Robb and Ser Marq had heard the loud, long, extended sound of the horn. It meant that anyone available should ride quickly, because it was critical. It was only to be used for dire emergencies or if they had managed to flush out an important noble. Ser Barristan was a man of action; could it be him who was now cut off from the Stormland army?
Their pursuers broke off, away from the sound of the horn.
Ser Marq ordered his men to ride out at a moderate speed and sent two swift riders out ahead to see what they had caught. It wasn't long until one reported back.
"Ser Marq, we've cornered her! The princess, err, I mean Myrcella!"
Piper was exultant, but Robb wasn't so sure.
"Ser, why would Lady Myrcella be with her outriders? It doesn't make sense."
The Riverlands noble shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe she wanted to see what was going on with her own eyes. Maybe she got lost. Perhaps she was trying to slip away for some unknown reason. It matters naught; if we capture her, we could even pull the Stormlands out of this war!"
Robb was certain that they were making a mistake, but he could not convince Marq. Orders were relayed and riders dispatched. Ser Karyl Vance was to bring his entire command with him. He wasn't near, but within a couple of hours, he would arrive. In the meantime, Ser Marq led his group to where the sound of the horn had originated.
As they approached, they saw the bodies of horse and man alike.
"What is this?" Ser Marq asked in confusion as they rode past the fallen. It wasn't just one group, it was several they came across. Some were riddled with arrows and bolts, others looked like they had been pierced by lance or slashed with sword.
The men grew uneasy as two riders approached.
"My lords, we've suffered several ambushes; we came to the horn, but every which way we turned, there were more archers or riders. Several of your bands have grouped together and are waiting for you; we think that the princess is still tucked away. She only left once from this 'ere spot, but we managed to stop her from escaping. With your numbers, we might have enough, but it's dicey. They have so many archers, and we can only approach one way."
Robb saw in the distance a small band of armored knights and near twice that number of men on foot. The bodies of horses stretched out before the group.
"More of my bands should be arriving soon; once we have the numbers, we'll take them."
Robb peered at the man in command. "Piper, we need to screen the southern flank. They must know that the princess is out there. Reinforcements from their side will certainly be coming."
The knight nodded. "Good, yes, we'll wait for Vance; if she tries to break out, we'll take them from all sides."
They settled in to wait. The enemy was half archers and half mounted knights. Myrcella's guards were mounted and ready to fight, but they were also stationary and not moving. This made Robb even more certain that something very wrong was going on here. As time passed, more of the bands arrived, but not nearly enough considering that they had sent out 1,000 riders. A little less than 500 were gathered here – had they really lost half their number? No more answering horns could be heard; this was it.
Robb knew that Vance would be arriving with another 500, and that included almost half as heavy cavalry, but would they get here in time? Word arrived from the scouts they had screening the south.
"My lords, riders are approaching; we couldn't tell their full number, but the advance force is at least a hundred."
Marq cursed. "We don't have time; this will be messy, but capturing Lady Myrcella will be worth it. We'll have anyone with shields dismount and approach on foot from three sides. We'll have to accept a bloody battle with their knights, but they'll fall when surrounded. I suspect that they'll try to break free to the south, but we'll be ready for it."
Robb interjected, "Marq, you shouldn't be part of the attack. You'll need to give orders if something happens or if their reinforcements arrive sooner."
He frowned. "Robb, this is going to be a great victory, and you don't want us to be in the fight. I know you are no craven – I saw your savage prowess today – what is the problem?"
"This still feels like a snare. My father warned me that Lady Myrcella was dangerous. I have no issues with going in myself; I only ask that you stay out of it." Robb saw that Marq wasn't convinced. "Or if that is too burdensome, be part of the force that springs upon their attempt to break the encirclement and get Lady Myrcella away."
Finally, the heir of Pinkmaiden nodded. "Very well, now there is no more time to tarry; the men will attack at once!"
