My Audio Books Chapter 880 Ggg

FanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 20

AN: I should mention that I really do appreciate all the reviews. It's too bad that the system here doesn't really allow for much direct author-reader interaction. Also, something something something ice zombie dragons.

ooOoo

I stood at the entrance to our training camp just off the Braavosi coast. Next to me was Walder Frey. Arranged behind us were twelve sergeants pulled from our existing legion. They were to serve as a leg up for Walder, who would be taking the lead in training the new cohort of troops. I wanted to build a machine for creating soldiers, after all, and it wasn't much of a machine if it took my personal attention to keep everything running smoothly.

Walder wasn't completely on board with the plan.

"Are you sure you can't do the introduction speech, at least? It's important to get off on the right foot."

I shook my head. "That's exactly why I want you to handle it."

At some point I would need Walder to be able to handle the entire training process on his own. I was here to catch him if he stumbled but I couldn't carry him through the tough bits. If I did, how would he build the confidence to take care of them himself when I wasn't around? It was rough for him right now but ultimately he'd look back on this as a valuable opportunity to build character. Probably.

"It's just, I'm not much for speeches, so-"

I interrupted by clasping him on the shoulder. "And what better way to learn than through experience?"

He sighed and looked down at his feet. I could tell that he wasn't trying to be difficult. Walder just had a very strong dislike for being the center of attention. It was no doubt a personality trait that had served him well as a child in the Frey family and it had led him to develop some truly useful skills when it came to gathering information. However, he couldn't let his fears rule his life. Or rather, I couldn't let his fears limit his usefulness to me.

I wasn't doing all of this just to fuck with him. Walder was proving quite adept at information gathering, and as his network grew it would become less and less practical for him to manage things from wherever he happened to be in the field. He would need to be stationed in one place. Managing the training of new recruits would keep him an active participant in the legion's business without compromising his ability to run his network. It would kill two birds with one stone.

If, of course, he could get past his phobia and do the job.

I walked around until I was standing in front of Walder, now resting one hand on each shoulder. I kept my gaze on the top of his helmet and waited patiently. Eventually he lifted his head and his eyes met mine. I waited another beat so that he could tell that I was serious before I spoke.

"Walder, you've been to places these kids have only heard about in stories. You're a veteran of war in the disputed lands," I said. "The new recruits are going to look up to you and they're going to look to you for guidance. You don't need to be anything you're not. You just need to be confident in being yourself."

Walder drew himself up a little taller and some of the nervousness fell from his face. "I... thanks, captain."

I nodded and returned to my place standing next to him, waiting for the recruits to arrive. The silence felt a little more comfortable, now.

In the end, Walder got through the induction speech without a hitch. He might not quite have matched the natural flair and showmanship of the old Blackfish-in my completely unbiased opinion-but he turned in a completely serviceable performance. The new recruits hung on his every word, as expected. The rank and file were probably acting out of ingrained social norms as much as anything else, but the twelve young nobles who would be the new commanding officers were all focused on Walder personally. He was everything they aspired to be, after all: a veteran fresh from leading men in victorious battles on the disputed lands, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Blackfish.

I gave a very brief statement after he wrapped things up before we turned the veteran sergeants loose on the new recruits. The first day, as we'd done before, was split between introducing the new recruits to the concept of mass discipline, following orders as a cohesive body, and starting in on their physical conditioning. It retained a certain tragi-comic feel, although more comic than tragic now that I had already seen troops progress from this bumbling first day mess into a fearsome and well-coordinated fighting force.

I stuck around for the first month of training. I didn't say much. I hardly spoke to the men at all, in fact. I made myself available in case Walder felt like he needed advice, which didn't happen often after the first week. I also ate meals with the officers. Even there I let Walder take the lead. If I dominated things he would be one of thirteen junior officers. By taking a step back I hoped to emphasize the fact that he was their leader.

Westerosi nobles were quite familiar with the concept of the chain of command. It was built into their basic social structure. In transforming them into productive members of the Sunset Legion I felt we needed to replace society's chain of command with the chain of command I had set up for the legion. I did everything I could both formally and informally to reinforce the ranks established by the legion.

I may have been overthinking the problem, but if the new officers took it into their mind that they could boss Walder around because their families had a more illustrious lineage than the Freys the results could be disastrous. Better to nip those kinds of ideas in the bud by putting out the message in as many ways that I knew how that doing such a thing would draw the unforgiving wrath of the Blackfish. Sometimes an ounce of prevention really was worth a pound of cure.

A month into the training everything was going well and I packed my bags to head back out to the legion's camp in the disputed lands. I felt bad about having been away for several months and it just felt like a bad idea to be away for nearly a year in total as I would be if I stuck around until training was complete. I gave Walder one last pep talk before I was on my way.

Say one thing about working with the Iron Bank, say it isn't cheap. But sailing from place to place on Braavosi ships makes for a lot of uneventful trips.

ooOoo

I arrived back at the camp to find that contrary to all of the rules of dramatic convention nothing of note had happened while I was gone. Everything seemed to be in order as I gave things a visual inspection although I withheld my final judgment until I had a chance to talk with my second in command. I invited Rodrik and Petyr both to my command tent for dinner and debriefing.

My primary concern was morale. I didn't expect that an army riding high on recent victories and receiving regular pay would mutiny, but keeping a large bunch of young men cooped up in one place for an extended period of time was a recipe for rowdiness, to say the least.

"Morale has been good," Rodrik said. "We've worked them very hard on marching and drill. Their physical conditioning is the best I've ever seen it and I think we could use some of the more advanced maneuvers in combat now."

That was something. When we had graduated the men they had been able to, for example, march straight forward, stop, turn ninety degrees left or right as a coordinated unit, and march off in the new direction. However, it was the kind of thing that could go catastrophically wrong if just a few people screwed up so I had semi-officially stricken the command from the list of things we would ever actually ask the men to do in combat. I'd have to verify for myself what Rodrik was saying, but if he was correct then that was very good news.

"They're not pissing and moaning about all the work?"

"There's some grumbling, sure," Rodrik said, "but nothing serious. They get three square meals a day and..."

He gestured vaguely towards one wall of the tent. I followed where he was pointing, then called up a mental map of the camp. When I put two and two together I burst out laughing.

"Whores," I said, once I had calmed down, "you can say the word. I'm not a septon."

Rodrik blushed as Petyr enjoyed a friendly laugh at his expense. Petyr patted him on the shoulder before speaking up.

"The whores have been keeping the men's spirits up," he said, pausing as it was his turn to flush when Rodrick snickered. "And nobody's come down with the pox. I've made it clear to everyone involved that trying to evade our health inspections will have severe consequences."

"Good," I said, prompting a slightly startled reaction from Rodrick. "Oh, come off it. I was a young man once, I know what young men are like. Which reminds me, have we had any troubles with drinking?"

Rodrick shook his head and paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "No. A few men have been buying and selling wine rations, but I've only stepped in to discipline them when the drinking affects their performance."

I nodded. Ideally you wouldn't want your soldiers to be intoxicated in a combat zone but in reality a medieval armed camp was no place for persnickety micro-management. As long as discipline was maintained where it mattered I didn't see any need to try to stamp out every little vice. Whoring, drinking, and...

"What about gambling?"

Petyr flinched slightly before recovering his poise and shaking his head. "Some card games and some dice games, but nothing serious."

"Cards and dice... you're sure that's all?"

I wasn't going to insult Petyr by reminding him of my feelings about decisions that were owned up to and decisions that I had to ferret out myself. I let the warning note in my tone of voice serve as a reminder. Petyr held strong for a moment, then sighed.

"I've also been running a few numbers games to keep the men occupied."

