Capítulo 270: 23
Fighting off exhaustion he swung his greatblade again, finally getting through his opponent's frantic defense and hacking off his left arm at the shoulder. The ironborn goes down with a scream and a spray of blood, joining dozens of others going down all over the battlefield. Screams and the sound of metal hitting metal or flesh is all present as the king's host holds next to Pyke, smashing all that came at them.
Tytos rights his black helmet and takes a moment to breathe as the enemy fighters close to him have either died or turned to flee after their obviously failed sally. The garrison of the Pyke could not number more than two thousand at this point after fending off the hosts of the Reach for two weeks straight. Sallying into the maw of their attackers now that the remaining host had arrived to reinforce the luckless reachmen was the height of folly – newly constructed siege engines or not. Even during the battle the siege engines had not stopped shooting, volleying big stone after big stone at the castle's walls. Their fortifications were still holding strong and likely would for a few days more but at some point they would go down, Pyke falling with it.
Glancing to the side he spots lord Tarly putting down one of the retreating reavers with his valyrian greatsword, a pang of envy moving through Tytos. What he would be able to do with such a sword… maybe he might even have retained his old home. He shakes himself out of the train of thought, knowing that way only laid sadness. No, what was lost would remain so and dwelling on the fact would be of no use to him, this much at least he acknowledged by now. Nodding to the man the Blackwood patriarch turns around as well, retreating from the battlefield back into the nearby camp while absently ripping some cloth of a reaver corpse to clean his stained blade.
The reavers fought like cornered rats, for they were nothing else by this point. Pyke was the only castle still holding, more by stubborn desperation of its lord than by having any real hope of victory. Even so they had managed to fend off the two great hosts of the Reach for weeks, suffering casualties but not giving an inch, much to the Tyrells and Florents frustration. Of course their defense had been greatly aided by both houses, albeit indirectly, as both refused to support the other during any one assault leaving Balon to only face half the host at any given time.
Their internal disputes cost them greatly, both forces losing a fourth of their number to death and injury before King Robert arrived with his host. Tytos snorts as he recalls the rumors of the first meeting between the king and the two nobles commanding the other hosts. It was said that he straight out punched both in the face for their stupidity and told them to quit squabbling like toddlers. The big shiner Mace Tyrell had been spotted wearing and the slight wince Axel Florent had been unable to hide spoke of at least some truth being to the rumors. Either way the divide had been neatly erased, the fresh troops moving to the front while the Reach troops joined the greater host without too many issues.
Even so the Pyke still held, the 'King of Salt and Rock' having refused all offers of surrender. It was a strong castle, no doubt, but Balon should be able to see the writing on the wall despite his obvious stubborn streak. Even with the casualties he had managed to inflict upon the invaders he was outnumbered to a ridiculous degree, more than twenty fighters opposing any one of his own. While his defensive position was strong this was a disparity he would be unable to truly oppose for long. Gods, had the Reachers had any sense than this should have been over long before the king's host arrived!
Shaking his head Tytos passes the low rock wall that had been piled up around the camp by gathering loose stone and throwing it onto each other until a makeshift barrier was formed. Stone being much more abundant than wood, it had made a lot of sense to go this way instead of trying to find enough lumber for a palisade. Wouldn't stop a fly but give maybe half a minute of time to prepare, which would be more than enough considering the balance of forces present.
Passing the area where the Faith was encamped the Blackwood lord heard himself grinding his teeth as he forced himself to continue moving without going berserk on the fanatics, half a dozen of his retainers silently following after him doing likewise. Only the thought of his family waiting back home in the North kept him from starting a killing spree, the man having amble cause for violence after everything that had happened over the last years.
His resolve was dearly tested as Lord Jonos Bracken steps right into his path, forcing him to a stop. "Heathen", greets the man. "Joined us in killing unbelievers, have you now?"
"Fanatic", greets Tytos in turn. "Drowned any babies lately? Burned random innocents at the stake?"
Both stare at each other as tension rises before the Bracken scion snorts and steps to the side. "Mark my words, you will get what is coming to you. The Sparrow will see to it."
Moving by the man Tytos cannot help a parting comment on his own. "He will have to get past the Ashbringer first. How has that been going, I wonder?"
Now it was Jonos turn to grind his teeth as Lord Blackwood moves by him with a slight smile hidden beneath his helmet. While Darren had been sent home for his actions during the 'Feast of Ten Towers', his words had stayed behind and refused to be erased for good. And gods, had they shakin things up. The whole hall had heard his accusations and while Balish had done what he could to migrate the damage a lot of previously warm relations had cooled in consequence. Allegedly seeking to undermine a greater noble house had not gone over well with a lot of other nobles even though the proof present had been circumstantial at best. Speaking up before the king spoke of a lot of confidence behind the words, for they would have never even been uttered otherwise. Or so at least was the common opinion. Taken together with the dependable reputation Lord Darren Ryther had cultivated over the years this had put a lot of weight in his words, even with the lack of proof.
Of course his friend had burned nearly every chance of an amiable relationship with the Faith for as long as the current High Sparrow held the reigns of power but Tytos could care less. Gods, he even congratulated Darren in the privacy of his mind every day, as did many other Northmen and even some southern nobles. After what he had seen the Faith do in the Riverlands and recently the Iron Islands, he knew that another war would not be far off, this one being one of religion. He could hardly wait being able to extract revenge upon those that had driven his house from their ancestral lands.
The other northern lords mostly thought likewise, being outraged by the insidious attack upon their overlord and their brothers and sisters following the old gods in peace. Everyone had refugees of the southern cleansing entering their lands and heard stories of what drove them out of their homes. The North remembers had been a proverb for millennia and it should not be discarded at a whim as some southern lords were prone to. Sending Darren back north had de-escalated the situation for the moment, seeming to many a lord like a punishment against an upstart underling. The Rythers did not even have 500 years of history behind them, after all. Speaking out in the presence of the king? And with something like this? Preposterous!
Most northern lords and those few southern ones with some inclination to intelligence of course knew better. It was a slap on the wrist at most, his actions having helped the North greatly. Being sent North after the Fires of Blacktyde could be at most considered a statement by Lord Stark that the rebellion was all but over, one of his more dangerous weapons no longer being needed on the battlefield. It also helped keep the peace in the king's host, a sizable part being out for the noble's blood as the Faith's structure started to show deep cracks.
Not breaking, mind you, despite the Starry Sept of all institutions trying its best to see it to such an end. No, the High Sparrow turned out to be dangerously competent and managed to hold everything together. Still, he had taken a hit in his stellar reputation and likely been set back in his plans, whatever those might be. It did not help the man that rumors surfaced of him having boasted of having stolen the maidenhead of both Tully sisters, adding many vale and river lords to his list of enemies.
Having finally reached his tent, Tytos continued to smile in satisfaction as he took off his helmet and handed it to his squire to be cleaned. The boy, one of the younger members of a Manderly branch house, had been a recent acquisition but one already proving to be worth its weight in gold. Starting the rumor had been easy and as it cropped up after Darren had left, so no one could point at his friend this time around even though many likely would have loved to do so. Tytos hummed thoughtfully while cleaning himself of most of the blood spilled onto him with a wet rag. He would continue to undermine the Faith where he could even in the absence of the man he had grown to call a friend above all others. It would only delay the inevitable but every bit of time would count in preparation of the assault sure to come.
The flaps of his tent move as Lords Glover, Mormont, Forrester and Wull enter, some of their men joining the guard before the entrance. Nodding in greeting, Tytos offered them a cup of ale, which was gladly accepted.
"How fares the assault?", Jeor asks after taking a deep draw, starting off the conversation between the group of close allies. While Mors had returned to his brother's part of the camp, joining the group of nobles around house Umber, the others had stayed as they had been for the past weeks. Battles fought side by side had galvanized them into a close group, which was only aided by the fact that they were neighbors one and all. Together they brought enough numbers and power to the table to actually be heard in northern politics, something they would never have been able to do on their own.
"Balon is wasting manpower in desperate gambles.", grunts Tytos while digging a bit of brain matter out between two armor plates of his full plate, absently snipping it to the side. "He lost another two hundred in the sally against the siege engines, which – as expected – was turned away easily enough."
Lord Forrester shakes his head. "Foolish man. He must see that this fight is lost and all that happens now is a loss of life without purpose."
"He might as well do so.", agrees Galbart easily, absent eyes gazing through the tents fabric in the direction of the besieged castle. "He would not be the first lord fighting to the last against all reason, maybe hoping to die with a sword in hand instead of being lead to the chopping block."
"Balon is a high noble.", counters Forrester. "Had he even shown some sense he would have come out of this alive. Now though… now he might very well lose his head. Or burned at the stake for heresy, if the Sparrow has his way."
"Balish", hisses Tytos with hate, which is half drowned by the ale he was drinking at the very moment. "All things taken into account Darren did a good thing exposing the snake as he did. Well worth being sent home."
"Aye.", grunts Theo Wull, a small smile playing around his face. "While Lord Stark might be less than amused, the act likely spared us a lot of trouble down the line."
"It also caused a lot of it.", grumbles Glabart Glover, earning a snort from Lords Wull and Forrester.
Tytos also smirks. "He is who he is. I have yet to see him following the beaten path. What he did was daring and might be considered stupid by some… I on the other hand find myself proud to be able to call him a friend."
"So do we", the others agree before the conversation takes a slight turn while still staying on the topic of their departed friend.
"Any word from the North?", Jeor queries, only for Tytos to shake his head. "Nothing worthwhile but there has been a message from Seaguard. Darren arrived with his fleet to take on the old faith refugees still in the city. There allegedly have been so many still that the Mallisters burned through their treasury yet again to hire every merchantmen they could get their hands on to transport those that did not fit onto Darrens ships, raising the number of vessels to nearly fifty."
"...that is a lot of mouths to feed.", cautions Jeor Mormont after recovering from his surprise at the stated numbers.
"Aye, they are.", Galbart agrees with a grunt, shrugging. "Not that it has stopped him from taking in people before. And now with the sea again open for trade I do expect his ships to take care of the strain on his food stores before long. He will manage… and we might even gain some numbers as well, if he is willing to let some of his immigrants move."
"Oh, he will manage.", chuckles Tytos and leans back in one of the chairs within the tent. "Rumor has it that King Robert was very grateful to our friend and his actions as well. Has had enough of the Faith as well, I suppose. He will not be forgotten once the spoils of the war are handed out, that is for sure."
Lord Mormont chuckles and raises his tankard. "Sent North is a punishment, eh? As I see it he gets rewarded after leaving with all limbs intact. Best of both worlds in my book."
"If this is true then there will be a lot of screaming, mostly from the Faith.", cautions Galbart before a smirk worms its way onto his face. "Not that I care particularly much. If the king is well disposed to Darren and other northern lords then Lord Stark will have an easier time wringing concessions out of the gathering of high lords that is sure to commence after the war's end."
A comfortable silence settles over the group, only for a loud horn call to break the peaceful moment. Looking up, the men frown. "Already? I had expected the walls to hold for days yet.", mutters Tytos before standing up, drowning his tankard in one big gulp, and grabbing his greatsword again. The other lords leave at once to their own tents after wishing each other good luck.
The wall had been broken, the final assault on Pyke would begin shortly.
Two hours later Tytos was deep in blood and guts as he struggled side by side with other heavily armored fighters, trying to force his way through the breach into the castle's interior. The Ironborn were putting up a stubborn fight, pushing back against the invaders with the determination of the damned. Ducking below a blow that would have taken his head off Tytos runs the man before him through, finally taking a step beyond the wall as two arrows glance off his full plate.
Ripping out the blade sideways in a shower of gore he kicks the dying man down the slope of rubble, bowling over three other reavers desperately seeking to plug the appearing gap before the line broke completely. Taking another step forward Tytos splits an enemy from shoulder to hip, his greatsword parting leather armor and shattering the wooden shield held up in defense. As the man falls a burning sword suddenly appears besides Tytos, setting one reaver alight before running through another, the fire being doused by the spilled blood. Glancing to the side the Blackwood patriarch sees Thorros of Myr protecting his flank and pushing forward, the Rhollor whorshipper having a manic grin on the face half hidden by his helm as he murders one reaver after another.