On all sides they converged. Unfortunately for the Riverlands men, there were not many large shields – small bucklers and the like were more common for outriders, if they bothered at all. The archers laid down a deadly toll. Robb knew that the enemy was skilled; even Theon would complement the men of the Stormlands and their deadly accuracy.
Lady Myrcella's personal guard formed up and rode out to challenge the first wave of cavalry. Robb narrowed his eyes, trying to see what was happening. As they clashed, a messenger arrived.
"Reinforcements are coming – see there, it will only be minutes."
In the distance they could see mounted figures and banners. As Ser Marq crowed now that victory was certain, Lady Myrcella's knights ran through the lighter cavalry charging them. Instead of turning south, they turned north. Robb's eyes widened in horror.
"Why are there banners? What flag do they fly?" Robb asked in mounting trepidation.
"It was Roote and the plowman standard of Darry."
Ser Marq was shouting orders to get after Lady Myrcella, and Robb shouted at him.
"Those aren't our reinforcements! Vance didn't have any Darry men with him. Think, Marq, why would the outriders bother with standards?"
The heir to Pinkmaiden finally understood. He hesitated, "We can still win this; we just need to take Lady Myrcella. If we hold her hostage, they won't dare attack."
Robb didn't try to argue. Ser Marq was put in command by King Stannis; it was his call to make. Now that it was made, Robb would do his best to see it through. With a cry of "WINTERFELL," he spurred his horse into action and galloped with the rest toward Lady Myrcella.
The Riverlands cavalry had leaned more heavily to the southern side where they had expected Myrcella to run to. The northern group was more thinly spread, and when they sought to halt the advance, they were unable, but it did slow Myrcella's guard. It allowed the ones from the eastern flank to charge into the guard.
The elite knights were better, but quantity mattered, and horses mattered. Before Robb could arrive, he saw several of the Holy Hundred be dragged down. Gold-helmed Crakehall knights were being led by the fifth-biggest man Robb had ever seen. He wielded a hammer that pulped man and horse alike where it struck. The Lannister knights cut down their pursuers and created a circle of death. Grey Wind dashed ahead and spooked several of their horses, but most knights retained their seat, despite the rearing and maddened steeds. One, who fell, was able to get up and lash out with his blade, still deadly despite being unhorsed.
And then Robb was on them; his blade crashed into helm with horrific force, making his arm nearly numb. His mount took him past the struck man, and he found himself confronted with another knight who checked his advance.
Robb could hear horns sounding in all directions, but his focus had to be on the battle. Steel met steel, and he lost track of almost everything else. He managed to unhorse one foe and then saw two men around him die with daggers blooming in their throats. Arrows rained down on them; Ser Marq's more lightly armored men fought foes with plate and great helms.
"TARTH!"
"CRAKEHALL!"
"BARATHEON!"
The knights roared their battle cries as they fought in their killing circle. Robb and Ser Marq were some of the few soldiers who had won against their foes; others had died, and now their very bodies created an impediment, both physical and mental.
"Forward!" Robb shouted. "We have no time; cut them down!"
Grey Wind gave a yelp as a horse kicked out and struck him in the body. Robb saw red and savagely hacked at a Crakehall knight with sudden fury. The heir of Winterfell drew in close and brutally bashed the pommel of his sword into the knight's visor, delivering a ringing blow.
Despite Robb's commands, the Riverlands men were wary. It was not an easy thing to confront any knight, let alone knights like Ser Arys of the Kingsguard or the Strong Boar. And they were out of time. The enemy knights coming from the north were now sweeping away the Riverlands's soldiers with ease; they would not reach Myrcella in time.
"Ser Marq, we must be away; we cannot succeed here now."
It was too late for Ser Marq; the giant of a man had come upon him and slammed his hammer down onto Piper's shoulder, utterly crushing the collarbone and sending Marq into the dirt. Robb knew that it was fruitless to try to get to him; instead, he loudly called out, "RETREAT, TO ME!" Robb blocked a blow on his shield and then turned his horse and rode away.
The enemy was coming from the north but also from the south. More horns answered in the east and west. He picked a direction, chose west, and rallied all he could to flee in that direction. Robb saw the original band of Stormlands riders they had fought hours earlier. They rode to block his escape, and Robb shouted again. "FORWARD, INTO THEM AND THROUGH! WINTERFELL!"
He lifted his shield to block the solitary arrow headed in his direction. He didn't know how many men he had with him, but it was enough for a chance. Robb clashed with the first rider, blocking with his shield and then slashing across the body to nick the horse as it rode past. He was aware of Grey Wind, wounded but still deadly, sinking his fangs into a foe's leg.
After a few tense seconds that were a blur, Robb managed to fight through with a score of men. He took some grim satisfaction in seeing the archer who had tried to kill him multiple times stabbed with a short spear by one of the guards of Winterfell that was with him.
Robb continued to ride west; he was being followed by some, and another group was trying to cut him off from going north. A long horn blast sounded again, just like the one that had originally signaled that it was important for everyone to come. It lasted the exact same amount of time, and Robb knew that Ser Karyle Vance was riding into yet another ambush. The Stark heir had no way of communicating that, and it seemed the enemy was going to be able to head Robb off.
"We ride west as long as our horses can carry us; when dusk sets in, we'll split into pairs and try to make it back to the King's camp in the night."
His voice was tinged with bitterness and weariness. There had been no need for this to happen. Many good men and a large portion of the Riverlands outriders were now dead. It would only further hamper the march south and allow their foes a massive tactical advantage.
***
That had been closer than I liked. My guard had proved their prowess and held the line while the trap was sprung. The archers had also suffered some losses once the dismounted soldiers had closed in. All in all, that battle had been bloody.
The next one after that was almost simple. The true reinforcements for the enemy outriders had charged like lemmings toward the sound of the horn. My remaining archer and crossbow groups managed to get into position on both flanks and thinned the ranks nicely. Their charge became further fouled by the traps they ran into. Especially when I moved the little poles with red cloth to areas without traps. It was a simple mop up operation after that with Ser Lyle, Ser Jaspar, and Ser Gladden's heavies charging in to finish them off.
It was a costly victory, but we likely inflicted a three or four to one casualty ratio. We also managed to capture some of their mounts, replacing a good number of our own that were lost in the fighting. Of course, we didn't manage to wipe out everyone, many were able to escape, but they were well beyond decimated. I ordered all but a few scouting groups to pull back to our forward camp and tend to the wounded. Lady Brienne had managed to rip her stitches while shouting her house name. I'd have to lecture her on that, but I would not send her away. She was too good a meat shield to be spent training levies.
What startled me the most was that my magic was swelling again. I had not been testing it lately due to the need to have a reserve in case any shadowy assassins made themselves known again. When I used a mild voice amplification formula, it blasted out at a far higher decibel level than it should have. Then in battle, the force amplification I used for my daggers was far less draining than normal. These were all good things, but it once again left me questioning why this was happening.
Ser Jasper had replaced Brienne as she went to have her stitches reapplied. Ser Marlow was my second bodyguard at the moment. My protocol for the Stormguard was to have two of them on my person day and night. I went to inspect the wounded; there were many, but I was pleased to see that basic triage had been set up and the Maester along with some of the slightly more knowledgeable soldiers were quickly doing what they could. Thanks to my preparations, there were ample medical supplies. There were three stations set up, an area for those who would not make it, an area for those who were seriously wounded and could be saved, and the last section for those with injuries unlikely to be fatal.
Ser Gladden of my Stormguard approached, "Lady Myrcella, I have grave news. One of your Stormguard was gravely wounded. Lum took a stab to the belly, and they moved him there." He pointed toward the area for soldiers who were wounded and would not survive.
I swallowed thickly and clenched my jaw. Lum was the only Stormguard who was not a knight or highborn. His being part of my elite guard was in part designed to serve as an aspirational example for the levies and regular men-at-arms.
"Take me to him now. Who made the call that he couldn't be saved?"
"The Maester, he said that the stomach had been pierced and that there was nothing he could do. Belly wounds are bad; he's probably right, my lady."
I silently cursed. They were bad. If the interior abdominal wall had been perforated, it was nearly impossible to properly close the wound. It was also a nasty place to get infections, and peritonitis could be deadly all on its own. Fire-milk was a good antiseptic, but it had likely taken a couple of hours to get back. I had to try, and if my abilities had gotten stronger, maybe I could…
"Ser Jaspar, fetch me fire-milk, needle, thread, milk of the poppy, water, and bandages. They should be in the second area, there."
I stepped into the tent and saw Lum's wan face as he lay on a cot. This was a smaller tent, that just housed him, likely due to his position as a member of my Stormguard. He was unconscious and on death's door. I cleaned my hands thoroughly in a basin and poured a bit of the fire-milk over them when Jaspar brought the supplies.
I pulled off the bandage that had been placed; it was soaked with blood, and there was a stench coming from his body. I took a deep breath despite the smell and turned to my Stormguard.
"Leave me alone with him, and do not disturb me unless it is dire."
Ser Gladden frowned, "I would stand vigil over our brother-in-arms. He may have been a commoner and no knight, but he was able and led his men well."
"You may stand vigil outside," I replied. I understood him, but I was going to try something that would not be understood.
Ser Barlow gently laid a hand on Gladden's shoulder. "Come, ser, Lady Myrcella no doubt wishes to pray over his soul in privacy."
With their departure, I thought back to my animal experimentation. The medical formula that I had pieced together was somewhat simple in nature. It encouraged rapid growth in blood, tissue, skin, almost anything. It had been trial and error on the small creatures, but it had worked. Only, sometimes it hadn't; sometimes the growth that I created spun out of control and killed. It was hardly something I would want to try on a human – unless there was no other choice. Like here.
The first thing I did was to address the blood loss. That was fairly easy; I had been able to replace twice the volume of blood in a rat once, so replenishing that shouldn't cause too much of an issue. I kept firm pressure on the open wound and let my magical formula cause his blood cells to reproduce; the energy to do so did not come from the body but from the magical energies I deployed.
I let the spell process for a minute or two and saw a bit of color return to Lum's face. I felt a bit weak from the exertion; I had been using my reflex enhancements all day, along force vectors and the audio increase. Next, I bathed the innards with fire-milk, hoping it would do the trick. Then I worked on the stomach lining.
Here, things were tricky and required me to utilize two different formulae. The first was to encourage the rapid growth of the soft tissue of the stomach wall, the second was to very, very gently prod the tissue to stretch over the wound.
Sweat began to bead on my forehead as I worked. Tiny changes to the formula were needed, but fraction of a millimeter by fraction of a millimeter, the interior wound was closing. I felt a wave of weakness but gritted my teeth. Lum could not die. He was the bridge between commoner and knight; he was going to be a symbol of what was possible, which would make my soldiers fight all the harder. Not to mention, how would it look if I granted someone the honor of being a Stormguard, only for them to die almost immediately afterward! I'd never get anyone to ever accept the position again. I had no choice; I had to push through and see him healed.
There, it's closed!
I next worked on the abdomen; here I simply used needle and thread to close the exterior wound. I worked quickly and precisely, and soon he was stitched up. I put on a fresh bandage and moved to the final step. This was one I was most unsure of, as I wasn't a medical savant in my first or second life. I'd taken courses on human anatomy at the War College, and I'd known magical formulae to raise a body's core temperature, though typically that was to stave off freezing in the frozen commie land.
I believed that raising the core temperature accelerated immune responses by stimulating B cells to produce necessary antibodies. Fevers were supposed to help the body, so raising the core temperature ahead of time should give Lum a better chance to fight off infection. Bone-weary exhaustion made me fumble the mental calculus needed, but I managed to get it under control. Lum began to warm to 38.3 degrees, or as close to it as I could estimate.
My vision began to blur, and I realized that my hand was trembling. I had the temperature stabilized, but I had to keep the formula going, had… to… keep… Darkness consumed my sight, and my body collapsed.