chapter 37

Robb wore lighter armor than he had before. Gone was the head-to-toe plate armor; instead, he wore a solid shirt of chain, kept his helm, and wore boots instead of sabatons. Ser Marq had said that speed was key, as was the horse's endurance. They could expect to be in the saddle for quite some time, and wearing out the horse with unnecessary weight was counterproductive.

The goal was to take down the outriders of Ser Barristan's army. To accomplish that, Ser Marq had been given command of a lot of riders. After having learned of the tactics used against them earlier, Piper had said that the only way to beat them was not to play their game.

"You are dancing to their tune; instead of chasing them, go where they are likely to go. The land is vast; there is no way that they could have dug up holes and pits everywhere. Ride past their position and then box them in."

Robb thought that he was on to something. It would cost them horses and men, but if they could cut off the outriders slowing their march, it would likely be worth it. Ser Marq had been allowed to requisition over 1,500 mounted riders, almost all light cavalry. The first 1,000 were split into fifteen groups, numbering anywhere between 50 and 100 each, that would all ride almost directly south, almost parallel to each other. They would be spaced far enough apart that they were out of sight. Upon encountering groups they could take in a fight, some they would attempt to engage, while at least half of their forces were intended to just keep riding. The other 500 would work as one large unit commanded by Ser Karyl Vance. That group had a mixture of light cavalry as well as 200 knights in heavy armor.

Once they had traversed far enough, they would move east and west, cutting off any retreat and trap the enemy outriders. The typical communication via horn blowers that were a staple in most of the Seven Kingdoms would allow for some semblance of coordination; they would also have pairs of riders relay messages on the fastest horses between groups as necessary.

Robb had a dozen riders from the guard at Winterfell with him, along with Grey Wind. He would be riding with Ser Marq, who had seventy riders from the Riverlands. The heir of Winterfell thought back to his last conversation with his father – Eddard had agreed with the plan, but had reservations.

"You will need to temper Ser Marq's enthusiasm. It is his plan, and despite his house's comparatively minor standing to ours, he has command. Rage at what was done to the Riverlands has made him overeager."

"I will do my best, father."

His conversation with Bran had been odd.

"You should take Duty with you. I can't see what is going to happen."

Robb ruffled his hair. "I won't deny it, Duty was important in the fight, but he should stay with you. I think those wolves were meant to be our protectors."

Bran had a look of consternation. "Just be careful, Robb. I really don't know what will happen."

"None of us do, but I'll be careful."

His brother had looked like he wanted to say more, but he breathed a sigh and nodded before they embraced one more time. Bran had been acting strange, but being hunted in the Kingswood had likely been terrifying for him. Robb didn't worry too much. His brother was a Stark; he would be fine.

Their group rode on and, sure enough, some horses did end up becoming lamed. They planted a small pole with red cloth when they encountered the holes and then moved forward. It did not greatly diminish their numbers. Soon, horns began to bay, and Grey Wind sniffed the air. The direwolf took off toward the right and then howled.

"Does that mean he's found them?" Ser Marq inquired.

"Yes, probably a small band. Should we go after them or continue our present course?"

The older man considered, "We continue; it is too early to spring the trap. Hopefully your wolf doesn't get himself killed."

"He won't," Robb replied. He somehow knew that Grey Wind was heading back this way since it didn't seem they would be fighting.

More riding, and word came from the other groups via rider – some enemies had been spotted, and they were seeking to encircle now. With a savage grin, Ser Marq called to advance. As they crested a small foothill, the sounds of fighting came to them. Two of Marq's groups had managed to chase down one of the enemy's light cavalry groups. Battle had ensued, and the numbers favored the Riverlands force. Grey Wind howled as another enemy group appeared, riding hard.

The second group charged in, and Ser Marq shouted, "Good, let them get pulled in. The more of them perish, the faster we can catch up to the Old Butcher."

Robb saw a lone arrow fly out and take a Riverlands soldier in the shoulder, spinning him around and off his horse as they pushed forward in a gallop. Grey Wind at his side, Robb drew his blade and slung his wooden shield to the ready. It would be less than a minute and they would crash into the milling chaos.