Another second sees the gap widen enough for the ironborn to sound the retreat to the inner gates, the line breaking at once and turning into a rout. Cutting down a fleeing reaver Tytos grunts tiredly but runs forward at the side of the foreigner, hoping to reach the gates to the castle interior before the ironborn could barricade the doors.
They manage it, if only just.
A two handed warhammer is thrown over Tytos head, smashing into the face of the reaver trying to force the door close with such a force that it crumbles the metal of his helmet and almost takes his head off in one vicious whiplash. The collapsing corpse of the man blocks the door long enough for the attackers to reach them and keep them from closing completely, sounds of dismay echoing from the ironborn as Tytos and his men force their way into the castle.
They find themselves in a hall full of lightly wounded reavers who attack at once, seemingly forgetting their injuries for the moment. Tytos stumbles back after getting hit by a shield bash and briefly sees his life flash by before his eyes as a spear is thrust at the gap of his visor, his tired mind unable to force his body to move enough to avoid the weapon. The old gods did not seem to want his presence just yet though as a great warhammer batters the weapon away, the return swing braining the attacker with enough power to explode his head like an overripe melon, blood, bone and brain matter splattering on everything close by.
Blinking in confusion Tytos looks to the side only to come fully awake once again, the richly decorated armor of the king moving by him with seven white clad individuals circling around it. Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals and first men, First of his name, throws himself into the melee with a booming laugh, swinging a warhammer that must have weighed more than most men could lift, not speaking of swinging it around, with the speed and precision the monarch did. The reavers attack him desperately, maybe seeing a last chance at victory if they manage to bring him low.
They fail one and all.
Looking at the man Tytos can easily understand why he had been called a demon of the battlefield before, his skill and sheer ferocity being a true sight to behold. Limbs and heads are smashed in a murderous tact, some bodies actually all but flying from the king's proximity as the kinetic force behind the blows literally hammers them off their feet. The kingsguard circling around the man see to it that Robert is never completely encircled or outflanked while cutting down most of the attackers themselves, only the lucky or particularly stupid ones actually making it to the king.
Looking at the scene Tytos cannot help but wonder if they had trained for something like this before. To him it almost seemed like the king acted to attract the reavers while the kingsguard took every opening that appeared in the maddened rush at the monarch, killing nine out of ten as they moved by in their haste to get at the juicy target protected by the white cloaked fighters. Shaking himself out of his haze Tytos moves to rejoin the fight as well, the short breather after the king's arrival having done a world of good to force down his exhaustion to a more manageable degree.
The fighting within the castle turns into a bloody slog as the reavers contest every room and barricade every door. For some reason they do not cut the bridges between the towers of Pyke, leaving the melee to decide their fate instead of continuing the already exhausting siege. While Tytos had been the first past the walls of Pyke he was not the first into the throne room, which was reached after nearly a day of vicious fighting and a lot of casualties. He had withdrawn to the back after he found himself unable to lift his sword in exhaustion, fresher troops taking his place.
Numbers had won the day in the end, fresh troops being circled in the whole day as the defenders were slowly ground into bloody dust. They gave as good as they got during the fighting, hundreds of corpses covering the stone tiles of Pyke before the last living defenders were finally forced to their knees before the king in the throne room. Balon glared at king Robert from his kneeling position in front of a throne made out of driftwood, which would surely not survive the day.
The hall fills with more and more nobles as the staring contest between the Baratheon monarch and the rebellious lord continues. Finally Robert removes his helmet and sighs. "Greyjoy. You lost weeks ago. Your famed Iron Fleet has been sunk, your lords defeated. Why struggle to the last? More blood for your drowned god?"
The Greyjoy lord stays silent for a moment before struggling to his feet with a feverish look in his eyes, only succeeding after a nod from Robert causes the two men holding him down to step back. "Always the greenlander, Baratheon. My people live and die by the Iron Price. This has always been our way and even you standing before me will not change this. The Iron Fleet might have joined the drowned god but many ships remain to reappear when you least expect them. The lords are beaten but still live thanks to your tender greenlander sensibilities, carrying their grudge to the next generation. Fool I call you. You have not won, merely postponed."
"Fool I would call you as well, Greyjoy.", replies Robert Baratheon calmly and opens his arms wide. "Look around you, Balon! What remains of your kingdom of Salt and Rock? I see nothing but blood and death, not anything upon which worthwhile things can be rebuilt."