"All right," I said, running my fingers through my hair, "what's the vigorish?"

Both Petyr and Rodrick were staring at me like I was speaking in tongues. It took a moment's reflection to figure out why. Usually I spoke Westerosi as if it were English, Brynden's familiarity with the language letting me speak it as if it were my native tongue. When I hit a term that either didn't exist or that Brynden didn't know, though, apparently the English term came through unfiltered.

Well, I couldn't take it back now. Might as well bull through.

"The vig?" I asked, then sighed. "What percentage of the money wagered are you keeping for yourself?"

Petyr nodded, filing away the new vocabulary word before speaking. "I'd need a slate to work it out exactly. They wager a penny and pick three numbers from one through seven. I draw three numbers from a bag and anybody who matches gets two hundred and fifty pennies."

"You put the balls back after you draw them? And the order has to match?"

Petyr nodded. He looked a little nervous, now. Rodrik was obviously glad that he wasn't going through an interrogation but he was smart enough to know that as the man in command he was ultimately responsible for whatever happened on his watch. I let them stew for a bit while I thought about what I wanted to say.

"I understand that we're leading an army of men. Not saints. I'm not trying to turn them into saints. Like I said before, I'm no septon," I said. "If the men want to spend their money on whores, wine, and gambling, that's their decision. And if we're providing those services to them there's nothing wrong with getting paid for it."

A flash of relief crossed Petyr's face, but he was wise enough to know that another shoe could well be about to drop. He did his best to remain stoic.

"What I will not have is my men being swindled by the officers who are supposed to be their leaders. Seriously overcharging for wine and whores is a swindle. Crooked payouts are a swindle," I continued. "Not only is it wrong, it's also foolish to cheat men who you will be trusting with your lives out on the battlefield."

I paused, then drew myself up straight and assumed the pose I usually reserved for making public proclamations.

"Officially, any man tempted by gambling, promiscuity, or drunkenness should pray to the Seven for guidance," I said. "Unofficially, bump the payout to whatever round number puts the vig a little over ten percent, and try not to let anybody gamble away all their money."

Sometimes being a noble in Westeros felt like playing a part in a production of Shakespeare. Other times it felt more like being a mob boss.

ooOooFanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 22

AN: I do appreciate all the reviews. Thank you for letting me know what you liked.

ooOoo

A horse that is asked to charge a line of spears will balk. The horse knows deep in its bones that to continue onward is suicide, and even the greatest rider will rarely be able to convince his mount to commit suicide. It is this tendency that the Sunset Legion exploited to survive cavalry charges. By presenting a formidable hedge of spears capable of killing horses the attackers were fended off without much physical force being applied to them at all. Humans could see just as well as horses, which is why the first clash of arms rang out between their wings and our skirmishers.

Men, though, had a much greater capacity for self-deception than do horses. Where a horse looks at a forest of spearheads and sees certain death a man can look at the same thing and think: "if we all attack that formation somebody will survive; why shouldn't that be me?" Sellswords tend to be the kind of people who look at the world that way and veteran sellswords have taken those kind of risks and survived. So the mere threat of force wasn't going to be enough today. While the enemy center may have hesitated in the face of our opposition it ultimately pressed forward and engaged us in battle.

Life isn't fair. As far as I could tell, the enemy forces were quite skilled. Some might say you can't really take a man's measure until you've fought him yourself. From my vantage point, though, mounted on a horse walking behind our middle column, I could see our enemy well enough. They charged like veteran troops, held their weapons like veteran troops, and it seemed reasonable enough to suppose that they would use them like veteran troops. If they were dropped into a series of one on one duels against my men they would probably win well more than half. Of course, the point of the pike block is that they didn't get to engage in one-on-one fights. As they tried to reach the man standing in front of the formation, he and his four buddies were all able to try to fend them off. Like I said, life isn't fair.

The sound of the legion fighting stood out. The skirmishers in the general melee struck each other with ringing blows that blended together like the sound of a hundred smiths hammering away at a hundred forges. The legionnaires, on the other hand, attacked with short, sharp thrusts of their spears that landed with dull thuds that only differed mildly in tone whether the strike hit armor or flesh. The overall effect was of a heavy rain on a tin roof, occasionally punctuated with the screams of wounded men.

The first few attackers to reach our formation were knocked to the ground in short order. Even when their armor held they were still essentially being pushed to the ground by three, four, or five people. More men arrived at the same time in the next group, spreading the legionnaires' efforts out. The legion ground to a halt, pushing against an opponent that was pushing back with everything they had. The second column engaged the enemy, pushing them back a few paces before resistance stiffened once more. After a few timeless moments the sheer weight of concentrated force began to tell and our enemies broke contact, moving backwards as the legion continued to move forward.

The enemy infantry managed to regroup and mount another push. I didn't see many of my men going down but the renewed effort slowed the legion's advance to a crawl. Though I was confident that we would be able to push through I still found it frustrating that there wasn't much I could do personally to tip the balance. The very nature of the legion's organization that made it so effective also deprived me of the opportunity for heroic leadership of the type that made Robert Baratheon such a nightmare on the battlefield. Of course, I was no Robert Baratheon. I knew intellectually that my legion was fighting more effectively than any levy Brynden Tully had ever led, but I still felt the itch to do something.

Not that I could do much. It was still too early to commit our reserves fully into the fight. Our cavalry wasn't even under my control, being under the command of the Tattered Prince. I trusted his judgment and I was happy to have avoided the logistical hassle of running a group of mercenary horsemen, but the control freak part of me wished that I had more control over this battle. As it was for the moment I was limited to cheering on the men and watching for any major new developments.

As though summoned by my thoughts, the rolling rumble of massed cavalry on the move reached my ears. Looking up from the struggling foot troops, I saw that the Long Lances were making their move. A small portion of their forces had broken off and moved to our right while the overwhelming majority of them were charging the left side of our formation, heading towards where our cavalry were positioned out past the edge of the skirmishers in melee. The smaller force looked to be content to keep the Tattered Prince's men from swooping in and attacking from the flank. The larger group had larger ambitions.

The Long Lances hardly slowed down as they reached the Windblown cavalry. The Windblown were for the most part raiders and skirmishers. They could hardly be expected to hold up in the face of a heavy cavalry charge and most of them simply melted out of the way rather than even try to hold their ground. They did form up in fairly good order once the charging cavalry had gone by, but that was cold comfort to us.

Once past the cavalry screen, the Long Lances wheeled about and charged directly at the Sunset Legion. They ignored both the opportunity to continue on and loot our undefended camp and the chance to blindside skirmishers caught up in melee. Executing such a maneuver on short notice spoke well of their discipline and professionalism. Of course, while it was an impressive sight to see, I personally would have preferred to be facing a less competent enemy.

The Long Lances were threatening to smash right through our reserve column and no doubt intended to attack the bulk of the legion from behind while they were still preoccupied with the stiff resistance from the enemy heavy infantry. If they could keep our reserve out of action while putting everybody else to flight then this battle could go very badly, very quickly.

Fortunately, the Sunset Legion was by its nature well equipped to deal with this sort of threat. I had dispatched a messenger to the reserve column as soon as the Long Lances began their charge. As they approached within a hundred feet of the column a bugle call rang out and my orders were executed. What had been a mass of men pushing forward, on the verge of engaging with the enemy, transformed into an enormous pincushion. All around the edges of the formation men braced their pikes facing outward, while the men behind them stood ready to engage anybody who tried to breach the outer wall.

