Arya sat in the godswood under the heart tree and pondered what she should do. She trusted Jojen and Meera and believed that they believed what they were telling her, but was that enough? Jojen had said his dreams didn't always come true – something that he had thought to be impossible, until recently. If some dreams were suspect, why couldn't they all be?
While she wrestled with that notion, she also struggled with the deep desire to go out and prove herself. She had done nothing while her father's men died around her. That horrible day would forever be etched into her memory. More than anything, she remembered Myrcella doing something: fighting, saving her father's life, using her daggers to kill the enemy. Meanwhile, she did nothing. Nymeria had helped, and Arya took solace in that, but she had spent all this time training with Syrio. Was it to be wasted?
The idea of seeing Jon again was also quite appealing. It felt as if a lifetime had passed since she last saw her half-brother's face. He probably wouldn't want her going beyond the Wall either, but he might have some ideas after now becoming a brother of the Night's Watch. They probably knew all sorts of things about what life was like north of the Wall.
All this warred with the idea of abandoning her mother and her baby brother, Rickon. Her mother had been overjoyed at the return of one of her children. Rickon had hugged her so tightly, as if she would disappear in a moment… The thought of doing so left her with an uneasy guilt in the pit of her stomach.
"Show me a sign, tell me what to do!" Arya shouted out in frustration.
A raven winged down and perched on the branch lowest to the ground. Nymeria stirred and looked at it.
"North! North! North!"
Arya gasped in shock. She had not expected that at all. The raven eyed her, and Arya pinched herself, to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Nymeria let a rumble erupt from her throat.
"North!"
It then flapped away with a loud cawing sound. Arya shivered. Were the Old Gods speaking to her through birds now?
It couldn't have been a coincidence.
If she was to go north, she would need to form a plan. She wanted Syrio to go with her, but that might be difficult. Syrio was employed by her father, and he took his duty seriously. If her dancing master felt that it was too dangerous, or that she was taken with some childish fancy, he would feel honor-bound to keep her in Winterfell.
Still, with the Old Gods pointing the way, she had come to a decision. She thanked the heart tree and felt the wind shake the tree branches as if in response as she left the godswood. Tracking down Jojen and Meera was easy enough, and they were happy with her decision.
"But how do we do this? I don't think my mother will agree to it; she follows the Seven, not the Old Gods, so I don't think my experience will sway her."
Meera shrugged. "We know how to evade pursuit in the Wolfswood. We leave right after you bid her a good night, and we can be beyond her reach."
Arya bit her lip. "I want to take Syrio, but I don't know if he will agree to come."
Jojen frowned. "He's the one who has been training you; he would be useful, but I do not know how we could convince him."
"Perhaps we've been thinking about this the wrong way," Meera began. "Our destination is the other side of the Wall, but why not propose a visit to the Wall? We could leave with Lady Stark's blessing. Along the way, Jojen will dream up something for us to convince him."
"It doesn't work that way, Meera." Jojen shook his head.
Arya toyed with the idea. It again came down to how her mother would react. Having just returned home, she wouldn't be likely to allow a visit to the Wall. Convincing her of that was only slightly less difficult than convincing her to go beyond the Wall!
"I don't think it would work out anyway."
Meera persisted, "We could put it forward as a request, since my brother and I have business on the wall on behalf of our father. Claim that we've grown quite close to you – we could even try to pass Jojen as a potential match. The younger daughter marrying the future Lord of Greywater Watch is something Lady Stark would be moved by. Let's face it, you were likely to wed a second or third son, so she would look at the advantage for you."
Jojen sighed. "Meera, why do I sense some wicked amusement in this plan of yours? I've told you before – it is not my fate to be married."
"Your dreams were also never wrong… until now. So don't write yourself off yet, brother!" There was clearly some heat in Meera's tone.
Arya had no real desire to get married to anyone! But, if she had to wed, wouldn't it be grand to do it to someone who she went on an adventure out of a story with? Meera seemed to be confident she could convince Arya's mother, and if it failed, they could still always sneak out regardless.