Balon Greyjoy chuckles, the crazed look in his eyes sending a cold shiver down Tytos back. Glancing around he sees most nobles completely enthralled by the scene before him but the Blackwood patriarch is not, alarm bells beginning to ring in his head as the faintly remembered voice of Darren Ryther enters his mind.
"If it appears to be too good to be true, it likely isn't. Instincts trump logic in some cases I have found."
Taking a step back out of the ring of watching men, Tytos grabs Theo Wull and Galbart Glover and all but drags them to the entrance of the hall, shushing their confused query before it can really form. The elder Mormont lord was too far away to easily reach and Thorren Forrester had been wounded in the earlier fighting, which left him being tended to in the camp.
"Something is wrong", Tytos mutters to the men and both allow themselves to be led along the wall to the broken doors located a felt mile away. "Balon is not looking as defeated as he should."
Staring at the man still trading barbs with the king, Theo Wull frowns deeply and nods. "We have to warn Lord Stark."
"He is not here", grunts Galbart. "Took a crossbow bolt to the leg earlier in the fighting. He is still being tended to."
The group is drawn out of the whispered conversation as Balon suddenly laughs out loud, drawing attention back to himself. "Sunning yourself in your victory is all you are doing, greenlander king! You might have slain my soldiers and murdered the smallfolk of the islands but we are Ironborn! What is dead may never die! It rises again, harder and stronger!"
The last words are roared and suddenly a shudder goes through the stone and masonry of the hall, the roar of a nearby explosion drowning out the frightened shouts of the nobles that had been gloating at the spectacle before them a split second ago. Tytos all but throws himself and his friends through the doors as the floor begins to tilt, bricks raining from the ceiling down on the people gathered in the main hall. In his haste to flee he still manages to spot Balon, now again sitting in his driftwood throne as chaos reigned supreme around him, the serene smile of a lunatic on his face. Somehow his bone chilling voice carries over the madness, words easily discernible over the panic of hundreds of people making for the single small entrance.
"Enjoy your victory, Baratheon. For all the good it will do you. The drowned god will embrace us all!"
Being right next to the door gives Tytos and the two other northern lords a headstart as they race through the collapsing castle, avoiding stones raining from above and jumping over crevices that suddenly open up in their way to the next bridge. The tilt of the floor has increased even more by the time they reach the bridge a few seconds later, a sudden vertigo in their stomach area screaming at them that the whole construction was moving.
Not stopping their sprint the three lords run onto the wildly swaying bridge, strained rope fibers snapping even as they race across it at breakneck speed. They have barely made it across as the tick robes holding up the crossing snap, one of them whip lashing and breaking Theo Wulls leg despite his armor. The man goes down with a shout, Tytos and Galbart turning around to help him at once, causing them to look back for the first time since starting their flight.
Green fire covers the base of the central tower of Pyke, five or six levels below where the throne room would be. Even as they watch more of the finger-like cliff the castle is resting on cracks, the fortification tilting some more as it slowly slides to the side and right off the unstable stone. Tytos only just spots something white appearing in the doorway on the other side of the destroyed bridge before the castle loses its fight against gravity completely, crumbling in itself as it collapses into the frothing sea below. The almost deafening sound of breaking stone is accompanied by the screams of those trapped within the collapsing fortification and the roaring of the still burning wildfire.
Having noticed that their current footing remained stable and only the last tower seemed to be destroyed in the apocalyptic scene Tytos and his friends could only watch in horrified stupor as half a kingdom's worth of nobles met their end, taking with them the current king and his complete guard.
"Darren, I owe you one.", mutters Tytos to himself, still unable to drag his eye away from the catastrophe happening right before his eyes. His mind was racing and coming up with one horror scenario after another, which was sure to come from Balon's last defiance.
"We have to get to Lord Stark.", Galbart finally breaks them out of their stupor, both men nodding at once.
"Aye", replies Theo Wull with a pained grimace as he is helped to his feet by Tytos. "We must make haste… this is bad. Very, very bad."
Turning around they three vanish into the castle's interior, leaving behind complete devastation as Balon's tower threatened to drag the whole continent into the depths of despair.
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