Just as they had during their attempted roadside ambush, the Lancers pulled up short rather than impale their horses on our pikes. They milled around for a bit, obviously unhappy both at having their charge blunted and at now being subject to harassing crossbow fire. One of them got the bright idea of riding along parallel to the braced pikes, trying to knock them out of the way with his saber. His fellows who tried to take advantage of the "openings" thus created didn't get far as they encountered the second and third line of pikes, often with lethal results.

As for the man trying to disrupt the front line, he came to a halt as his horse pulled up lame. I couldn't see from my vantage point whether the horse had been stabbed, hit with a crossbow bolt, or just pulled a muscle at a very inopportune time. I did see one of our crossbowmen run out from between the spears of his comrades before vaulting onto the horse, landing astride it behind the Long Lancer. The rider twisted around but couldn't bring his saber to bear, as our man had managed to tangle their right arms. The crossbowman had somehow drawn his dagger with his left hand and as I watched he reached forward before yanking his arm back, impaling the other man through his visor. He struck home once, twice, then a third time as horse and men all came crashing to the ground together.

It was at about that time that the Windblown cavalry made themselves known. They had gathered themselves and then circled around so that they were approaching from our rear. While they couldn't resist the Long Lances, they did present a threat when momentum was on their side. The Long Lances, somewhat disorganized, their charge a failure, and now facing attacks from their front, rear, and side, made the logical decision: they sounded the retreat.

As the Lancers pulled back there was a great cry from the men of the Sunset Legion and our attacking columns surged forward. I turned my attention back to the infantry battle to see that the Lancers' retreat had been the last straw that broke our enemies' morale. They were retreating. In fairly good order, but still, retreating.

I took a moment to get our reserve column back in order before beginning our pursuit. I was gratified to see the men following my standing orders and advancing at a regular pace. Our job in the pursuit was not to try to run down the enemy. Rather, our job was to keep pressure on them and prevent them from making any kind of stand or organized resistance that would keep our friendly cavalry from picking them off.

Between the enemy army's competence and the relatively late start to the battle, darkness fell before the retreat could turn into a rout. Still, we had started the day facing a larger army tucked away in a fortified camp and we ended the day with the camp under our control and the enemy on the run. Not a bad day's work.

ooOoo

It wasn't the complete scattering of the opposing forces that we had managed last time, but our enemies did seem to have lost all appetite for battle with us, at least for the moment. We marched on to the next city. Each day we saw the signs of the enemy army having marched before us, and each day we saw no sign of the army itself. We were able to set up our "siege" without any further opposition, although we did remain on alert in case they regrouped and attempted to drive us back.

As it happened, the next group of riders to appear over the horizon were not enemy soldiers, but rather an escort for our primary contact from Tyrosh. He made a beeline for the center of our camp and soon was ensconced in the command tent together with the Tattered Prince and myself.

Our contact was dressed in the typical fashion of the wealthy classes of Tyrosh. Bright red and yellow clothing that cheerfully clashed with the bright green of his beard, which had not only been dyed but also tied off into three oiled points. I always faced a bit of an internal conflict when dealing with Tyroshi: Brynden's memories told me I was facing an exotic and wealthy man who deserved to be taken seriously, while my own instincts were screaming "tryhard hipster." I mostly dealt with it by staying quiet and maintaining a decent poker face, which struck me as a good habit for a sellsword captain to cultivate in any event.

Today our contact was in high spirits that were hardly dimmed by my stoicism or the Tattered Prince's reserved cordiality. He was practically rubbing his hands together as he started the meeting.

"I'm happy to be the one to tell you that we have arrived at a very favorable settlement."

I blinked. We'd had a good run of battles lately, but it was a little hard to believe that we had settled matters in the Disputed Lands so easily. They had earned their name for a reason, after all.

"Just like that?" the Tattered Prince asked, echoing my thoughts.

"Yes," the Tyroshi said, then caught himself. "It is, ah, more in the nature of a cease fire than a treaty. Myr was willing to pay quite a handsome sum for us to call you two off for a few years."

That made more sense. Something similar probably happened any time one of the three combatants looked to be at risk of truly winning or losing their eternal war. The risk of destabilizing the entire area must outweigh the gains of pushing for complete victory for whoever held the upper hand. Having entertained some idle thoughts of the difficulty of truly sieging something on the scale of a Free City, I couldn't say I was unhappy with a negotiated settlement that avoided the problem altogether.

"We're to be called off, then?"

The Tattered Prince didn't sound entirely pleased. It took me a moment to figure out why. I had gotten sucked in to thinking of how best to win the war. He had stayed focused on the bottom line. Literally. If the war was over, then we wouldn't be paid for fighting in it.

While I had been following that train of thought to its conclusion our Tyroshi friend had not only anticipated the thought but also the solution.

"We will be paying out the rest of your contract terms, of course. As well as a bonus of several months' pay," he said, smiling. "As I said, it is a very favorable settlement."

That was a nice little boost to the bottom line. Making payroll would be easy for the next little while. Keeping two thousand now blooded warriors out of trouble while the Sunset Legion stood idle? That could be a different story.

ooOooFanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 23

AN: Look for bi-weekly updates from now on. Also, enjoy the temporary POV change.

ooOoo

The halls of Highgarden provided a suitable setting for a royal court, perhaps even moreso than the Red Keep. The Reach was a wealthy land, and over the years its rulers had poured their wealth into their primary holding. Sumptuous wood paneling lined the walls, mosaics of exotic tiles decorated the floors, and artwork was visible everywhere that it could feasibly be put on display. All of that was just in the public hallways. Every inch of the castle spoke of a life of luxury and ease.

The Red Keep, by contrast, spoke largely of the raw power of a man who had created a kingdom out of a continent. When he was feeling whimsical Jon Arryn often thought that Highgarden was a display of what people wished ruling to be like, while the Red Keep showed the ugly reality.

"Gods, I thought Cersei was exaggerating when she said the Red Keep looked like shit," Robert said. "Jon, could you see about making that place look more like this?"

The two of them were walking to the meeting of the small council, accompanied by a pair of members of the Kingsguard. Jon had found over the last few years, though, that idle conversation with King Robert could all too easily lead to the assignment of an obnoxiously time-consuming task. While getting out of King's Landing had done wonders for Robert's spirits, being on the road had provided him with a plethora of new ideas for spending money. Usually it was idle talk that Jon felt safe enough ignoring, but this comment seemed direct enough to require a response.

"Is there anything in particular that you're looking for?"

Robert waved his hand vaguely.

"Just make it... what was the word she used, tasteful. I want the most tasteful fucking castle in Westeros. Spend whatever you like. We might as well put the gold in the treasury to work."

Jon nodded. Robert's belief that the treasury contained a bottomless fountain of gold was frustrating, but he had found it was pointless to confront him directly. Instead Jon would task a subordinate with writing up a report on the costs of renovating the Red Keep and sit on it. If Robert never asked about it again that would be the end of the matter; if he did bring it up, they could have the conversation about money and trade offs then, based on concrete numbers.

Jon pushed the matter to the back of his mind and squared his shoulders as Robert threw open the door to the meeting room. The small council was made up of the most influential men in the realm. It wouldn't do to approach them with anything less than his full attention.

They were meeting in the aptly named Map Room. The walls were decorated with beautifully illuminated maps of each of the Seven Kingdoms along with a rather speculative map of Essos. The room, like the rest of the castle, was richly appointed. The round table that dominated the center of the room had been polished until it shined, making the embossed map of the Reach almost seem to hover over the tabletop. Around the table sat-stood, now-the members of the small council and Mace Tyrell.

Inviting the local lord to sit in on the council's deliberations was intended to ease some of the sting of the cost of hosting the royal court. The council would enjoy the benefit of hearing about local conditions from the person in the best position to know about them. It was even possible that the fresh voices would add insight to the council's deliberations, although Jon didn't nurture high hopes for Mace. The man was competent enough at running his demesne but he had never been mistaken for an incisive intellect.

