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Chapter 152 - Chapter 152: The Art of War

From the following day onward, Marwyn the Mage often spoke with me, helping to break the monotony of the journey.

We crossed to the opposite bank of the Trident and began gathering our forces. The armies of the Vale and the Twins took up a strategic position at the Crossroads, where the roads divided: one—the Kingsroad—continued north, while the other, known as the High Road, turned east toward the Vale of Arryn. Our enemies had no intention of abandoning the Crossroads without a fight.

Jaime and the other commanders racked their brains trying to find a way to cut the Blackfish off from the Vale and drive him north toward the Twins. If we managed such a maneuver, the war would, for all practical purposes, be over.

The Battle of the Crossroads turned out to be fierce and lasted the entire day. A considerable reinforcement reached the Blackfish from the Bloody Gate. The enemy's combined army numbered nearly twelve thousand men. By that time we had almost twenty-five thousand—but that was, so to speak, only on paper. Two thousand remained behind to guard the Ruby Ford, and another three thousand Jaime had sent northeast with orders to slip forward as far as possible and block the High Road up to the point where it began its steep climb into the mountains.

The Blackfish deployed his forces on a rise and dug a trench. Banners fluttered in the wind, and trumpets sang.

Our infantry managed to break the enemy line, filling the trench with fascines and covering it with earth. Then our forces surged forward.

The ground trembled when the famed heavy cavalry of the West—the warriors of the Rock—charged in a flanking maneuver, striking and driving the enemy before them. That day they proved that many did not call them the strongest knights in Westeros without reason. Watching them was a true pleasure—well-fed horses fattened on oats, their riders clad in magnificent armor. Truly, they were the elite of the entire army, the best of the best.

Perhaps I was idealizing them, and perhaps a knight differed little from a common soldier except for his rich equipment—but I wanted to believe otherwise.

Ah, how beautifully they rode into battle! And near the very tip of that wedge, slightly to the right, rode my favorites—the Holy Order under the command of Ser Hasty. The wind bent their banner boldly and warlike—the standard bearing the seven-pointed star.

Three thousand horsemen smashed through the enemy line. Yet the result was not a chaotic slaughter. The Blackfish was indeed a great commander. He managed to keep a cool head and, most importantly, did not lose control of his troops. His men began to withdraw slowly while Jaime continued to press the attack.

Then, from the right, our additional forces arrived on the battlefield—the same troops who had gone to block the High Road. Brinden Tully had no choice but to retreat toward the Twins.

We had won not only the battle itself but also achieved the most important objective—cutting off the main Arryn forces and their renowned commander from the Vale.

To be honest, we were all somewhat troubled by the ease with which the Blackfish had fallen into the trap. It felt… suspicious somehow.

A few days later, apparently having received news of our victory, Dragonstone expressed its desire to lay down arms and recognize the lawful rule of King Joffrey.

It seemed the diplomatic efforts of Kevan and the other members of the Small Council had borne fruit. Life was clearly improving!

***

The road twisted and turned, yet it held its direction and led steadily north. On the left lay the Green Fork, while to the right—about a day's journey away—snow-covered peaks of the Mountains of the Moon rose on the horizon. They were relatively young mountains, not yet worn down by heavy erosion, and it seemed to me that their sharp, snow-capped summits bit into the soft underbelly of the sky like the teeth of a saw.

Chill winds constantly blew down from the mountains, and in the mornings a damp fog crept in from the river. In my opinion, the land here left much to be desired—too windy and too damp. Though knowledgeable men said it was far worse farther north in the swampy Neck. There one found heavy vapors, constant fog, malaria, and fever.

At the moment a storm raged in the mountains, and the bright flashes of distant lightning contrasted strangely with the clear, sunny day above the Green Fork.

Behind us and ahead of us, from morning until night, numerous flocks of crows circled in the sky. Yes, the feast for scavengers had been plentiful—the dead were many—and the main battle still lay ahead. The birds seemed to understand that perfectly well.

I rode in the middle of the army, and we were in no hurry. The warriors of the Twins and the Vale no longer attempted to force a serious engagement upon us. Instead, they used guerrilla tactics—slowly retreating, snapping at us from behind trees and trying to sell every hill as dearly as possible. Several times Jaime attempted to encircle them, but the Blackfish always managed to avoid complete entrapment.

We pressed them slowly, making sure they had nowhere to escape, but unnecessary losses were of no use to us either. From the North, Lord Roose Bolton was marching to our aid, and we planned to catch the enemy in a pincer near the Twins. It was unclear what the Blackfish was hoping for, but his situation looked rather bleak.

***

"Have you ever considered writing a book, Archmaester?" I asked my companion one day. We were riding side by side. I was on my beloved Snow, while he had been given a calm and gentle horse named Brook.

"A book about what, Your Majesty?"

"About your travels to the farthest corners of our world. Just imagine how interesting that would be."

"Yes, two or three people might appreciate its value. The rest of the readers would be ordinary gawkers, greedy for rumors, wonders, and all sorts of fairy tales—unable to see the true picture."

"Two or three people isn't bad either. Besides, you would make your name famous."

"Fame is vanity," the archmaester muttered, frowning. In moments like that he resembled a small, stout, and very ferocious bulldog. "Though I will think about it."

(End of Chapter)

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