Kapitel 44: Chapter 44: Charge, Charge, Charge
The earth trembled.
The Dornish cavalry struck first. Mounted on their low-built desert horses, the light cavalry began with a steady trot, slowly advancing toward the concentrated infantry at the center.
Lord Tarly glanced to the other flank, where Aslan Rondell led the cavalry. Assured they were holding their position despite the movement of the Dornish horsemen, he exhaled in relief. A fellow noble from the western borderlands, standing nearby, shot him a confused look.
"Lord Donald, are we not going to charge?"
Tarly rolled his eyes at the muscle-headed fool. "Do you think you can outrun the Dornish light cavalry? Or are you eager to feel what it's like to be skewered by javelins and pelted by arrows?"
Surprisingly, the young lordlings from the east seemed to understand the Dornish tactics better than these locals who had spent their lives fighting them. Tarly couldn't help but reevaluate Draezell's vassals. He was well-acquainted with Dornish cavalry strategies: their desert horses, though smaller and less powerful than the steeds of the Stormlands and the Reach, were quicker and more agile. This made the Dornish favor light cavalry, eschewing heavy armor for their mounts and themselves. While the heavily armored knights of the borderlands could crush them in a direct charge, the Dornish preferred to draw the knights away from infantry cover, then exploit their mobility to harry them with javelins and arrows. This tactic was how Dornish horsemen had long held their own against better-equipped Andal knights.
Now, the Dornish cavalry began to accelerate, their riders shouting war cries as they charged toward the infantry line with spears and curved blades raised.
Yet, the borderland cavalry on both flanks remained still.
"Raise the spears! Hold the line!" commanded Lords Edric Dondarrion and Amos Faeser, who shared responsibility for the center. Edric expertly organized the spearmen to erect a defensive line of braced pikes at the forefront of the formation, while Amos assembled all the longbowmen and crossbowmen among the infantry.
The Dornish hurled their javelins and loosed their arrows as they neared. However, the range was still too great. The projectiles landed harmlessly in front of the infantry line.
"Fire!"
The response came from the borderland longbowmen and crossbowmen. The archers of the borderlands rivaled even the famed bowmen of the Riverlands in accuracy, if not surpassing them. Wielding finely crafted longbows of purpleheart wood, they unleashed a storm of arrows, aimed squarely at their ancient foes.
The Dornish cavalry scattered instantly. The concentrated volley of arrows fell, claiming only a few of their light horsemen. However, the disorganized Dornish riders could do nothing against the three-tiered spear formation of the borderland pikemen. Those who charged too quickly were skewered by the twenty-foot pikes of the first row, dragged violently off their mounts. Even the desert horses, after snapping a few spears, were stabbed by the shorter twelve-foot spears of the second and third lines, collapsing in pools of blood. Seeing this, the remaining Dornish riders urgently reined in their horses, avoiding the deadly wall of pikes.
The ground shook once more.
Even so, a few unfortunate pikemen fell, impaled by javelins hurled by the advancing Dornish cavalry.
"Pull back!" shouted Lord Toland, grinding his teeth in frustration. Unable to bait the borderland cavalry out of their positions, he realized the attack had failed. The Dornish cavalry had lost their formation, and pushing forward into the vastly superior numbers of infantry would be suicidal. At his side rode Waylan Wyl, the last surviving member of House Wyl. He had narrowly escaped the destruction of Wyl Castle while out scouting with his riders.
The Dornish horsemen, relying on their swifter mounts, began retreating from the infantry line.
"Pikemen, advance! Don't let those Dornish bastards escape!" commanded Lord Edric Dondarrion. Seeing the cavalry regrouping, he immediately recognized their intent and spurred his horse forward, directing the pikemen to level their spears and press the retreating riders.
"Lord Toland, the borderland cavalry is moving!" A knight of House Uller suddenly pointed toward the horizon. Toland turned to see the silver-armored knights thundering forward, their charge bearing down on the Dornish cavalry's rear.
"How are they moving so quickly?"
"They're descending from the high ground," Waylan Wyl explained, quickly grasping the tactical advantage the borderland knights had exploited. "We must regroup with the infantry immediately!"
"I know that!" Lord Toland snapped, wheeling his horse around. But the rumble of hooves grew louder from another direction.
"Seven hells," Toland cursed bitterly. "Tarly!"
The green banner of the Striding Huntsman unfurled in the wind as Lord Tarly led his charge. At the forefront, he held Heartsbane, his massive greatsword. The knights of the western borderlands, inheritors of the Reach's martial traditions, were resplendent in their polished plate armor, armed with an array of weapons.
Only now did Lord Toland realize his critical mistake in attempting to withdraw his cavalry. Tarly's heavily armored knights smashed into the scattered Dornish cavalry like a sledgehammer striking an anvil.
One Dornish rider turned his horse to counter, only to be struck full in the chest. With a thunderous crash, he was hurled from his saddle as splinters of a broken lance rained down. The knight who had unseated him cast aside the shattered lance, drew his longsword, and charged into the melee, cutting left and right. Lord Tarly, wielding Heartsbane, beheaded a Dornish horseman in one sweeping strike. Raising his head, he spotted a knight of House Jordayne charging toward him with a spear. Tarly urged his horse forward, raising his Valyrian steel blade. With a single blow, he severed the spear in two—and then the knight himself. Scalding blood sprayed forth, but none clung to the blade's flawless edge.
On the other flank, Aslan rondell's cavalry completed their encirclement. The silver-armored youth wielded his Valyrian steel sword, Lion King, cutting through Dornish riders with terrifying precision. Neither golden-scaled armor nor chainmail could withstand the devastating edge of Valyrian steel.
"Retreat! Retreat!" Lord Toland bellowed, raising his war hammer as he fled southward. But his path was abruptly blocked by Harlow Selmy, a stocky, young knight of House Selmy. Wielding his own war hammer, Harlow met Toland head-on. The younger man's hammer deflected the elder lord's clumsy strike, nearly unhorsing him.
Before Toland could recover, Harlow's hammer came crashing down on his chest. The enameled green dragon encircling his breastplate cracked loudly, and Toland spat a mouthful of blood as he tumbled from his saddle.
"I surrender!"
Before Toland could utter a word of surrender, a riderless horse came barreling through, trampling over the fallen lord and dragging Harlow Selmy's mount along in its frenzy. Poor Harlow could only watch as his claim to victory disappeared under pounding hooves.
On the other side, Waylan Wyl faced his own opponent. Aslan, wielding Lion King, sought him out personally. Waylan immediately recognized the exceptional craftsmanship of Aslan's blade and hesitated to engage. But hesitation was futile—Aslan's sword was upon him in an instant.
Without even a chance to speak, Waylan's head was cleaved clean from his shoulders.
Watching their cavalry disintegrate, Lord Uller's bloodshot eyes glistened with a deranged smile. His own knights, however, began to glance uneasily at their liege, the thought of retreat growing irresistible as the battle turned hopeless.
Some of the Uller knights, after calculating theirs survival rate, began to withdraw. But before they could flee, they witnessed a sight they would never forget.
Vermithor descended from the heavens. A torrent of dragonfire poured down like a fiery waterfall, striking the heart of the Dornish ranks. Flames surged and spread across the battlefield, consuming everything in their path. Unarmored peasant levies in the front screamed in agony as they collapsed, their bodies reduced to ash in mere moments. Armored soldiers in the rear fared no better; their bronze and iron melted against their searing flesh, merging into their charred remains.
Lord Uller, his deranged laughter replaced by screams of pain, was thrown from his flaming mount. His cries as he fell into the firestorm of Vermithor's making echoed even above the chaos, reaching the ears of the knights who had been chasing the retreating Dornish cavalry.
From the opposite direction, Silverwing swooped in. A second inferno cascaded downward, intersecting Vermithor's fiery path, creating another wall of fire that cut through the remaining Dornish infantry.
The Dornish foot soldiers broke completely. The two dragons circled overhead, their flames carving the battlefield into isolated pockets of burning men. Columns of fire raged unchecked, separating the disoriented Dornish forces into fragments.
The battlefield filled with a cacophony of wails and screams.
The knights of the borderlands advanced, offering the Dornish trapped in the inferno the "mercy" of the stranger.
Lord Tarly and Aslan abandoned their pursuit of the fleeing Dornish light cavalry. Leading their heavy horse, they charged into the shattered remnants of the infantry.
The morning sun climbed higher, casting its light over the barren, scorched plains.
As the fires gradually burned out, all that remained were ash-covered earth and the countless corpses of the fallen.
The green dragon banner of House Toland was reduced to cinders. The crossed flames banner of House Uller had been burned down to its charred flagpole. House Wyl ceased to exist, its name lost in the dragonfire. The feathered quill banner of House Jordayne lay torn and filthy, unrecognizable amid the devastation.
Jacaerys and Lucerys worked together to examine the captured banners, while Vermithor and Silverwing enjoyed roasted horse and human flesh, content for the time being. The feast would keep them from hunting for quite a while.
"Your Highness," Edric Dondarion approached Draezell, who was drinking deeply from a waterskin. "It's confirmed: both Lord Toland and Lord Uller are dead. This battle is a decisive victory for us." Edric's face radiated uncontainable joy, as he had finally avenged his son.
"Thank you, Lord Dondarrion," Draezell nodded, standing as he lifted his waterskin. "Everyone worked hard today. When we return to Dragon's Nest, I will host a celebration feast. Anyone who contributed to the victory will be rewarded."
"Long live Prince Draezell!"
A soldier holding a Dornish cavalryman's severed head immediately shouted, and the cheer spread in waves throughout the camp. Even the two princes couldn't help but join in, chanting "Long live Prince Draezell!"
Both dragons raised their heads to the sky, letting out victorious roars as if celebrating the triumph.
The Great Sand Dunes.
The morning sun gently brushed the tattered banner of the Spear piercing the sun. Everywhere were corpses and the cries of wounded horses, a grim testament to the brutal battle that had unfolded here the previous night.
"It's a shame we couldn't capture that bastard, Qoren," Lewyn Yronwood grumbled, though a grin remained on his face. Tigarro walked beside him, his cold eyes scanning the field of death.
After confirming that Lord Fowler's forces had made no move, instead sending a portion of their troops back to defend Tenegli Castle, Lewyn made the decision to strike. Leading 1,500 cavalry, he reached the Great Sand Dunes just as night fell.
Unfortunately, Qoren martel proved to be a skilled commander, managing to rally several hundred of his retreating troops after the cavalry's night assault and withdrawing in good order. Lewyn, despite his efforts, failed to end the conflict in a single blow.
However, the Martell forces had been thoroughly shattered. After a harried retreat over several dozen miles, Qoren was left with only a thousand men.
The sun had fallen.
Dorne had been crushed.
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