While Jon had been surveying the room Robert had made a beeline for their guest. The Lord of the Reach first winced as Robert engulfed his hand for a firm handshake, then flinched as he was pulled forward and subjected to a few hearty slaps on the back.

"Mace! I was looking for you all morning, you slippery devil. Come meet me in the practice yard tomorrow. I can't have my Warden of the South going soft on me!"

Robert laughed boisterously at his own remark. Jon could see Mace trying to parse Robert's words for hidden meanings. The Tyrells had been particularly worried about losing their title as Wardens of the South after finding themselves on the losing side of the rebellion. Robert's words could be taken as a reassurance of Mace's position. Or he could be implying that Mace was unfit for the job. Or there could be any number of subtler messages.

Jon had the advantage of having known Robert since childhood and knew there was a much simpler explanation. Robert wanted closer ties with the Lord Paramount of the Reach. Robert had become fast friends with Ned Stark through many mornings spent beating the hell out of each other on the training fields. Therefore, Robert was going to drag Mace out for morning training until they became friends.

Jon hadn't entirely let go of his own irritation at Mace's decision to support the Mad King, so he didn't feel any need to explain the situation. Mace would figure it out eventually. In the mean time, Robert had transferred his attention to his Master of Ships.

"Stannis! Did Jon drag you all the way out here? I told him you could handle your business without anybody looking over your shoulder."

Robert's disdain for meetings and paperwork was already becoming legendary. He seemed to believe that everybody else felt the same way and so, in an effort to be a generous monarch, often excused members of the small council from attending meetings when he didn't feel their presence was necessary. That inevitably sparked fears in the recipient of Robert's largesse that they were being shuffled out of the halls of power and, soon thereafter, a meeting with Jon where they explained some urgent new matter that they really did need to discuss at the next meeting.

In this case, though, Stannis was present at Jon's request, so Jon took it upon himself to clarify matters.

"Actually, your grace, there is new business that I believe will benefit from your brother's advice."

"Oh? What's that?" Robert asked.

"I have been approached by a representative of Tyrosh. They are prepared to participate in a joint naval action to clean out the Stepstones."

That got Robert's attention. The newly minted king seemed to take the existence of bandits and pirates as a personal affront. The royal party's trip to Highgarden had been extended by several months due to Robert's penchant for hunting down any bandits rumored to operate within a day's ride of their path of travel. It could be frustrating, sometimes, how Robert ignored Jon's lessons about the importance of delegation. Still, even Jon had to admit that the stories of the shock on the faces of the bandits who realized who they were fighting and the smallfolk who realized who had ridden to their rescue, the stories were amusing, at least.

Robert had wanted to send Stannis and the royal fleet onward to root out the pirates operating out of the Stepstones once Dragonstone had been secured. It had fallen to Jon to explain that pursuing that kind of action unilaterally would look to the Free Cities like an attempt at conquest. They had tried to persuade Tyrosh to agree to a joint effort but the merchants who ran the place had refused, citing the costs involved.

"Truly?" Robert asked. "What convinced those skinflints to loosen their purse strings?"

Jon nodded at Varys. The foppish Master of Whispers assumed an overly dramatic pose that somehow made him appear non-threatening even as he recounted secrets from thousands of miles away.

"I believe we owe this opportunity to Ser Brynden Tully. His longspears have been marching with the Windblown from victory to victory across the Disputed Lands," Varys said. "Myr paid quite the pretty penny to have them called off. I suppose Tyrosh considers clearing out pirates to be a good use of the windfall."

"Has there been any further news of the Blackfish?"

"Nothing certain," Varys said, then cocked his head and smiled. "Rumor has it, though, that Volantis is hiring every sellsword they can. I daresay Ser Tully will wind up there soon enough."

"Volantis?" Robert asked. "What are those cunts doing?"

Varys shrugged. "Should I find out you will be the first to know."

"Hmph," Robert said, shaking his head to clear the thought, before turning to his brother. "What say you to this business with Tyrosh, Stannis?"

Stannis thought for a moment before he replied. "We should be able to spare enough ships to get the job done. I would prefer to lead them myself."

"Very well," Robert said. "Stannis Baratheon, scourge of the stepstones. I like it!"

Robert threw back his head and laughed heartily, completely unconcerned when nobody else joined in. Somewhat surprisingly, it was Mace Tyrell who broke the resulting silence.

"I know my bannermen will be glad to hear it. Half the time I talk to them any more it's nothing but complaints about some ship being sunk somewhere. As if it's my fault there are pirates in the Summer Sea!" Mace said, gathering momentum as he went. "Honestly, I don't see why people sink so much money into buying foreign gewgaws anyway. Do you know, Paxter Redwyn gave me a cask of spirits once that he brought from Qohor, supposed to be a great delicacy, and it was the foulest thing I'd ever tasted. And if the taste wasn't enough to put you off, the strength of it was enough to put you under. It did burn with a pretty blue flame when I put a torch to a glass of the stuff, though."

Robert's eyes had lit up at the mention of an unnaturally strong spirit. "Do you still have any of it left?"

"Oh, yes. Nobody would drink the stuff," Mace said. "I should warn you, I developed a bit of a taste for it but I've never seen anybody else get past two glasses."

"Really?"

Jon had been watching the developing conversation in mute horror. It was like watching a boat capsize in the distance. He could see the disaster happen and anticipate what was to unfold but was frozen, unable to do anything about it. All he could do was close his eyes and offer a silent prayer up to the Seven to watch over drunkards and kings.

ooOoo

Every eye in Highgarden's grand hall was on Mace Tyrell as he brought a small glass to his lips. He moved with the slow deliberation of the seriously drunk, giving the lie to the innocent appearance of the clear liquid contained within. He had a beatific smile on his face that he maintained as he tipped the glass back, slowly draining its contents before setting it down gently next to a small pile of its fellows. The table was otherwise empty, the plates from the feast long since cleared away.

The focus of the hall switched across the table to King Robert Baratheon, first of his name. Flickering torchlight illuminated a frown of intense concentration as he stirred himself into action. He wrapped his hand around the glass before him, took several violent breaths as though gearing up for battle, then yanked the glass off the table and poured its contents down his throat in one abrupt motion. He slammed the glass back down to the table and howled at the ceiling.

"Seven hells, each glass tastes worse than the last!"

Mace didn't say anything in response to Robert's shout or give any indication that he was aware of the renewed scrutiny he was under. He had the same placid smile on his face as he picked up the next glass. The smile stayed fixed in place as he brought the glass to his mouth... and slowly toppled backwards in his chair. Fortunately, Mace's sons had been anticipating such a thing for the last several drinks and were positioned behind him to lower him safely to the ground.

"Ha!" Robert called out, raising a fist in the air in triumph. "A worthy foe, but there could only be one winner! Would anybody else like to challenge your king?"

A hush settled over the hall. The entire court started as the silence was broken by the scrape of a chair slowly being pushed back from the table. Cersei Lannister captured all eyes-particularly the men's-as she rose from her seat and strutted down the table to stand before her husband. She played with his hair, then slowly traced her hand down to rest on his chest.

"I can think of a better game we could be playing, your grace."

Robert responded not with words, but by exploding upward from his seat. In one motion he had taken his feet and had Cersei tossed over his shoulder. As he bounded out of the room, the crowd could hear one last comment echoing back down the hallway over the queen's giggles.