Blade in hand, he advanced ever closer; his eyes narrowed as he picked out his target and angled his horse slightly with his knees. The man wore chain hauberk but only a leather skullcap. Robb slashed accurately and sliced the neck as he rode past. Another horse blocked his path, and there was a jarring collision as the two animals fought for balance and position. A horse kicked out with its hooves, narrowly missing Robb's mount.

Chaos descended as battle formation became utterly lost. This was not the charging of knights that punched through or collapsed into a line of metal. This was a whiling madness that Robb thought he would have hated due to the chaotic mess where sometimes even ally fought against ally in the confusing press.

Only, he did not. He slashed about himself, only striking foes. Grey Wind guarded his flanks, and the enemy horses shied away from the massive wolf. His shield accepted blows from axe, spear, and sword with instinctual ease. In his mind's eye, he could see an axe striking his back; he ducked, flat against his horse, and the axe passed overhead. A half-second later, Grey Wind leaped onto the axe-wielding man, sending him down to the ground.

Robb felt the easing of pressure as foes sought other opponents to face. The image of an arrow striking him in the leg made him lower his shield slightly, and then an arrow slammed against it. The battle seemed to be coming along well, and then he saw it. Dozens of heavily armored knights, clad in plate and wielding long lances, were riding hard for them.

"Marq!" Robb looked around for the heir of Pinkmaiden. "Piper, where are you? We need to disengage!"

Ser Piper was caught up hammering an opponent over and over with his sword. The Stormlander could do no more than shield himself as Marq had his opponent by the reins, not allowing to disengage. The angle was awkward, so despite the advantageous position, he could not find a clean way through.

Robb cursed and pushed his steed forward, bringing his own sword about, and slashed the man through the face. Knowing that the foe presented no further threat, he rounded on Ser Marq, "Look, there, we need to withdraw, or they'll cut through us."

Marq looked and cursed, "Who brings fully armored knights to an outrider battle." He took a deep breath and began shouting commands at the top of his voice, "Retreat, disengage, back away!"

Robb once again saw how moments in the battle would take shape before they manifested. An arrow taking Ser Marq in the eye filled his mind. Moving on instinct, his sword flashed out and deflected the arrow, a foot from the Riverlands Lord's face.

"Seven Hells!" Marq gasped and looked at Robb with more than a little awe.

They quickly disengaged – or at least tried to. Unfortunately, with the press, not everyone could get clear, and when the knights struck them, it exacted a heavy toll. Still, the losses on both sides had been fairly equal, a tolerable outcome given their numerical superiority.

"We have more reinforcements coming, and we'll have them cut off too," Ser Marq said as they rode away. The lighter armor and armaments made them easily able to outpace their pursuers. The knights slowed, and Ser Marq ordered them to follow at a trot themselves.

"The charge is deadly, but after, we can surround them from all sides. Meanwhile, we'll let these fools chase us around!"

Robb caught his breath from the battle. Something strange was going on. This was more than instinct and battle reflexes. He had clearly seen what was going to happen before it had occurred. He shivered. Was this the Old Gods protecting him? There were few weirwood trees south of the Neck. Robb didn't know what was going on, but so far, it had only helped him.

***

Brienne's face itched. She knew that her already unpleasant face now looked even worse. The Maester had been apologetic; even Ser Barristan had come to comfort her. What they didn't realize was that she didn't care. She had earned that scar serving Lady Myrcella. Any potential match was never going to be selected due to their desire for her appearance.

She was ready to get back to protecting her lady. Meat and rest had served her well; she felt her strength and energy returning to her. Brienne would have to be careful with her face, lest she tear the stitches, but beyond that she was fit for duty.

The bulk of the army was marching south at a good pace. The last of the supply wagons, which also carried the wounded, would use the road before teams of men would break it up with their shovels and picks. There was a rotation of labor – levies marched two days and took one day to break up the road. Many hands and thousands of shovels made short work of it.

Brienne had convinced the Maester that she was ready for service again, and it had only taken a few unchivalrous threats. She wouldn't have truly harmed him, of course, but with her face in its current condition, words were harder than normal. Either way, the Maester advised Ser Barristan that she was fit to fight, and she rode to Myrcella's position.

