The Red Comet hung above the Whispering Forest like a scar that would never fade from the sky, trailing rivulets of blood as it mocked these humans slaughtering one another.
The Whispering Forest had become a cruel battlefield. Slaughter was one of the agonies mankind had to face. Kill, or be killed.
The valley echoed with the sharp crack of longspears breaking, the ring of swords colliding, and the roaring cries of soldiers charging forward.
"Long live Warhammer!"
"Long live the Stag!"
"Long live the Breaker!"
"Long live the Crackclaws!"
"Long live The Eyrie!"
"Fight for Seagard! Long live House Tully!"
The shouts grew louder and louder.
"Follow me!" Gendry shouted, raising his warhammer high.
The tall, striking young knight sat straight atop his black steed. His golden cloak was stained with blood and dust. The blood had dyed the gold a deep, dark crimson, yet his black scaled plate showed few scratches or dents from the fighting. He was too fast, and far too strong. The elite Gold Cloaks cut through the enemy ranks like an arrowhead, while Ser Barristan stayed close at his side.
Ser Barristan and the Gold Cloaks kept pace with him. The golden cavalry swept back and forth like a whirlwind, their hooves splashing through the shallow water. Wherever they passed, it was like a landslide crashing through.
Longswords hacked into oaken shields, steel screamed against steel, arrows whistled, and war drums boomed. Tactics, in the end, were simple. Use strength to crush weakness and follow the shape of the battle. Even if your side was weaker across the wider battlefield, in a battle of annihilation you had to hold the advantage where it mattered.
The cries of "Long live the Lannisters!" grew fainter and fainter, until even the curses died away. One by one, the lion banners of Lannister toppled, falling into leaves and mud, then vanishing beneath countless trampling feet. The courage of the Red Cloaks shattered before sheer force and slaughter. They had no advantage in numbers, and the enemy formation was seasoned, heavy, and impossible to break.
The Gold Cloaks from across the Narrow Sea, the fierce Crackclaws of Crackclaw Point, the knights of the Vale, and the soldiers of Seagard. Aside from the Seagard men, who were somewhat weaker, all of them fought with an unstoppable ferocity and were renowned across the Known World as savage warriors.
"Surrender and live!" Gendry shouted, lifting his spiked warhammer.
The forest was dim and shadowed, but Gendry's voice was cold as iron, enough to chill the heart. One by one, the men in red dropped to their knees and threw down their weapons.
The battlefield became a mass of chaos. Gendry's soldiers killed, subdued prisoners, and took control of the field. In the middle of that disorder, every advantage belonged to them. Gendry had already won a crushing victory.
But by now, there were far fewer Gold Cloaks left at Gendry's side. It was the victor's mistake. Because of the valley's terrain, many had scattered in different directions. Most had flooded into the river valley, hunting down the broken enemy. The narrow pass had become clogged with fighting, and their advantage in numbers could no longer fully show itself.
Gendry saw great numbers of Red Cloaks dead or kneeling. Jaime Lannister, that once untouchable Kingslayer, stood proud like a lonely island in a sea of men, while his most loyal followers still struggled to carve out a path for him to survive. Gendry cut his way back and forth through the fighting, charging toward Jaime at the head of the valley.
"Am I going to lose?" Ser Jaime gave a bleak smile and tightened his grip on his gilded sword, preparing to charge at Gendry.
Black, red, and gold. Those three colors stabbed into him. Targaryen. Baratheon. Could he still see their banners even now?
"My lord, if you die here, the Westerlands will have no heir. What good will that do anyone? Let us stay with you. We'll fight our way out together!" the loyal knights around Jaime urged one after another.
Jaime's reputation was foul enough in other places, but he was still the handsome eldest son of House Lannister, one of the greatest knights of the age. The people of the Westerlands still loved him deeply. Even now, in these desperate circumstances, men were still willing to die for him.
"I'm charging one more time!" Jaime roared, gripping his gilded sword. "Even if I die, I'll take him with me!"
"Think of the Great Lord's orders! Lord Tywin told us to be patient!"
The Kingslayer Jaime charged anyway, heedless of everything, and the knights at his side had no choice but to follow.
