As the sun hung low in the sky, casting its dim yellow light, Samwell and his remaining men rode out from Sandstone, leaving behind the now-distant fortress and plunging into the endless desert.
The world around them reverted to a monotonous, muted hue as Samwell slowed his horse to take stock of his forces.
Out of his original two hundred cavalry, only one hundred forty remained—a considerable loss but one offset by the remarkable results they had achieved. What was initially a harassment mission had turned into an outright invasion: they hadn't just disrupted the logistics of House Qorgyle—they'd razed their entire supply depot to the ground. With Sandstone's granaries reduced to ashes, Lord Quentyn Qorgyle would face utter disarray, scrambling to borrow food and resources from neighboring lords just to keep his frontline troops provisioned.
And with the Qorgyle heir slain, Samwell wondered if Lord Quentyn would be so enraged as to abandon his campaign against the Iron Throne and return home to seek revenge.
They pressed on northward, distancing themselves from Sandstone until they reached a small desert village with a precious water source. Confident that they had shattered the morale of the local Dornish forces, Samwell permitted his men to make camp openly. He allowed them to light fires, savor hot food, and even share a bit of ale—though only enough to lift their spirits without impairing their senses.
Beside a crackling fire, Dickon roasted a leg of lamb and eagerly pestered his older brother for secrets on how to unleash the fiery power of Dawn.
Samwell wasn't quite sure how to explain such a feat himself and made up an answer on the spot, tossing off vague instructions to keep his enthusiastic younger brother entertained. Dickon took his words to heart without question, soaking in each one as he carefully seasoned the lamb with spices they had looted from Qorgyle's keep before handing the meat to his brother with pride.
Samwell bit into the tender meat and gave Dickon an approving nod just as he caught Obara Sand eyeing him from the shadows.
"What is it? Are you hungry too?" he teased the Dornish prince's daughter. "Well, you'll just have to wait until we're finished. Maybe we'll leave you a few bones to gnaw on."
Obara ignored his jibe, her eyes fixed on the massive sword strapped across his back. Her tone was heavy with contempt as she finally muttered, "That Dawn would accept you as its master is nothing short of…"
"What?" Samwell asked with a grin, urging her to continue.
"An affront to the gods," she spat, her words emerging through clenched teeth.
Samwell threw his head back in a laugh. "And here you are, a mere mortal questioning the wisdom of the gods?"
"Or perhaps it's some demon's trick!" Obara hissed, her face twisted with anger. "That must be it! You've forged a pact with a devil—that's the only way you'd wield such a sacred blade. You're the spawn of some hellish spirit!"
"Watch your mouth!" Dickon shouted, unable to bear hearing his brother insulted so brazenly.
But Samwell held up a calming hand to silence his younger brother, still smiling as he turned back to Obara. "I see you're conveniently twisting your logic to suit yourself. When House Dayne wields Dawn, it's a 'sacred sword of dawn,' but the moment someone who isn't Dornish wields it, they're a devil's spawn? Does opposing Dorne make me evil by default?"
Obara turned her head away, unwilling to engage any further, and Samwell soon lost interest as well. Once he and his men had finished their meal, he tossed her a few bones, which, much to his surprise, she gnawed on without complaint.
Later, as Lucas Dayne returned from assigning night watch duties, he approached Samwell with a question.
"What are your plans now, my lord?"
Samwell reclined by the fire, momentarily lost in thought. It was a good question. With their mission so thoroughly accomplished—disrupting the Qorgyle supply lines and ransacking Sandstone—there was little reason to stay in the area. Sandstone no longer held any strategic or material value for him, so he mused on where to head next.
The western path led back the way they'd come. To the south lay the Summer Sea. Eastward lay Hellgate Hall, the seat of House Uller.
The idea of storming Hellgate Hall piqued his interest momentarily, but he quickly dismissed it. His success in taking Sandstone had been circumstantial, bolstered significantly by Obara's inadvertent assistance. His troops had taken heavy losses, and Hellgate Hall was rumored to be well-defended. Notably, it had once succeeded in downing a dragon—Meraxes, one of Aegon the Conqueror's three dragons, had fallen to its giant scorpion bolt. Samwell had no desire to end up on the receiving end of such a weapon.