"Let's try it. Maybe you can get mother to agree. Syrio is far more likely to go with me if he knows I will go regardless and there won't be an army of my mother's guards to chase me down."
Meera grinned. "Wonderful, leave it all to me, Arya."
***
Melisandre had plenty of time to think on her Lord's will as she traversed the sea. She had allowed her own views and desires to distort the image of the pure vision the Lord of Light had sent her. Jon Snow – Jon Targaryen was Azor Ahai, not Stannis Baratheon. He was the one who would unite the realms of men and fight the Great Other. That, not wildlings, was what the Wall guarded the realms from.
She had sought the flames, even while at sea, and learned much. Visions of Jon turning cloak away from the Night's Watch, visions of Jon becoming the Lord Commander, and visions of him dead in the snow now crowded her mind. She also saw the servants of the enemy seek to break the power of the Night's Watch. The Old Bear, the current commander of the Night's Watch, was walking to his death. If Melisandre did nothing, he would surely die.
Perhaps that would have been best, but time is running out, and I have seen the past. Mormont gifted Jon a blade of fire and grooms him for leadership. He will live, for now.
With her were a pair of knights and six men-at-arms. Ser Erren Florent was in nominal command of her protection detail that the Queen had given her, but in truth she commanded in all things. The man had already been loyal, but a vision from his past as a personal proof of her power had sealed his faith in R'hllor for all time. They all had horses, and thanks to her visions, they went straight to their first stop of importance – Craster's Keep.
It was a lowly place with no refinement, much like the Craster himself. There was an empty sheepfold, a pigsty, and a windowless hall that looked half ruined. The man that came out of his 'Keep' carried a large axe and was flanked by two scared-looking women.
"What's this? Kneelers this far north 'o the Wall? What is your business here?" His voice was harsh and grating, but he had seen the armed men, and Melisandre clearly heard the tremor of fear.
She dismounted and approached on foot, Ser Erren right behind her, while the rest remained back. She saw Craster look greedily at the ruby on her choker, and then lustfully at the swell of her bosom. Unlike her men, who were dressed in furs and warm clothing, she just wore her crimson dress. The Lord of Light gave her all the warmth she needed.
"Men of the Night's Watch were here recently, yes?"
The man scowled at her. "Make it worth my while, and I'll tell you where the crows flew off to. You, I would offer my fire and roof, but not for these kneelers."
Melisandre moved even closer and then brought her hand up in a quick motion; powder flew into Craster's face, and he let out a surprised curse as the substance burned his eyes fiercely.
"Take him alive," Melisandre commanded, and Ser Erren unsheathed his sword. The other men raced forward, but they were unnecessary. Craster swung his axe blindly, and Ser Erren maneuvered easily and chopped at his hand, cutting deep, and taking several fingers. Erren kicked the old man to the ground, and the rest arrived to restrain and bind him. The two women fled and screamed for everyone to run.
Not all did, and slowly a few approached. One of them was a pregnant woman; she was young and quite heavy with child.
"I am Gilly; I could be a wife to any man here who would take care of me and my boy when he births. I'll be a good wife, I'll…"
"You may accompany us. You have met someone important and have made a connection. The other women here may lie with my men, if they desire, or they can remain here and survive as they are able. Or they may attempt to find succor at the Wall. Other than where you go, it matters naught."
"Lady Melisandre, these are wildlings – can we trust them?" Ser Erren asked.
"They will not cause harm, but only Gilly matters to me. The night is dark and full of terror, but I am aware that it is also cold for the men. Warmth and a blanket shared is not against the teachings of R'hllor."
"Yes, my lady, you know best."
Melisandre had her men bind Craster to the side of the sheepfold and piled additional wood around him. He cursed and threatened vengeance, even as the flames took him. A powerful offering to R'hllor would allow her to see into the flames more closely. She knew from her past viewings that this man offered his own sons to the servants of the Enemy – his death was richly deserved.
