In a sparse forested area, a wild hare was darting frantically, as if something terrifying was hot on its tail.
Swish—
A shadow flashed past, pinning the poor rabbit to the ground.
"A rabbit? You took three arrows to bring it down. Tsk tsk."
Two mounted men rode up. Their leather armor bore the emblem of House Yronwood, a black portcullis set against a sandy backdrop.
One of the riders, lowering his bow, shot a glance at his companion, who'd teased him for his aim.
"These mountain hares are cunning," the archer muttered defensively.
"Oh yeah? Watch me," the other rider scoffed, retrieving his bow and giving his companion a challenging look.
"Alright, let's see how many arrows you need."
The two continued on, but they didn't encounter any more rabbits.
Growing bored, one of them finally broke the silence, "Do you think the princess has something against House Yronwood? That's the only reason we're stuck on lookout duty out here."
"What do you know? The army's in the field, and scouts are crucial. This is a mark of the princess's trust."
"Trust, my foot! The Reachmen are still pinned at the harbor—how could they possibly get out here? I'm telling you, she just wants us out of her sight."
"That's on us for provoking her in the first place. The lord sent just a handful of soldiers this time, and they're all cavalry at that. What was the princess supposed to do with us? She's already sparing House Yronwood's pride by keeping us away from the frontlines."
"You're always defending her. Don't tell me you've got a cr—"
"Shh! Did you hear that?"
"What? I don't hear anything."
"Idiot, look up! The sky!"
Sure enough, when he looked up, he saw a hawk with a snowy white tail circling high overhead.
"Watch me bring it down in a single shot!"
"If you can bring down that hawk in one shot, I'll feed your horse for a month."
"Deal!"
The rider brought his horse to a halt, nocked an arrow, and held his breath to steady his aim.
Swish!
The arrow flew, but it didn't so much as graze the bird.
"Alright, that was a fluke. Looks like I'll need two shots," he said with a shrug, turning to his companion to renegotiate the bet.
But when he turned around, he saw an arrow lodged in his companion's neck!
The sight froze him for a second, his mind blank with shock.
In that instant, another arrow whistled out from the trees, striking him squarely between the eyes.
Thud! Thud!
Both men toppled from their saddles, and the startled horses bolted. A group of soldiers emerged from the forest, intercepting the riderless mounts.
"Sam, is that hawk yours?" Randyll Tarly looked up at the soaring bird, his eyes shining with rare admiration.
"Yes, Father."
"Well done!" Randyll gazed approvingly at his son. "After the battle, you'll train one for me as well!"
"Of course." Samwell nodded, already wondering how many gold dragons it would take to buy and train a hawk.
But considering that Randyll had brought the entire strength of Horn Hill to aid him, a hawk seemed a small price to pay in return.
After a moment, he closed his eyes, viewing the landscape through the hawk's perspective. Then he turned to Randyll and said, "Father, I believe that was the last Dornish scout in this direction."
"Good." Randyll nodded. "Let's increase our pace. If we linger too long, the Dornish will start to wonder why their scouts aren't returning."
"Yes, Father!"
...
By around three in the afternoon, Samwell's forces finally caught sight of the distant shape of the Dornish army.
They had stealthily maneuvered to the right rear flank of the Dornish forces and now hid behind a hill, watching as the Dornish troops on the plains continued their relentless assaults on the harbor in waves.
Randyll studied the enemy for a moment before calling his officers for a strategy discussion.
However, "discussion" was perhaps a generous term—it was more about issuing orders.
"I'll personally lead the infantry to strike the Dornish forces from behind. When the Reachmen at the harbor hear our signal, they'll break out and attack from the front. This will create a pincer attack. Once my troops have drawn the Dornish lines thin, the cavalry will charge down from here, striking their right flank to shatter their formation and divide them into two."
Randyll looked around, his steely gaze meeting each officer's eyes as he asked, "Does anyone have any objections to this plan?"
Of course, there were no objections.
In this situation, there wasn't much room for complex maneuvers. It would all come down to how well they executed the plan.
The Dornish forces still held a numerical advantage, but after days of relentless attacks on the harbor fortifications, they were exhausted.
Now, with the Reachmen taking them by surprise from the rear, all they needed to do was shatter the Dornish formation. Numbers alone wouldn't save them.
Seeing no dissent, Randyll continued, "Very well. Since there are no objections, I'll lead the infantry for the rear attack. But we need someone to lead the cavalry charge."
His gaze swept over the assembled knights before resting on Samwell.
"All these cavalrymen hail from Horn Hill and Brightwater Keep, so only someone of Tarly or Florent blood should lead them. Samwel, will you take this charge?"
Samwell blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected his father to entrust him with such a critical task.
And as for the reason Randyll had given, Samwell knew it was merely a convenient justification to silence any potential objections.
Still, it made sense. Samwell did have blood ties to both houses.
In fact, the forces of Horn Hill and Brightwater Keep were the backbone of this expedition, contributing sixty-eight knights along with their squires and attendants, totaling over seven hundred cavalrymen.
This was a force that could turn the tide of battle.
That Randyll Tarly would entrust such a force to him rather than to a more experienced or distinguished knight was surprising.
But there were no objections from the knights. Samwell was no longer the timid, overweight boy who'd been expelled from Horn Hill; his recent victories had earned him respect. The knights accepted him as a capable leader.
Moreover, with both Tarly and Florent blood, he was the highest-ranking noble in the group after Randyll.
If Alekyne Florent, the heir of Brightwater Keep, had been present, he might have contested the command. But as he'd stayed behind to guard the harbor, the Florent knights had no suitable candidate to propose.
As for the Horn Hill knights, their loyalty to Randyll was almost absolute, and they would never oppose his wishes.
Samwell, now called to action, felt his blood surge with excitement. Meeting Randyll's gaze, he nodded firmly. "Yes, Father."
With the plan settled, Randyll began the final preparations for their division of forces.
Before parting, he found Samwell, who was donning his armor, and asked, "Sam, do you still remember how to lead a cavalry charge?"
Samwell tried to recall what he'd been taught, nodding, "Yes, you taught me."
"Good," Randyll replied, nodding. "Forget all of it."
"?"
Randyll met his son's eyes, his voice steely and fierce.
"There's only one thing you need to remember."
"And what's that?"
"Forward."
"Forward?"
"Yes. Forward," Randyll said, his tone as sharp and bloody as a blade. "Cut down everything in your path. Go forward—until there's no one left standing before you!"
Samwell nodded, his expression firm. "Understood, Father."
Randyll's gaze flicked to Samwell's massive warhammer and remarked, "That weapon's too heavy for a mounted charge. Take my sword instead."
With that, he unbuckled his sword and handed it to Samwell.
Samwell took the Tarly family's ancestral greatsword, Heartsbane, his mind reeling.
Randyll spoke with a rare gentleness. "With Heartsbane in your hands, you're a true Tarly now. Do you remember our family's words?"
"Yes," Samwell answered, his voice unwavering.
"First in Battle!"
(End of Chapter)