Bab 1: Durran son of Durran
My name is Durran. I am the son of Durran who was the son of Durran. The Maester spelt it D-U-R-R-A-N I do not know if that is how my father would have spelt it because he could not read nor write, I can do both. And sometimes I take the old parchment from shelf and read about the many Durran Durrandon of the past. Durron the Devote, Durine the Dour, Dorron the Defiant. A hundred different spellings for a hundred different deeds.
I look at those old parchments, that say Durran son of Durran is the rightful and lawful lord of the Stormlands, marked by rushing river, full forests, the Dornish Marches and the stormy sea ever thundering, reminding us of its fury. And I dream of those lands, wave beaten and wild beneath the wind driven sky I dream and know that one day I will take back the land from those who stole it from me.
I am a Lord Durran, though I call myself Magnar, which means the same thing and the fading parchments are proof of what I own. The law says I own that land and law, as I am told, is what makes us men under the Seven, instead of beasts in the ditch. But the law will not help me take back my land. The law wants compromise. The law thinks gold can bring peace. The law, above all, fears the fury of the blood feud. But I am Durran son of Durran and this is a tale of a blood feud and mine is the fury.
It is a tale about how I will take from the enemy what the law says is mine and it is the tale of a woman and of her father, the King. He was my king, and all that I have I owe to him. The food that I eat, the hall I sit, the swords of my men, all came from Gwayne Gardener, Lord of Highgarden and King of the Reach. Gwayne, my king, who hated me.
This story begins long before I met Gwayne the Green. It starts when I was just nine name days and first saw the Northmen. It was the end of a long summer and I was not called Durran yet but Ormund. For I was my fathers second son and it was the firstborn that took the name Durran. My brother was seventeen name days, tall and well built, with my family's families dark hair and my fathers stoic face.
The day I first saw the Northmen we were riding along the sea shore with hawks on our wrists. There was my father, my fathers brother, my brother, myself and a dozen retainers hoisting the Black Stag on a field of Gold. It was autumn, the sea cliffs were thick with the last growth of summer. There were seals on the rocks and a host of sea birds wheeling and screeching. We rode until we reached the stream marking our land with Griffins Roost. I remember staring across the water to the broken walls of Bronzegate. The Northmen had plundered it but that had been many years before I was born and although House Buckler lived there again the fort had never regained its former glory.
I also remember that day as being beautiful, and perhaps it was. Perhaps it rained but I do not think so. The sun shone, the sea was low, the breakers gentle and the world was happy. The hawks claws gripped my wrist through the leather sleeve, her hooded head twitching because she could hear the cry of the bird overhead. We had left Storms End at noon, riding North and though we carried hawks we did not ride to hunt, but rather so my father could make up his mind.
We ruled this land. My father, King Durran was lord of everything South of the Blackwater and North of the Dornish Marches. There was a King to the North however and his name was Rodrick Teague, the River King. He rarely came south and did not bother us. But now a man called Boros Tully wanted the throne. And Boros who ruled a keep along the river road, had raised an army to challenge Rodrick and had sent gifts to my father to encourage his support.
My father, I realise now, had held the fate of this rebellion in his grip. I wanted him to support Rodrick, for no other reason than he was the rightful king and foolishly at nine name days I believed any rightful king must be noble, good and brave. In truth Rodrick was a dribbling fool. But he was the King and my father was reluctant to abandon him as our families have much history. But Rodrick had sent no gifts, and shown no respect, while Boros had. And so my father worried. At a moments notice we could lead five thousand men to war, all well armed. And given a month we could swell that number to over twenty thousand levies. So what ever man we supported would be the King, and grateful to us. Or so we thought.
And then I saw them. Twelve ships. In my memory they slide from a bank of sea mist, and perhaps they did, but memory is a faulty thing and my other memories of that day are of a clear cloudless sky, so perhaps there was no mist. But it seemed to me that one moment the sea was empty then the next there were twelve ships coming from the south. They were beautiful things, they appeared to rest weightless on the ocean and when their oars dug into the waves they skimmed the water. Their prows and sterns curled high and were tipped with gilded beasts, serpents and wolves.
And it seemed to me, on that far off autumn day, the twelve boats danced in the surface of the water. Propelled by the rise and fall of the silver wings of their oars. The sun flashed off the wet blades, splinters of light. Then the oars dipped and roared, then the beast headed boat surged and I stared entrapped. "The Others shits." My father growled. He was not a very poise man but he was frightened enough at that moment to make the sign of the Seven.
"And may the Others take them." My uncle said. His name was Uthor, and he was a slender man with eyes dark and secretive. The twelve boats had been rowing northwards, their square sails furled. But when we turned our horses to canter home on the sands, our horses manes tossed like wind thrown grain and our hooded hawks fidgeted in alarm. The ships turned with us. We rode inland, the horses heaving up the slope and from there we galloped along the coastal path to our castle. To Storms End.
Durran 'Godsgrief' had raised the castle before the Andals came, before dragons hatched across the sea. He built the sturdy ring fort and around the towering drum tower. It was situated on a stark cliff with the sea waves crashing against the hard stone below. To reach Storms End you must take the causeway to the south a strip of rock that is guarded by a great wooden tower and palisade that is built on a great earthen mound. We thundered through the towers arch and rode past the granaries, the smithies and the stables.