From there, they travelled through the ice and snow with Gilly and three of the wildling women and two children. Melisandre made it clear they would leave any behind who could not keep up. They seemed to have taken it to heart; without any more interruptions, they arrived at the destination that Melisandre knew she would find Azor Ahai reborn.
The Fist of the First Men.
***
Ser Davos was aware of the plans regarding the taking of the city. His King would not put full faith in Bran Stark's dreams, however much he did truly believe that the boy thought they were true. To that end, they had wanted Merryweather's Reach forces to assault the city on the northern stretch and bear the brunt of the initial fighting.
However, circumstances or chance conspired against them. Men loyal to the true King still existed within King's Landing. One man had managed to slip the walls and arrive at the camp, advising that right at dusk the King's Gate would be vulnerable to attack. Men on the inside of the city would rise and take control of the gate, allowing the walls to be breached.
This created a dilemma, as it would necessitate Stannis commit his forces instead of merely posturing during the Reach's assault. They couldn't arrange for another gate to be selected, one on the Tyrell side, because they had no way of getting a message into the city. And naturally, the timing pushed the issue without sufficient time to maneuver Tyrell forces to attempt the assault on the King's Gate.
Almost as if this was intended to force the King to act.
Davos could almost taste the rotten fish on his tongue. And yet… such an opportunity simply could not be passed up. It would be Davos himself who would take the gate and then ensure this wasn't some elaborate plot to trap the King. With Davos would be the Essosi mercenaries, the few remaining Florent soldiers, and a hodgepodge of Northerners. Robb Stark had command of the next wave if Davos signaled it was safe to pour through the opening. Stannis would command the reserves, and Lord Bolton had command of the other assaults along the wall and gates. At the same time, Lord Merryweather would also be seeking to breach the Iron Gate, the Old Gate, and the Dragon Gate.
Despite their investigation of Ser Oberyn being completely fruitless, he would not be given a major role in the coming conflict. His mercenaries would be with Davos, but the Dornish spearmen would be under the watchful eye of Bolton, well away from the King. Robett Glover, Galbart's younger brother, had fifty men under his command with strict orders to take captive or even kill Oberyn if he attempted to leave the battle order without permission from Bolton. Lord Galbart Glover would likely survive his wounds, but it would be long months before he was fit to fight again, if ever.
The appointed time had come, Ser Davos gave the order, and the horn blowers erupted with a cacophony up and down the line. It was nearing dusk as lines of men advanced on King's Landing. Some carried ladders, dozens carried the battering ram. Arrows rained down on Seaworth's men; some began to fire back, but those on the wall had a height advantage. As they neared the King's Gate, fighting began on the inside of the wall, just as they had been told would happen. The gate was raised without the need for a ram, and men charged forward.
Davos came in behind them and looked around as the defenders of the city fell back in confusion. A knot of heavily-armored soldiers tried to stem the tide, but the Gold Cloaks around them would not stand. One man with a shield with three red chevrons on it shouted a command, and the shield wall began stepping backwards in unison. The Essosi mercenaries whooped and descended in a fury, while some of the Northern soldiers raced down the streets to cut off any escape.
Ser Davos could see no signs of a trap. Two of his men escorted a bearded man with a gold cloak to him.
"Ser, I am Jaren. We serve his grace, King Stannis. We have long awaited this day, and it was my men who got you inside the gate."
Davos looked the man in the eye; no surname meant he was common born, like Davos was.
"Why do you care about the King's cause?"
"They murdered his brother, King Robert. That was a right good King. He brought the realm feasts, tourneys, and justice. The Queen is a brother-fucker, and she had good King Robert murdered."
"How long were you a Gold Cloak?"
"Not long – only joined up because that was the only way to get decent food."
Ser Davos eyed him. The man was educated.
"And before you were a Gold Cloak?"