Jaime saw the triumphant victor ahead of him. So young. Just like he himself had once been. Like a sharp, brilliant sword fresh from the forge.
Am I truly old now? Jaime thought.
Toyed with by a young man like this, perhaps about to die here. On Gendry's helm were twin stags standing side by side with a red dragon, the symbol Jaime hated most. And there was that glaring gold, bright enough to call Robert's mockery back into his mind. What a great knight.
"I cannot lose!" Jaime roared, as if he could cut Robert's scorn to pieces.
Jaime prayed to the Warrior, begging for one last surge of strength. Some men shouted curses, and far more pleaded for mercy, but that was never going to be his choice.
"Kill! Let me be a Kingslayer one more time!" Jaime swung his gilded sword, the blade that had once tasted the Mad King's blood.
His men had no choice but to follow him into one last charge, though it was most likely nothing more than doomed courage.
The Red Cloaks who had already surrendered saw Jaime's desperate final assault. A few of the bolder ones rose to charge again, while the more cowardly buried their faces in the mud, too ashamed to look at Jaime any longer. Among the trees, Anguy directed the master archers as they loosed their longbows. Many of the charging Red Cloaks fell at once, hitting the ground with dull, heavy thuds.
Gendry spurred his horse forward as well, tightening his grip on his warhammer. The two sides were about to meet in the middle of the valley. At Gendry's side were only Ser Barristan and a few dozen Gold Cloak riders, facing a little over a dozen charging Red Cloaks. They had pushed too far ahead, drawing close to the funnel shaped mouth of the valley. Everyone could dimly make out the spectacle unfolding below, set against the silver river water. It was a bloody performance.
Just then, the mournful blare of horns rose from the rear of the valley. There was a wider opening there, and they had believed all the Red Cloaks had already been trapped inside.
To everyone's surprise, another force of red robed cavalry charged into the valley. They carried red lion banners and numbered around three hundred. Even Jaime and the others were stunned. They had already ridden out with most of their cavalry, so where had these horsemen come from?
"What is going on?" Bronze Yohn exclaimed in shock. Then, after a moment's thought, he realized their scouting had been accurate for this campaign. Most likely, the main camp in the Riverlands had received fresh cavalry reinforcements, and they had now arrived to support them.
"This is bad." Lord Jason and Lord Jack both looked grim. They were positioned toward the rear of the valley, which meant Gendry had become the first to meet the Lannister reinforcements, and he had only a handful of attendants with him.
"Wooo, wooo, wooo..."
The forces at the back of the valley began moving at once, rushing to support the Lord Commander at the front.
"Lord Lorch has come to save us!"
"Lord Lorch is here!" the men around Jaime shouted.
"More reinforcements? That is the banner of House Lorch." Gendry looked to the rear and saw another group of red robed knights charging in. Alongside the lion banner was another standard, a black Manticore on a red field.
It seemed that after the death of The Mountain, Tywin had not trusted matters to chance and had sent more cavalry to reinforce his son. Tywin's Hounds were loyal to Tywin alone. Aside from The Mountain, there was Amory, the knight who had stabbed Rhaegar's daughter dozens of times.
"Go, Young Lord. These may be more men Lord Tywin sent." At the sight of the red robed cavalry appearing behind them, Jaime's attendants finally saw a glimmer of hope. There were a good number of them. Perhaps they could still get Jaime out alive, even if the troops who had ridden in with him were doomed to be buried here.
A few of Jaime's attendants shoved him, snapping him back to himself. It seemed his father had not only understood his pride, but had deliberately sent reinforcements as well. Jaime's attendants charged first, trying to block the advance of Gendry's Gold Cloaks.
"Bang!"
Gendry swung his warhammer. The red robed attendant in front of him took the blow squarely to the forehead. Blood poured down from beneath his helmet, and he dropped straight from the saddle. Ser Barristan followed with a sweep of his longsword and cut down another rider.
"Go, now!" the red robed men shouted. Their faces were caked with mud and blood, without the slightest trace of joy.
"There are too many of them here, Prince!" Ser Barristan said anxiously. Even the old knight had gone tense. The plan had been flawless. They had counted the number of Lannister cavalry exactly, and Jaime had already fallen into the net. No one had expected reinforcements.
"Follow me and kill!" Gendry shouted with a laugh.
