Chapter 44: Impact, Impact, Impact
The earth trembled.
The first to attack were the Dornish cavalry. These light horsemen, mounted on low-built sand steeds, had just taken their positions and now trotted steadily toward the central army where the infantry stood in tight formation.
Lord Randyll Tarly watched the cavalry led by Aslan Longdel on the opposite flank. After confirming they had not charged prematurely simply because the Dornish cavalry had begun to move, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
A noble from the western borderlands beside him looked confused.
"Lord Tarly, are we not charging?"
Randyll Tarly rolled his eyes at the foolish noble who possessed more muscle than sense.
"Can you outrun Dornish light cavalry? Or would you prefer to experience being slowly picked apart by javelins and horse archers?"
It was unexpected that the young man from the east understood Dornish cavalry tactics better than many locals who had fought them for years. Tarly could not help but raise his estimation of Prince Dragonzel's retainers.
He knew the Dornish tactics well.
The sand horses of Dorne were not as tall as the heavy warhorses of the Reach or Stormlands, but they were lighter and faster. That was why the Dornish favored light cavalry. Their horses rarely wore armor, and the riders themselves preferred light equipment.
In a direct frontal charge, the heavy knights of the borderlands could overwhelm them.
But the Dornish never fought that way.
They preferred to lure knights away from the safety of their infantry formations and then use their superior mobility to pepper them with javelins and arrows. It was one of the primary methods that allowed Dornish riders to contend with the heavily armored Andal knights.
The Dornish cavalry accelerated.
With loud battle cries, riders holding spears and curved scimitars surged forward toward the infantry line.
Yet the cavalry on both flanks remained still.
"Brace spears! Brace spears!"
The central army was commanded jointly by Edric Dondarrion and Amos Fezerel. At this moment the two men moved in perfect coordination.
Edric rallied the spearmen, forming a defensive spear wall at the front.
Amos gathered every longbowman and crossbowman within the infantry ranks.
The Dornish javelins and arrows came first.
But the distance was still too great.
Most of the missiles fell harmlessly before the infantry formation.
"Fire!"
The reply came instantly.
The borderlands longbowmen loosed a dense storm of arrows.
Their bows were carefully crafted from strong yew wood, built for a single purpose—to rain death upon the enemies of their lands, as their ancestors had done for centuries.
The Dornish cavalry scattered.
The arrow rain killed only a handful of riders, but the sudden spread of their formation prevented them from breaking the three-layered spear wall of the infantry.
A few riders who had charged too quickly slammed directly into the front line.
The first rank's twenty-foot spears knocked them cleanly from their saddles.
Even the horses fared little better. Breaking several spears as they crashed forward, they were immediately impaled by the twelve-foot weapons of the second and third ranks.
Seeing this, the remaining cavalry urgently pulled back their mounts before they collided with the deadly wall.
The earth trembled again.
Of course, not all losses were on one side. A few unlucky infantrymen were pinned to the ground by stray Dornish javelins.
"Retreat."
Count Tolan ground his teeth in frustration. The Borderlands cavalry had not been lured out.
The Dornish riders had already lost their attacking formation. Continuing the charge against a vastly larger infantry force would be suicide.
Beside him rode Wylam Weel, the last surviving member of House Weel. He had been away scouting when Weel Town was burned and thus escaped the destruction.
The Dornish cavalry began to disengage, relying on their faster mounts.
"Spearmen, advance! Don't let the Dornish bastards disengage!"
Lord Edric Dondarrion instantly realized their intention.
He spurred his warhorse forward, urging the spearmen to lower their weapons and push ahead toward the withdrawing riders.
"Lord Tolan! The borderlands cavalry are moving!"
A knight of House Uller pointed urgently.
Count Tolan turned and saw a line of cavalry in shining silver armor charging forward. Behind them rode a mass of heavy knights from the borderlands.
They were already close to cutting off the Dornish retreat.
"How are they so fast?"
"They have the high ground," Wylam Weel said grimly, immediately understanding.
"Lord Tolan, we must rejoin the infantry immediately."
"I know."
The count wheeled his horse around.
But another thunderous rumble approached from the opposite direction.
"Seven Hells… damn Tarly."
The green banner of the Stout Hunter snapped in the wind.
Lord Randyll Tarly led the charge personally, Heartsbane, the Valyrian steel greatsword of House Tarly, gripped firmly in his gauntleted hands.
The knights of the western borderlands followed the proud martial traditions of the Reach. Most wore heavy plate armor and carried multiple weapons.
It was then that Count Tolan realized his fatal mistake.
By gathering his cavalry together in preparation for retreat, he had created the perfect target.
The heavy cavalry of Lord Tarly smashed into the Dornish riders like a falling hammer.
One Dornish cavalryman tried to turn and meet the charge.
The impact struck his chest with a thunderous crack.
He flew from his saddle as his shield splintered apart.
The knight who unhorsed him discarded his shattered lance, drew his longsword, and plunged into the melee.
Lord Tarly swung Heartsbane.
With a single stroke he decapitated a Dornish rider.
Another knight from House Jordayne rushed toward him with a spear.
Tarly spurred his horse forward.
The Valyrian blade flashed.
The spear was cut cleanly in half.
