Chương 50: Chapter 43: A Minor Miscalculation

"You thought war would be easy?"

When you heard of Dorne, your first thought was of deserts, sand, and desolate wastes as far as the eye could see. In most places, I suspected that may well have been the truth. But in the north of Dorne? Close to the mountains?

Dorne had a beauty to it.

The red stone of the mountains contrasted beautifully with the green of the grass and trees that dotted the slopes. Small streams added a splash of blue, sweeping down the slopes of the mountains as they raced towards the coast. Along the riverbanks grew golden grains in broad, wide fields. Flying low, I could even see the vibrantly colored splotches of mountain flowers.

And we had to fly low. We had to be able to see the people scurrying about below. We had to be able to tell if the rags that fluttered above people's heads had fields of yellow or grey. The maps had made it seem all so clear and obvious where one lord's lands ended, and another lord's began.

Unfortunately, life had the bad habit of not being terribly eager to match the clean and definitive lines people had put to parchment.

Thus, we flew. We swooped. We flew in an ever-growing spiral just hoping to catch a glimpse of the great host King Yronwood had assembled to press his rightful claim to the lordship of Skyreach.

As one might have expected, it took time.

It took quite a lot of time.

But had I not made a brief detour to Nightsong to stock up on some essentials after… after doing my part in Yronwood's plan, I would have started off in a far worse position. I would have had to cross the Fowler lands before I had the opportunity to even start looking for the soon-to-be King.

Coming south from the marches, however, meant I could more easily access the border between Fowler and Yronwood lands, meant I did not need to cross the breadth of Fowler lands before I could start searching.

Currently, it was a floodplain that I was searching. It had a wide river, an important-looking road, and was close to the Fowler-Yronwood border. Realistically, my ally could not have gotten too far. They had a baggage train, after all. Ox-drawn carts were hardly the swiftest mode of transport.

As expected, we found them after only a few hours of searching.

A long train of wagons sat on a broad, no doubt oft-used dirt path that ran parallel to a mighty river, the pale-yellow banners of House Yronwood fluttering above them.

But they were not moving. No wonder, really. There did not even appear to be any oxen drawing them, instead being used as a line of make-shift fortifications to protect the men gathered between the river and the road.

Given the many clusters of grey banners on the other side of the wagon train, it had been a tactically sound idea.

We dropped from the sky, diving to begin our first pass on the Fowler forces, and the image before me became clearer and clearer. Lines of men were drawn up between the wagons and the river, with thin trickles flowing through the gaps in the wagons. The precious animals drawing them were far in the rear of the center. Horses moved erratically on the flanks, circling one another only to feint towards the infantry only to move back, seemingly more interested in keeping one another busy than to strike decisively against the foe.

No, not all of them.

A small wedge of men flying a silver banner rode differently, with purpose. Aimed at the mass of men beneath the yellow banner. Heavy knights instead of harassing outriders, mayhaps? Screened by the lighter horse on the right flank of Yronwood, I did not doubt that they would take the foot soldiers by surprise.

And we had our first target.

With a crack of the whip, our course shifted slightly until we were approaching the wedge of heavy cavalry head-on. Their lances were steady, their course unflinching as they prepared to dislodge the defenders.

An unflinching they remained, even as a gout of green dragonflame rushed towards them. Unable to even change their momentum, unable to instantly come to a halt, they plowed head-first into the pale green fire.

What emerged were men in glowing cherry-red armor, their banners and surcoats reduced to cinders, their mounts collapsing beneath them, unable to even scream.

A small blessing.

The greater blessing was that we were too high up to smell our handiwork.

We were once again ascending before the last of the knights hit the ground, searching for another target. But in those few seconds, the battlefield had changed dramatically.

The light horse on that flank had faltered, both sides falling back to their lines and trying to calm their mounts. Naturally, this had drawn the attention of the infantry, who packed closer together in an attempt to put some distance between themselves and the murderous lizard large enough to flatten a galley by landing on it.

But where next?

For now, we were content to circle. The left flank was secure. The infantry was holding their position. The horse was too busy trying to regroup to attack anyone.

In theory, this was the perfect time to attack.

But for us, that meant fire. Fire near flammable supply wagons. Fire near allies.

They could… no, they would suffer. We could not burn recklessly. We would need to fight on the ground if we wanted to contribute.

The enemy infantry was pulling back through the wagon fort, unwilling to push through. There was a dragon in the air, after all, a dragon who by all measures was not their friend. Fear was the appropriate response.

Were we needed?

Would the Fowler forces retreat?

We hoped so. It would let us strike them down from the air at no risk to our allies. Otherwise… well, fighting large crowds on the ground was a new experience. A dangerous experience, but novelty had its own appeal.

For several long seconds, it felt like the enemy infantry might hold, like they might just push with renewed vigor. But would they? Would they surrender to that suicidal desire like some maddened beast?

The answer came a moment later, with what could hardly be called an organized retreat. More of a panicked flight, really. Sunlight caught on the heads of spears, axes, and maces as the panicked horde dropped them in an attempt to flee just a little bit faster.