The Gold Cloaks had no intention of falling back. Instead, they became the true vanguard.
The Kingslayer came at him as well, gilded sword in hand. Gendry saw his golden hair, and the wound on his head, blood streaming down one side of his face. The attendants' deaths had bought him a little time, but the Kingslayer still charged forward. He hated seeing his companions die.
"So you are here too, Ser Barristan?" Jaime said, recognizing the man who had once been his idol, once his comrade.
"Bang!"
Gendry's warhammer slammed into Jaime's gilded sword. The Kingslayer's blade was swift as a gale, its edge flashing in a blur of steel. His speed was astonishing.
The Kingslayer truly deserved his reputation as one of the finest natural swordsmen of the age. His swordsmanship was extraordinary. But this was a battlefield. In a contest of strength and speed, he had almost no chance of winning.
Despair deepened in Jaime's heart. It felt as though he were facing a young Robert, perhaps someone even more terrifying than Robert, an unscalable mountain. His arms ached, and his bones felt as if they might crack apart from the force of every collision. This man had already fought his way through the battle again and again, so how did he still have such endless strength? Every swing of the warhammer carried a power that could not be resisted. The Kingslayer silently counted each of his own counters, overcome by a weary sense of helplessness.
The roaring Red Cloaks came pouring down through the funnel shaped mouth of the valley. They had arrived late, but at exactly the right moment, entering the field just as Gendry's men thought it was time to clean up the battlefield. The Red Cloaks swore they would save their Young Lord. They were unexpected fresh troops, and now the red tide threatened to swallow the section where Gendry stood.
"Go, Prince!" Ser Barristan shouted anxiously. On this battlefield, it was now the Gold Cloaks who had become the exposed point.
"Come on, Ser Jaime!" the short Amory rushed over, grabbing Jaime by the sleeve. A great mass of red robed knights charged toward the Gold Cloaks, and the battlefield turned into a terrible vortex. The Crackclaw knights, the Vale knights, and the Gold Cloaks all spurred forward at full speed. If the Lord Commander died after already winning the battle, it would become a sick joke.
"Kill..."
Several red robed spearmen appeared in front of Gendry, their longspears thrusting toward him all at once. Gendry was forced to fend them off from every side, but he dodged with quick, nimble movements. His whistling warhammer smashed through the melee with apocalyptic force, until the tip of the hammer caught in a gap in a suit of scale armor. The red robed spearman in front of him had bones shattered all through his body, yet still clung desperately to the warhammer as he fell from his horse.
"He dropped his weapon!" a sharp eyed Lannister soldier shouted.
Jaime, who had been dazed and pulled backward a moment before, suddenly charged again with his gilded sword raised high.
"Honestly." Gendry looked at Jaime, and there was a trace of pity in his eyes. He drew an Arakh curved sword from his saddle, its blade giving off a cold, dim gleam.
"Die, bastard, usurper, schemer!" Jaime roared. He hated that look of pity. Almost all his companions were dead, but if he could kill in return, at least he could make it count for something.
"Run! That is a Valyrian steel curved sword!" Amory Lorch shrieked, but it was already too late.
"No!" Jaime screamed as well.
At last, Jaime understood who that pity was meant for. It had been meant for him.
A cold flash ran over the descending blade of the Arakh curved sword, too fast for the eye to follow.
Jaime's hand and his gilded sword fell together, dropping onto the carpet of dead leaves. The pain was so intense he nearly blacked out.
Then came Gendry's second strike. The keen Arakh blade slashed across Jaime's face, slicing away a piece of his nose and leaving a long blood red scar across his cheek.
"Run!" Amory Lorch was frightened out of his wits. Blood and severed hands were everywhere. This no longer looked like a battlefield, but like hell itself. He hurriedly called for a large mass of Red Cloaks to surge forward and cover Jaime's retreat.
The Red Cloaks charged like madmen. In the slightly wider stretch of ground, several hundred of them threw themselves at the Gold Cloaks and Gendry as if rushing to their deaths. The quicker ones hastily moved the unconscious Kingslayer onto another horse. A small portion fled in disarray with Ser Jaime, while the rest all pressed forward.
