Chapter 117: Interlude: Twenty-three

Twenty-sixth day, Ninth Moon, 260 AC (+12 days)

Prince Duncan POV

Wrapped in a thick cloak, he, along with three of his scouts, crouched in the foliage at the edge of the open farmland. On one side stood Duncan's army, weary from a long campaign, but strong and experienced after winning many battles. On the other, stood a mercenary army under the command of Liomond Lashare, the famed Lord of Battles.

After more than two weeks of skirmishes, this would be the first true battle – not that the bards had not already spun their songs of the fighting Duncan's men had already done. The Battle of the Two Cliffs was a particularly riveting song, though the battle itself had few men participating. Now though? Almost fifteen thousand men stood on the field between the two sides after a week of Duncan maneuvering the armies into position. The Royal army had split into smaller factions when they had landed on the shores to the Disputed Land and taken to securing as much of the countryside as possible, as well as securing food.

Having tens of thousands of men in such a small area had strained their supplies, so it was better to spread them out. Unfortunately, it made the war go at a much slower pace – something that benefited the Essosi more than anyone else. Already the war had taken more than three moons, and few wanted to fight for another three moons, especially when there was no new land to be gained. Wealth abounded in the Disputed Lands, none doubted that, but the true prize, land, was not for the taking and so enthusiasm among the lords began to wane.

Duncan needed a victory – a true victory, not winning some skirmish, but something that would etch his name into the histories. Something that would rally his men and make his father's next step in the plan a reality. Something to secure a place for his son – something more than a pawn for the Throne.

Regardless of the future, Duncan refocused on the present. Men on both sides were preparing themselves for battle – songs and drink were common, while others prayed or stood silently, whether in fear or calm, Duncan knew not.

"My Prince," whispered one of the scouts, even though the noise from the field meant that no one would overhear us. "It appears the Essosi have taken your bait; the strength of their forces is focused on the center, opposite of your personal banner."

Duncan nodded. "Have our scouts continued to harry theirs?"

"Yes, my Prince. We have fought their scouts to the east, screening any potential movement there, and to the west, we have only pushed them back without engaging."

He tried not to smile too broadly, as he evaluated the current positions. The small copse of trees they were sheltered in consisted of a small valley that had a river running through it. To the west, a sharp cliff called the Dynlip Cliff cut off the plateau of productive farmland that the armies prepared themselves to fight on. To the east, more open farmland lay bare – perfect cavalry country.

It was land that was so irresistible to a cavalry commander that even someone not familiar with fighting against mounted knights could recognize it. So, Liomond had his cavalry forces arrayed to the east waiting for the inevitable cavalry charge that would seek to turn his flanks. Against a competent commander, this maneuver might save his flanks from a rout.

But Duncan did not aim for being merely competent. Duncan needed more than that. Much more.

"Leave a few scouts here to report on any changes and send someone when the battle finally starts," he said to the scout.

"It will be done, my Prince."

Duncan left the field, making his way west, taking some of the rough goat trails that led down the cliff. In truth, the section they were in now was more of an escarpment than a cliff, but the height and steepness of it was soon felt in the burning muscles of his legs.

Over the ages, the Essosi had carved roads into the Dynlip cliff in its gentler sections to facilitate easier trade. Naturally, each had places for encampments for defending armies to build when the traditional fighting in the region neared, but Duncan's quick push to the area ensured that his enemy did not have the time to build anything substantial. And why would they rush? Their enemy was already on the same side of the cliff as them. Why bother denying them a road they have no reason to take?

At his return to camp, his knights began their final preparations. It would be a forced pace to cover the distance to the road, for they were camped not only a good distance from the battlefield, but also off the road leading to it. His men took only what was necessary, while the squires stayed to guard the camp. It would be a long, tiring day, but knights were trained for such work, more so than the Essosi could guess at. At least he prayed that it was so.

As the hour crawled by, a scout finally raced into camp. "My Prince! The armies have engaged!"

Duncan nodded and dismissed the man. "Rally the men, my lords," he said to the assembled lords. "We ride!" To the scouts still remaining, "Engage the enemy scouts in our path without restraint! They shall not know we are coming!"

Mounted up, he rode to the head of the column and rode up and down its width. "Men of the Seven Kingdoms!" he shouted. "Men of Westeros! Loyal and gallant men! Today, we crush these bastard pretenders! These slavers!"

A roar of approval rushed forth. "Today, we show them the true might of knights in an open field! No more islands! No more pirates! Today we shed the blood of those who would take our land! Who enslave our wives and children!"

This time a roar of anger answered him. "But we will not let that happen! Here and now! We ride for a red day! Red with the blood of pretenders and slavers!"

The column rode forth, hooves pounding on the earth, and the dust starting to rise behind them. Banners hung gloriously in the air, armor was polished, and legends waited to be earned.

The ride was harsh and fast, only broken up by the scouts giving regular reports. Some of the enemy scouts managed to flee, bringing word of activity, but they had been too far to give an accurate report of what was happening. And if the enemy cavalry moved to engage, the small force he left hidden to the east would threaten the main army.

Duncan's knights thundered past the small fortifications that sat beside the road, a few arrows flying feebly into the formation. The Essosi hadn't had time to build anything more than walls around their camp – certainly nothing to block their path. As the column of knights neared the main body of the enemy, he signaled for the formation to change into a more tightly packed group so that they could run straight through the enemy.

As they crested the final rise, the battlefield was splayed out before them. The enemy cavalry was moving to engage them, but their leader seemed indecisive as the rest of the cavalry Duncan had left behind was threatening them – and using fake banners to bolster the image of their numbers. The rest of the enemy had already reformed their rear ranks to face the new threat, but these were men used to facing Dothraki charges, not the lances of knights.

Duncan smiled beneath his helm at the promise of victory. "For the Iron Throne!" he roared.

The fifteen seconds between the beginning of the charge and the clash had never bothered him before. Others would often tell tale of time seeming to slow and their hearts racing. Duncan never experienced those things. Calm settled on him as the distance closed. He knew what he wanted to do, so he watched the scene to ensure that he could accomplish it.

His lance ripped through the heavy shield of the enemy frontline – their paltry spears doing little to dissuade the horses from their charge. Duncan dropped his broken lance and pulled out his sword as the knights drove deeper into the enemy ranks. A quick glance saw that his companions were all still with him, although Barristan managed to get an arrow lodged in his saddle.

Blood sprayed as a foolish mercenary overextended to spear Duncan, and his companions began to surround Duncan in response.

Looking around, Duncan saw that some of his left flank had been stalled by the enemy cavalry, and some had been halted by the enemy spearmen, but most had cut deep into the enemy ranks. He couldn't see his infantry, but it was no matter.

"Onward! Onward! To victory!"

The men around him roared, and his standard-bearer raised the banner of House Targaryen proudly amid the enemy army.

"To victory!"