Myrcella maintained a separate mobile camp. There she had a large number of their outriders, all of her Stormguard, save for Ser Barristan, most of the army's heavy crossbowmen, along with archer levies and several hundred knights.

Brienne knew that the plan was one day on and one day off for the harassing elements. That way the horses would always be fresh. Fortuitously, Brienne arrived just in time to be of service. As she entered the pavilion, Myrcella was looking over a map. She was using coinage as markers. Seeing Brienne, Myrcella tilted her head quizzically.

"Has something happened? You should still be resting."

Carefully, Brienne replied, "As long as I do not move my lips quickly, the stitches will not rip, according to the Maester." She looked down for a moment, "I was also anxious to return to your side."

Myrcella nodded as she moved a coin and stared at a very detailed map of the local area. Brienne exchanged a greeting with Ser Barlow Waters and Arys Oakheart. Another messenger arrived with news.

Myrcella's eyes darted back to the map.

"Ah, that's what they are doing. Clever, but leave it to my uncle to employ a decent strategy and then follow it too rigidly. Hmm, there's an opportunity here," Myrcella was speaking to herself, but Brienne could hear her clearly.

"How to make sure that they don't rabbit… oh, yes, that would work." She let out a sigh. "It is the only way to ensure that they linger." Myrcella looked at Brienne, "Get Ser Lyle, he should already be armored, tell him that he has five minutes to gather a dozen of his best knights to accompany me. Have all the rest of his knights advance to here and here and wait for the signal," she said while indicating locations on the map. Turning to Ser Barlow, "Ser, there should be 30 of the Holy Hundred here; tell them to mount fresh horses and be ready to fight."

Brienne processed what was said, "Wait, Lady Myrcella, you can't mean to go yourself into battle. We can't," a sharp tug reminded her that she couldn't speak that rapidly or in such an animated fashion.

"Brienne, if you tear your stitches arguing, I'll send you to Storm's End, and you can train levies for the rest of the war. I need to be visible and act as bait, otherwise they might ride back. They've committed a large force, and I intend to turn their ploy back around on them. For that, I need to force them to overextend."

Brienne wanted to argue but knew she could not. And any time wasted could create further danger for Lady Myrcella; so, she inclined her head and obeyed. As Brienne left, she heard Myrcella order another messenger to bring up the captured banners.

She quickly made her way to where the boar standard was flying and relayed the orders. Ser Lyle grinned; the man loved a good fight. He had loudly complained about not being able to fight in defense of the Mountain. His boasts about how he should have known that they would refuse when they realized the Strong Boar was available as a champion. Brienne considered him a bit of a braggart, but the man had size and strength.

Brienne returned to Myrcella, who was wearing the same clothes she had worn to the parley several days ago. That meant that she was completely unarmored; a stray arrow or a single blow in close range, and that would be that. She was a small target at least. If worst came to worst, she knew the steed Myrcella rode was swift, and with her light weight, it should be able to outrun others unless it was already winded.

Ser Barlow had 20ish of the Holy Hundred mounted and ready to go. Adding Ser Lyle's dozen, they numbered less than fifty. The bulk of their mounted force would be traveling to another location to spring the ambush, as were the extra crossbowmen, though in a different spot. Brienne knew well enough the plan, though coming up with it so quickly with just a few bits of information from scouts' reporting back and the sounds of horns was incredible.

"All orders have been relayed; we are going to kick the ants' nest. I won't lie to you; we have the worst job today. It will be an arduous battlefield, we will be harried, attacked by sword and spear, while shouldering an unbearable risk with no guarantee of survival, but upon our return, fame and glory await! We blind my uncle today! We slaughter their outriders and make sure that they never dare challenge our harriers again!"

Ser Lyle roared, as did most of the rest. Ser Barlow raised his voice, "The Seven will our victory!"

They took off swiftly; all knew what to do. They needed to be spotted by the enemy as soon as possible in order to spread the word and lure the enemy in. The 'kill box' as Lady Myrcella had called it was more of a vague area rather than a specific spot. That made things more difficult, and Brienne offered a prayer to the Warrior.

With their speed, they advanced unobstructed, knowing the spots and signs of what to look for of their own traps. Soon enough, they saw a Riverlands group numbering slightly more than them, but not nearly as well-armored. It could be ignored. Horns sounded in the distance, as did the howl of a wolf.

