บท 23: Chapter 21 - Pride Before the Fall 3
1 BC
Sandstone
It was in the dead of night that Rhodry dodged through the corridors with a haste in his step, deftly weaving through the corridors and ignoring the countless servants who bowed and curtseyed to him as per decorum. He ignored the trembling in their poses, their unwillingness to see him in the eye, or how heavily they sweated. In his eyes, they were but insignificant pawns - trash beneath his notice.
He entered a single bedchamber, one that once saw loving memories but which became the scene of a soured marriage. Waiting within was his wife Elia Qorgyle, once the spare third daughter of her father Galwell Qorgyle, once a respected politician.
An elegant and graceful beauty dressed in orange gossamer, her arms, assets and back on full display, her beautiful porcelain skin showed many bruises and welts inflicted by a cruel and demented hand, and her silky smooth red hair was tied in a messy bun with many strands free from their confines. Her mascara-streaked blue eyes were red and puffy, her makeup streaking downwards with every tear she shed, one of her eyes blackened with swelling.
"Elia," Rhodry said neutrally, "I take it everything is done as I asked?"
"Yes, My Lord," Elia bowed, her face facing the floor, "Lord Arin and his men will find nothing."
"Do not call my nephew 'Lord', Elia," Rhodry sneered.
"I-I apologise, My Lord," Elia haltingly said.
"Good, so long as you know who rules this house in the end," Rhodry stated, before sitting down and opening a bottle of wine, tipping it down his throat, "Gah, how the mighty have fallen…"
He heard knocking on his door, and Rhodry beckoned, "Enter."
A guard entered the room, studiously ignoring Elia as he approached Rhodry and said, "My Lord, your son and daughter attempted to escape again."
"Again? Do they not know the consequences of being failures of the family, not after the deaths of the rest of House Qorgyle?" Rhodry wondered aloud, his voice eerily calm yet burning with anger, "You know what to do."
"Yes, My Lord. We shall see to that," Said the guard as he bowed before leaving.
"Feh, failures, both of them," Rhodry grunted, tipping the bottle down until it was half-empty, "They spend their time fooling around with paramours, hunting and horse-racing while ignoring their education, and all I get is a couple of useless children who are worth shit in the world of nobles. Only fair I discipline them so they learn a harsh lesson."
"But My Lord, they are your children," Elia pleaded, voice half-broken with sorrow, "Surely you can-"
"Silence, woman!" Rhodry cursed, slamming down his bottle and holding Elia's throat in a choking grip, "I am the Lord of House Qorgyle, and therefore all of you must obey my orders, do you understand me!?"
"Y-Yes, My Lord! I understand!" Elia cried.
"Say it! Say it as if you mean every word!" Rhodry roared.
"I swear it, My Lord! I-I swear it!"
And Rhodry released Elia, the poor woman choking and coughing as she desperately regained her breath. Wordlessly, Rhodry left the bedchambers, and Elia's voice was wracked with soft sobs as she curled up in a corner, left with no one to comfort her and protect her against her tyrannical husband.
As usual, Rhodry walked by the servants and ignored them as if they were air; some bowed out of fear and terror; others bowed as sycophants bowed to their master.
One of the maids, calm and collected, walked past the other servants and guards until she reached a blind spot. Once she was certain no one watched or followed her, she broke into a sprint and disappeared from sight.
IIOII
Meanwhile, in the Reachmen camp the men were celebrating and making merry, breaking out all the meat and wine they plundered from the stores of the Dornish nobles they subjugated. Few patrols were out on duty, and those few patrolmen eyed their comrades with envy as they were forced to endure the desert cold at night.
Theo Tyrell, the commander of the Reachmen expedition against the Desert Dornish, was eagerly feasting on roasted fowl seasoned with butter and rosemary in one hand and drinking wine in a jewel-studded silver cup in another. The other noble captains and commanders also feasted with great gusto and extravagance, and all seemed well in the camp.
"Come, a toast to our impending victory!" Theo stood up, beckoning the others with his wine cup.
The other nobles quickly obliged, raising their own cups.