"Tell Mace, practice yard, bright and early... mid-morning... or perhaps noon."

ooOooFanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 24

AN: If anybody was wondering, the other other ASoIaF idea that I had was the rebellion failing, the leaders escaping into exile and eventually taking over the Golden Company, then re-enacting the Anabasis in Yi Ti or the Dothraki Sea.

ooOoo

Volantis was a strange city. I'd run across bits and pieces of the eerie black material known as dragonstone before, and it always set my teeth on edge. The massive wall of the stuff surrounding Volantis made my head hurt if I looked at it for too long. The wall was an engineering marvel that rendered the bulk of the city almost immune from attack, but the mere sight of it set some small part of my hind brain gibbering in terror.

Even when the wall was out of sight I could still sense it on the back of my neck. Or at least I thought I could. The sticky, stuffy air and oppressive heat of the city was enough to play tricks on the mind even without the presence of some kind of eldritch horror.

Volantis did have a few saving graces, of course. Chief among them was the harbor. It was real eighth wonder of the world type stuff: an enormous body of water kept perfectly safe from the ocean by a miracle of topography. Drop a statue on one of the outlying islands and you could mistake it for New York. Not that they would name it after an ideal like liberty.

Thanks in large part to the harbor the city was a wealthy center of trade. You could buy just about anything in Volantis, if you had the coin. That included people. The Volantene habit of giving their slaves facial tattoos really made them stand out in a crowd or, sometimes, stand out as the crowd. I had known intellectually that the Free Cities kept large numbers of slaves but in Tyrosh they had blended in with the rest of the city. In Volantis they couldn't be ignored.

I felt bad about it. I really did. All of us did. There just wasn't much we could do about it. Hells, even the Triarchs would have a hard time abolishing slavery if they felt the urge. It was just too deeply ingrained in the fabric of everyday life. It would take a foreign conqueror to get the job done. Given the walls and the harbor that would take the efforts of most of the known nations in the world working together. Or, you know, dragons. My legion was turning into a hell of a battlefield force but we were still a long way from being able to take over a Free City.

In the absence of some knd of fairy tale solution, perhaps Braavos would become an even more dominant sea power. I vaguely recalled that England's ascendance and anti-slavery ideology had played a large role in eradicating slavery back home. I'd do what I could to help the cause if I ever had the chance. In the mean time, their money spent as well as anybody else's.

On a more mundane note, Volantis earned some personal affection from me when I discovered that one of the local delicacies was a variation on seafood paella. I had summoned Rodrik, Petyr, and Walder to a local restaurant and paid for a family-sized serving. I paid a little extra to ensure our privacy once the food had been served.

We cut rather similar looking figures. I had introduced the idea of a non-combat uniform while we were back at our camp following the victory at the Disputed Lands training up a new cohort of recruits. The veteran troops had been a little restive and I'd been a little nervous about turning them loose in Braavos. The identifying uniforms ensured that they knew that if they got into any trouble they would not only face Braavosi justice but also my wrath. I hoped it would also inspire a sense that they were representing the Legion as a whole even when they weren't on the battlefield.

The uniforms themselves were essentially Westerosi formal wear. A doublet and leggings in navy blue accented in red, including a small stylized setting sun positioned where I still half-expected to see a breast pocket. The sergeants had all been given white armbands to wear while the officers, such as the four of us, had red arm bands. I probably should have done something special with mine but I figured everybody already knew who I was anyways.

The four of us also wore the decorations that had been handed out to all of our men upon returning from the Disputed Lands. A small red ribbon to mark combat experience and a small purple and green ribbon to mark participation in our first campaign. I wore mine pinned to my chest across from the decorative sunset, matching what I vaguely recalled to be standard practice back home. Rodrik followed my lead. Petyr wore his tied to a short chain around his neck, not unlike a maester. Walder had pinned his to his sleeve opposite his armband.

I thought I was doing pretty well getting everybody to wear uniform clothing. Enforcing a uniform style of dress seemed a bridge too far.

Despite our dashing uniforms, the mood at the table was somber. I was finally forced to break the silence after a few minutes had passed with nothing but the sound of eating to mark the time.

"You all can speak freely, you know."

They all looked at each other. Through some kind of unspoken communication Petyr was chosen to be the one to reply.

"I don't like this. We've done well. Very well. But... the Golden Company."

Well, he hadn't wasted any time getting to the heart of the matter. I took a big scoop of not-paella into my mouth and thought over my reply as I chewed.

Volantis had approached us with one of those offers that was too good to be true. They had offered to pay us a lot. They had been happy to wait for us to finish training our newest group of recruits. They had even started paying us, albeit at a reduced rate, before we set sail for Volantis. The catch was that what they were paying for was somebody to fight off the Golden Company.

We couldn't do it by ourselves, of course. The pitch from the Volantene agent was that they were hiring sellswords from all across Essos to gather in a great host and defend Volantene interests in the Rhoyne. Even if the mercenary army might lack the overall cohesion of the Golden Company, the individual units would be made up of high quality mercenaries and the army as a whole would badly outnumber the opposing force.

It was a great opportunity. Besides the gold, we would be able to test ourselves against one of the most well-respected armies on the continent. If we succeeded it would give our reputation a tremendous boost. It would give the men valuable experience. It would give them an enormous shot of confidence. And, of course, you couldn't forget the gold.

Unfortunately, we had arrived in Volantis to find the great mercenary host rather less great than advertised. Besides ourselves, only the Windblown and the Long Lances had shown up. All told, we had between six and seven thousand men to send against the Golden Company. I had already met with the leaders of the other armies and was prepared to go forward with the campaign, but I knew I couldn't hope to succeed without the wholehearted support of the men at this table.

The growth of the Sunset Legion had led to the creation of a new rank. We already had lieutenants, each in command of a one-hundred man century. We had always had me, in command of the whole legion. We now also had a commander for each of the three columns that we formed up into for combat. Petyr, Rodrik, and Walder filled those roles. They had also been with me for the longest out of any of my officers. If I couldn't sell them on the possibility of victory then there was no way that our soldiers could be infused with the confidence needed to win.

"Well, let's talk about the Golden Company. Don't focus on the name or the history. What can they bring to bear against us on the battlefield?"

"Five hundred knights. Five hundred squires," Petyr said, ticking points off on his fingers. "About two thousand light cavalry, and about seven thousand foot troops. And elephants."

That last was said with a bit of trepidation. I couldn't blame him. We'd seen elephants proceeding down the streets of Volantis. Their sheer size made the idea of facing them across the battlefield distinctly unappealing.

"Set aside the elephants for now. What do we have on our side?"

"About a thousand heavy cavalry from the Long Lances. Another thousand light cavalry from the Windblown. A thousand skirmishers from the Windblown. And our men, of course."

"Now, you've all seen the Long Lances and the Windblown handle their horses. Would you say they know what they're doing?"

I slowly looked around the table, focusing on each man in turn. One by one they nodded as they met my gaze.

"Good enough to at least hold off a slightly larger force?"

Again, they nodded.

"Then all we need to do is use that time to drive their infantry from the field."

"Oh, is that all?" Petyr asked, a trace of sarcasm leaking into his voice.

"The Golden Company has never seen something like us before. You've seen what happens when our pike blocks run into an ordinary line of even heavy infantry. It will be completely new to them. I'd wager they won't hold up well."

I saw optimism starting to show in their eyes as I continued. "Worst come to worst, you've seen what our men can do to a cavalry charge. We can hunker down, fend them off, and retreat in good order. At that point I would feel that we had done what we were obligated to do under our contract."

The concepts of honor and contract law are a little fuzzy when it comes to mercenary armies. The main issue was to preserve a reputation that would lead other people to be willing to hire you rather than complying with all the nitpicky details. Breaking a deal and sailing off without even trying to fight looked bad. On the other hand, if you gave a good effort and failed, well, nobody expected mercenaries to agree to any kind of suicide pact.