"I'm a sellsword by trade, ser. Worked with merchants who brought goods to the city. I also have more information on the city for you."
Davos nodded. "Go on, what can you tell me of the defenses?"
Jaren pointed toward the Street of Steel at the base of Visenya's Hill. "Many are gathered there; they intend to work with the merchants who have hired sellswords to try to deter your army into taking an alternative path to the Red Keep. They assume you will avoid the Great Sept of Baelor. I'm not a commander, but I suggest making your way north and allow them to keep their businesses. The battle is with the leeches in the Red Keep."
"We'll see about that."
Ser Davos gave a flurry of orders to scout ahead. He also had Jaren put under guard to be delivered to the King. He surreptitiously warned the escort that the man, this 'Jaren,' seemed too well educated and knowledgeable for a sellsword. He also sent a messenger ahead that he would be cautiously moving forward while his men scouted down River Row, the street that would take them to the Mud Gate and allow Bolton's forces to move in as well.
We've already taken the walls. I cannot imagine this will be fair sailing for long. Stannis should have given command to a cleverer man; I am ill-suited for this.
***
Despite the last several months of fighting and even leading men, Lum still felt like he was a pretender. He was not educated by a Maester or formally taught tactics and warfare, and yet he was in command of hundreds of individuals. All of whom quickly obeyed his commands – did they even know how inexperienced he was?
He was fearful, but knew Lady Myrcella would expect him to exact a heavy toll on their enemies. She was still within the Red Keep, having survived another profane attempt on her life, but had not yet regained consciousness. A runner arrived shouting that the King's Gate had fallen.
Too soon! How could it have fallen so quickly?
"Send word to Ser Theo; let him know we will 'light the candle' in thirty minutes from this moment."
"Ser?"
"Those exact words and the exact time – now go." Lum's voice sought to echo the steady cadence that Lady Myrcella used.
Lum issued more orders and moved ahead to the first artificially-created choke point. His archers were on the flat roofs nearby, and squads of plate-armored soldiers hid within the buildings, waiting to either defend the entry, or come out and box the enemy in. If they pushed through, Lady Myrcella thought it was just as likely they would temporarily retreat after initial setback.
The enemy commander was cautious and sent people ahead to investigate. Lum ordered the first group of archers to attack, and the enemy forerunners were expertly shot down. A few sought cover, and others ran back to the bulk of the advancing force. Lum waited patiently for the larger mass of soldiers to arrive. When they did, they advanced in a solid, disciplined line. The attackers pushed forward in earnest, heavy shields protecting the advance from the defenders' arrows.
Time for our first set of surprises.
As men crossed through the first structures, pots of oil came crushing down from the windows atop the shields, soaking the metal. Then came the fire, and the attacking formation began to scream and lose cohesion as they backed away. Flame was a wretched way to die, and the panicked response was only natural. Men tossed their burning shields and fled. Lum and his archers now laid down a deadly toll as the enemy showed their backs in retreat.
As the smoke and distance obscured the last fleeing survivors, Lum ordered his men back to another vantage point. With a city as vast as King's Landing, they could simply go around certain strongly-held points, or even bring a lot more archers than they had. Lady Myrcella had made it clear that mobility, sudden strength to enact casualties, and then repositioning was how they could wear down the enemy.
They used wooden planks as bridges across the roofs and quickly went to their next section. A staccato of short horn blasts informed surrounding areas that they were on the move. The plate-armored men in the homes burst out and ran over to their next stations, where they would find drink and simple provisions so that everyone could keep their strength up. They hadn't had a true fight yet, but even the short skirmishes were exhausting.
Lum and his group fended off another attack before time was up. A boom of green fire exploded several blocks over. To Lum's horror that explosion set off another, and another, and soon the entire city seemed to be shaking as plumes of green fire expanded out through the streets and collapsed whole slews of buildings. Lum was not within the immediate blast radius, but even still he lost his footing and nearly fell off the roof.
"Ser, ser! What was that? What should we do?"