Gendry tightened his grip on the Arakh. It was an even more savage weapon than the warhammer, especially in Valyrian steel. As he swung it, he felt like slaughter itself made flesh. If only he had kept a reserve force. He had never expected that, just when the battle was about to end, there would be one last twist. But at the funnel shaped mouth of the valley, the enemy horses still had strength left, while his own men could not all be thrown in at once. It seemed there would be no taking prisoners now.
"Stop running, Amory! Since you came to save the Kingslayer, then stay here!"
Gendry swung his curved blade and caught up with Amory.
The wiry little Amory trembled as he raised his sword.
So even a butcher would cry when death came for him.
His longsword split cleanly in two, and the surging blade light cut straight through his body, dividing him into upper and lower halves. Bones, intestines, and entrails spilled all over the ground.
"Kill!"
Gendry became a whirlwind of death in the middle of the crowd, cutting through gaps in armor and striking wherever protection was weakest. The Gold Cloaks still left standing seized the moment and joined him. Together with Ser Barristan, several dozen Gold Cloaks formed an arrowhead formation, and Gendry was the edge of the blade.
"A demon!"
The Red Cloaks who had arrived later saw scene after bloody scene. The Kingslayer had lost his hand. Amory had been cut in half at the waist. With the Kingslayer perhaps already fleeing for his life, their morale began to collapse as well. The Arakh was a blade of death, and the man before them looked like an apostle of the Stranger. The stag and dragon atop his helm seemed to roar wildly, mocking their courage. Their advantage in numbers was slipping away, and Gendry's men were already about to close in around them.
"We surrender! We all surrender!"
The pale light of dawn slowly began to appear. Most of the Red Cloaks who had entered the battle late were killed, and the rest surrendered. Some of the hardier knights rode out in pursuit, following the Kingslayer's trail. As long as they kept up the chase, his little force would have no chance to carry word back to camp.
Bronze Yohn, Lord Jason, Lord Jack, and Lord Boggs had all come over by then. Not only was Gendry completely unharmed, he had even crushed the enemy reinforcements that had entered late. None of them quite knew how to judge what they had just seen.
Everyone looked at Gendry in awe. What he had done today was like the Warrior descending to earth. No one could stand against him.
That arrogant Kingslayer, one of the strongest knights of the age. Whatever else might be said of his character, no one could have imagined he would suffer such a disastrous defeat.
"Prince, it is enough that you are safe!" Bronze Yohn said, still badly shaken. What should have been a complete victory had suddenly opened into another chapter, with danger rising out of nowhere.
"The prisoners have already told us everything. After The Mountain died, Tywin could only order Amory to lead knights through the Riverlands, burning, looting, and destroying lands and castles. Amory had also received Tywin's orders to come aid Jaime. He just happened to arrive at the right moment."
"And the Kingslayer?" Lord Jason asked.
"The Kingslayer was rescued by the reinforcements, but Prince Gendry struck him down. His hand is gone, and his face is ruined. With wounds that severe, he likely will not be able to command in battle again for at least the next half year. And Amory, the commander of that cavalry force, is dead," Ser Barristan said. "We have also already sent out some of our freshest riders. They will make sure those men do not dare flee back to camp."
The golden cloak on Gendry's back had turned completely dark red, and the smell of blood on him was almost overwhelming. After such a ferocious fight, even he felt this battle had drained him too much. He still held the Arakh in one hand, while Ser Barristan bent down and handed him the spiked warhammer that had fallen earlier.
"The reserves. I was careless this time," Gendry said frankly.
He was already turning over the flaws in his own command. He had still been too bound by experience and first impressions.
"If we had placed a reserve cavalry force at the mouth of the valley, they probably would not have left even a single survivor."
"This was my fault," Bronze Yohn admitted at once. The victory had been so dazzling that they had forgotten to send another group of scouts out along the road. They had assumed those were all the knights there were, only to find that Tywin had sent another wave.
"We keep moving south. We still have to race without stopping to relieve Riverrun."
"Yes."
At that moment, no one could question his authority any longer.
Anguy walked over carrying a severed head.
"Your sword work was vicious enough, Prince."
"Wrap that head up. I am sending it to Daenerys. Perhaps Dany will like this gift."
Gendry looked at the silly looking head. Amory Lorch.