"I still think we should be free to leave now," Petyr said, frowning. "They tricked us into this mess. It's not fair that they expect us to keep our word after they lied."

I took a moment to appreciate the sight of Petyr Baelish, self-righteous defender of honest dealing. It took a real effort to keep a straight face when I replied.

"Sadly, life is often unfair. If it's any comfort, I anticipate we will be able to extract some concessions given the change in circumstances. Still, there's a real opportunity here if we win."

"You make a victory sound plausible," Rodrik said, leaning forward as he spoke up for the first time, "but what about the elephants?"

"I suppose they are never forgettable," I said, then stifled a sigh as our mismatch in cultural referents rendered my horrible wordplay ineffective. "The Tattered Prince has fought alongside the Golden Company before, and has some ideas for dealing with their elephants. As do I."

At that, I caught the eye of the waiter who had been hovering politely out of earshot and made a come hither gesture. He walked over to us, depositing an elaborately designed carafe in the center of the table and setting a small glass in front of each of us before bowing and walking away. I poured a small measure into each glass and then held my own up in front of me.

"The King."

They repeated the toast, then followed my lead as I tossed back the entire drink at one go. It was a Volantene delicacy that I would describe as bottom of the bottom shelf vodka, plus a little extra alcohol for fun.

I couldn't match the younger men for overall alcohol tolerance, but I had more experience with distilled spirits and knew what was coming. I stayed stoic as the three of them doubled over, coughing. Rodrik was the first to recover.

"Seven hells, man, if you can convince the elephants to drink that they'll run all the way back to Yi Ti."

I smiled and set a glass bottle on the table. The local glass industry prided itself on its artistic pieces, but this showed all the signs of a rush job. It was misshapen and no effort had been made to clean up its color consistency. It couldn't even be said to be particularly practical, looking ready to shatter the first time it hit a hard surface.

"Oh, they won't be drinking it."

ooOooFanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 25

AN: If you ever feel like you have too much spare time I recommend trying to get a motorcycle that's been sitting for a while to start.

ooOoo

I couldn't say that I completely understood what had brought us here. Oh, I knew what Volantis believed, or at least wanted us to believe. Qohor and Norvos treacherously attempting to usurp control of the Rhoyne to fuel their greed and ambition, motivated at the primal level by the knowledge buried deep down in their hearts of their inability to match up to inborn Volantene superiority. It was a moving tale, complete with noble Volantis stepping in to check the unhealthy hubris of its peers. I'd wager that Qohor and Norvos would tell a different story, but there was no denying that they were highly motivated. Hiring the Golden Company made that clear enough.

Even with the help of the premiere sellsword company the other two cities didn't really have a hope of taking Volantis. What they could do, however, was push their influence down the Rhoyne. If everything went just right for them they could take control of the river clear down to one of the alternate mouths and reap the massive benefits of controlling an entire region's trade. More realistically, even taking and holding Selhorys would represent a major shift in the balance of power.

The Golden Company was currently trying to accomplish just that. They had blockaded the river above and below Selhorys and built surrounding entrenchments. The city was hardly defenseless-no city bordering the Dothraki Sea lacked for fortifications-but it wouldn't be able to hold out indefinitely. The siege would be measured in months rather than weeks but the result was inevitable if nobody arrived to relieve the city. That was where we came in.

In a more specific sense what had brought us to this point was a parade of river barges. The men hadn't been completely idle during the trip, as the absence of favorable winds had led to a heavy use of warping. Several of the sailors would row a small boat out ahead of the barge and drop a heavy anchor in place. A team of men then reeled in the anchor chain, moving the boat along at a brisk three or four miles per hour. The presence of our soldiers greatly eased the strain on the barge crews, and being able to take turns walking made the entire experience less draining for my men than marching the whole way. They also got occasional breaks when towpaths allowed for the use of animal power, but even so the men seemed relieved when we reached our destination and they were able to deploy back onto dry land.

In theory Volantis could project power all the way up the Rhoyne to Dagger Lake. In practice that got a little dicey when hostile armies controlled the land around the river. It wasn't like they had a fleet of steamboat gunships at their disposal. The combat strength of their ships were largely bound up in the combat strength of the soldiers on board. When they were outnumbered by the soldiers on shore, sailing became a risky endeavor.

I certainly didn't want our encounter with the Golden Company to begin while we were rushing from ship to shore. Accordingly, we landed about a day's march south of Selhorys. We took our time getting organized and making sure we had ourselves together before setting out towards the city. There was no point in rushing. We weren't going to take the Golden Company by surprise by charging ahead hell for leather. Their scouts were too good to miss something like that, and the Company itself was too well-disciplined to remain disorganized between the arrival of their scouts and our appearance on the battlefield.

The only surprise we would enjoy would come from doing something they didn't expect. To that end, we actually wanted them to have time to prepare. The Tattered Prince had fought alongside the Golden Company and knew what they liked to do when they had their druthers. On the other hand, they could only speculate about our intentions. A particularly keen-eyed scout might notice that our baggage train had leaned towards pigs in acquiring its meat on the hoof, but not even the best scout could read minds.

If you know yourself and know your enemies you will win a hundred battles, while if you know yourself but do not know your enemies you will win one and lose one. I could only hope that the ancient Chinese wisdom held true across time and space. And that this was the one that the Golden Company was due to lose.

Once I was confident that we had anything together we set out toward Selhorys. Again, we were in no hurry. We made camp a half-day's march from the city. It would be an easy enough march to battle the next day, and we were far enough away from the Golden Company that it would be very difficult for them to do any kind of raid in force. We expected-hoped, perhaps, but with good reason-that the Golden Company would focus on preparing to meet us in battle tomorrow rather than try anything daring.

When we were done making camp I made my way to the Tattered Prince's command tent. Irrys Marohr, leader of the Long Lances, arrived at about the same time that I did, summoned by my messenger. The Tattered Prince invited us in and dismissed his aides.

"You wish to go over our plans one more time?"

I shook my head. "No, I think we all know it all by heart by now."

"You have changes to propose?"

I shook my head again.

"Why are we here if not to prepare?" Irrys asked. He sounded more curious than angry.

"Honestly? I was hoping for some conversation. I find it helps put me in the right frame of mind before a chancy battle."

I could have informal talks with the officers of the Sunset Legion. I could even be friendly towards them. But I was always their Captain. I was always honest with them about the risks we were facing, but I couldn't fully air my doubts or fears without risking undermining morale. In a broader sense, it was always in the back of my mind that I was their superior and that I couldn't say anything that would compromise that relationship. Meeting with peers, even from different companies, opened up the possibility of a more frank and open talk.

I could use such a thing to settle my nerves. I'm a bit of a talker when I'm worried. In our previous battles there had been moments of excitement and nervousness, sure, but there had rarely been any real doubt as to the outcome. I had walked into them feeling complete confidence that we would eventually carry the day. Now, though? I thought we would win, but it was far from a sure thing.

In keeping with the spirit of honesty and companionship, I had brought drinks. I pulled an oversized bottle from my satchel and set it on the camp table. Three glasses soon surrounded it.

"I hope that's not that Volantene swill you've been buying up," the Tattered Prince said. I smiled and shook my head.

"Not just that. I think you'll find this is a more pleasant cocktail than the one we'll be sharing tomorrow with the Golden Company," I said, pouring a generous measure into each glass. "Volantene spirits, orange juice, and a healthy splash of that sweet beet soup they love so much."

