The sun rose, and sunlight slowly soaked into the forest. As the air warmed, the skirmish in the Kingswood came fully to an end. Only the smell of blood and the lingering flames remained to tell of the battle that had passed.
A fine victory, Gendry thought. An appetizer before the real battle.
The Stone Crows had been wiped out by Lothor Brune and Anguy, and the two of them brought back the huge head of that brute Shagga. Mounted on a long spear, Shagga's head still stared around in startled fury. The Black Ears and Moon Brothers had suffered losses, but Chella saw the situation turning against them and surrendered to Ser Guyard Morrigen, sparing them from annihilation.
All the prisoners were now gathered in the Burned Men camp. They had laid down their weapons and stood in a nervous circle, surrounded by soldiers who still reeked of killing intent. Cavalrymen on tall horses held golden banners high, their eyes openly showing their hunger for more blood. They had not had their fill yet.
The wildlings of the Black Ears, the Moon Brothers, and the Burned Men felt little grief over the destruction of the Stone Crows and Shagga. Wildlings were all unruly and quick-tempered. Aside from raiding, they rarely shared much common ground, and a single disagreement could send them at one another's throats.
Chella watched Redhand Timett take the lead and kneel. She had never expected to see the infamous one-eyed warrior surrender, and the sight truly surprised her.
"I lost!"
Timett knelt on the ground, and the Burned Men warriors followed Redhand's example. After all, those who had openly refused to bend the knee had already been killed to the last man. Redhand looked at Gendry with his one blue eye.
"You were Tyrion Lannister's pets before. Now you can choose again," Gendry said. "Become my servants, or die."
He stood before the wildlings like a towering mountain, a black Storm full of gathered strength.
"Yes," Chella, the leader of the Black Ears, said bitterly as she lowered her head. She was a small, tough woman, flat-chested as a boy, dark-skinned, and far from pretty.
The Burned Men fear nothing, Timett thought. But the gap in strength before him was as wide as heaven and the abyss. He had to face his own nightmare. He had to lose his freedom. The Burned Men had been partners with the Lion, but with the Storm, they would be master and servants.
"Timett, son of Timett, is willing to fight with the Stag, follow in the Storm's footsteps, and obey the Storm's commands," Timett said, his voice carrying shame and defeat. He had thought himself a tyrant in the Mountains of the Moon, only to learn that the world outside held even greater fighters.
The High Mountain clans were martial as well, and the plain, weighty nature of the First Men made Timett accept his loss.
"Good. Ser Lothor." Gendry motioned for Lothor to come forward.
"The Imp never taught you military discipline, but I require it from those I command," Gendry told the prisoners.
"Wanton killing, death. Robbery, death. Rape, castration or death. Theft, flogging," Ser Lothor Brune said evenly, his voice loud enough for every member of the High Mountain clans to hear. "But if you behave, you'll have your share of gold and spoils in the future."
In this age, the law was still cruel, and military law was harsher still. Severity and fairness were the two sides of an army. Every commander knew that, though few could achieve it. Gendry sought to strike that balance. He knew Randyll Tarly was a master of this style, stern and efficient.
"That's impossible. The Halfman never used to restrict us much."
"We're going back to the Mountains of the Moon! We are people of the high mountains, not people who kneel!"
A few resentful voices rang out. Even in this murderous atmosphere, a handful of stubborn wildlings still dared to speak their minds.
"Ser Guyard, use my hospitality for a moment," Gendry said to Guyard. "It seems you still need to teach them a lesson. Send them to meet the Lannisters."
These troublesome folk from the Mountains of the Moon clearly needed to be dealt with properly. Kneel, bow your heads, and be dogs, or lose your heads and die.
Guyard Morrigen nodded. Behind him, a group of broad, burly soldiers in black armor pushed into the wildlings and dragged out the two men who had just objected, as easily as slaughtering chickens.
"Puff!"
"Puff!"
The soldiers hauled the two loudest wildlings into the open. It seemed they still did not understand their situation. This was not a request for opinions. It was an order. One was a warrior of the Black Ears, and the other was from the Moon Brothers.
Guyard waved his hand, and the Stormlands soldiers stripped off their armor. Then spears drove straight through the two wildlings, the sharp points piercing their hearts and lungs, cold steel gleaming. The fire of life went out, and the wildlings collapsed limply to the ground. Bright red blood spread across the earth, seeping into dark little streams.
"Do you understand now?" Gendry asked.
"We understand."
After seeing that bloody scene, the wildlings understood their position. They could die on the battlefield, or they could die right here and now.
The red priestess began chanting the warnings of the Lord of Light. A moment ago, there had only been coercion by force. Now came a grand appeal.