"To our victory!"
"To the downfall of the heathen Dornish!"
And they clinked their cups. Just then, however, a guard stepped courteously into the tent and bowed before Theo.
"My Lord, beg your pardon but we have merchants offering to sell us some good wine," He said, "He says they have barrels of the famous Omsuok or something."
Theo raised his eyebrow, yet he nodded and said, "Bring their leader to see me."
"At once, My Lord," The guard bowed.
A Yi-Tish man entered the tent, well-dressed and prepared for travel with a sword by his side. He flawlessly curtseyed to Theo Tyrell, his mask a polite facade of obeisance and respect.
"Hail Lord Theo Tyrell, Son of Harlan Tyrell of his most esteemed house of the Reach and heir to the Steward of Highgarden," Greeted the merchant, "I am Gongmak Phoq, and I offer you the finest wines to serve at your banquet."
Theo nodded smilingly, "Come, come! I welcome a merchant who sells fine wares. I hear that you sell something called Om…Omsuok?"
"Omsyak," Phoq corrected politely, beckoning for his people to bring in a keg, "It is a specialty of Eastern Dorne, and famed for being a very strong red wine."
Taking an offered cup, he filled it to the brim with Omsyak, and instantly the strong scent of alcohol filled the entire tent unlike any other drink. Theo's cupbearer took the cup in his hands and took a sip, then gasped to the surprise of the other nobles. A few of them went to draw their weapons, but were stopped at the cupbearer's next words.
"This is amazing wine! It's so damned strong!"
All sighed in relief and sat back down, and Theo took the cup from his cupbearer's hands and quaffed it in one go. He gasped at the heat burning his throat.
"By the Seven, this is the best wine I've ever tasted!" Theo exclaimed, "Phoq, we'd like to purchase your entire supply!"
Phoq beamed brightly as he gratefully accepted the chest of gold offered by Theo's men, and he said, "Many thanks for your graciousness, Your Lordship. I bid you goodnight."
"Of course, of course," Theo waved him off, "Fare thee well."
As Phoq and his men took their leave, the Reachmen wasted no time drinking deeply of their cups as kegs were emptied. Before long, between their excessive drinking and the strong drinks they enjoyed, it was not long before the huge majority of the Reach main camp was soused, countless troops snoring where they lay on the ground.
Phoq and his men watched all this happen, and as they counted the last of the gold coins offered, they smiled and drew weapons they concealed within their wagons.
"Gods be damned, these men got drunk faster than I thought," Said one of his men, his Deputy [1] Tong Bei, "Makes me pity what's coming to them next."
"Eh, let these delusional pricks complain to us from the other side," Phoq shrugged, sharpening his Dao [2] with a stone, "Dead men can't be a pain in the ass unlike prisoners."
"Sure feels that way, boss," Tong Bei agreed, "Wait, you hear that?"
A single drop fell to the ground, unheard by most. A few drops fell, some hitting metal as a hammer softly struck a bell. More drops followed, and soon the entire camp bore witness to a squall.
"Well, look here, never thought we'd get a squall right now of all times," Tong Bei remarked smilingly, "This'll definitely mask their hooves. Maybe it's those Hydromancers making it rain?"
"Maybe, or it could be a divine miracle," Phoq suggested, "Anyway, enough chit-chat; time to whack these fools."
"You got it, boss," Tong Bei smiled.
IIOII
For the Reachmen sentries, there was nothing worse than a heavy rain on a cold night, which only further added to their discomfort as their armour offered little protection against the wrath of nature.
"Fookin' hell, this is the worst day ever…"
With the lords safely in their tents and the troops drunk on liquor, the sentries on duty grumbled at their powerlessness to change their situation, be it the weather or their accommodation. With so few on patrol, they were stretched thin across the camps and thus more isolated than most.
One of the sentries saw the Yi-Tish merchants approach them, and with rain in his eyes he had trouble seeing them clearly.
"Hey, we ain't buyin' anymore, so-urk!"
He fell to the ground with a thump, a crossbow bolt through his eye.