I live by two easy to remember rules for mixed drinks. First, citrus juice will mask any number of sins. Here that meant keeping a manservant around to squeeze oranges instead of a quick trip to the fridge but I had a manservant, so that was all right. Second, sugar makes everything better. I had neglected to pack a bottle of simple syrup with me on my transdimensional adventure, but the Volantene beet "soup" was the next best thing.

The Tattered Prince and Irrys both looked askance at the brown liquid that was the result of my efforts, but they followed my lead in toasting our upcoming victory. The first cautious sips produced surprised murmurs and more enthusiastic follow-up swigs. If the whole sellsword thing didn't work out perhaps I could pursue a career as a bartender. Hells, if I could get a drink named after me it could be a better path to lasting fame. It worked for Tom Collins, after all.

I waited until the drinks had been drained halfway and then refilled before I rekindled the conversation.

"We all know what we plan to do tomorrow. I must admit that I am curious as to the why. What made you two decide to go to war against the Golden Company? Nobody else would. Not for all the gold Volantis was throwing around."

The Tattered Prince inclined his head to acknowledge the question. He then turned to look expectantly at Irrys, waiting for him to answer first. I followed his lead and studied the commander of the Long Lances. Somehow in the back of my mind a part of me expected a group associated with horses to be made up of a bunch of modern jockey type little guys. That gave me a moment of cognitive dissonance every time I saw Irrys, who was about as far from that archetype as you could get. He towered over me and rivalled Robert Baratheon in the breadth of his shoulders. He certainly wasn't somebody I'd like to find myself across from in a joust.

For all of his intimidating size, though, he had a friendly way about him. He had black hair shot through with grey and a bushy black beard that couldn't cover all of the smile lines creased into his face. I suppose when you go through life bigger and stronger than everybody else you have a lot of reason to be happy.

Irrys was from Lorath. While I was fairly fluent in the Braavosi dialect of Low Valyrian my understanding of the dialect of the neighboring cities was still a bit spotty. The Tattered Prince had been able to accommodate me by switching dialects. Irrys, not so much.

"After last battle I say: Next battle will be beside those men, not against!"

We all toasted that sentiment. I had had a little trepidation when I had first found out that we would be fighting together. The Tattered Prince hadn't been worried and Irrys had told me from the beginning that there were no hard feelings. Even so, I was glad to see more proof that he had wholeheartedly embraced the change from enemies to allies.

After another round of drinks Irrys took on a more serious expression as he continued.

"I hear again and again of knights. Glorious knights of Reach. Glorious knights of Golden Company. Songs. Stories. Always knights!" Irrys said, bringing a fist down on the table. "We ride strong horses! We have strong arms! Crush knights and bards write songs about Long Lances!"

Another toast, and we turned our attention to the Tattered Prince. He looked as cool and collected as ever, to all appearances unaffected by all of the alcohol he had packed away.

"I know from experience that the Golden Company is made up of men just like any other men. That elephants are animals just like horses, only larger and harder to control," he said, then paused to take a sip of his drink. "Why should I not accept such a generous contract to fight a group of men? It is, after all, my profession."

I raised an eyebrow at that. Irrys went further, reaching out and clapping the Tattered Prince on the shoulder.

"Men like other men, yes. But Golden Company not like other companies. This is special, no?"

There was a long moment of silence before the Tattered Prince gave a grudging nod. "The Golden Company conquered a Free City once. All they did with it was carry off what the claimed was their due. Still, though, I would like to face men capable of such a thing to see how I measure up."

That made a certain kind of sense. If he were to decide to take the Windblown and attack Pentos on his own initiative it would be an all or nothing affair. If he succeeded, he would be Prince of the city in truth. If he failed, he would be completely ruined. Hiring on as a sellsword didn't carry the same risk, even against a fearsome opponent. A loss against the Golden Company, provided it didn't turn into a complete rout, couldn't harm his reputation in the same way. It was a brutal form of stress testing, but this was often a brutal world.

Apparently satisfied with this answer, Irrys turned to address me.

"And you? What makes Blackfish swim up Rhoyne?"

I stared at my drink for a moment, swirling it around as though I could read an answer in my glass. Why had I signed up for this fight? I could lay out any number of logical reasons. I had done just that with my lieutenants. Somehow, though, in this moment that didn't feel right. After hearing two answers that came straight from the heart, there was only one thing I could say.

"To be the best, you have to beat the best."

ooOooFanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Blackfish Out Of Water by jacobk

Books » A song of Ice and Fire Rated: M, English, Adventure & Fantasy, Brynden T., Words: 96k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Apr 30, 2016 Updated: Sep 15, 2016801Chapter 26

AN: Sorry about the delay

ooOoo

We crested a hill near Selhorys to find the Golden Company arrayed before us with mathematical precision. I had to admit, it was impressive. They had known we were coming for a few days, true, but they hadn't had more than an hour's warning of where we were headed in particular. Despite that, they were well enough organized to march onto a parade ground and put on a show. It was a sobering reminder that these men knew their business.

The ground they had chosen for the battle was flat enough to serve as a parade ground in a pinch. Today it would be killing ground. There would be no defensive positions to hamper the efforts of the victorious army. There would be no broken terrain to impede the advance of the Golden Company's elephants. There would also be no real advantage for us to try to march around and approach from a different angle. The Golden Company was not looking for a chess match of siege and counter siege tactics. They were offering a single decisive battle, confident in their ability to win the day.

The early morning had seen a light sprinkling of rain. Not enough to affect anybody's footing, although it had come as a relief to some hot and dusty soldiers on the march. The clouds had since burned away and the bright sunlight reflected off the armor and the jewelry worn by the Golden Company, giving the whole formation a sort of shining halo.

The Golden Company had placed their war elephants in the front of their formation. Between and around them were their masses of archers, crossbowmen, and other missile troops. Their heavy infantry was organized into tightly packed squares behind, the sun glinting off their shields and their short spears just visible from this distance. Light infantry strung out on either side to form a skirmish line, while they were holding their cavalry in reserve.

All of this was consistent with what the Tattered Prince had told us to expect. The Golden Company liked to wear down its enemies with volley after volley of missile fire. Once their opponent was sufficiently demoralized, they would unleash their war elephants to charge and destroy any remaining cohesive enemy units. The heavy infantry would follow, smashing into the resulting chaos with coordinated force. When the enemy was decisively put to flight, the cavalry would be released to run them down.

If the plan was predictable, it was because it worked. The Golden Company had a sterling track record, littered with examples of opposing companies destroyed after a single engagement. In all the time the Tattered Prince marched with them, he never saw their tactics turned back on them.

Our lines, by contrast, looked a little ragged. The Sunset Legion was as well disciplined as ever in our usual three staggered columns, although many of our halbierdiers had traded in their polearms for lit torches and now marched near the front of their columns. The first two columns had each also acquired two new leading rows made up of little teams of Windblown. Each team featured a collared pig controlled by two lines held by men marching on either side of it. In front of that group were three men carrying oversized shields. The rear half of the pigs had been smeared with a combination of pine resin and lamp oil.

On physical attributes alone the elephant was a phenomenal killing machine. Its thick skin shrugged off all but the most formidable attacks while its massive size and strength meant that it could trample men underfoot while hardly breaking stride. The elephant was even capable of running down men who attempted to flee before it. The only weak point lay between those oversized ears.

The Tattered Prince had observed that elephants seemed to fear pigs and fire. We had elected to try both.

While setting pigs on fire would certainly be entertaining, as a military weapon they were somewhat imprecise. In order for them to be useful they would need to be fairly close to the enemy before we lit things off. That thought, and a rousing drum beat, sent us marching into bow range of our enemies.