A heartbeat later the knight himself followed.
Hot blood slid harmlessly from the flawless steel.
At the same time, the cavalry led by Aslan Longdel completed their encirclement.
The silver-armored young knight wielded his Valyrian sword Lion King, cutting down enemy after enemy.
Dornish armor—whether gilded scale or chainmail—could not withstand even one clash against Valyrian steel.
"Retreat! Retreat!"
Count Tolan raised his spiked mace and fled southward.
Instead, he rode straight into Harlaw Selmy, the young heir of House Selmy.
The sturdy young knight raised his own spiked mace and met the attack head-on.
Their weapons collided with a heavy crash.
Count Tolan lost his balance and nearly toppled from his saddle.
Before he could recover, Harlaw's mace crashed down again.
The green dragon enamel on the old count's breastplate shattered.
Blood burst from his mouth as he fell from his horse.
"I surr—"
Before he could finish the word "surrender," a riderless warhorse slammed into him from the side.
The animal trampled him repeatedly before charging onward, dragging Harlaw's horse with it.
The young knight could only stare helplessly as his victory vanished beneath pounding hooves.
Elsewhere, Wylam Weel faced his own pursuer.
Aslan Longdel rode straight for him.
Wylam instantly recognized the deadly sword in Aslan's hand and tried to flee.
But the blade struck before he could escape.
One clean stroke.
Wylam Weel's head fell from his shoulders.
Watching his cavalry collapse, Lord Uller roared in rage, his eyes bloodshot.
The knights of House Uller glanced nervously at their lord.
Believing their heir still sane, several quietly withdrew from the battlefield, hoping to escape before things grew worse.
Then they saw something that would haunt them forever.
Vermithor descended from the sky.
Dragonfire poured down like a blazing waterfall into the Dornish ranks.
Flames swept relentlessly through the formation.
Unarmored peasants at the front screamed as they burned to ash.
Even the armored infantry behind them were not spared. Bronze and iron armor began to glow and melt under the unbearable heat.
The men inside them screamed until their voices vanished.
Lord Uller's horse ignited beneath him.
Thrown from the saddle, the mad lord tumbled directly into the burning inferno created by Vermithor.
His agonized screams echoed across the battlefield.
From another direction came Silverwing.
She unleashed her own torrent of dragonfire.
The blazing streams intersected with Vermithor's flames, forming a massive cross of fire that split the Dornish army apart.
The Dornish formation collapsed.
The two dragons wheeled overhead, raining fire again and again.
Walls of flame divided the soldiers into isolated pockets.
Screams filled the battlefield.
And through the sea of fire rode the borderlands knights, delivering the Stranger's mercy.
Lord Tarly and Aslan Longdel abandoned their pursuit of the fleeing cavalry and led their riders straight into the shattered Dornish infantry.
The morning sun slowly rose.
Light spread across the barren plain.
The fires finally died.
Only ashes and corpses remained.
The green dragon banner of House Tolan had burned to nothing.
The crossed-flame banner of House Uller hung in tatters from a broken pole.
House Weel had vanished entirely in dragonfire.
The green-checked quill banner of House Jordayne lay blackened beyond recognition.
Jacaerys Velaryon and Lucerys Velaryon sorted through the captured banners nearby.
Not far away, Vermithor and Silverwing had landed and were devouring roasted horseflesh—and occasionally human flesh.
This feast would keep the two dragons satisfied for quite some time.
"Your Highness."
Edric Dondarrion approached Prince Dragonzel, who was drinking deeply from a waterskin.
Edric held a small notebook.
"It has been confirmed. Count Tolan and Lord Uller are dead. Our army has achieved a great victory."
Joy shone clearly on his face.
His son had been avenged.
"Thank you, Lord Dondarrion."
Dragonzel nodded and rose.
"Everyone has fought well today. When we return to Dragon Nest City, I will host a grand feast. All who have rendered meritorious service will be rewarded."
"Long live Prince Dragonzel!"
A soldier holding the severed head of a Dornish rider shouted loudly.
Soon waves of cheers spread through the army.
Even the two young princes joined the cry.
"Long live Prince Dragonzel!"
Vermithor and Silverwing roared toward the sky as if celebrating the victory themselves.
The Great Sand Dunes
Morning sunlight touched the tattered banner of the Golden Spear Transfixing the Sun.
Corpses and wounded warhorses lay scattered everywhere, silent witnesses to the fierce battle fought here the previous night.
"Too bad we didn't catch that bastard Khorun," Lewyn Yronwood muttered.
Yet his expression was cheerful.
Beside him walked Tigaro, coldly surveying the battlefield.
After confirming that Count Foeller's forces had shown no unusual movements—and had even sent reinforcements toward Skyreach—Lewyn had gambled.
He set out immediately with 1,500 cavalry and reached the Great Sand Dunes before nightfall.
Unfortunately, Khorun's discipline held.
Even after the panic caused by the night raid, he managed to gather several hundred men and retreat in good order.
Lewyn failed to achieve a decisive annihilation.
Still, the army painstakingly assembled by House Martell had completely disintegrated.
After fleeing dozens of miles, Khorun could gather barely more than a thousand survivors.
The sun had fallen.
And the sky of Dorne had collapsed.
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