And so up the path to the high gate that lead through the great ring that encircled my fathers hall. There we dismounted, let the servants take our horses, and went to the eastern wall and gazed out to sea. The ships were close now and we watched them. My step mother, alarmed by the sound of hooves came from the hall to join us atop the wall. "The Others have opened their bowels and shat out some raiders." My father greeted her.
"Seven who are One preserve us." Betha said, making the sign of the Seven. I never knew my mother, she was my fathers second wife and like his first had died in childbirth. So both my brother and I, really have brothers, had no mother. But I thought of Betha as my mother, and on the whole was kind to me. Kinder indeed than my father, who did not much like children. Betha wanted me to be a Maester or a Septon, she said that as my brother was going to inherit the land, and become a warrior to protect it, I must find another path in life.
She had given my father two sons and a daughter but none had lived beyond a year. The twelve ships were coming closer now, it seemed that were coming to inspect Storms End, that did not worry us as the fortress was impregnable and so the Northmen could stare all they wanted. The nearest ship had twin banks of twenty oars each and as the ship neared shore the man left from the side and ran down the oars, and he did it wearing a mail shirt and holding a sword. We all prayed he would fall, but of course he did not.
He had long red hair, very long, and as he pranced the oars he turned and ran the shafts again. "They were trading at the mouth of the Blackwater a week ago." Uthor, my fathers brother said. "You know that?" My father questioned. "I saw them myself." Uthor said "I'd recognise that prow, see how there's a red streak on the bend they didn't have a serpent head then." My uncle finished
"They take the beast heads off when they trade." My father said. "What we're they buying?" He questioned "Exchanging pelts for grain and dried fish, said they were merchants from Seagard." Uncle responded "Well they're merchants looking for a fight now!" My father raged.
And the Northmen on the twelve ships were indeed challenging us, clashing their spears on their painted shields but there was little they could do against the ring wall of Storms End. And nothing we could do to hurt them, though my father ordered his banner raised. The banner showed the crowed black stag on a golden field of House Durrandon and it was his standard in battle. But the wind was low and the banner hung limp, so it's defiance was lost on the pagans who soon grown board of taunting us and rowed off west.
"We must pray." My stepmother urged. Betha was much younger than my father. She was a small plump woman with a mass of brown hair and a devotion to the Seven. "We must act." My father snarled as he turned away from the battlements. "You," he addressed my brother Durran, "Take a dozen men and ride south, watch the Northmen but no more. Do you understand?" He gruffly ordered "Yes father." My brother responded dutifully. "If they set foot on my land I want to know where." He said and my brother responded the same "Yes father."
Three ravens went out to the closest lords and six men went out to every village in our land. Every man would fight for his lord and by morn two days from now he expected to have three thousand men armed with axes spears and reaping hooks. While his retainers, those men who lived within Storms End would be armed with well made swords and hefty shields and numbering one thousand five hundred.
"If the Northmen are outnumbered," my father told me that night, "they won't fight, they're like dogs, cowards at heart but they're given courage being in a pack." It was dark now and my brother had not returned but no one was truly worried about that, Durran was capable of sometimes reckless and doubtless he would return is the small hours and so my father had ordered a beacon lit atop the drum tower to guide him home.
We reckoned we were safe in Storms End for it had never fallen to an enemies assault, yet my father and uncle were still worried that the Northmen had returned to the Stormlands. "They're looking for food," my father said, "the hungry bastards will raid inland, steal some cattle then sail away." I remember my uncles words that they had been at the mouth of the Blackwater trading fur for fish. So how could they be hungry? But I said nothing, I was nine name days, what did I know of Northmen?
I did know they were savages, tree worshippers and terrible. I know that for five generations before I was born they had raised our coasts. I know that Maester Cadwyn, my fathers friend and our Maester, prayed for the Seven to spare us of the bloodshed of the Northmen. But that bloodshed had passed me bye. But my father had fought them often enough and that night while we waited for my brother to return he spoke of his old enemy.
He said they came from northern lands where ice and mist prevailed. They worship the old gods, the same we used to worship before the Light of the Seven came to bless us. When they first came to the Stormlands, he said, wolves of fire ran across the skyline and great bolts of lightning scarred the hills as the storms turned the sea. "They are sent by the Stranger, to punish us." Betha said timidly
"Punish us for what?" My father demanded savagely. "For our sins." Betha insisted making the sign of the cross. "Our sins be damned, they come here because they're hungry." He was irritated by my stepmothers piety and he refused to give up his banner that proved our decent from the Firstmen. Betha wanted our banner to show the Seven pointed Star but my father was proud of our ancestors, pagan as they were.
We waited in the hall. It was, and still is, located at the base of the drum tower and was carved of great granite bricks from thousands of years ago. Banners lined the wall and oaken tables surrounded the great fire pit. It took a dozen servants to keep that fire ablaze, dragging the wood along the causeway and up through the gates and at summers end we would make a log pile bigger than the sept.
We waited in the great hall for my brother, as the secants supped around us my father wondered aloud if the Northmen had grown restless again. "They usually come for food and plunder." He told me "But in some places, like the Sisters, the Iron Islands, they've stayed and taken land they've even taken much in the Fingers in the Vale." This made me worry "you think they want our land?" I asked.
