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Before Clay's warhorse knelt a few n dressed in ornate finery. Their heads were bowed low, their eyes fixed on nothing but the hooves of Clay's steed.
It was not that they lacked the will to look up. Rather, the bloodstained blades resting coldly against their necks left them with no choice but to lower their once-proud heads.
Clay's gaze swept over the embroidered emblems on their cloaks and armor, silently identifying each sigil in his mind with deliberate care.
"Hm… House Brax, the Westerlings, the Baneforts, and this one, too. Impressive. It seems all of you are well-known figures of the Westerlands. I recognize who each of you are now."
With a slight nod toward the guards holding them down, Clay signaled that these noble captives could be released.
The mont the swords were withdrawn, the nobles imdiately lifted their heads in unison, their eyes locking onto Clay's face.
Who was he? That was the question burning in each of their minds.
What had just happened felt like a dream—a terrifying, surreal nightmare. Out of nowhere, cavalry had descended from the heavens, charging like thunder into their utterly unprepared encampnt.
An army of four thousand strong had collapsed in the blink of an eye.
Even they, nobles of status and lineage, had not been granted the chance to flee. Now, they were nothing more than prisoners of this enigmatic attacker.
"Who are you? At the very least, I deserve to know the na of the man who defeated !"
Lord Andros Brax, the master of Hornvale, could not contain the agitation in his voice. A fresh gash streaked across his cheek, proof of a futile struggle monts earlier. Yet his resistance had proven worthless.
Clay ignored his cry entirely. In his eyes, captives had no right to such answers. The faint smile that had played on his lips vanished, replaced by a cold and distant stare. He looked at the captured lords as one might examine cattle in a market, and spoke with chilling detachnt:
"It is my honor to inform you that, as of this mont, you are now my prisoners. Soon, you shall be taken to the dungeons beneath Riverrun, where you will join your commander, Jai Lannister, and remain confined until your noble houses offer a ransom worthy enough to buy your freedom."
"Of course, if any one of you can tell where Edmure Tully is, I may consider granting you slightly more comfortable conditions during your stay in the dungeons."
Clay had broken through the central command tent of the Lannister army's southeastern camp and spent considerable ti searching, yet not even a shadow of Edmure Tully could be found.
At the very least, his soldiers were capable of recognizing the Tully trout banner. It was unlikely they had mistaken Edmure for a Lannister and killed him by accident.
Tch. If Edmure Tully truly could not be found, that would complicate matters. After all, Lord Hoster Tully had only one precious son. If that son were to vanish or perish, then who would inherit the Riverlands?
…
"My lord, cavalry!"
At the very mont Clay launched his surprise assault, the soldiers stationed atop Riverrun's walls brought this astounding and surreal news to the ears of the commander resting within the castle—Lord Tytos Blackwood of Raventree Hall.
"Cavalry? What cavalry? Speak clearly!"
The breathless soldier had co rushing into the room, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. Lord Tytos had just set down his bowl of food, and his brow furrowed deeply. Monts earlier, he too had heard the blaring of war horns, though he had assud it ant the Lannisters were preparing an assault.
The soldier took a few sharp breaths to steady himself, then quickly reported:
"My lord, just monts ago, a large force of cavalry suddenly appeared outside the castle. They are launching a fierce assault on the Lannister camp from both the eastern and western directions. Judging by their banners, they hail from the North."
The mont he heard this, Lord Tytos Blackwood's eyes widened in disbelief. He tossed aside the remainder of his bread and strode swiftly toward the castle walls with a vigor that belied his age.
By the ti he reached the battlents, he had yet to lay eyes on the situation outside the city, but the cheers and cries of joy from the soldiers stationed there had already filled his ears.
"My lord, you must see this! The Lannisters are finished!"
"That's right! They were caught completely off guard. I'd say, within the hour, they'll all be slaughtered!"
The soldiers chattered excitedly, their voices brimming with delight. From their vantage point atop the walls, they had a far clearer view of the battle unfolding below. The northern heavy cavalry charged through the Lannister encampnt like a storm, sweeping all before them. The long-suffering defenders of Riverrun, who had endured the siege for so long, could now finally taste the sweetness of revenge.
As the commander, Lord Blackwood was not as hasty as his n. He knew he must see the battlefield with his own eyes before drawing any conclusions.
But the mont his gaze swept across the field below, he knew at once that the soldiers had not exaggerated in the slightest.
The Lannisters were truly finished!
From his elevated position, he could clearly see the two forces of Northern cavalry moving like massive warhamrs, one from the east and the other from the west, crashing into the twin Lannister camps with overwhelming montum.
These cavalryn were exceptionally clever. During their assault, they did not slow down to engage in excessive killing. Instead, they struck down only a few while herding the panicked Lannister troops like cattle, driving them from both directions toward the banks of the Red Fork.
As the seasoned commander who had led the defense of Riverrun until now, Lord Blackwood imdiately understood the true intention behind the Northern riders' maneuver.
They ant to drive the entire Lannister force into the river. If the soldiers entered the river at this mont, there would be no outco other than death. As a native of the Riverlands, he knew better than anyone how rciless the river could be.
Just then, another soldier rushed over in great haste, bringing the latest news from the battlefield:
"My lord, the Lannister troops stationed on the north bank of the Tumblestone have not co under cavalry attack. They are rallying their forces now and preparing to cross the ford to reinforce the battlefield here."
Though Lord Blackwood did not yet know why the Northern cavalry had deliberately spared the Lannister camp on the north bank, he was no fool. He imdiately realized that at this critical juncture, their priority must be to stop the reinforcents and protect the flanks of their Northern allies.