Walking through volleys of arrow fire is a unique experience. The arrows hissed down around me, punctuated by clangs as they hit armor or soft thuds as they slammed home in the dirt. It wasn't dangerous, exactly, not with proper armor on, but it still wore away at me. And I was catching a much lower volume of fire than the men at the front ranks. To their credit, none of the Sunset Legion broke stride as they advanced through the incoming storm.

The initial volleys were fired from too far away for direct shots. Instead our enemies were lobbing arrows up into the air with the hope of unnerving us and perhaps landing a lucky hit. Really, though, there weren't many weak points to be had. Even the unfortunate arrow to the knee was unlikely to penetrate the gambeson armor each Sunset Legionnaire was wearing and inflict any real damage. That's what it was there for. I certainly wasn't making my men march around Essos wrapped in thick quilts because it made for good athletic wear. It was a soldier's saying that was old by the time I arrived on Westeros: if you're comfortable, you're wrong.

A few men stumbled and fell under the onslaught of arrow fire, but as far as I could tell they were all able to scramble back to their feet and get back in line as the formation continued marching forward. As we got closer, the character of the attack changed. Instead of launching great volleys from a distance, the Golden Company archers were now taking aimed shots at individual targets. The vast majority of these still bounced ineffectively off of armor, but saw a few strike home in elbow joints and one unlucky pikeman took an arrow through the eye.

By now we had closed within a hundred paces or so of the enemy lines, and the elephants stirred into action. Our men kept marching, the gap now closing quicker thanks to the elephants' deceptive ground-eating lope. I was just starting to feel anxious when I saw that Petyr, commanding the first column, had come to the same conclusion: it was time for us to strike back. The shouted command was just reaching my ears when the torches in the column were lowered in near unison.

Each pig lit off with a pillar of flame. A second later their shrieking squeals reached us. Many of the men around me flinched despite knowing what was coming. The effect on the elephants was more dramatic. By and large they ceased their forward motion, and several of them began to edge backwards.

Once each pig was well and truly on fire its surrounding team of Windblown started running forward. As soon as they had worked up some momentum they dropped the leashes and split off to the sides. The idea was to get the pigs moving forward in a straight line while the Windblown trickled off to reinforce the Tattered Prince's reserves. It worked pretty well. One of the pigs started running around in circles, squealing its head off. Another pair ran off to the side. But the bulk of them kept running on the same course, heading straight for the elephants as they tried to outrun the flames on their backs.

The smell of well-cooked bacon started wafting over the battlefield. More tactically relevant, several elephants turned to run in the face of the charge of the flaming pigs. Many of the Golden Company's archers had shifted their aim to the animal attackers, but to little effect. On most days an arrow wound was the worst thing an animal had suffered and inflicting one would make it run away. When the animal was on fire an arrow barely registered. Only killing or crippling hits would do anything. A couple of pigs went down, turning into delicious smelling funeral pyres, but most of them continued onward.

At this point one heroic elephant was still moving forward. A good chunk of them were in full retreat, while the majority were stuck in place, wavering between the orders of their handlers and their primal fears. The battle hung in the balance as a glass sphere arced out of the line of Legionnaires and smashed into the face of the advancing elephant.

The first time I was told that Volantis is a city where one can buy anything I assumed it was self-promotional puffery. I had maintained that healthy skepticism when a merchant who had heard of my interest in buying all things flammable approached me with a promise to access to a certain special substance. I started to become a believer when he led me down into the basement of his shop and through a doorway to a small room. Its floor was covered with sand several inches thick and in the center of the room was a pillar supporting an elevated aquarium. Instead of aquatic wildlife, the water was filled with small glass vials, each carefully attached to the glass at a healthy separation from its neighbor.

The price for a single vial and a specially outfitted carry pack was obscene. But that was only money. The real problem was finding a soldier crazy enough to carry the thing. That was when I remembered the crossbowman who had shown such zeal for reckless slaughter in our previous two battles. It was only after he had volunteered-insisted, really-that I made the purchase.

Once the pigs were lit he would have removed the vial from his pack, slotted it home in a specially made glass ball filled with lamp oil, and then made the throw of his life. All of that money and effort paid off beautifully as the glass shattered against the elephant's forehead.

Wildfire doesn't need a fuse. It barely needs an excuse. It could have been the stress of impact, the elephant's body heat, the touch of the sun... anything. In the very instant of contact it burst into an eerie green flame, eagerly feeding off the lamp oil and the elephant's flesh. The elephant shrieked, sounding almost human, then wheeled about and stampeded away from us.

Petyr gave the enemy a moment to stare at the unmistakable glow of wildfire before commencing the barrage. The follow up projectiles were not quite as insanely dangerous as the first. Glass bottles, filled with a combination of lamp oil and high proof alcohol and stuffed with rags that had themselves been doused in booze. The rag was touched to the nearest torch before the bottle was to be chucked in the direction of the enemy. Most of our crossbowmen had traded in their usual weapon for a bandolier of grenades which they threw with gleeful abandon.

The bottles crashed against the elephants. The bottles crashed against the ground. Some of the bottles crashed against enemy archers. All of them that I saw lit up beautifully. The elephants were in full retreat, stampeding in mass panic with many of them sped along by fires burning on their backsides. The bottles that hit the ground created eerie pools of flame among the damp grass. The unfortunate archers that were lit on fire just screamed.

It's probably worth mentioning at this point that Volantis offered a few different varieties of high proof liquor. I had chosen the one that happened to contain impurities that caused it to burn with a green flame. Now, logic would dictate that an entire company of hundreds of men couldn't possibly be armed with that much wildfire. Moving that much of the stuff without burning to death is basically impossible, not to mention the expense. Sharper eyes would also notice that the wildfire grenade had had no fuse while the later grenades were lit on fire before being thrown.

The thing is, logic tends to fall by the wayside when you've been set on fire. Or face the imminent prospect of same.

With the elephants in full retreat, and seeing the terror and suffering of the men on fire, my men responded as you would expect: by trying to set more men on fire. The next few rounds of grenades were targeted directly at the formations of archers. By now many of the archers had given up on killing the flaming pigs as a lost cause and had started trying to pick off our soldiers. Their aim seemed significantly worse, no doubt affected by the screams of the dying and being under attack themselves.

I gave a signal and my drummer sounded the general advance. The barrage stopped and the Legion made ready to attack. While I was sure the ongoing rain of fire was having a wonderful effect on enemy morale, it was something of a waste of ammunition. The enemy archers were never going to hold the battlefield. Indeed, as soon as my men brought their pikes to bear and started to advance the archers began to retreat.

After all of the stress and shock of the battle what should have been a smooth withdrawl instead became a pell mell scramble for safety. The archers had more or less ceased firing as they raced to reach place the bulk of their heavy infantry between themselves and us. The infantry itself was rather the worse for wear. The fleeing elephants had carved great furrows in their ranks. In some cases the Golden Company men had managed to scramble out of the way of their war beasts, while in others they had been trampled over. They were trying to sort themselves out and get back in good order while a stream of lightly armored men, some burned and some still burning, ran by in a near panic.

And, of course, instead of attacking a demoralized enemy worn down by arrow fire and elephant charge, they were going to have to defend themselves against a well drilled, cohesive formation of pikemen on the charge, men who already had the taste of victory on their tongues. It was almost enough to make you feel sorry for them.

Instead, I found my feelings matching Petyr's, shouted out as he urged his column on: "Get moving! We're going to rip those bastards' guts out and feed them to the pigs!"

ooOoo

« First « Prev Ch 26 of 40 Next »

Review

Jump:Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34Chapter 35Chapter 36Chapter 37Chapter 38Chapter 39Chapter 40

Chapter 880 - ggg

Popular novel hashtag