Chapter 38: Chapter 34
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Alisanna Mormont.
Huge by Alisanna Mormont's standards, a Northern army of as many as nine thousand warriors lined up five to seven miles from Black Castle and awaited Blackheart's retaliation.
The Highland clans of the North, the Mormonts, the Amberians, the Karstarks, the Servins, Cassel and his men from Winterfell, Ramsay Bolton and his Dreadfords, Lady Barbri Dustin and her men and the Riswell militia, and a couple of hundred archers from the Wolfswood clans were now under the command of Ser Rodrik Cassel, who had taken over from Lord Bolton's bastard lord.
Ser Rodrik was a collected man, strong-willed and calm. He had good military experience, unlike Ramsay Bolton, who was a brilliant strategist and clever man. But his appearance was even worse than his character: short, pimply, with a square jaw and thick greasy hair, the only more or less pleasant feature of his appearance was his eye colour - almost silver, but still the shade of that silver was not the same as that of the late Domeric Bolton. The freak was still trying to drive a wedge between Alisanna and her two younger sisters, Lyra and Jorel, who were also keeping her and half a hundred other Bear Island fighters company in this campaign against Blackheart.
It wasn't that Alisanna thought she was a beautiful woman, or that she was such a picky woman when it came to men, but this bastard really disgusted her. She wasn't so pretty herself, but she wasn't ugly enough to give him a chance to get between her legs: she was short, stocky, muscular, with wide hips, huge breasts and big calloused hands. She looked a little more like her mother than her older sister Daisy, who had been with Mage in the South with Robb Stark's army.
Alysanne looked at Ramsay Snow again and grimaced.
- Was the Bolton bastard popping his balls at you again? - Lyra asked her. - Should he cut them off?
- Not yet. We still need him, or rather the men under his command, for this battle, and then we can make earrings of his bells. - Alisanna joked. It was half-joking, but both sisters realised it. - Hey! Look! - Alisanna suddenly noticed the gates of the Black Castle opening up
- Several riders rode out of the Black Castle. It seems someone is rushing to surrender to us.
- Not likely, Lady Lyra. - Ser Rodrik grinned bitterly, rubbing his sideburns. - Knowing Blackheart both personally and by reliable information, he never gives up.
- Then perhaps I will have the opportunity to present our king with a cloak made from the skin of a Frey bastard. - grinned bloodthirstily as Ramsay Snow rode up to them.
- Somebody here seems to have forgotten that he is also a bastard. - Lady Barbrie Dustin said coldly and contemptuously. - 'Tame your ardour and stupidity, they won't make you smarter or prettier. You'd better go and keep "your lads" in line, or they'll get drunk again at the worst possible moment.
Ramsay didn't like that, but he said nothing.
Lady Barbree, Alisanne liked and respected, though she was a woman of character. Barbrie Dustin's face showed wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, but she was still beautiful, slim and tall. She had dark eyes that sometimes flashed sparks of anger when someone annoyed her, as Ramsay did now. Her hair is mostly brown and a little grey. It is usually pulled back into what is known as a widow's knot. She is often dressed in black woollen clothes with a high stiff collar, with her hair strictly tucked back and no jewellery, but now she has changed that outfit to a woman's armour.
- How interesting. - she hummed. - A white lion on a red field, then a white wolf on a grey field, three roses on a green field, white lightning bolts on a purple field and a field divided into 4 parts, painted in pink and azure colours, with yellow suns on the pink field and white crescents on the azure field. It seems we have Blackheart himself, Loras Tyrell, Berrik Dondarrion, Brienne of Tarth, and possibly Ned Stark's bastard. - she surmised.
- That does seem to be Jon. - Cassel nodded in surprise.
Soon all the riders were approaching the negotiators, who were Ser Rodrik Cassel, Lady Barbry Dustin, the Mormont sisters, Ramsay Snow and a couple of other Highland lords.
They met Damian Blackheart, Jon Snow, Brienne Tarstka, Loras Tyrell, Berrick Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Mendon Moore, Tormund one of the wildling chieftains, and a few other men and women who actually held the banners of these people.
- Ser Rodrik. - Blackheart nodded a greeting. - The last time I saw you, I think, was a year ago.
- That is so Lord Blackheart. Now much has changed since then, you are the Lord Hand of Queen Shireen, and I am the commander of the Army of the North, which must eliminate the threat you pose.
- Threat? - Blackheart flashed his scarlet eyes. - It seems I came here to remove a threat to the North and the Seven Kingdoms in the form of a horde of wildlings, which I did and was soon to leave to continue killing Lannisters and installing a legitimate heir to the royal throne.
- Our king saw you as a threat, and for good reason. - hummed Ramsay. - I see wildlings among you. Or my eyes are failing me.