Steadying himself, Samwell recommitted to his original principle of caution.
With Hellgate Hall ruled out, that left only the northern route, which led to the fortress of Skyreach.
Skyreach was the southern gateway to Prince's Pass, an essential route through which the Iron Throne's main force would pass on its invasion. By Samwell's calculations, the Iron Throne's lead army might already be engaging Skyreach; perhaps they had even conquered it by now.
"We march north to Skyreach," he declared at last.
---
Skyreach.
Lord Quentyn Qorgyle paced anxiously across his chambers, fretting over recent reports. When Prince Oberyn "the Red Viper" Martell entered, he immediately moved toward him, his voice full of urgency.
"Your Grace! I just received word—a Riverlands and Reach's cavalry force has occupied Sandstone! They've killed my eldest son! I can't stay here. I must go back!"
Without a word, Oberyn poured them both wine, offering one goblet to Quentyn.
But Quentyn, too distressed to drink, continued pacing. "I'll leave you half my forces, Your Grace, but I must take the other half back with me. I can't just let the Riverlanders overrun Sandstone!"
"Quentyn," Oberyn said calmly after taking a sip, "the main Riverlands army is here, outside Skyreach—not in Sandstone. I understand your loss, but think about it: do you truly believe a few hundred cavalry could hold Sandstone?"
"Am I supposed to just let them ravage my lands? And what of my son? Who will avenge him?"
"Of course, vengeance is your right," Oberyn replied, "but not now. If I allow you to withdraw, what message does that send to the other lords? Every one of them has had enemies pillaging their lands, and if they all insisted on returning, who would be left to defend Skyreach? Letting the Iron Throne break through Prince's Pass would put all of Dorne at risk. You can't leave. Neither can your men."
Quentyn tightened his grip around the goblet, visibly resentful.
Oberyn placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Quentyn, you and I grew up together. Sandstone is like a second home to me. Do you think I'm not equally pained to see it overrun? And my daughter Obara is there too, her fate unknown. But our enemy is here, on the field before us. If we lose Skyreach, the entire western flank of Dorne will be exposed. Surely you understand that?"
Quentyn nodded slowly, his voice choked with bitterness. "I do."
"Besides," Oberyn added, "you still have another son, don't you? Aaralon?"
"Yes," Quentyn replied.
"Then send him to be my squire. I'll train him myself, teach him to kill, to lead, to be a true lord. When he comes of age, I'll even knight him myself."
Quentyn considered this offer for a moment before draining his goblet. "Very well, Oberyn. My youngest is in your hands."
Satisfied, Oberyn was about to respond when a hurried knock came at the door.
"What is it?"
"Prince Oberyn," a guard's voice called urgently from outside, "the Iron Throne's forces have begun their assault!"
---
Skyreach, the formidable fortress that guarded the southern entrance to Prince's Pass, was more than just a city; it was a fortified stronghold perched high in the Red Mountains. Rising from the rugged landscape like a majestic eagle, its walls loomed high, a testament to Dorne's resilience.
Throughout its history, many armies had thrown themselves against Skyreach's defenses, their courage and blood strengthening its walls, making it almost impregnable.
Today, this proud Dornish bastion prepared to face a new challenger.
"In three days, I will have conquered it!" King Joffrey declared from the base of the walls, his confidence unshaken.
"No one has taken Skyreach in three days," Lord Eddard Stark replied flatly. "Not even Aegon Targaryen with his dragons could do it."
"That's because he was a fool!" Joffrey retorted, unsheathing his sword and thrusting it skyward. "Attack! Attack!"
The ground trembled as the Iron Throne's army surged forward, its soldiers braving the deadly hail of arrows, stones, and boiling oil raining down from above.
Battle cries, screams, and the groans of the wounded filled the air, echoing off the walls in a cacophony of violence.
The siege of King's Barrow was a small skirmish compared to this.
Queen Cersei looked at it for a while and felt a little uncomfortable in her stomach. She took her son's arm and said:
"Your Majesty, let's go back to the camp. This battle won't be over anytime soon anyway."
"No!" Joffrey refused, his eyes gleaming with cruelty and excitement. "I want to see my army take it! Come on, come on! Come on!"
(End of this chapter)