Wasting no words, the Riverlands commander made a swift and decisive decision and gave his order:
"Pass on my command. Lower the drawbridge to the north. All troops are to exit the castle imdiately and engage the Lannister forces outside. Do everything in your power to delay them. We must buy enough ti for our Northern friends."
By now, the Riverlands troops had also realized that the southern Lannister forces were in total collapse. The courage they had once lost at the hands of the Lannisters now returned to them. With wild battle cries, they surged out of Riverrun's northern gate and clashed with the Lannister reinforcents gathering outside.
It was unrealistic to expect them to defeat the Lannisters head-on, but to hold them off and prevent them from aiding the southern battlefield was within their ans.
At this mont, a ssenger sent by Clay also arrived.
His intention aligned perfectly with that of Lord Blackwood. However, he also requested that Blackwood try to hold the more than three thousand Lannister soldiers on the north bank in place for as long as possible.
Once he had finished dealing with the five to six thousand Lannister soldiers trapped within his encirclent, he intended, if the opportunity presented itself, to sweep up those three thousand as well.
Escape? There would be no such chance!
After capturing these high-born and widely renowned Western lords, Clay did not allow his cavalry to rest. He led the elite horsen of House Manderly forward, trampling the blood-drenched Lannister command banner beneath their hooves as they continued their assault westward.
At present, the encirclent of the southeastern Lannister camp was not yet fully closed. The flanking forces that had launched pincer attacks from either side had already completed their task. Now, they were simply waiting for Clay's main force to push the front lines all the way to the eastern bank of the Green Fork.
"Continue the assault. Do not give the Lannister forces a mont to catch their breath. Wherever our hooves tread, not a single Lannister soldier must be left alive."
The soldiers carried out this order with absolute loyalty. And so, the thunder of hooves rang out once more. Amid the terrified screams and cries for rcy of the Western n, the Northern cavalry, their faces expressionless, drove the fleeing soldiers ever onward.
Driven by the primal instinct to escape death and fear, the Lannister soldiers summoned what little courage remained and fled westward. The Northern riders did not give chase, but the fleeing soldiers had forgotten one fatal fact — before them lay the ever-flowing Red Fork, a river that offered no rcy and no reprieve.
Clay's attack proceeded smoothly, and in the southwest, the offensive led by the two lords and their force of over two thousand troops also advanced with unstoppable montum.
Aware of their own limitations in siege warfare, Clay had allocated nearly three thousand n to support the two lords. Though their command might not have been flawless, sheer numbers were enough to compensate for their shortcomings.
The two forces advanced with almost equal numbers to the enemy, and with the added advantage of a sudden assault, their offensive proved even more ferocious than Clay's own attack. Before Clay had even reached the eastern bank of the Red Fork, the banners of those two noble houses had already been seen fluttering on the opposite side.
Once Clay's cavalry had broken through the final line of defense in the Lannister camp, all remaining Lannister troops in the southeastern camp were driven from their positions, fleeing in panic toward the Red Fork.
This ant that within Clay's encirclent, at least five to six thousand of the original ten thousand Lannister soldiers had already been trapped. The remaining fewer than one thousand had scattered and escaped in all directions during the initial assault across the open plains. With the enemy dispersed and the battlefield so vast, it had simply been beyond their strength to catch every last one.
After all, this had been a battle where five thousand n were used to crush ten thousand. The fact that such a large portion had been contained was already a testant to sound strategy and the valiant efforts of the troops. To expect more would have been unreasonable.
The northern cavalry now stretched in a long, thin line, forming a vast encirclent.
At the very center of this tightening ring stood the last remaining five to six thousand Lannister soldiers, stripped of armor and weapons, wide-eyed with terror or sunk deep into hopeless despair.
The northern riders had raised their banners high. The direwolf of the frozen plains, the iron fist on steel, the sigil of the rman, the blazing sun in winter—each flag that appeared deepened the fear in the hearts of the defeated Lannister soldiers.
Only an hour ago, they had been dreaming of the pleasures that would follow the capture of Riverrun, feasting greedily on roasted at as laughter filled their tents.
They never could have imagined that in the blink of an eye, their world would collapse. Death had co with no warning, cleaving open their comrades' throats with swords from nowhere, trampling ribcages under thundering hooves.
From the sweetest dream to the deepest pit of the seven hells, it had taken no more than an hour.
The soldiers now huddled close together in confusion and fear, their teeth chattering uncontrollably. A few whose minds remained clear had already realized the full gravity of their situation.
Clenching their jaws and suppressing overwhelming terror and helplessness, they began to remove their heavy armor and edged toward the roiling waters of the Red Fork.
They had already understood that if they stayed on land, they would die today. But the river—however treacherous—seed to offer the only sliver of hope.
Their actions soon caught the attention of others. As panic spread, more and more began to imitate them, shedding what they could and stepping one hesitant foot after another into the water.
So, frozen by fear, forgot even to take off their armor. Still, they staggered forward, step by step, as if the river alone could shield them from the nightmare that had consud the battlefield.
But was that truly their salvation?
The northern cavalry, watching this pitiful scene unfold, made no move to strike. They simply stood in grim silence, gazing coldly at the broken mass before them.
If these n were to die by the rciless hand of nature, so be it. Their own blades were already soaked in blood that would not wash away. The fates of these Lannister soldiers now rested with the gods.
This was rcy. It was the last bit of compassion they could offer. Every one of the northern riders knew there was no justification for sparing these n. Not even capturing them held much aning.
They were not nobles. They held no ransom value. And to beco prisoners here, on this unforgiving ground, would only an a slow, bitter death through endless labor beneath the rule of Riverland lords who despised them with every fiber of their being.
Better to die here, to be swallowed whole by the river. At least the suffering would end quickly.
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[Chapter End's]
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