marq still had a disbelieving look on his face, but he bowed his head.

"Yes, Your Grace, I will see to it. I'll rest and see what horsemen you have available to make up my unit, and then in the morning, I will begin the work."

***

Lum had never hoped to be anything more than a guard for the Lannisters. It was dull work, but typically relatively safe. People didn't mess with Lannisters; debts were always paid, and Tywin Lannister had a reputation for cruelty to those that wronged him. Never would he have expected to gain any sort of power or authority. Now he was a member of Lady Baratheon's Stormguard. It was a heady experience. The very idea of nobles listening to him and obeying was as strange as Myrcella herself.

To be sure, his authority as a member of the Stormguard was not his own; he was merely an extension of Lady Myrcella's will. Should he ever abuse the authority given to him… well, he had no intention of ever getting on her bad side.

He recalled meeting with Lady Myrcella and the rest of the Stormguard as she discussed their battle strategy. He could tell that Ser Lyle was confused as to why Myrcella was leading as opposed to Ser Barristan.

"You are all my commanders, and it is critical that you know the intent behind what we are doing here. Orders in the field should always be obeyed when things are going as expected, but we should never underestimate the enemy. When the unexpected happens, autonomy and decisive action are needed. One cannot always wait for new orders, and one cannot predict any eventuality."

Ser Barlow had queried, "But we don't have a command. The lords retain control of their own men."

Myrcella had simply smiled. "If you approach them and state that I prepared specific instructions in the event of this unexpected turn, they will follow your command. Ser Barristan has made it clear to them that the Stormguard have been given orders that only they know until the moment is right. It is technically even true, as this is your specific instruction in case the unexpected occurs."

His recollections were interrupted when he and the other riders reached the appointed area. Lum had with him 40 free riders and 80 horses. Their task here was simple – dig the ankle breaking holes in the area and then wait for the signal. A horn blast followed by a second horn blast seconds later would tell them to ride north and to then provide the remounts to another group. Finally, they'd prepare to counter charge if the pursuers were light cavalry and flee if they were armored knights.

Lum had a decent understanding of the overall picture in his area. Each harassment group was a combination of three small units of lightly armored cavalry, one heavy unit of armored knights, and two groups of archers. The archers were the most vulnerable; so it was important to keep them safe from mounted enemy troops capable of catching them. That was why, ideally, they would only appear and fire when the enemy could not succeed in running them down.

They were sometimes used as bait; planted right behind pit traps, they laid down a deadly rain of arrows. The enemy riders saw them as easy meat, only to then crash into what amounted to a concealed trench. One of the sayings that Myrcella was fond of quoting, "Appear weak when you are strong."

A wiser foe would have circled around the obvious path to the archers, and that is where the horse ankle breaking holes would come into play. The real danger came if the enemy did not charge and instead waited for reinforcements, and most troublesome would-be massed infantry. They could clear the dangers that a galloping horse could not, and they could shield themselves from arrow fire. In that circumstance the archers would have to retreat, and gone from their prepared position, were much more susceptible to being run down.

After the first couple of days, the enemy became significantly more hesitant to pursue. Lightly-armored horsemen were typically not nobles or important knights. Lum knew that many were likely men of fortune, who owned their own horse and little else. Risking losing their livelihood held scant appeal. Enemy riders were often riding at a slow trot.

Today, something was different. Horns sounded, signaling the need for support. But in the wind, they heard a wolf's howl. Lum shivered; he'd had heard about the Tower of the Hand and what the wolves had done to the Gold Cloaks.

Lum signaled his men and picked up the pace. Worry gnawed at him. He pulled up next to another rider and instructed him to ride back to camp and advise Ser Barristan or Lady Myrcella that the Starks had brought a direwolf along, and that he had an uneasy feeling. Lum knew that with the distances involved, he would likely have already clashed with the enemy scouts before anyone could send aid. It was still important to send the rider, even if it meant one soldier fewer with him.

As Lum traveled, he heard three horn blows. That meant imminent battle they couldn't avoid. They weren't far from this point. Just a few minutes passed, and Lum saw dozens of riders, not their own forces, riding south. If he saw them, they saw him. However, they did not turn toward him; instead, they kept galloping.

Lum blew the horn several times, hopefully communicating what was needed. Pausing, he realized that if their intent was to move past an obviously hostile force, this was the work of some larger plan. He lacked information, but Lady Myrcella did say that fortune favored the bold. Lum signaled with his next horn blasts for the knights to head north with all haste. Ser Gladden was with them, and if it came to a fight, he was a good man to have by his side.

It would also mean a more senior member of the Stormguard would be around and could correct any mistakes of his if things truly were different today. Steeling himself, he could now hear hooves and the cries of men. He was no great combatant on a horse – he knew how to ride, of course, but fighting from horseback was quite different from shooting an arrow on firm ground.

Three possibilities – either the Stormland force was handily winning the skirmish, and it would be easy to finish the battle, or they weren't. If they weren't, and they were hopelessly outnumbered, Lum, as instructed, would turn, and flee. The last scenario was the most dangerous – a fight that they could win, but a close one.