Chapter 97 94

The Vale. 298 AC.

With the last breath of the famous Ser Brynden Tully, the battlefield seemed to pause. But it was only the illusion of a moment, and in the next instant a joyous roar from hundreds of men rang out across the valley. The unusual events had drawn the attention of soldiers on both sides. They stared in shock at the center of the rebel army. Within minutes, lords and knights learned the news that mattered: the Blackfish, commander of the rebel army, had been killed by Ser Jasper Redfort.

The news struck the enemy army like a hammer blow and drove a wedge of disorder through their ranks. Every man had joined the rebellion for his own reasons, pursuing his own interests above all else. With the death of the man who had bound proud lords into a single force, the army faltered. Ser Desmond Redfort seized the opening and delivered a series of brilliant counterstrokes.

That broke the rebels completely. Some chose to flee, some fought on to the last, but the majority surrendered. The Hunters distinguished themselves above all others. Lord Gilwood Hunter raised the white falcon banner in the very middle of the fighting, making clear that they had been loyal supporters of Lord Axel Arryn all along.

...

One day before the battle.

Ser Jasper Redfort.

Only four men were present at that meeting: Lord Arryn, Ser Eyris, Morgan Sand, the commander of the household guard serving as his deputy, and myself. Casting aside formality and rank, we sat on the ground and talked through the plan for the coming battle. Each of us carried wounds of varying severity that imposed their own limitations. The Falcon's Eye had suffered worst of all, thanks to that damned Corbray. The bastard had dealt my lord Arryn a grievous wound, and it was only by the grace of the gods that my lord still drew breath.

"Even though we have gone into hiding, we are not hard to find. They will spend half a day tracking us at most, and another half closing the trap. In the end we are left alone against the entire rebel army, with doubtful prospects of getting out."

"Then what are we hoping for?" The Dornishman asked a reasonable question.

"The arrival of Desmond Redfort." That did not add up. Too fast. "He is using wagons and rotation." That meant nothing to me yet.

"Even so," Eyris objected, "we have never used that tactic over such long distances. Even if they make it in time, they will be exhausted. They will simply be cut apart." Apparently the tactic had a flaw.

"No. The terrain and the element of surprise will tip the scales in our favor. That will allow the army to hold for a short to moderate length of engagement." It made sense, but everything still rested on Ser Desmond's skill. "The Blackfish deploys his forces in a predictable pattern. There are roughly three lines. The first is the fodder, the peasants, expendable. The second is the veterans, the real strength that decides the battle's outcome. The third is everyone who would be cut to pieces in close combat: archers, crossbowmen, engineers, the support troops. He himself will sit between the second and third lines. Since our attack will come from the rear, a slaughter will begin at once. Brynden will be forced to commit his veterans to meet it. In the end, only the peasants will stand between us and the enemy head."

"Why are you certain the Blackfish will act according to the pattern?" Unlike the others, he was still growing accustomed to Lord Axel's tactical thinking and had no hesitation about asking questions.

"Why would he bother improvising against a hundred men?" Fair enough.

"Brynden has bodyguards. Three hundred of them. They will not let us reach their lord."

"True, and that is why we will make the guardsmen leave Brynden's side." The Falcon's Eye smiled without warmth. "Dangle a carrot in front of a mule and he will run straight for it. We will make a grand show of fighting our way toward the Blackfish, and he will send his guards after my head. He will be confident in the outcome, and a small trick with the banners will dispel any remaining concern. Brynden will fix his attention on the battle against Desmond's army. That is when you enter the game, Jasper." I was surprised. I had thought that after my failures I had forfeited any standing with my lord.

"Jasper, your strength is not far beneath mine. Your task is to take the most capable men we have and kill Brynden Tully." Why was he trusting me with the most critical task? "I am counting on you. If you do not manage it in time, we will all be cut down."

"I swear I will not fail you!" And in my heart I made a second, different oath.

...

I kept my oath. Standing over the body of the famous commander, I felt a euphoria unlike anything I had known before, the feeling of a duty fulfilled.

I had spent a long time asking myself when I had turned into a foolish, arrogant man. I had even gone to Axel Arryn with that question. He had not answered me, only told me to sort out my own life. It was not what I had expected, but I took the Falcon's Eye's advice to heart all the same. And that was how I found the answer: narrow-mindedness.

I am the heir of one of the strongest houses of the Vale. From childhood I had everything that matters in war: teachers, soldiers, equipment, horses, information. But I had lacked one simple thing. An equal, or a superior opponent. My enemies had been mountain clansmen, bandits, and deserters from the forces of other lords. Without even troubling myself with tactics, relying on strength alone, I had beaten them easily. What can low-grade fighting fodder do against the elite soldiers of Redfort? Nothing. And that convinced me of my own exceptionalism. That any problem could be solved by brute force.

And as though the gods were mocking me, the very moment I met a superior adversary, I walked straight into a losing situation. Corbray showed me that strength is nothing against strategy. Death had never frightened me. I grew up among soldiers and knew what it was. There was only a deep regret that the men who had trusted me, a fool, would go down alongside me. I had held no hope for Lord Arryn. He was a seasoned commander, and I had been used as bait to draw him in. He would not put his head in a noose.

And yet, against every measure of common sense, Arryn led a small company against an army. It was suicide, but the Falcon's Eye managed to break through the enemy lines and strike down Lyn Corbray all the same. Hope ignited in my heart, and for a moment I forgot entirely about the trap. The Blackfish's army had sealed off every road of retreat. The enemy outnumbered his force ten to one, his soldiers were worn to nothing, and still they attacked. In that moment I had a choice: stay where I was, surrender, and preserve the lives of my men, or support Lord Arryn and throw myself into that desperate assault alongside him. If I abandoned the man who had come to pull me out of a trap, then every conviction I held was as hollow as my strength.

We broke free of the snare. I saw Lord Arryn's wound, and I thought him a dead man. I wanted to fix the image of the man I owed my life to in my memory. His words moved me then. He did not blame me for his misfortune. He only wished me to become better. But what struck me most deeply was the trust he showed me in that final battle. He gave me the central role, the one on which the outcome of the war hinged.

After everything that had happened, the famous Lord Axel Arryn placed his trust in me at the very moment I had lost faith in myself. The Falcon's Eye is a man I would follow into the deepest hell.

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