Chapter 94 91

Ser Brynden Tully.

It had not been easy, but Brynden was forced to admit that he was losing to Axel Arryn on the strategic level. It was unpleasant, but as a good soldier he had to acknowledge his own shortcomings and assess the situation clearly. Men with experience and sense could read a person's character through his actions without much trouble. The same held true of commanders in war. A man's style of fighting depended deeply on his inner qualities. Axel Arryn had many virtues, but he had substantial flaws as well. The Falcon's Eye was a bloodthirsty man who showed his enemies no mercy, who loved risk and loved to be at the sharpest point of the blade.

He knew that to defeat an enemy, one had to understand his aims. And Axel Arryn's aims were easy enough for any thinking man to calculate. To suppress the rebellion, the Falcon's Eye would be hunting his head and the head of Lyn Corbray. If they died, his niece would lose. But it was a double-edged thing, because if Axel died, the war would end in their victory.

Working from the knowledge of his appetite for risk, the Falcon's Eye should stake everything on killing the main obstacles. The assumption had proven true when word came that the Royces had dug into deep defense against the forces of King Stannis. That was something that happened when one side vastly dominated the other, but why do it when the gap in strength between them was not so great? The most logical answer was that a gap had appeared, that Royce had sent his troops elsewhere. Knowing the commander's character and the basic information available, it was not hard to guess that an army had been sent to cut them off, and that Arryn and his elite were riding at their head.

They had drawn up a plan for an ambush. Ser Lyn Corbray had volunteered to serve as the bait. It was not perfect, but the plan had worked. Arryn had been caught with a small force, trapped against three thousand men. The riders' reports had been encouraging: the enemy's numbers were dwindling, Arryn was mortally wounded, and their morale had broken. But then, without warning, everything changed. Corbray was dead. The guards had gone into a frenzy. Even the remnants of Redfort's company had driven themselves into the fight.

And now he was watching a miracle of war. Half-dead soldiers, tearing themselves free from the grip of an army. In his entire life he had seen such a thing only a handful of times. He could have ordered a pursuit, but he did not.

"Why are we not pursuing the bastard?! I don't understand!" Before him stood a one-armed man with wild eyes. He was one of the few surviving guardsmen of the Tolletts.

"Our rearguard is pursuing them." Judging by the blood still flowing, the man had lost the arm recently.

"I am asking, WHY ARE WE NOT USING ALL OUR STRENGTH?!" The man was beside himself with rage. Arryn had butchered Grey Glen and killed his lord. "If the Falcon's Eye escapes us, then for what purpose did Lord Uthor die?"

"The death of Axel Arryn is already decided. By all reports, Ser Lyn Corbray wounded him mortally."

"That is meaningless if we cannot return with his head!" The soldier wanted Arryn's death with every fiber of his being.

"Is it worth throwing away our soldiers needlessly for the sake of desecrating a corpse a little sooner?" Desecration was considered a base thing in Westeros, but Axel Arryn had done too much harm to these people for that to carry much weight. "You will have his body, but not today. I give you my word." The soldier settled slightly.

"Understand this. There are two kinds of commanders. When the first kind dies, the morale of their troops collapses and they stop fighting. But when the second kind dies, their soldiers resist to the last breath. Axel Arryn is without question the second kind. His men are at the height of their fury right now. They were the finest sellswords in Essos. Enrage them further and they will deal us serious damage."

"And if the report is a lie? If the Monster survives, then what?!"

"They will not be able to escape us regardless, but for now it is better to wait until their fighting spirit burns itself out."

…

Lord Axel Arryn.

Remarkable that there is no pursuit behind us. What is this, overconfidence or careful calculation? The men are spent. We need to make camp. The sun is going down.

"Make camp." At my command our battered little army came to a stop.

Without caring about anything at all, men dropped to the ground where they stood. For all the elegance of a mobile cavalry unit, the method had its drawbacks. Provisions, medicine, the making of camp, all the ordinary business of an army. These fell not to dedicated supply men but to exhausted, wounded soldiers who had no strength left for any of it.

My men, being former sellswords under my command, could provide first aid by the standards of Númenor. Stop bleeding, clean a wound, dress it. I myself stripped off my armor and sat down beneath a tree. Ten men tried to help me at once and were sent away to tend to others. One was enough for me.

Eyris looked over my wounds and grew somber. The Valyrian blade had partially cut through the left half of my ribs and caught the right side of my chest as well. A terrible wound, no arguing that. For an ordinary man it would be fatal, and only magic was keeping me from slipping into oblivion. A few minutes later everyone present was watching me as though they were already seeing me off on my final journey. Unfortunately, I have never been good at meeting other people's expectations.I only needed to... sleep...

"Eyris, you have command. Make sure no one is sent to hell tonight." Speaking was growing harder.

"I will, my lord!"

"I am counting on you. Don't let me down." ...I want to sleep... just a little sleep and everything will be fine.

"Yes, my lord." The feeling that they were burying me was hard to shake.

"Khm-khm." Blood in the lungs is a deeply unpleasant thing.

"My lord." Jasper Redfort limped over to me, wounded. "This is all my fault. Do you have any words for me?" No, they were definitely burying me.

"First, I must thank your beloved horse for opening the path, though it cost him his life." A great many horses had fallen dead from the sheer number of wounds they had taken. "Second, a great many good people died today... khm-khm... see to it that their deaths were not in vain. I hope you will take this lesson to heart and continue to grow. As for me... I need to rest..." People were shouting something, but I was already asleep.

...

Mmnh? Without even opening my eyes, I could tell that I had been undressed, moved, my wounds treated, wrapped in clothing, and that a fire had been lit nearby. Some clever soul had plastered me with a paste of healing herbs and opium poppy leaves. That settled it beyond any doubt. They had been burying me.

From opium poppy they make the famous milk of the poppy, a powerful painkiller and narcotic. In Westeros it was commonly given to the hopeless, so they could go without pain. Hurtful, but understandable. I would have slept longer, but the shouting of men woke me. Opening my eyes, I was treated to an amusing sight: soldiers were trying to chase off a bird that was attempting to land on me. It was Khamul, fighting his way through to me. I could have watched the comedy a while longer, but there was no time.

"Enough. That is my bird." At my words two soldiers went rigid and turned around slowly.

"MY LORD!!! You... you're alive?" I did not like their tone at all.

"Of course I'm alive, you fools! Get out of here before I put you on patrol." Patrol was a dreadful word to them. The hardest and most tedious duty in the Golden Company.

"Yes, my lord." Threat notwithstanding, the soldiers ran off somewhere with smiles on their faces.

"Come here." The Eagle glided smoothly down onto my arm.

There was a note from Desmond tied to his leg. The information was slightly outdated and no longer relevant in full, but it now gave us a chance to pay the Blackfish back in his own coin. A few minutes to work through the options, and the bird was sent off again with new orders. It was a risk, but the soul demands its revenge.

"Eyris!" A minute later he came running with Jasper beside him. Their faces were caught between joy and shock. Well. Apparently no one had believed in me.

"Get the men ready. We march southeast."

"But there is nothing that way except mountains. The Blackfish will pursue us, and in the mountains it will be hard to shake him."

"Exactly. That is precisely what we need."

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