They continued to ride and then saw another Riverlands group, larger than the last. This time they turned west, not south, and gave up the cry.

"Protect the princess!"

The enemy pursued but did not seek to close the gap. They heard the enemy lay down a long, loud blast of their horn, for over a dozen seconds. Echoing horns blew, and Brienne saw Myrcella smile. Riders from their foes departed in pairs in three different directions, no doubt hoping to link up with their comrades and explain the situation.

"Time to scatter them and give time for everyone to get into position," Myrcella commanded, and they turned around on their pursuers. Lady Myrcella remained in the middle of the formation. Brienne drew her blade and positioned her body on Myrcella's right. Ser Arys of the Kingsguard saw this and did the same to the left. The enemy pursuing them outnumbered them three to two, but they could not withstand a charge of armored knights. Hasty orders were shouted, but some were slow to get their horses to stop their forward momentum.

Myrcella drew breath and gave a battle cry, "BARATHEON!"

The voice that shouted the house name was Myrcella's, yet the volume was louder than Brienne had ever heard shouted before. The sudden explosion of sound dazed her for a moment. The voice was not deeper by any significant amount, just the loudness had somehow been raised to an extent that it was bewildering. Around her, she saw the Crakehall knights crane their necks to look at Myrcella, who had her own bewildered expression on her face, but only for a moment.

The enemy had mostly managed to turn their mounts around, but a good eight weren't fast enough and fell to Myrcella's guards. Myrcella herself immediately called off the chase and salvaged five of the horses as extra mounts. Trained horses rarely cared who the rider was, and these were trained well enough.

Now they turned back west and rode at a trot; the enemy reformed and began to shadow them but did not get close again. They laid down a blast on the horn again, and Myrcella grinned as she saw the first dust cloud ahead coming from the south. Once they saw that the riders were not theirs, they turned north. Toward Stannis.

A third group joined; and even knowing the plan, Brienne really felt uncomfortable with how outnumbered they were. They pushed their steeds faster toward the north. The enemy horses were faster and now closed in on three sides. Brienne knew where they were headed; she hoped that the others that had been in the field had not been caught before this. If they had, this would get messy.

Fortunately, it was not the case as from the north they spotted what they were seeking. The archers. They swerved sharply east and then around the group of 60 men. Strong bowmen from the forests of the Kingswood let their arrows fly while Myrcella ordered her men to form up to charge east. The arrows pelted the pursuing horsemen.

Brienne wondered what the enemy would do. They were whittled down by arrow fire; their leather jerkins did not do much to stop the arrowheads. The bow fire was swift and accurate. In their eagerness to come to grips with those who had just caused a dozen or more casualties, they did not follow the route Myrcella had taken; instead, they rode headlong into hundreds of tiny, covered holes – it may as well have been a trench so thoroughly had the ground been prepared.

The bowmen turned to the western flank and began firing; seeing what happened to their compatriots, they turned north and sought to go around the obvious potential hazard. Meanwhile, Brienne and the others formed another charge; the men they clashed with had only partially seen what had happened and were in full charge themselves, thinking they would have a pincer on the knights. Instead, they fought the elite of the Stormlands and Lannisters.

Lady Myrcella slowed her steed and moved to the side of the formation while Ser Lyle lustily smashed into the lightly-armored enemy. His hammer pulped flesh with every swing. The Holy Hundred showed their valor, crying out, "Myrcella!" "Myrcella!"

Brienne didn't even have to swing her sword, so great was the slaughter. The original, western, mounted foe soon learned that only the eastern route had been safe, and once the first few horses tumbled, they swiftly rode away and out of bowshot. They curved back around to the southern side and sent riders further north.

"Any losses?" Myrcella called out.

One of Ser Lyle's men had been thrown from his horse and broken his neck in the fall. A few others had also been knocked down or injured but could still fight with no problem.

One of the archers looked nervous. "Your Ladyship, this isn't safe. We are sitting geese. They'll know that they can only approach from one side mounted, but there have been a lot of horns."

Myrcella nodded to the man. "Fret not, that's exactly what I want them to think. Even now, we have reinforcements coming."

***