How kind of them.

The foot soldiers beneath the yellow banner began to spill out from the gaps in the line of wagons, eager to exploit the sudden change in fortune. But they would only tire themselves if they had to give chase. No, that would not do.

And just like that, we found a second target.

Roaring a challenge, we dropped into another dive aimed at the front of the fleeing soldiery. So small, they looked, like little insects scurrying away from the shadow of a creature that could crush them in an instant if they so desired. Oh, it was a tempting thought, but not an effective one.

Instead, we twisted in the air, turning our dive into a rapid glide along the front of the retreating enemy mass. A gout of pale green flame shot forth, only barely enveloping the first few ranks, and even then, only the quickest of the fleeing enemy, but the goal was not to kill them all.

No, that would not work. Not from the air, at least. There were too many of them spread out over too large an area.

But it got their attention. It made them hesitate. For what sane creature would willingly run headfirst into a wall of green flame? A second passed, mayhaps two, until they realized the flame was fleeting, was not an impenetrable wall, but that had been enough.

Enough time for the approaching foot soldiers to catch them.

Satisfied with what we had accomplished, we turned back to what had once been a defensive line. The light horse was beginning to break away, in full retreat, but I left the Yronwood horse to handle that. Were we to intervene there, the scent of a dragon would do more harm than good.

No, there were better things to do. Best to let the infantry win this one on their own. It would be better for morale.

Instead of joining the battle on the ground, we alighted well behind the wall of wagons, where I dismounted. In the absence of a ladder and a team of grooms, or even a convenient pile of rocks, I had to be satisfied with sliding down the Cannibal's neck and onto the loose soil.

And right in front of a group of armed men who did not look particularly friendly to me. Wrapped in sand-colored cloth, only their faces were visible to me. I suspected their hands were also uncovered, but the spears and shields they carried had a way of hiding most of that detail.

Spears that they were pointing in my direction.

Well, this was going splendidly.

"Hold men!" a familiar voice shouted, an armored figure rushing to place himself between the clearly unhappy soldiery and the man with a large dragon. Yorick Yronwood, clad in battered armor draped in the remnants of a surcoat, kept his back to me, his gaze on his soldiers. "He is with us."

For a heartbeat, those spears remained leveled at me. Would they attack? Would they so blatantly disregard their liege's orders? No, that was ridiculous. What sort of king-to-be was unable to keep his men in control?

The spears remained levelled, but wavered.

But once a few more armored figures arrived to join Yronwood's side, the first spears began to drop. The rest swiftly, hurriedly, followed.

"Good. Now get the oxen back on those wagons. We need to keep moving once we have finished up here." The order having been given, he finally turned to me. The older man looked like he had not had a particularly pleasant day. An ugly bruise marred his face, his armor covered in scrapes and dents, it was clear where he had spent most of the battle. "Prince Vaegon. You come earlier than expected."

Was this the part where I knelt?

No, that was ridiculous. And mayhaps my pride talking. Besides, he had already received a vow of support.

"I work quickly, Your Grace," I said simply, not wanting to dwell too deeply on how, precisely, I had managed to do so. My stomach twinging briefly in shame at the memory. I had handled that… poorly, but that was something I would be able to live with. I had to. "And it seems I came at the right time to enjoy the battle."

An awkward silence hung in the air, only the muffled sounds of fighting in the distance reaching my ears. At least, until the Cannibal gave an annoyed chuff that made my ally and his entourage flinch slightly.

I could sense his eagerness to go out and fight.

"Yes, the… ambush…" Yronwood managed to say, nervously tugging at one of his gauntlets. "I'm afraid it was not as decisive as it might seem."

"That force was more than half the size of your own," I said. "And they are due to be wiped out before the sun sets. How is this not decisive?"

Again, the Cannibal gave an annoyed chuff. Oh, he really wanted to fight. Unfortunately, I was not about to trust the Cannibal to differentiate friend from foe on his own. He was clever enough for it, true, but it was better to be safe. Besides, it would hardly have been fitting to ignore a king just to send off my dragon.

"Because it's not Lord Fowler's army," another voice cut in. A young man, that much was clear from the voice. And judging by the Yronwood symbols all over his surcoat and the bits of armor that were visible, it was easy to guess the House he belonged to. I would need to keep close to that one, I already knew. Best to ensure the future king would not squander his fortunes. "Most of them used to be ours."

"Deserters?" There must have been thousands of them. How did one lose thousands of men to desertion over what could not have been more than three days?

"Smallfolk who objected to making war on neighbors instead of our friends beyond the mountains," Yronwood said, and I remembered the reports from the singers who had been to the area. The rising popularity of old raiding songs had not been due to a desire for war, it seemed, but rather a desire for war with the rest of Westeros. "Aided by knights and men-at-arms sworn to a minor branch of House Fowler. Nothing we could not have handled."

Well.

This campaign was off to a splendid start.

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