A horn sounded.
The first wave of siege troops began their advance.
At the front were shield-bearers holding massive tower shields to block the arrows falling from the walls. Behind them came archers, bending bows and loosing arrows into the city. Behind the archers stood infantry with ladders, and four siege towers that had been prepared for a long time, slowly moving forward.
On the walls, Lord Staunton's defenders were ready.
"Loose arrows!"
At the command, a hail of arrows fell upon the wall.
Shield-bearers advancing forward were struck and fell, but the men behind immediately took their places.
Ladders were raised against the walls, and soldiers desperately clamped knives between their teeth and climbed upward.
Stones crashed down.
Hot oil was poured.
Screams came and went.
A soldier had barely climbed halfway when a stone struck his head, and he fell backward, knocking down three men below.
Another soldier had just poked his head up when a pot of hot oil covered him and poured down; he fell screaming from the ladder, his face a mass of turned flesh.
But the Greens had too many soldiers.
The first wave withdrew, and the second immediately replenished them.
The siege towers finally reached the walls. The tower gates opened, and soldiers rushed onto the walls, engaging the defenders in hand-to-hand combat.
Swords flashed, flesh and blood flew.
A Green soldier had barely jumped onto the wall when he was run through by three spears simultaneously, falling with a cry.
A defender had his arm cut off, yet still, eyes bloodshot, he grabbed an enemy by the neck with his other hand, and they both tumbled down the wall.
The walls were piled with corpses, blood streaming down the stones.
"Hold! Hold!" Lord Staunton personally climbed to the top of the wall, swinging his sword to cut down an enemy who had climbed up. "Reinforcements are coming soon!"
His voice drowned in the din of battle.
Another ladder was raised. Another wave of enemies climbed the wall.
The defenders gradually began to falter.
At that moment, a deafening dragon's roar sounded in the distance.
Everyone looked up at once.
In the western sky, a crimson shadow pierced through the clouds.
Growing larger and larger.
Faster and faster.
Meleys.
The Red Queen.
"It's the Blacks' dragon!"
No one knew who shouted first, but the sound was like a knife thrust into a hornet's nest. The entire Green army erupted in an instant. Soldiers looked up at the sky; some cried out, some stepped back.
Galwyn's face went pale.
The Blacks' dragonrider was coming.
What of the prince? What of the prince's dragons?
He snapped his gaze upward, scanning the sky.
Vhagar and Lothron were not there. They had left long ago. Had they returned to King's Landing, or gone somewhere else? He did not know.
He only knew that the crimson dragon in the sky was now racing toward them.
"Archers, ready!" he roared.
It was useless. Everyone knew it was useless. But he prayed that they might shoot the dragonrider.
Dragons are not brought down by arrows.
Meleys was so fast that by the time the soldiers raised their bows, she was already overhead. Crimson wings blotted out the sun, casting a vast shadow upon the ground.
Dragonfire poured down.
Not a stream—a waterfall, a flood. Wherever it passed, soldiers turned to torches, warhorses to cinders, the golden-dragon-on-black banners to ash.
Screams, wails, and the crackle of burning mingled together, making it impossible to tell whether man or beast was howling.
Phalanxes were struck head-on by dragonfire and collapsed instantly. Soldiers threw down their weapons and fled, but their legs could not outrun the dragon's wings; the flames chased them, licking them one by one into black charcoal.
"Stand firm! Stand firm! Break formation! Disperse!" Galwyn rode his horse through the ranks, but his voice was drowned by the screaming.
Another phalanx was struck. Another sea of fire. The cavalry between two phalanxes was caught in dragonfire; warhorses panicked and stampeded, making the formation even more chaotic.
"My lord!" William's face was blackened with smoke, his voice trembling. "Where is the prince? He must come..."
Galwyn gritted his teeth and looked at the forest behind them.
There, the army of boys was retreating in an orderly fashion.
"First retreat into the forest!"
Retreat? They had been marching for only two hours. Some of the vanguard had already climbed the walls to fight. Now, if they fled, the dragon would only hunt them down.
You cannot retreat...
Another dragon's roar sounded from the other side.
Galwyn's head snapped up.
In the eastern sky, another dragon was descending.
Blood-red.
Caraxes.
The Blood Wyrm.
"It's over..."
He did not know who muttered it.
Two dragons. Two dragonriders. They had only two legs. How could they run?
The army completely collapsed. Soldiers ran about like headless flies, trampling and shoving one another.
Caraxes dove from the east, dragonfire sweeping past the fleeing crowd, leaving a trail of charred corpses. Meleys returned from the west, and another sea of fire began.
The two dragonriders circled in the air like hunting eagles, chasing rabbits scurrying across the ground.
The Green army no longer existed. Instead, there was a blazing hell, smoke billowing and darkening the sky.
Galwyn was escorted by his personal guard, looking back as they retreated.
Five thousand men. At least five hundred had been burned by dragonfire, and over a thousand had collapsed and fled.
A horse galloped up from the side, the rider shouting, "Lord Galwyn! The prince has given the order—the entire army is to retreat immediately!"
It was Hal, commander of the Boys' Army.
Galwyn roared in fury. "What do you mean? Where is Aemond?!"
Hal's face was cold. "The prince has already given his orders. You need only retreat. If you delay and this battle is lost, the responsibility falls on you."
Hearing this, Galwyn trembled with rage.
He thought Aemond was afraid of Daemon and Rhaenys together and dared not fight.
"Retreat!" He gritted his teeth. "The entire army retreats!"
As the words left his mouth, another blast of dragonfire fell from the sky. His personal guard desperately yanked his horse's reins and galloped toward the forest.
At that moment, at the edge of the sky, a golden light broke through the clouds.
Sunfyre.
The golden dragon emerged from the clouds, his wings glittering in the sun. On Sunfyre's back sat a man, his silver armor gleaming.
Aegon the Second.
"It's His Grace! His Grace is here! Long live His Grace!"
The soldiers fleeing toward the forest stopped and looked up at the sky. In their eyes, despair turned to hope.
Galwyn reined in his horse and looked at the golden shadow.
His Grace was here.
But... where was Prince Aemond? Where was he?
Hal also saw the golden dragon, and his face grew extremely ugly.
He knew the truth: Prince Aemond was not at Rook's Rest at all. Lothron had been circling for a long time to draw the Blacks' attention. By now, the prince should be nearly at Dragonstone.
But why was His Grace here? Why was he here?!