"They'll take any land." He said irritably, he was always irritated by my questions but that night he was worried and so he talked on. "Their own land is stone and ice, and they've got giants and wildlings threatening them." I wanted him to tell me more about the giants but he brooded instead. "Our ancestors took this land," he began after a moment, "took it and made it and held it. We do not give up what our ancestors gave us." He told me
"They crossed the arm of Dorne and they fought here, and they built here, and they're buried here. This is our land, taken with our blood, strengthened by our bone. Ours!" He ranted as the hall continued their meal. He was angry. But he was often angry. He glowered at me as if wondering if I was strong enough to hold this land that our ancestors won with sword and shield and spear, with blood and slaughter.
We slept for a while, or at least I slept. I think my father paced the walls but by dawn he was back in the hall and it was then I was woken by the horn on the high gate and I stumbled from the hall and out into the mornings first light. There was dew on the grass and seagulls circling overhead. My fathers hounds barked in answer to the horn. I saw my father running to the wooden tower at the foot of the hill and I followed him.
Horsemen were coming from the south. There were a dozen of them, their horses hooves sparkling with the morning dew my brothers horse was in the lead. It was a brindled stallion with wild eyes and a fare mane. No one could mistake that horse but it was not Durran who rode it. The man astride the saddle had long red hair the colour of fire, hair that tossed like the horses tail as he rode. He wore mail, had a scabbard at his side and a axe slung across one shoulder and I was certain it was the same man who danced the oar shafts the previous day.
His companions were in leather or wool and as they neared the castle he gestured that his company should curb their horses as he rode ahead alone. He came within bowshot but none on the rampart put arrow on string. Then he pulled the horse to a stop and looked up at the gate, he stared all along the line of men, a mocking expression on his face. Then he bowed, threw something on the path then rode away.
What he had thrown on to the path was my brothers severed head. It was brought to my father who stared at it for a long time but betrayed no feelings. He did not cry, he did not grimace, he did not scowl he just looked at his eldest sons head, then he looked at me. "From this day one," he said "Your name is Durran Durrandon"
Septon Othos insisted I be anointed again in the light of the seven else the gods would not know who I was when I arrived with the name Durran. I protested it but Betha wanted it and my father cared more for her contentment than for mine. So I was taken into the sept and anointed Durran Durrendo, heir of the Stormlands.
We found out what had happened to my brother. The twelve ships had put into the mouth of the river rainwood where there was a small settlement of fishermen and their families. Those families said my brother had come at nightfall and had seen the raiders torching the houses. There had seemed very few of them in the settlement, most were on their ships though my brother had chosen to ride down to the village and kill those few. It was a trap.
The Northmen had seen his horsemen coming and had hidden their ships crew north and those men closed behind my brothers party and killed them all. My father claimed his eldest sons death must have been quick, which was a consolation for him. But it wasn't a quick death if he lived long enough for the raiders to learn who he was or else why would they have brought his head back to Storms End.
The fishermen said they had tried to warm my brother, though I doubt they did. Men would say such things so they are not blamed for disaster. But whether he was warned or not he still died, and the Northmen took off with thirteen good swords, thirteen good horses and my old name. But that was not the end of it. We heard a week later that a great Northern fleet sailed around Tarth and up river to capture Duskendale.
They had won that battle on the seventh day of the seventh month which made Betha weep because she took it as a sign that the seven had abandoned us. There was good news however. King Rodrick Teague and his rival Boros Tully had made an alliance to join forces and take Duskendale back from the Northmen. That sounds simple but of course it takes time. Messengers rode, advisers conferred and it was not for another month the peace was sealed.
Then they called my fathers men but a fierce autumn snow fell for two nights without break and my father had to wait a week for the thaw before he could march his men. When news came that the Riverlands and the Stormlands army would gather at Duskendale, my father announced, to my joy, that I would ride south with him.
"He's too young" Betha protested but my father disagreed. "He's almost ten name days and he must learn to fight." My father said to her. "He'd be better served continuing his lessons." Betha begged. "A reader is no use to Storms End, and Durran is now the heir, so he must learn to fight!" That night my father had Maester Cadwyn show me the parchment in his study, the parchments that said we own the land.
Maester Cadwyn had been teaching me to read for the last year, but I was a bad student and couldn't make heads nor tails of the writings. Cadwyn sighed then told me what was in them. "They describe the land," He said "the land your father owns and they say the land is his, by the laws of Gods and Men." And with my brother gone then one day the land will be mine because that night my father made a new Will stating that should he die the land will belong to his son Durran, and I would be lord.
All the folk between Kingswood and the Sea of Dorne would swear allegiance to me. He pressed his seal into the red wax leaving the impression of a crowned stag. Then he made Uthor, my uncle, swear on the Seven that he would respect the new will and acknowledge me as Durran of Storms End. Uthor did so swear. "But it won't happen." My father insisted we shall slaughter these Northmen like sheep in a field then we shall ride back here with plunder and honour." My father said and Uthor nodded in agreement "If the Gods are good."