Lum felt his mouth go dry. The explosions had likely killed thousands of people. They had ordered citizens to leave the areas near the wall, but the explosions had cut deeper into the city. Two or three families would be huddled into a single home, and many of those homes had been torn apart and set ablaze. Lum knew a number of Stormlanders in staging areas would have also been killed. No doubt the enemy had suffered too, but the chain of detonations had travelled inward, not outward.
Enemy horns sounded, and Lum could not tell in the smoke if they were calling for a retreat or an advance. Fires raged out of control, and Lum knew he had to make a decision.
"Retreat, back toward Visenya's Hill; send word to Ser Theo. Send a messenger to Ser Brienne in the north – let her know we cannot light any more of our candles!"
Lum sent a prayer up to the Seven to wake Lady Myrcella quickly; walls already breached and the city aflame in the first hours of the assault. They needed her before things grew even worse!
***
Brienne had positioned her soldiers halfway between the East Barracks and the West Barracks. A goodly number of Lannister soldiers and Gold Cloaks were protecting the walls; that they would be breached was only a matter of time. Catapults and scorpions were upon the walls, but several had also been repositioned into the city proper. When the gates were eventually breached, they would all be aimed at them; the heavy rocks would partially block the broken gates and hopefully cause significant losses.
The fighting started well for the defenders. The enemy made a series of probing attacks that were easily repelled. Word got to Brienne that the King's Gate had fallen in the opening hours of the assault. That was troubling, but there was little she could do about it now. She had to hope that the other members of the Stormguard did their duty and exacted a heavy toll on Stannis. She felt guilty for where she was positioned; she would much prefer to be where Ser Lum was – fighting the enemy instead of simply waiting.
The ground shook and trembled as the first 'candle' erupted and set off a chain reaction of detonations, visible from halfway across the city. The ground shook and quaked at the sheer force of wildfire combusting. The darkening sky became brightly lit as if the sun was still high for several moments.
We never placed so much wildfire – what is going on?
Brienne's first thought was that there was some treachery afoot. Given the number of times betrayal had dogged Lady Myrcella's footsteps, she was sure someone had secretly done the same again. Barking out orders, she gave commands to remove the prepositioned wildfire from their lighting points. If someone placed additional wildfire near their prepared points… She shuddered.
As men ran to obey her commands, she thought about what Lady Myrcella would do. By their best estimation, Ser Barristan was at least two days from the city, and likely three. If they pulled back to the Red Keep too early, they wouldn't cause enough damage to make a breakout likely to succeed. Brienne racked her brain until a messenger approached.
"Lady Brienne, the Reach have brought up a ram outside of catapult range, but they are not advancing it. They've withdrawn beyond bow range."
Brienne gave a frustrated growl; they wanted the army they faced on the north to bleed the most. That was why most of the catapults and scorpions, as well as herself and the best of the Stormlands they'd brought with them, were here on the northern side of the city. If she moved south, she would be giving command to Ser Perwyn Frey of the Stormguard, a stouthearted knight, but one who was unfamiliar with Lady Myrcella's way of fighting. Instead, she would remain here and send a third of her force with Ser Perwyn to try to link up with Ser Lum and see what could be done to salvage the situation.
Hours passed and night fell. The crackling of fire, screams, and sounds of battle could be heard. The Reach forces had attempted an assault, but it had been easily repelled without issue. Word reached Brienne that the River Gate and the Lion Gate had been taken and that a force of Northern and Dornish soldiers were steadily making their way to the Red Keep. She knew that there would be ambushes and delaying tactics, but without their 'candles,' it would be difficult to halt them.
Lum reported that the advance up Visenya's hill and movement toward the Great Sept of Baelor had slowed. The messenger also informed that a massive crowd of smallfolk had gathered outside the Great Sept and armed themselves with makeshift weaponry.
"Did Ser Lum have any ideas as to why?" Brienne asked the young man with a tabard that had crossed trumpets on a field of blue.
"No, my lady, but the talk of the city is that the false King intends to burn the Sept as an offering to his heathen God. There's a man, not the High Septon, who is saying that all true followers of the Seven should lay down their lives before allowing the holy place of the Seven to be profaned."
Could they be useful?
Brienne thanked him for the information, and he was off. Still nothing of note from the northern side of the city. She knew that if she remained here idle while the Red Keep was surrounded, she would be cut off from Lady Myrcella. But all their preparations on this side of King's Landing would go to waste if she moved. She trusted Ser Addam to hold the Red Keep for a time, but indecision gripped her.
What would Lady Myrcella do?
Even if the Reach was tepid in their advance, the walls had no hope of standing once the southern attacking force made its way further north. They had already cleared the Lion Gate, and soon they would reach the Gate of the Gods and then the Old Gate and so on. If the enemy wished to leave half their forces out of the fighting for the moment, Myrcella would count that as a benefit, even if those were the foes she most wanted to bloody.
Brienne snapped out orders and sent riders to communicate her decision to Ser Lum and Ser Theo. It was time for Brienne of Tarth to wet Tidebreaker.
***
Robb had heard the signal to move in. He wished Theon was with him; the man who had been raised with him in Winterfell since they were boys would have found some quip to lighten the mood. Instead, Robb's mood was as dark as the sky; taking a city was a bloody and messy affair. The King had commanded there to be no rapine and looting, no true sack of the city, but there were always those who let greed and lust overrule their fear of royal authority. It would be his role to not only bring down the Lannisters but also prevent his own men from giving in to wanton brutality.
Grey Wind, as always, was at his side. Davos held the gate and had sent men forward despite the wildfire-induced flame covering at least a tenth of the city. Fortunately, there was no strong wind, and what wind did blow came in from the coast and blew westward. The fire was unlikely to spread into the heart of King's Landing and to the important landmarks like the Great Sept of Baelor.
"My Lord Hand." Robb nodded his head to Ser Davos.
"Ah, Lord Stark. You've a gift for tactics; what do you make of what is going on?"
"I do not wish to underestimate our foe. They are a wounded animal trapped in a corner. The use of wildfire in the city has proven more harmful to them than us, but we have no way of knowing how much of the accursed substance they have. I recommend caution."
Davos nodded. "Aye, but at the same time, we cannot slow to a crawl. Lady Myrcella and the Bold will be here soon. It would be best if we've taken down Lord Tywin and Tommen before he gets here."
"What are your orders, ser?" Robb asked.
"I've sent groups north to take the walls and some to the east. I'd have you go east along the edge of the wall. I doubt they would have put wildfire there for risk of blowing their own wall apart. Lord Merryweather should be crashing into the northern gates now; that gives us an opportunity. If we are fast enough, we can encircle the Red Keep. I cannot believe the defenders anticipated the walls falling so soon."
Robb immediately saw the tactical benefit. If they cut off the enemy from the Red Keep, then they would have no place to shelter effectively. The streets and homes were not curtain walls with crenelations and murder holes. The danger was if Bran's dream was true, making the Reach treacherous. In such an event, there could be a nasty battle, and yet at the same time, if they could take the Red Keep quickly enough, they would have effective control of the city and at the very least could bring the Lannisters down.
"I will move swiftly, but carefully. May your Seven watch over you, ser."
They clasped hands as Davos replied, "And may your Gods watch over you, Stark."
Robb signaled his men, and he moved, Jory on his left and Grey Wind on his right. The resistance this close to the walls had already been beaten down with Davos and his advance forces. The River Gate – or Mud Gate, as some of the locals called it – had been abandoned by the time Robb arrived.
He had yet to be blooded in this battle and stopped only briefly to confer with the commanders here. Bolton, Glover, and Martell greeted him.
"Ah, the wolf is here. Kindly explain to your Northern kin that I belong in the heart of this battle – my spear slaking its thirst on Lannister blood."
Bolton's pale eyes glanced over to Robb's.
"Battles such as these require cool heads, and I suspect our Prince of Dorne runs too hot for sound decision-making," Bolton spoke quietly, though Robb picked up every word easily.
Oberyn opened his mouth to object, but Robb spoke over.
"Oberyn and his men can come with me."
Glover, Bolton, and Oberyn looked at him with some surprise. Robb knew there were doubts about Oberyn's loyalty to Stannis. His use as a hostage had some merit, but Robb suspected that would not stay Lord Doran's hand if he did plot treachery. Instead, Robb thought it would be good to use him. Dorne and the Reach could be traitors, but Oberyn hated the Lannisters with an unmatched fury. If he and the Dornish spears he brought with him would be their future enemies, why not use them up in fighting the Old Butcher?
Robett looked ready to speak, but held his tongue. Oberyn clapped him on his pauldron and smiled, showing teeth. Then they advanced. Several times, enemy soldiers appeared out of the night air to fire arrows and then retreat toward the city proper and The Hook, which was a street that led to the Red Keep.
The path to the Red Keep is easiest through The Hook – no doubt they have further difficulties there. We will have to go around homes, businesses, and taverns, but it is better than the obvious path.
This proved true, as soon the harassing attacks became even fiercer. Robb's command included thousands, and behind him, shouts rose up as word of a large group attack was announced. Robb turned to Oberyn and Glover. "Continue to advance; I'll ensure our force isn't cut in twain."
Bolton still held the Mud Gate, but he was cautious and would not weaken his position without a direct command. The sounds of fighting grew louder as Robb made his way back. He wished there was still daylight so he could see what was going on. Groping around in the dark like this made it impossible to know how many they faced.
An arrow struck his pauldron as he arrived at the fight. Grey Wind let out a howl, and Robb charged forward with Jory at his side. Men in plate and spears checked his advance. Robb parried aside one spear and hammered down the pommel of his sword into the wielder. The man fell back with a grunt, but another spear stabbed into Robb; it had flickered in his vision moments before it happened, and Robb had already adjusted his body so it struck the thickest part of his armor. He grabbed the spear as Grey Wind leaped over him and crashed his body weight into the attacker, sending him down with a cry. The direwolf's teeth found the elbow joint and sank into it. Robb slashed at the head of his original opponent, who was still recovering from the pommel strike.
As the battle went on, the plate-armored spearmen began to step backwards, thrown back by the fury of Robb's arrival. Robb tasted blood in his mouth, though he had taken no wound in the fighting.
If we could overwhelm them, these distracting attacks would end, and we could have the Red Keep besieged by dawn.
A sudden premonition of the street covered in oil and flame caused him to shout a new command.
"HALT! Back – NOW!" Robb grabbed Jory and hauled him back, right as oil was thrown from the nearby rooftops, and a flaming brand dropped into the street. Nearly all of Robb's men were able to pull back, but a couple were now set aflame. Fortunately, with so few burning, they were able to smother the flame with furs and cloaks before they could kill. Arrows descended in even greater numbers, but shields, armor, and the buildings themselves provided cover.
"Jory, get some men inside those buildings and take the roofs. We advance too blindly; we need our own archers on the higher ground to contest with them."
"I'll get to it, and thank you, my lord. I have no desire to die like your grandfather."
Robb nodded. It wasn't certain if Jory or he would have died if Robb had not his queer glimpse of the future. The heat would have been unbearable, and depending on how much oil they were doused with, it could be fatal. It all depended on how quickly his men could react. Burns though had a way of killing days after their infliction, so not something he would wish to chance. And of course, if they had used wildfire…
They had driven back the enemy for the moment; Robb was tempted to catch up with Oberyn – his father was likely somewhere in the Red Keep – but this was too important. If the advanced elements were fully cut off from the reinforcements flowing through the gate, they would lose many a man unnecessarily. Robb sent a prayer up to the Gods of the North that his father was still alive and able to be saved.