- Your naughty eyes are not failing you, Chatterbox. - smiled condescendingly at Blackheart. - They are in my army, for they were first defeated by me, and then those who wished to live civilised lives under the rule of the rightful monarch south of the Wall swore an oath. And now serve in our army. As you can see, even the wildlings serve our queen.
- And we're not Wildlings who are desperate enough to serve who knows who. - Ramsay turned up his crooked nose proudly. - Besides.
- Shut up, Snow! - Cassel shut him up without looking. - I beg your pardon, Lord Blackheart, that boy's got a lot on his mind. I'll be honest, I don't want to fight you. Though we have the advantage, I don't see you as an enemy. But you're not that far from Winterfell, which is a threat to the North, and we've been at war with each other for a long time. Robb Stark is King of the North, he does not recognise your Queen Shireen's authority over him. And neither do we. As a mark of respect for you and in gratitude for saving the Night's Watch and the North from the wildling horde, I offer you my word that none of your men will be harmed. You will stay at Winterfell until our king and your queen decide on borders and a prisoner exchange.
- Accept it, Lord Blackheart. For who knows what may await you in battle. It would be good if you fell to Ser Rodrik and not me. - Ramsay grinned nastily.
- Shut your mouth. - Jon grinned. - A lot of shit comes out of your fucking mouth that makes me want to die just to avoid listening to it. Is that your main weapon? All you know how to do is talk. I'd like to see that skill in action. I reckon it'd be a sight to behold, a foot soldier coming at you and you trying to kill him with your tongue.
There was a contagious laugh in Blackheart's camp, which made Ramsay crimson. The Mormonts, Lady Barbri and the Highland Lords also laughed.
- Sno-ooh, you..." Ramsay hissed.
- That's Ser Jon Snow to you. - Dondarrion interrupted him. - He is a knight who has earned his status, and his position in our camp is well-deserved, unlike you, a murderer and rapist.
Ramsay only swallowed his words and clutched the reins.
- I don't think we're going to have this conversation. - Moore said.
- I think we are. There is a time for negotiation, and there is a time for battle. Neither you nor we will yield to the other. It's a pity, you know, before you came I was thinking of just finishing up here and going south by sea, but it seems that now I'll have to stay in the North for a while to bring it to its knees. - Blackheart gave out.
- Presumptuous. - Lady Dustin snorted. - You forget that you have few men. You may have some wildlings on your side, but these are true Northerners who know how to hold a weapon and kill.
- Lady Dustin, I assure you, when it comes to me, the size of the enemy is irrelevant. - Blackheart grinned. - No matter how many of you there are, I will bend you over. - He looked at her with a frankly undressing and lustful look that did not escape her notice.
Alisanna noticed it and snorted, men are still men even if they are at war with the side of the woman they want, the red priest was looking at Alisanna and her younger sister Lyra with great interest, as was Tormund who was standing next to him.
- I dare to remind you that the Night's Watch remains neutral in all conflicts that take place. - Cassel pointed out tactfully. - And you cannot keep an army or riflemen in the lands under the Watch's control during a battle.
- I had no intention of doing so. I respect tradition, Ser Rodrik. And I hope in return you will let us withdraw my men in peace so that the Night's Watch is not drawn into this battle. It's not their problem, and I'd like to keep it that way.
- You have my word that I will not give the command to attack before your men are all on the battlefield.
- Thank you. - Blackheart nodded. - Then I think we're done here.
- This is the end of you! - shouted Ramsay Snow.
Blackheart stopped in front of him and grinned contentedly:
- No, this is only the beginning! - and then galloped off in the direction of Castle Black.
The Northmen formed into battle formation. The cavalry was divided into three units. Cassel put the Winterfell cavalry behind the two columns of infantry and the archers behind them, and two units of Northmen riders on the flanks, the Dreadforths on the right and Lady Dustin and the Riswells on the left.
After a minute's wait, the gates of Castle Black opened again and out sprang Blackheart's first line of foot soldiers, wearing their spotted green cloaks, his guards, led by him on his raven horse. And if they came out in a tight column, as soon as the first squad came out it "opened up" and the rear infantrymen took places on the flanks turning it into a horizontal column of six rows of about a hundred men each. Next was Jon Snow with his infantrymen, they did the same trick and the same column followed on the right side just behind the first one, and the third one, judging by the banner and figure Alisanna, thanks to her good eyesight, recognised Berrick Dondarrion, who also commanded the same number of infantry. As soon as they had taken a symmetrical position on the left side of Blackheart's detachment, as the fourth column, led by Loras Tyrell, came out, there was a sudden howl of horns calling for battle from the right flank. At the same moment, the Dreadfowlers, led by Ramsay Snow, attacked, followed by the Dreadfort cavalry, their infantry, and soon after, some of the Highlanders.