"Timett, son of Timett, Chella of the Black Ears, come forward. You must beware, for the night is dark and full of terrors."
After Gendry gave his consent, Timett and Chella came to the red priestess's side.
"Look with me, Timett."
The red priestess threw a handful of powder into the fire. The great ruby at her throat drank in the flickering light. Charcoal crackled sharply, and pale flames churned above it.
Timett and Chella watched the pale flames. Flecks of ash rose upward, and sparks in the air gathered into a ring, becoming a circle of torches.
"I see it," Timett said in amazement. "You are a great fire witch, a great mother of fire."
"I see it too," Chella said.
"What do you see?" the red priestess asked.
"A pale snowfield, with shapes moving through the snow. Even with the fire here, I can still feel that cold and that shiver," Timett said, still shaken.
"What are they?" Chella asked.
"The children of the Cold God, Timett, Chella," the red priestess said. "The cold wind has already begun to blow. Soon, the never-ending Long Night will come."
"The Others?" Timett asked in terror. As a descendant of the First Men, he naturally knew the tales of the Long Night and the Others.
"Compared to the great war that is coming, the war you have joined now is no more than children squabbling. The war to come is a war for the end of the world. Only the Undecided One, the Hammer of Justice, the chosen one of destiny, can save all living things. Praise the Savior! Praise the Storm!"
The red priestess cried out among the crowd, the great ruby at her throat blazing brilliantly.
"Stormhammer, Storm. I am willing to follow you and drive back the darkness."
Timett knelt before Gendry with true conviction. The vision in the fire had been vivid and lifelike. It seemed the Long Night was no mere illusion.
"Chella is willing too."
"I am willing too!"
"I am willing too!"
The wildlings of the High Mountain clans shouted together.
These wildlings traced their origins back to the time when the Andals invaded the Vale. The First Men who refused to submit to the Andals fled into the Mountains of the Moon, where they multiplied among the woods and mountains and formed clan after clan. As descendants of the First Men, they naturally knew the stories of the Others, and the cold was something they were now experiencing for themselves.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!"
Cheers rang throughout the camp.
The soldiers of the Stormlands were half-believing and half-doubting, but if Gendry continued to win, did that not mean one of the Seven Gods, the Warrior, was blessing him? His war was like the Warrior descending to earth. The stormlanders did not understand gods and ghosts. They only knew that the victories had been exhilarating.
The red priestess's speech added yet another divine halo to Gendry. The chosen one, the Savior.
...
Flames burned on both the north and south banks of the Blackwater Rush, in the woods south of the river and near the docks on the northern shore. Black pillars of smoke rose into the sky like fingers.
"Well done, Tyrion."
Through his Myrish spyglass, Gendry saw the fires of King's Landing. Tyrion had ordered everything between the riverbank and the city walls burned, including the poor dockside district.
Those places had once held bait stores, eateries, warehouses, shops, taverns, and cheap brothels. They had been illegal structures, but they were also the lifeline of many poor people.
"He's always been a clever man," Jon said.
"If he survives, I wouldn't mind meeting him," Gendry said. Tyrion's wits had always been sharp, though he was the enemy's strategist, holding up the Lannisters in their crisis. In truth, the three of them were all outsiders. Jon and Gendry were bastards, and Tyrion was a dwarf.
"But these people will curse him even harder for this," Lothor said. He knew the temperament of the people of King's Landing all too well.
"The fire in the Kingswood is too small. He'll definitely discover our trick," Gendry said. "There's no helping it. The Stormlands army is still dragging the catapults here, and that all takes time."
The Blackwater Rush had never been so empty. There was nothing on it. Every ferry had been pulled back to the north bank, while the merchant ships had either fled or been seized by Tyrion for the battle. As far as the eye could see, the only ships left were the king's warships. They moved back and forth without pause, holding to the deep water in the middle of the river, ready to attack Gendry's approaching army.
"We'll keep exchanging letters with Bronze Yohn, and afterward we still need to transport the Vale's main army here," Gendry said. A portion of the soldiers would be enough for a feint.
Because of the wildfire, a direct assault on the city would take a great deal of time. Rather than that, it was better to besiege the city and strike its reinforcements, cutting away the enemy's effective forces.
"Isn't it supposed to be a two-front siege?" Jon asked, puzzled.
"No. It wouldn't be so bad if King's Landing were reduced to ash. I want to devour the armies that come rushing here."
The Lannisters, Varys, the Tyrells, even Lys and Volantis. King's Landing seemed to have become the heart of every vortex.
To untie the knot of King's Landing, only a swift blade could cut through the tangle.
The best way was not to step into the game, but to smash King's Landing apart.
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