Several other bodies fell limp, blood pooling around their heads as men shrouded in cloaks started rampaging around the camp.
The Tian Feng Huang brandished all manner of weapons they stashed within their wagons; sabres, swords, pikes, axes, crossbows and maces, and their rampage claimed dozens of lives - mostly drunks and isolated sentries.
Phoq and Tong Bei were skilled warriors, their thuggish and unrefined fighting skills anathema to the flowery Reachmen, and the troops they brought along were among the deadliest and most experienced fighters they recruited from the streets, who themselves were used to all manner of street fights with weapons.
"Y-You fuckers! You betrayed us!"
Phoq hacked his sabre into the neck of the levy who tried to stab him, only for him to deftly dodge with a twist of the waist.
"Serves you right for being ignorant fucks," Phoq spat on his corpse.
Tong Bei used a battle axe, lifting it as if it were a feather, and he effortlessly cleaved limbs and heads from bodies who flung themselves at him. Some managed to score lucky hits, slicing his skin and even scoring a few shallow stabs, but he shrugged them off and cut them down like lambs to the slaughter.
"Bei, hope you're not out of the fight," Phoq called out.
"Nothing to worry about, boss," Tong Bei replied, "Just a few scratches."
Before long, however, the rest of the camp was alerted to the rampaging murderers disguised as merchants hacking and slicing their way through the camp defenders. Those still sober enough to draw arms moved to converge upon the Tian Feng Huang, and they quickly numbered in the hundreds - too many for the dozen-strong gangsters to take on.
"Boss, we might have stirred the hornet's nest!" Tong Bei exclaimed.
"Too much for you, Bei?" Questioned Phoq with a mad smile as he hacked off a Reachman's head, "I thought you live for fights like this!"
"It's never too much for me, boss! It's just that it'd really be a good time for the rest of the boys to make their entrance!" Tong Bei replied, cleaving another soldier in twain.
"Kill these bastards!" Screamed the head knight, "How dare they betray us on the cusp of-"
The knight in question never got to finish his sentence, for at that moment he was riddled with spears jutting out his back as were his troops. Rada cataphracts rushed down the Reachmen troops in conjunction with Qorgyle cavalry, and phalanxes followed close behind with spears at the ready. The Reachmen were caught completely unprepared, the heavy rain masking the sounds of trotting hooves and thumping boots.
With their appearance, the battle turned in favour of the Dornish, and the Reachmen were slowly whittled down as the Dornish encroached upon the command tent where the rest of the Reach commanders were waiting. Thoroughly inebriated, the lords within lacked the awareness and energy to draw their weapons once their guards started dying.
"W-Wha… Who goes there…?" A red-faced Theo Tyrell slurred.
He registered too late the men who brandished their axes and swords, hacking the lords apart like a butcher butchering a cow. Screams of pain and terror echoed throughout the camp, and the stench of blood was enough to rouse him from his intoxication.
"What is the meaning of…!?"
"Shut up, you pig!" Tong Bei exclaimed, punching Theo hard in the face.
"Argh! My nose!" Theo cried, feeling blood seeping out and bone cracking, "Do you know who I am!?"
"Oh yes, we know."
Theo looked aghast at the sight of a manically grinning Gongmak Phoq, his own sword dripping with blood.
"Phoq, you bastard! How dare you touch lords of the Reach! Who paid you to do this!?" Theo cursed, struggling in vain against the iron grip of his captors, "I tell you, if my father or King Mern hears of this-"
Phoq stabbed a knife into his shoulder, twisting it to elicit more cries of pain from Theo as blood seeped from his wound.
"It is no good to scream, Lord Tyrell," Phoq said, "Bad captives scream and shout, and thus we have to take measures to silence your screaming. Good captives remain silent and obedient, thus we do not have to inflict harm and they get to remain unmolested."
"You madmen, just let me go!" Theo cursed.
Phoq's answer was to twist the knife even more, and Theo's screams resumed until Phoq stopped.
"Wrong answer," Phoq said.
"He giving you trouble?"
Phoq turned to bow to Arin Rada as he entered the tent, freshly coated in blood from the recent slaughter.
"No, My Lord, he is simply proving to be very… rebellious, that's all," Phoq answered smilingly, "Nothing a little torture won't remedy."
"I'm sure you would like to torture him, but we do need to send a message to King Mern IX," Arin stated, wiping his blade clean with an offered cloth, "That way, King Mern will take the bait and his commanders will be none the wiser."
Theo found himself laughing, half in derision and half in anger.
"So, Phoq was your man, was he not?" Theo said to Arin, "Now that I think about it, I should have seen this coming; never thought I would meet with the Black Fox in person of all times."
"The Black Fox? Is that what they call me?" Asked Arin.
"Yes, that is the title our Dornish enemies called you," Theo nodded, "I wondered why some spoke your name in fear, and now I know why."
"Glad they at least fear me, as they should," Arin shrugged, "I'll admit, you were on the cusp of victory against my Uncle. Maybe if I was a day late, you'd win and he'd be dead. Too bad you happened to fight a stronger enemy than you."
Theo spat on Arin's face, and Phoq's answer was to punch him hard in the face, breaking his nose at a crooked angle while Arin wiped the spittle from his face.
In response, Arin swiped his dagger across Theo's throat, and the young noble quickly died while choking on his own blood.
"You sure you want him to die peacefully?" Phoq asked, "I was hoping to test the sharpness of our new tools on him."
"Leave that for the fuckers who deserve it," Arin stated, "Those nobles that are still alive, send them back to Mern along with the bodies of the slain and a message from me: 'Time for the Rose to wilt in the desert.'"
"As you wish, My Lord," Phoq bowed.
For many of the surviving Reachmen, while spiteful and hateful towards the Dornish, they did appreciate the fact that those nobles executed were executed swiftly and without torture, and that their fallen comrades would be returned to them without trouble, which was much more than what they expected from the Greenblood Dornish - or any Dornish in general.
The rain eventually stopped, granting the men a welcome reprieve to perform their grisly work; cremating and counting the dead, and looting what weapons and armour could be salvaged.
One of Phoq's men came in, reporting, "My Lord Arin, our men have successfully slaughtered the chain of command in the other camps besieging Zolha Noy [3] and lifted the siege, though the other Reachmen armies in the region of Eyarha [4] still pose a threat."
"We'll just employ the time-tested strategy of divide-and-conquer, and whittle them down until their ass is left hanging in the wind," Arin suggested, "Like vultures circling their prey."
"My favourite strategy," Phoq smiled, "That way these assholes do not escape. I really hate it when they escape; really messy to clean up."
"Eh, there's always those who wanna make things more difficult for themselves," Arin shrugged.
And a brief chuckle was shared before a female spy entered the tent, bearing in her hands a sealed scroll.
"My Lord Arin, I bring news from Sandstone," The spy reported.
Arin took the scroll, broke the wax seal and quickly skimmed through its contents. As he read more, however, his hands trembled and his face became red with boiling anger, his hands threatening to crush the scroll into splinters. The tent became deathly silent as the people cautiously gauged Arin's behaviour, the only audible sound being the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the canopy.
"My Lord? What happened?" Asked Phoq cautiously, maintaining a short distance from his master.
Arin's words rang like thunder.
"My Uncle is planning to betray us when we return… and his own family is held hostage by him."
[1] The second-in-command of a Triad is officially known as the Deputy Mountain Master, while the Chairman is known as the Mountain Master. Triad ranks are distinguished by numeric codes and the Deputy is known by the code 438, but in Westeros they are often called Deputies in short.
[2] Dao - A single-edged sword from Yi-Ti which is translated as 'sabre' or 'knife', and primarily used for cutting. There exist many variations of Dao, though one most common variant used by the Dornish Triads is the Liuyedao - willow leaf sabre - which features a moderate curve along the length of the blade, and is most common in Yi-Tish martial arts schools.
[3] Zolha Noy - The Rhoynish translation of Sandstone.
[4] Eyarha - The Rhoynish translation of Sun-Gift, the name of the province governed by House Qorgyle.
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง