Check out my new page. https://www.patreon.com/c/DarthVenere Got some new stories my friend help me write over there.
For Advance Chapters
Join My Patreon https://www.patreon.com/c/gs9gosohard/membership
One Man to Rule them
------------------
299 AC
"Balin," Domeric called as he watched the ensuing butchery nearing its conclusion.
About seventy Frey kin and soldiers remained in the hall. He had forty of his best men with him, excluding seven of his royal guards.
He would have to join the fighting personally.
He grinned at the thought.
Without answering, the Red Guard handed him a spear taken from the corpse of a Frey guard.
He weighed the weapon in his hand.
A good balance.
He eyed Lord Frey at the main table, the old man cackling and drinking wine, seemingly all too comfortable in the betrayal of his liege lord and king.
To his right stood the crooked man's last wife—a fairly young girl.
He had to be accurate. One strike. True.
Lord Walder was so occupied with his observation that he did not see him readying himself to end his life.
And like a javelin … as fast as a bullet…he flung the spear, and with such momentum and power, it did precisely as he intended.
It pierced the man's side, through his rib, dragging him from his chair and pinning him to the stone floor below in a twisted heap, the spear shaft protruding upward from the platform.
And no doubt a many of his bones were broken.
Joyeuse, as she was called, screamed in terror. One of Walder's sons saw what had happened, but before he could even process it, his 40 men were already upon them.
Their signal had been given!
Forty heavily armed Bolton men against the under armed, less martial Frey kin, their numbers wouldn't save them.
Some of them rushed upstairs to butcher the crossbowmen, replacing them after putting the Frey-hired mercenaries to the sword, before harassing their new enemies with missiles from above.
"Traitor!" he heard shouted from another Frey one of Walder's sons. Which one, he did not care to remember.
'How ironic that he would call him traitor.'
The man charged him. But before he could come within a sword's length, one of his praetorians blocked the strike while another cut across his neck, killing him in a spray of blood.
It did not require two men to handle such scum, but it seemed opportune.
He drew his saber and longsword, showing his readiness to join in the melee before the rest of the Freys inside and outside the castle realized or got word that he had usurped and killed its owner.
And by the time the remaining Frey fighters fully grasped what was happening, their numbers had already been reduced to fifty.
His guards formed a crescent of death around him…..both protecting his person and cutting down those dressed in Frey livery.
And even with him at their center , the bloodshed was nowhere near limited.
He cut down foes one after another, his blades spinning with equal grace and power, opening flesh with every strike.
He was a storm of death.
Three quarter plated men charged him together, attempting to overwhelm him with numbers. He parried the first strike, shoving the attacker into the man to his right, before blocking a downward blow from the third.
The man was straining, fear was written across his face as he realized how easily I held back his full strength with only one arm.
And with his right arm free and saber in hand, he struck swiftly, fast and effective before the man could dodge.
He drove the blade into the man's chest, piercing breastplate and flesh alike.
He wrenched the saber free, then used his other blade the one that had blocked the initial strike to decapitate him cleanly.
He took no chances with shallow wounds. If you attacked him, there was only death… never injury.
The remaining two struggled back to their feet, but his praetorians had already put an end to their resistance.
——— ——— ———
Outside
Western Shore — Stark Camp
"Hold the ranks!"
"Hold the ranks!"
Bolton soldiers on the northern side of the Twins had poured into the southern end. They overtook the castle, catching their former Frey allies off guard before reorganized lines and archers struck lines upon lines of their enemies apart.
The chaos made it difficult to distinguish ally from enemy..Stark or Frey… but the Bolton forces, north and south, had effectively surrounded the encampment with their six thousand men even though outnumbered initially.
The three thousand pressed from each end, driving the enemy inward upon themselves.
And this gave the Stark bannermen reprieve, shouting that they had come to save them and that belief made the men fight even harder.
In truth, the Stark numbers were already reduced. Their leaders were dead or captured, and Domeric had no desire for further unnecessary death.
Some of these men would serve the North in the future, and he would not foster more ill will than necessary.
It was also his intent to exterminate the Freys entirely—so the truth of what had truly occurred would never surface. In its place, he would seed rumors that the Freys had betrayed their king, taking advantage of Robb Stark's weakness and was plotting to hold the northern lords hostage himself included.
One of many stories.
Much of it would not be believed, but it would flood the field with lies, muddying certainty.
What they would know, however, was this:
It had been Frey soldiers—Frey men-at-arms—who attacked them.
None other.
-------------------------
For Advance Chapters
Join My Patreon https://www.patreon.com/c/gs9gosohard/membership
One Man to Rule them