- What?! I didn't give the command! - Ser Rodrik shouted. - I gave my word! Sound the retreat! Immediately, get Blackheart to withdraw all his men.
Alisanna realised what the bastard had done, and promised that after the battle she would personally cut off his head if Cassel didn't do it first. After all, the bastard not only broke the word given by his immediate commander, but also broke the entire battle plan. And this in front of her uncle's eyes, who is definitely watching them from the heights of the Black Castle walls.
"This is what the Northmen have sunk to!" - For some reason, that phrase flashed through her mind as she imagined what he would say to her the first time they met.
Apparently, by a stupid coincidence dictated by the behaviour of the Dreadfort men, the Highlanders had also thought it was worth launching an attack.
- If we don't support the attack, it's a lost cause, no matter how many men he has there now. - Lady Barbree, who was next to Cassel and Mormont, said coldly. - Not that I care about the bastard, but I feel sorry for Ruse's men. No sense in them dying for nothing.
- Hmm." Ser Rodrik's eyes showed a struggle with himself, but he gave the order. - Lady Barbri, have your men and the Riswells support the bastard. After the battle, I will personally chop his head off for this meanness both ways. Lady Alisanna, Lady Alice, your men and the men of Lords Flint, Wull and Harkley should also support the riders.
Everyone nodded silently and gave the necessary orders. Alisanna and Lyra, leaving her sister Jorel in the rear, led their men into battle personally.
Ramsay and his men had already clashed with Blackheart's troop, and soon Riswell's and Dustin's men swooped down on the other troops, but it was impossible to break through Blackheart's men and the attack was stuck in the chopping block. On either flank of Blackheart's, Snow's, and Dondarrion's squads, Loras Tyrell's and Mendon Moore's squads had already lined up and fought the Highlanders and the Mormont men with the Winterfellians, and from the gates of the Black Castle the Wildlings, led by a fair-haired warrior who led the spearmen and a red-haired tall chief who shouted many unflattering things in the direction of the Northmen, seemed to be running out.
The Northmen failed to maintain the formation that would have been more convenient for them to fight, but the Blackhartians managed to hold back the onslaught of wedge-shaped formation of troops and even seemed to push the Northmen back a little, step by step moving forward skilfully and with rectangular shields. They even protected themselves with them from the small number of riflemen, as all the ranks behind them held the shields above them. For some reason it reminded Alisanna remotely of a turtle shell.
The elder Mormont had already somehow lost track of the time of the battle. She was just fighting and trying to win. But, nevertheless, she still noticed something was going wrong out of the corner of her eye. And it wasn't even because they were still fighting still virtually only because of their numbers and Cassel's orders, but because of something else.
At some point Alisanna realised that most of those people who were behind with Cassel at the head had joined the fight, because as it turned out Blackheart's men had managed to push them back almost a good mile and now, it seemed, the whole Blackheart army had come out to fight. There were no cavalry or giants in sight, which alarmed her, for she knew from reliable sources that Blackheart had at least three thousand mounted men. But where are they now?
- We're being outflanked! - Lyra shouted to her.
Alisanna noticed that out of nowhere, probably because of the slight wind that was picking up light snow and narrowing the Northmen's view, they were being pressed on both flanks by about as many men as were standing in an arc under Damian Blackheart's banner, and they seemed to be wildlings for the most part.
Cassel trumpeted a retreat.
- Retreat! - Alisanna Mormont echoed her men and the Northmen on her flank began an orderly retreat.
But as soon as the Northmen had moved about a hundred paces away from the enemy's positions, who had not lost their fervour and were already advancing, with arrows and darts flying from the rear ranks towards them, the Bear heard a loud shout from one of the Highland lords.
- The enemy is in the rear!
Alisanna managed to finally make up some time in her retreat, shielding herself from the arrows and darts with her shield, and looked back. Blackheart's entire cavalry was coming at them from the rear, and it made Alisanna's heart leap at her heels.
They were in an elaborate trap, and now they had to take up a circular defence.
They tried to take it, but the cavalry came in three wedges, and separated the Highlanders, some of the Riswell cavalry, Mormont and Carstark infantry to one side, Cassel, Winterfell and the archers in the centre to the second, and most of the cavalry led by Ramsay Snow to the third. They were being squeezed in a vice-like grip.
Mormont didn't know how long the Northmen had been pinched, but at some point all the Northmen had been divided into several rings of encirclement from which there was no escape. People were huddled together, trying to get away from the long spears and arrows of the enemy, but it was poorly succeeded. In the circle of encirclement where Mormont was, there were her men, Carstark's men, and a small portion of the Highlanders.
Suddenly the onslaught weakened, and Blackheart's warriors retreated a couple of steps back, and right in front of Alisanna a pair of warriors parted and Jon Snow, or rather Ser Jon Snow, came out to meet her. He was holding a fully bloodied two-handed Valyrian sword, which she recognised immediately. After all, it had once been their family's ancestral heirloom, the Long Claw. But how it had ended up in Snow's possession and not her uncle's, who had taken the sword with him after Jorah Mormont's ignominious flight, she did not know. But it didn't matter now.
- You fought bravely and honourably. But you have lost! If you don't surrender, you'll die right here, and you won't be able to protect your family. Lay down your arms, and I give you the guarantees and rights of our prisoners.
- Much honour to you. We're northerners, we don't give up that easily! - shouted one of the encircled men.
- I know." He nodded glumly. - You're northerners, like me in part. I grew up in the North like you, and in remembrance of those years and the blood that runs in us I urge you to lay down your arms, or else you will be what you are to all who go against Blackheart - no good.
Alisanna clenched her jaw and her mace to the point of gnashing her teeth, but that was the end of her discontent, she realised there was no point in fighting any further. Otherwise, even if they could kill a couple of dozen Southerners, that would be the end of it. They would all be slaughtered.
Alisanna was the first to throw her shield and mace, onto the already scarlet coloured snow.
- Lay down your weapons! - she commanded. All, though with some regret and hesitation, obeyed her and laid down their weapons. - We surrender to you, Ser Jon Snow.
He nodded. And then a few moments later, the tight formation of his men broke apart and made a 'corridor' to the ice wall.
- Go to the Wall. You'll stand there for a while until it's over, and then we'll put you somewhere for safekeeping. Try not to do anything stupid. Some of my men, the riflemen, will keep an eye on you.
So they did, and lined up in a tight line along the Wall, guarded by a small band of wildling infantry and crossbowmen.
Soon they were joined by Riswell's captive knights and riders, Lady Dustnin herself and some of her men, and Cassel and the Winterfellians.
- Robb Stark is an idiot. - Lady Dustin gave a doomed look as she watched some of the Dreadfort folk, including Ramsay Snow himself, perform the long dreaded execution, even in the North, of the Blood Raven. - I should never have made that man angry.
- He's not a man - he's a demon! - some young knight shrieked hysterically. Which only caused Lady Barbri to sigh in annoyance. - They have defeated us. I think I heard that dreadful verse about Blackheart, and then we were surrounded and defeated. Whenever he's mentioned, some misfortune happens. And look what he does! Are we doomed to this, too?
- Shut the fuck up! - Ser Rodrik shouted at him. - We are Ser Snow's prisoners. Nothing will happen to us. Ramsay refused to surrender and this is the result.
- But how many of us died? - Lyra said sadly.
- About a quarter. - Cassel estimated by eye. - Another quarter escaped when the cavalry arrived. The rest are either being held prisoner here or dragged into Castle Black. Blackheart has ordered that our wounded be treated. I heard it personally. There are few seriously wounded among his men. And that's surprising.
- He's a remarkable young man in his own right. - Lady Dustin chuckled. - And we forced him to confront us. Robb has spread our forces too thin.
- He is our king. - Alisanna cut her off.
- He may be our king, but he's a bigger fool than the late Ned Stark. - Lady Barbry smiled. - He followed his honour and sense of duty when he swore the oath to the Baratheons, he fell in battle as a Northerner for what he believed, even if in some ways for nothing. And his son? What is he fighting for? Our independence? From whom? Neither the Lannisters nor Celis Baratheon and Blackheart would have let us live in peace. Look at him, all he had was infantry, some cavalry and savages and he's defeated the mighty army of the North and now he's got Winterfell and every other part of the North. I could see it in his eyes that he really wanted to get out of the North, and Robb Stark just made him angry. I know that kind of man. Lord Damian reminds me a lot of Brandon Stark, only this one's more cunning and clever than the Wild Wolf. Though I think Jon Snow is just as much like him..." Dustin said thoughtfully.
At that moment, they all heard the joyous, loud howls of Blackheart's men, which began to startle some of the faint-hearted and frightened Northerners:
One, two, Blackheart is coming your way,
Three, four, knives out,
Five, six, keep your eyes open,
Seven, eight, don't mess with him,
Nine, ten, he's coming for you.
Eleven, twelve, run faster!
Thirteen, who didn't hide, it's not his fault....
After him, the "green cloaks", joyful and inspired by the victory, began to toss their quite galloping commander into the air, and the latter, all wet with sweat and blood, was laughing loudly and inhumanly, muttering something in an unknown language.
After that, rumours about Blackheart's possession of secret knowledge, language and magic persistently spread in the Northmen camp...
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