Uthor and fifty men would stay at Storms End to guard the castle and protect the women. He gave me gifts that night, a cuirass of boiled leather that would protect against a sword cut and a steel helm that Donal, the smith had forged a ring of gilded bronze around it. "So they will know you are a prince." Uthor said and father was pleased with his brothers gifts to me and added two of his own. A short sword and a horse. The sword was an old blade with a leather scabbard lined with fleece, it had a chunky hilt and was clumsy yet that night I slept with the blade under my blanket.
The next morning as my stepmother wept on the walls and under a blue clear sky we rode to war ten thousand men went south following our banner of the black stag. It was the first time I ever went to war, and I have never ceased.
"You will not fight in the shield wall." My father said. "No father?" I questioned "No, only men can stand in the shield wall, but you will watch. You will learn and know that the most danger strike is not the sword or axe that you can see but the one that you cannot see." He told me "the sword that comes beneath the shields to bite your ankles." He grudgingly gave me much other advice as we followed the kings road.
Of the ten thousand men that went to Duskendale with my father one thousand five hundred were on horseback. Those were my fathers household knights or else the wealthier farmers who could afford a horse and had some kind of armour, with shields and swords. Most of the men were not wealthy, but they were sworn to my fathers cause so they marched with spears, sickles, reaping hooks and axes. Some carried hunting bows and all had been ordered to bring two weeks food, which was mostly hard bread, harder cheese and smoked fish.
Many were accompanied by women. My father had ordered that no women were to march south but he did not send them back, reckoning that the women would follow anyway and that men fought better when their wives or lovers were watching and he was confident that those women would see the men of the Stormlands give the Northmen a terrible slaughter.
He claimed we were the hardest men of Westeros. Much harder than soft Westermen. "Your mother was of the Vale." He added but said nothing more. He never talked of her, I knew they had been married less than a year, that she had died giving birth to me and that she was a lord's daughter. But as far as my father was concerned she might never have existed. He claimed to despise the Westermen but not as much as he scorned the coddled Reachmen.
"They don't know hardship in the Reach." He maintained. He reserved his severest judgement for the Dornish. "Their homes are in the sand and they live like snakes." He had told me once. We Stormlanders have always hated the Dornish. Long ago they had defeated us in battle when Nymeria first landed her ships on Westeros, killing Duron 'Sandscorn' Durrandon, the Storm King.
I would later learn that the Dornish had given food and horses to the Northmen that had taken Duskendale. And so in my eyes my father was right to despise them, they were treacherous snakes. Maester Cadwyn marched with us. My father did not much like Maesters but Cadwyn had been religious in his youth and father did not want to go to battle with out a man of the Seven to prey for victory. Cadwyn in turn was devoted to my father who had freed him from slavery and provided him with his education.
My father could burn down the Sept and offer his people as a sacrifice to the others and Cadwyn, I think, would have turned a blind eye. He was young, clean shaven and extraordinarily ugly. With a fearful squint, a flattened nose and unruly brown hair. He was also very clever, though I did not appreciate it then. I resented when he gave me lessons. The poor man had tried so hard to teach me letters but I knocked his lessons preferring to get a beating in the training yard than to learn in the study.
We followed the kings road through the Kingswood to Blackwater Bay then marched North past Stokeworth. As we traveled more men joined us until a hoard marched through the hills and moors by the side of the roads broken surface. The men slept in the open or in crude tents while my father and his chief retainers would rest in barns or Septs.
Our host straggled through the countryside. Even at nine name days I noticed how we straggled. The men had brought liquor with them, or else they stole mean and ale from the villages we passed and they frequently got drunk and seemed to collapse at the roadside when we made to bed and no one seemed to care as long as the roused for the march come morn.
"They'll catch up." My father said carelessly when I asked about the men. "It's not good." Cadwyn said giving his input. "What's not good?" I asked him. "There should be more discipline, I have read the histories and know there must be discipline in an army." He insisted but I cared not for histories and what did a Maester know of war. "They'll catch up." I told him, echoing my father.
That night we were joined by men from a place called Acorn Hall where long ago in the time of my grandfathers grandfather we defeated an invading host of Valemen who sailed from Gulltown. The new comers sang of that battle, chanted about how we fed Valemen blood to the ravens. And the words cheered my father who told me we were near Duskendale and that the next day we might expect to join Rodrick Teague and Boros Tully and how the day after that we would feed the ravens again.
We were sitting by the fire. One of the hundreds of fires stretching across the fields. South of us, far off across a flat land I could see the sky glowing from the light of still more fires and knew they showed were the Riverlands are gathered. "The raven is an animal of the Old Gods isn't it?" I asked him. "Who told you that boy?" He asked sourly, I shrugged at him. "Donal?" He guessed knowing that the blacksmith who had stayed at Storms End with Uthor was a pagan at heart and still kept the Old Gods.
"I just heard it." I said hoping I would get away with the evasion without getting hit. "And I know we are descended from ancient Firstmen, I've heard some of the Smallfolk say we are descended from the Old Gods of the Storm." I said. "We are, but we have new gods now. The Seven who are One. The true Gods." He stared balefully across the encampment where men were drinking.
