Chương 460: Chapter 461: The Wights
On the western walls of King's Landing, Lord Randyll Tarly gazed at the pitch-black city, his brow deeply furrowed.
Although the southern army had begun to enter the city, controlling all of King's Landing under these circumstances was proving immensely challenging.
The northern forces had long lost their fighting spirit, but with the storm sowing chaos, Randyll feared opportunists might exploit the situation to sow discord or spread hatred, sparking conflict.
For instance, the mysterious sounding of the battle horn earlier was deeply suspicious.
If the despairing northern army resisted with desperation, it could cause severe casualties for the southern forces and plunge the entire city into chaos.
And then there was the matter of the sea-born enemies Samwell had mentioned—unusual enemies.
Randyll Tarly did not know exactly what his son meant by "unusual enemies," but their presence would surely add to the disorder in the city.
The southern army, concerned about provoking the northern forces further, and hindered by the storm, could only advance at a frustratingly slow pace.
The longer this dragged on, the worse things could get.
After a moment of thought, he summoned his son, Dickon Tarly, and gave him orders:
"I'm giving you five thousand cavalry. You are to head to the Red Keep immediately and secure it as quickly as possible, no matter what."
"Yes, father!" Dickon replied without hesitation.
It was a dangerous mission.
The situation within the city was uncertain, and with the army entering from the western gate, it would take time for their influence to reach the Red Keep at the southeastern edge of King's Landing.
Dickon, leading a cavalry charge into unknown territory, would essentially be plunging into the heart of chaos.
Randyll Tarly showed no hesitation in entrusting this perilous task to his son.
As for his other son, he had no idea where Samwell had gone.
Randyll's gaze turned skyward, where the storm clouds glowed faintly red. He searched for the white dragon but found no trace of it.
His thoughts were interrupted by the thunder of hooves below.
In the intermittent flashes of lightning, he saw the cavalry snaking through the city gates like a thick black serpent, stretching further and further into the city.
Dickon led the charge, urging his horse forward along the wide streets of the city.
Riding at such speed through the dark streets during a storm was a risky endeavor. Fortunately, the roads were clear of civilians, and even the scattered deserters fled to the sides at the sound of the thundering hooves.
Still, some riders collided with obstacles or stepped into hidden potholes, laming their horses. Yet the majority of the force pressed on, undeterred.
Cold rain pelted their armor with a relentless clang-clang, but it failed to quench the fire in the riders' hearts.
"Faster! Faster!" Dickon shouted, as the lights of Aegon's High Hill began to appear in the distance—the torches of the Red Keep.
The roar of hooves filled the stormy air as they charged onward like shadows.
But at the base of Aegon's High Hill, the cavalry was forced to halt.
"Move aside! Clear the way!" Dickon shouted. But the street ahead was clogged with northern soldiers.
In the confusion, a knight of the Westerlands was brought before him and reported:
"Milord, our men are under attack! Unknown creatures are crawling out of Blackwater Bay. There are too many of them, and the more we kill, the more there seem to be!"
"Who are the attackers?"
"I don't know. They don't seem human, and they can't be killed. Their numbers are endless—"
"Hold the gate!" Dickon interrupted, dismissing the report as an excuse born of fear. "Do not retreat into the city. Return to the gate and defend it!"
"We don't have enough men!"
"Reinforcements are on the way! Get back to the gate and hold it, or you'll be charged with desertion!"
The knight, though reluctant, had no choice but to obey and lead his men back toward the gate.
Once the path ahead was cleared, Dickon resumed his charge toward Aegon's High Hill.
"Open the gate!" he called as they reached the massive bronze doors of the Red Keep. "I am Earl Dickon Tarly of Brightwater Keep, here to assume command of the Red Keep! Open the gate!"
A response came after a brief delay:
"Apologies, Lord Dickon, but the Queen has ordered that no one is to enter or leave the Red Keep."
"Tommen Baratheon has surrendered, and Cersei is no longer Queen! Open the gate!"
Yet the gate remained shut.
"I am Janos Slynt, Commander of the City Watch," a coarse voice called from atop the walls. "The storm has thrown the city into chaos, and to prevent disorderly soldiers from harming the nobles within, I cannot open the gates. If you wish to enter, you'll need King Caesar himself to come here."
Furious, Dickon was about to argue further when a soldier rushed to him with alarming news:
"Milord, the northern forces couldn't hold the gate. The creatures have breached the city!"
"What creatures?"
"We don't know. But the northern soldiers claim they can't be killed—"
Dickon turned toward the base of the hill. In a flash of lightning, he saw a horde of inhuman monsters flooding the streets below, pushing the northern soldiers back.
Abandoning the gate, Dickon shouted to his men:
"Prepare to charge!"
The riders wheeled their horses around, leveling their lances as they readied for battle.
"Charge!"
Dickon's voice thundered through the storm as the cavalry surged down the hill like a steel flood.
The weight of the charge crashed into the horde of wights at the base of the hill. The sickening sound of steel puncturing flesh filled the air, and the monsters' rotten blood sprayed everywhere.
Yet the wights, undeterred by the cavalry's might, threw themselves at the horses and riders in a frenzy of biting and clawing.
"Hold the line!"
The cavalry struggled to maintain their formation amidst the press of bodies. The battlefield turned into a morass of chaos, where survival became a matter of sheer grit.
Finally, Dickon and his knights pierced through the horde, leaving behind a trail of corpses and shattered limbs.
But when he turned back, he saw the wights showed no signs of retreat. If anything, they were growing bolder, surging toward the living with even greater ferocity.
And then, to his horror, Dickon witnessed something impossible: a fallen southern knight rose from the pile of corpses.
The knight's eyes glowed an eerie blue, his mouth dripping blood as he let out a guttural growl.
Soon, more bodies—both wights and freshly killed soldiers—began to rise, their lifeless forms now moving with unnatural purpose.
Dickon realized the full extent of the threat.
The dead would not stay dead.
Above him, lightning forked across the blackened sky, illuminating a battlefield spiraling into hellish chaos.
(End of Chapter)
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