"Do you know who wins battles boy?" He asked and I answered immediately with the naïveté of youth. "We do father." His cast a disappointment look at me. "The side that is least drunk." He said, and then after a pause, "but is helps to be drunk." That confused me and so I asked why, despite knowing how my questions irritated him. "Because a shield wall is an awful place." He gazed into the fire
"I've been in six shield walls and prayed every time it would be the last." He said "Your brother, now that was a man who might have loved the shield wall, he had courage." He fell silent then, thinking, then scowled. "The man who brought his head, I want to take his head in turn. I want to spit into his dead eyes and put his skull on a pile above the low gate." With that he spat on the ground and stared at the fire again.
"You will have it." I promised him. He sneered at that. "What do you know." He scoffed "I brought you boy because you must see battle, because our men must see that you are here. But you will not fight" I nodded at him showing that I was listening but he payed me no mind. "You are like a young dog watching tho old dogs kill a boar but doesn't bite. You must watch and learn and maybe one day you'll be useful to me." He dismissed me with a wave saying, "But for now you are nothing but a pup."
The next day the Kings Road ram across a flat land crossing dykes and ditches until we reached the field were the combined armies of Rodrick and Boros had made camp. Beyond them and just visible between the scattered trees was Dunkendale and that was were the Northmen were. Duskendale was a thriving port town on the mouth of the Blackwater and it resides in the Riverlands and on the edge of my fathers land, which is why Rodrick and Boros were here as they saw this as a threat to their own kingdom.
The town was the seat of house Teague and King Rodrick Teague ruled there. The town had a great stone fortress atop a hill and there was a bustling market by the bay surrounded by wooden palisades. Before the Northmen came the bells of the great sept would ring out for all to hear but the sept bells had been silent for months now. The Northmen must have heard that the Riverlands were weakened by civil war, that Rodrick Teague had marched his forces west to meet the pretender Boros Tully and in the absence of the king the Northmen took the city.
It would not have been difficult for them to discover Rodrick absence the trouble between the rightful king and Lord Tully had been simmering for years and battle had been inevitable for weeks now and Duskendale was filled with traders, many who would sail to White Harbor.
One thing I learned about the Northmen is that they knew how to spy and when to attack. The Maesters who chronicle the histories tell us they came from mist and ice without warning, their wolf ships appearing from a blue vacancy. But it was rarely like that. The raider crews might attack unexpectedly but the big fleets, the war fleets went were they knew there was already trouble. They found an existing wound and filled it like maggots.
My father took my close to the city, me and a score of his men, all mounted and wearing mail or leather. We could see the enemy in the wall. Some of the wall was made of stone but that was the work of lords half a century ago and their work was never finished. Most the wall was wooden palisades and to the east some of the palisade was missing. It seemed to have been burnt for we could see charred wood and new stakes had been driven to hold the new palisade when it was put up.
Beyond the new stakes was a jumble of thatched roofs, the large bell tower of the churches and the hundred masts of the Northern fleet. Our scouts claim there were seventy ships which would mean they had an army of twenty seven hundred. Our own army would outnumber theirs as we had thirty two hundred once we joined with Rodrick and Boros but it was hard to count as no one seemed to be in charge.
The two leaders Rodrick and Boros camped apart and though the had officially made peace they refused to speak to each other communicating instead through messengers. My father the third most important man in the army could talk to both but he was not able to persuade Rodrick and Boros to meet let alone agree on a plan of campaign. King Teague wished to besiege the city and starve the Northmen out while Lord Tully urged immediate attack. The rampart was broken, he said, and an assault would drive deep into the tangle of streets so the Northmen could be hunted down and killed.
I do not know which course my father preferred for he never said but in the end the decision was taken away from us, our army could not wait we had brought some food but that was long finished and men were going even farther afield to find more and some of those men did not return, they just slipped home. Other men grumbled that their farms needed work and the last harvest needed collected before winter set in.
A meeting was called of every important Lord and they spent all day arguing. Rodrick attended the meeting which meant Boros did not, though his chief supporter, Lord Clement Piper, Lord if Pinkmaiden was present and said his lack of action was caused by cowardice. Perhaps it was for Rodrick did not respond to the jibe, proposing instead that we dug our own forts outside the city. Three or four such forts would trap the Northmen, our best fighters could go home while our other men could go home to collect the harvest.
A Maester pleaded for more time saying "Lord Simon Staunton of Rooks Rest had not yet arrived." The Maester said speaking of a Lord with land north of Duskendale who would come with another two thousand men. "Nor is Lord William Mooton of Maidenpool." He said speaking of another lord who would come with the same number of men. "There is sickness in his land, he will not be coming." Rodrick informed us all. "A sickness of courage." Lord Clement sneered. "Give them time." The Maester suggested, "with Lord Staunton and Lord Mooton's men we will have enough to frighten the Northmen with pure numbers.
My father said nothing at the meeting, though it was plain many men wanted him to speak and I was perplexed that he stayed silent but that night Maester Cadwyn explained why. "If he said we should attack then men would assume that he had sided with Boros, while if he encouraged a siege it would seem that he was on Rodrick's side." The Maester explained.
"Does it matter?" I asked and Cadwyn looked at me across the campfire, or one of his eyes looked at me while the other wandered in the night. "When the Northmen are beaten the Teague, Tully feud will start again. Your father wants none of it." He said to me. "But what ever side he supports will win." I said confused.
"But what if their families kill each other in their war, who would be River King then, with the power of their houses destroyed and no clear house for succession." He said and I understood. The Storm Kings Durrandon had once ruled as far as the Gods Eye and north of the Blackwater as war and the Vale. With both contenders to the throne disposed of my father could retake those lands. "And who would be king after that?" Cadwyn added with a pointed look at me. "You. And a king should be able to read and write." But again I cared little for letters. "A king," I answered scornfully, "can always hire men who can read or write."
Then next morning the decision to attack or besiege was made for us because news arrived by raven in the night that more Northern ships had been spotted off the shore of Crack-Claw Point which could only mean the Northmen would be reinforced and so my father who had been silent for so long had finally spoke. "We must attack," he told both Rodrick Teague and Boros Tully, "Before the new boats come." Lord Tully of course agreed enthusiastically and even King Rodrick understood that the new ships meant that everything had changed.
Besides the Northmen inside the city had been having problems with their new wall. We woke one morning to see a whole new stretch of palisade, the wood raw and bright but a great wind blew that day and the new work collapsed, which caused much merriment in our encampments. The men said "The Northmen could not even build a wall of wood, what hope did they have in a wall of shields." Conveniently forgetting the great ice wall at the end of the earth. "But they can build ships." Cadwyn had said to me.
"So?" I asked with the obnoxiousness of youth. "A man who can build a ship can build a wall, walls are easy, ships are difficult." What did the Maester know of ships, he read letters, he didn't make ships. "But it fell down." I insisted, how come they're so good at making walls if the wall fell. "Perhaps it was meant to fall down." He said knowingly but I just stared at him. "Perhaps they want us to attack there." He explained.
I do not know if he told my father about his suspicions but if he did I have no doubt my father dismissed them. He did not trust the Maesters opinions on war, he was to send ravens when asked, read messages to my father, and pray to the Warrior for strength. Cadwyn did pray to the Warrior, he prayed king and hard for the Warrior to grant us victory and the day after the wall fell we gave the Warrior the chance to shine his light upon us. We attacked.
I do not know if every man who assaulted Duskendale was drunk, but they would have been if there was enough mead, ale and cheap wine to go around. The drinking had gone on most of the night and I awoke to find men vomiting in the dawn. Those few who, like my father, possessed male shirts or plate, put them on. Most were armoured in leather while a few of the poorer farmers or fourth and fifth sons who got the last of the families silver had nought but their coats for protection.
Weapons were sharpened on whetstones and Septons walked the camp scattering blessings while men swore oaths of brotherhood and loyalty, some swore to share their plunder equally. A many looked pale with fear and dozens escaped through the dykes and across the hills of the country. A score of men where left at the camp to guard the women and the horses, though Maester Cadwyn and I were both ordered to mount.
"You'll stay on horseback," my father told me, "and you'll stay with him." He added to the Maester. "Yes your Grace." The Maester answered dutifully. "And if anything were to happen," he said deliberately vague, "your both to ride for Storms End, shut the gate and wait there." He told us both and we agreed ti do as he asked though I didn't know what he wanted me to wait for. "The Seven are with us Your Grace, against these pagans." Cadwyn preached
My father looked the like a great warrior, which indeed he was, though he claimed he was getting to old for fighting. His greying black beard jutted over his plate coat, from which he hung a seven pointed star carved from colourful crystal that had been a gift from Betha. His sword belt was leather studded with silver. While his greatsword, bone breaker, had a dark leather handle and was decorated with a gilded bronze hilt. His boots had iron plates in either side of the ankles, reminding me of his advice about the shield wall, while his helmet was polished so that it shone and it's faceplate, with its eyes holes and snarky mouth was inlaid with silver. His round shield was made of fir wood, had a heavy iron boss, was covered in leather and painted with the crowned stag of house Durrandon. King Durran was going to war.
The horns summoned the army. There was little order in the array, there had been arguments about who should be on the right and left but academy told me the argument had been settled when they cast dice, I found that a stupid way to make decisions about war but what did I know. King Teague was now on the right, Lord Boros on the left and my father in the centre and those three banners were advanced as the horn sounded.
The men assembled under the banners. Lord Buckwell of the Antlers rallied beneath the banner of the rightful king, Rodrick Teague along with Lord Mallister of Seagard. They rallied under the banner of a golden trident upright between two golden flanches, on a black field. The rebel Lord Boros had an equal number of men under his banner such as Lord Blackwood of Raventree and Lord Smallwood of Acorn Hall. Those men rallied under the banner of a mud red field blazoned with a trout leaping above blue waves. In the centre was my father and his men, Lord Tarth and his men and Lord Selmy all rallied under the crowned stag of Durrandon.
My fathers household troops and his knights, his best warriors, were at the front and behind them were the thanes. Thanes were important men, some held land and many were great warriors. They were also known as landed knights who held less power than a lord but would rule over a small patch of land. They were the men who shared my fathers table in the feasting hall and men who had to be watched, incase their ambitions grew in court and they decided to take his place or the place of his loyal vassals.
But now they loyally gathered behind him and smallfolk, farmers of the lowest rank in the army were behind them. Men fought in family groups or with friends. There were plenty of boys with the army but I was the only one on horseback and the only one with a sword and helmet. I could see a scatter of Northmen on either side of the broken palisade were the wall had fallen down but most of their army filled that gap, making a shield barrier atop the earthen mound. And it was a high earthen wall, at least eight or ten feet high. Steep, so it would be a hard climb into the face of the waiting killers.
But I was confident we would win. I was nine name days, almost ten and with that came the naivety of youth, and it's confidence. The Northmen were shouting at us but we were to far to hear their words. Their shields round like ours were painted with symbols, the white sunburst, a chained giant, but the most prominent was the black bear on the green field.
Our men started beating weapons in their shields and that was a fearsome sound. The first time I ever heard an army making that war music, sometimes when I close my eyes I still hear the spear din and battle song. The clashing of yew spear shafts and steel swords on shield wood. "It is a terrible thing." Cadwyn said to me. "War," he clarified, "it is a horrible thing." I said nothing. I thought it was glorious and wonderful.
"The shield wall is where men die." Cadwyn said and he kissed the seven pointed star that hung across his neck, between the chains and links of the Maesters. "The seven heavens and seven hells will be full before this day is done." He went on gloomily. "Aren't the men returned to the earth with the Gods of the Forrest?" I asked. He looked at me very strangely then appeared shocked. "Where did you hear that?" He demanded. "At Storms End." I told him, sensible enough not to admit it was Donal, the smith, who told me those tales as I watched him beating rods of metal into sword blades.
"That is what tree worshiping savages believe." Cadwyn said sternly. "They believe the dead are returned to the earth to run with wolves until the world ends. But it is a wrong belief, and error! But the Northmen are always in error, they make sacrifices before the heart trees. They deny the true gods." He ranted at me and I thought then at that moment that his true calling was that if a Septon not a Maester.
"But-" I began. "That is enough Durran! I see we must educate you in the light of the Seven when this is over." The Maester insisted sternly. I said nothing more, to busy watching trying to fix every detail of that day in my memory. The sky was summer blue, with just a few clouds off in the west. The sunlight glinted if our armies spear points like the starlight glimmering of the sea. A stag passed around the army disappearing into the woods behind us as a raven squawked to the right of me, were the women were watching the army from a hilltop. The snail from cooking fires inside Duskendale rose, their course unaltered as there was little wind. That sight reminded me that there would be a great feast come nightfall, a feat of roasted boar and anything else we found in the Northmen's stores.
Some of our men in the foremost lines were running forward to shout insults at the enemy, or daring them to have duels between the battle lines, man on man. But no Northman brown rank, they just shouted a chant. "Here we stand!" They shouted and there they stood. There they waited. Their spear tips pointed through the wooden wall of their shields. Then our horns blew again and the shouting and shield banging ended as our army lurched forward.
It went sporadically. Later, much later, I would learn of the reluctance of men to launch themselves against a shield wall, let alone a shield wall held atop a steep earth bank but that day I was just impatient for our army to hurry forward and break the Northmen and Cadwyn had to restrain me, grabbing hood of my bridle to stop me riding into our rear most ranks.
"We shall wait until the battle is won." He insisted but u cared not, I wanted battle. "I want to kill a raider." I protested. "Don't be stupid Durran." Cadwyn said angrily. "You try to kill a raider," he went on, "and your father will have no sons. You are his only child now and you must live." And so I did what I must and hung back and I watched as our army slowly found its courage and advanced towards the city.
The Blackwater was on our left, the empty encampment we left behind, to our right and the gap in the wooden wall was to our front. It was there the Northmen were waiting silently, their shields overlapping. "The bravest will go first," Maester Cadwyn said to me, "and your father will be one of them. They have the most important part, do you know why?" He asked and for once I did for I listened carefully when the lessons were about warfare and not counting." "If they break through the others will follow, if they don't the battle is surely lost." I responded and Cadwyn gave a pleased smile.
Three wedged formed in front of our lines. Each made from the household troops of the three leaders, Rodrick, Boros and my father. The men stood close together, their shields overlapping like the Northern shields while the farthermost men in the wedges held their shields high like a roof. When they were ready the men in the wedges gave a great cheer and started forward. My fathers men shouted 'Ours is the Fury' while each wedge called similar words of the house they served.
They did not run. I had expected them to run. Cadwyn explained to me that men could not keep the wedge formation tight if they run. The wedge battle is war in slow motion, slow enough for the men inside the wedge to wonder how strong their enemy will be, slow enough for them to wonder if the rest of the army will follow. But they did, and the worries if the wedge was put to rest. The wedge did not get twenty paces before the remaining mass of men moved forward.
"I want to be closer." I said to the Maester. "You will wait." Cadwyn insisted. I heard the shouts now, shouts of defiance and shouts to give a man courage. Then the archers in the city palisades loosed their bows and I saw the glitter of the feathers as the arrows clashed down towards the wedges and a moment later the throwing spears came, arching over the Northmen's lines, crashing into the upheld shields.
Amazingly, at least it seemed amazing to me, none of our men seemed struck, though i could see their shield were littered with arrows and spears like hedgehog spines and still the three wedges advanced. Now our own bowmen we're shouting at the Northmen and a handful of our men broke from the back ranks to hurl their own spears at the enemy shield wall. "Not long now." Cadwyn said nervously, he was praying silently and his crippled left hand was twitching.
I was watching my fathers wedge, the central wedge. The one just in front of the crowned black stag in the field of gold. His standard was fearsome and imposing high above the battlefield. I saw the closely linked shields vanish into the ditch that lay in front of the earthen ramp and I knew my father was perilously close to death and I urged him to win. To kill. To give the name Durran Durrandon of Storms End even more renown.
Then I saw the shield wedge appear from the ditch and like a monstrous beast slowly crawl up the earthen wall. "The advantage they have," Maester Cadwyn began in the patient voice he would use for teaching, "is that the enemies feet are easy targets when you come from below." I think the words were to reassure himself more so than me but I believed him anyway.
It must have been true for my fathers wedge, the first up the wall didn't seem to be checked by the enemies shield wall. I could we nothing now except the flash of blades riding and falling, and I could hear that sound, the real music of battle. The chop of steel on wood, steel on steel. Yet the wedge was still moving, like a boars razor sharp tusks it had pierced the Northmen's shield wall and was moving forward.
Although the Northmen had wrapped around the wedge it seemed out men were winning for they had pressed forward across the earthen bank and the men behind must have sensed that Lord Durran Durrandon had brought them victory for a cheer of our house words 'ours is the fury' echoed before they charged to help the wedge. "Seven be praised." Cadwyn said for the Northmen were fleeing.
One moment hey had been a thick shield wall bristling with weapons and the next they had vanished into the city. Now our army charged after them. "Slowly now." Cadwyn said walking his horse forward and leading mine by the bridle. The raiders were gone instead the earthen wall was infested with our own men who were scrambling through the gap and into the streets of the city.
The three flags, my fathers stag, the rebel Lord Tully's trout and the Kings trident were inside Duskendale. I could hear men cheering and I kicked my horse forcing it out of Cadwyn grasp.
"Come back." He shouted and though he followed me he did not try to drag me away. We had won, the seven had given us victory and I wanted to be close enough to smell the slaughter. Neither of us could get into the city because the gap in the palisade was choked with our own men but I kicked the horse again and she forced her way into the press.
Some men protested at what I was doing but then they saw the gilded bronze circlet upon my helmet and knew I was noble born and so they tried to help me through while Cadwyn at the back of the crowd shouted that I should not get to far ahead of him. "Catch up!" I called back to him with a laugh then he shouted again but this time his voice was frantic, terrified and i turned to see Northmen streaming across the field were our army had advanced.
It was a hoard of Northmen who must have sallied from the cities northern gate and traveled round to flank us and they must have known we would retreat because it seemed they could build walls after all and had built them in the city making it like a maze, then feigned retreat drawing us into their killing ground. And now they sprang their trap.
Some of the Northmen that came from the city were mounted, most were on foot. Maester Cadwyn panicked, I do not blame him, the Northmen would not think twice of killing a man with the seven pointed star hanging from his neck and Cadwyn must have seen death coming, did not desire martyrdom and so he turned his horse, kicked it hard and it galloped away two wards the shore.
The Northmen who didn't care about the fate of one man when so many were trapped, let him go. It is the truth in most armies that the most timid men and those with the feeblest weapons were at the back. The brace go to the front while the weak seek the rear. So if you can get to the back of an enemy army you would have a massacre.
I'm an old man now and it's been my fate to see panic flicker through many armies that panic is worse than the panic of sheep penned with a wolf, more frantic than the writhing of salmon caught in a net. The sound of it must tear the heavens apart. But to the Northmen that day, it was the sweet sound of victory and to us, it was death. I tried to escape, god knows I panicked too. I saw Cadwyn racing away down the shore and I had managed to turn the mare but one of our own men snatched at me, presumably wanting my horse and I had the sense to draw my short sword and hack blindly at him and throw back my heels.
But all I had managed to achieve was to ride out of the panicked mass and into the path of the Northmen. All around me men were screaming and the Northern axes and swords were chopping and swinging. The grim work, the blood feast, the song of the blade they call it and perhaps I was saved for a moment because I was the only one in our army who was on horseback and a score of the Northmen were also mounted so perhaps they mistook me for one of their own.
Then one of those Northern savages called to me in a language I did not speak, the old tongue. I looked at him and saw his king hair free unhindered by a helm. His king red hair, his silver mail shirt and the wild grin on his king face. I recognised him in that moment as the man who had killed my brother, and like the fool I was I screamed at him as fury coursed through my veins.
A standard barer was just behind the long haired man, flaunting a black bear on a green field. Tears blurred my sight and perhaps the battle madness had taken me or perhaps it was the fury of losing my half brother, but I rode at the long haired Northman and swung at him with my short sword. His own sword parried mine and my feeble blade bent like a reed in the wind. It just bent. And he drew back his own sword for the killing stroke. But when he saw my pathetic bent blade he began to laugh.
I was terrified. And he was laughing. I beat at him again with the useless blade but again he kept laughing then he leant over, plucked the weapon from my hand and threw it away. He picked me up then, I was screaming and hitting at him but he thought it oh so funny. Then he draped me over his saddle in front of him and slurred his horse on into the chaos to continue the killing.
That was how I met Harle. Harle 'the Fearless' Mormont. The man who killed my brother. The man who's head was supposed to grace a pole atop Storms End's ramparts. Magnar Harle.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone