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Compared to the uneasy tension hanging over Harrenhal, the current state of Lord Harroway's Town could only be described as a full-blown construction site, bustling with nonstop activity.
More than six thousand n had been working tirelessly on earthworks and fortifications in the area. From the mont they arrived until now, it had already been over half a month.
The wildling warriors and the fresh recruits from House Manderly had started out clumsy and inexperienced, slow and inefficient, but now, every last one of them had turned into a skilled hand at digging trenches and raising fortifications. They were either excavating the ground or stacking up walls; fast, relentless, and shockingly efficient.
It wasn't because they were brimming with enthusiasm, throwing themselves into the work with zeal.
No… it was because their commander, Ser Marlon Manderly, had made it very clear to them from the start:
"Coming here was like ramming a dagger straight into the backside of the old lion and that little eagle hatchling. They're howling with pain right now, and they'll stop at nothing to take this place back."
"Let be blunt with you. Lord Clay Manderly gave one order… to hold this ground to the death. That ans even if we have to fight until the very last man, I won't allow a single one of you to run."
"From the far North beyond the Wall to this very spot, you lot have already bent the knee once to Lord Clay Manderly. I don't need to remind you what kind of man he is. If you want to live a good life in the warm South — then fight for it. Bleed for it. Earn your future."
"And as for you lot, those lazy bastards who've never laid hands on a woman in your lives, Lord Clay Manderly gave each of you a wife, so you'd stop gawking at your neighbor's ass every damn day. If you want to live long enough to go back and lie with your own wife again, then do exactly as I say!"
The old knight's voice thundered like a drumbeat — hardly noble, but loud enough to shake the earth and firm enough to settle the heart.
For the wildling prisoners from beyond the Wall, their only desire now was to survive… or more precisely, to live out the rest of their lives in peace and quiet.
And for the over three thousand forr bachelors from White Harbor, who had just tasted what it ant to have a woman of their own, this was the first sweet taste of joy — heady, intoxicating, and impossible to forget. If they wanted to hold on to this newfound happiness, they had to survive the coming battle and return ho with glory, their heads held high.
There was no need to preach to them about Robb Stark or Eddard Stark… frankly, what did any of that have to do with them?
Nothing… not even a damned bronze star!
As long as they believed that fighting under your banner would bring them what they desired, all your speeches and ideals beca little more than background noise. They would shed blood for your cause as if it were their own.
But the mont you failed to deliver what they were after, no matter how passionately you spoke or how noble your ideals sounded, all you would get in return were eye-rolls and muttered curses. And one day, perhaps when you least expected it, they would cut off your head and present it to soone who could actually give them what they wanted.
Ser Marlon had lived long enough to understand how the world truly worked. He had watched the Targaryen dynasty crumble and seen the Baratheons rise in its place. Through decades of storms and shifting power, he had endured them all. There was little left in the world that could surprise him now. When it ca to matters like these, he was more than prepared.
He had successfully roused the soldiers' fighting spirit. And with just the right amount of guidance and pressure, a miracle began to take shape. Half a month later, a low, circular earthen fortification now stood solid and steady around the outskirts of Lord Harroway's Town.
Ser Marlon didn't stop there. He gave the order to dig dozens of carefully concealed pits beyond the earthen wall — each one just deep and narrow enough to snap a horse's leg on impact. They were specially prepared to deal with the Vale's cavalry, should they appear on the battlefield.
Then, mimicking Clay's usual strategy, he sent out large numbers of scouts in every direction, determined to keep watch over the surrounding region and capture even the slightest movent. He was resolved… he would never allow another surprise raid on northern camp to happen again.
After taking every precaution, after staying alert for so long, Ser Marlon ca to a realization: he had already cut off the Lannisters' and the Vale forces' access to the rear, and yet, bafflingly, both of them were reacting far too slowly.
What he didn't know was that the main force from the Vale had already been dragged into a chaotic skirmish by none other than his own young lord. With fewer than two thousand n, Clay had managed to entangle the enemy so thoroughly that they now had their hands full and no idea that their ho front had already been breached.
As for the Lannisters, they weren't in much better shape. Tywin Lannister had received news that Lord Harroway's Town had fallen, but he only knew that it had been taken by a cavalry force from House Manderly, supposedly just two thousand riders.
Even so, those two thousand horsen posed a real problem, because Tywin also didn't have the n to deal with them.
Harrenhal was simply too massive. Twenty thousand soldiers might sound like a lot, but if Tywin wanted to maintain pressure on Robb Stark inside the castle, he needed to keep enough troops close at hand. He couldn't just send them all riding off.
And with two thousand enemy riders now positioned behind him, how many n could he afford to send out to drive them away and retake such a vital logistics hub?
These were cavalryn, not foot soldiers. You couldn't just send infantry to deal with them… what, did you think the enemy wouldn't ride away?
And Tywin only had a little over three thousand cavalry left under his command. If he deployed all of them to deal with Ser Marlon Manderly, he'd be committing his entire mobile force in one risky move.
But if he sent his cavalry away, he would lose every ounce of mobility on the battlefield. And if Robb Stark, holed up inside Harrenhal, chose that exact mont to break out and launch a counterattack, how was Tywin supposed to chase him down?
The old lion, who had spent his entire life waging wars, found himself completely at a loss.
And to make matters worse, this whole ss should've been the Vale's responsibility to begin with. Tywin had originally believed that the Vale army would crush Robb Stark's forces in a single decisive battle, and that Edmure Tully would be driven back to Riverrun in disgrace.
By that logic, the entire eastern region of the Riverlands ought to have been secure. That was why Tywin had dared to lay siege to Harrenhal without a second thought.
But what he hadn't expected was that damned ghost, Clay Manderly, would personally lead his n into Riverrun, pull off so unknown trick, and sohow wrest control of the Riverlands cavalry from the local lords.
And then, with just two thousand soldiers, Clay managed to tie down Yohn Royce and his five thousand n. Even more outrageous, while everyone's attention was locked onto the three eastern castles and the siege at Harrenhal, he sohow coordinated a long-range strike that struck directly at the enemy's logistics hub.
With the loss of Lord Harroway's Town, the entire frontline was instantly severed from its supply routes. No more grain, no more carts, and… well, let's just say all the golden stripes had disappeared. What truly mattered was this: the army's fighting strength would now collapse, without question.
In this entire war, the smartest move Edmure Tully had made was ordering a complete scorched-earth strategy across every battlefield. He turned vast stretches of fertile land into blackened wastelands, stripping them of anything of use.
Because of that, any idea the Vale forces or the Lannisters might have had about looting the countryside for supplies was crushed before it even started. They were left with no choice but to rely entirely on the backline for their grain and provisions, dragging every last sack in from afar just to keep their soldiers fed.
And the root cause of everything now unfolding could be sumd up in a single, simple truth.
The Vale lords thought they were capable, but they weren't. And the Lannisters thought the Vale lords were capable, so they stopped paying attention.
In the end, it all ca down to this: picking the right ally was more important than anything.
Trying to get the Vale knights, who were famous for their cavalry and speed, to carry out a slow, thodical, inch-by-inch advance was like asking the wind to hold still. If they actually managed to pull it off, it would've been a miracle.
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Christen was galloping eastward along the River Road, leading a long column of horses. At last, he arrived at Lord Harroway's Town, where nearly nine thousand troops were now stationed.
His arrival once again forced Ser Marlon Manderly to reevaluate Clay's sheer talent for warfare.
By the gods… using just two thousand n to dance circles around an enemy force of five thousand, keeping them stumbling in confusion and choking on his dust, all while seizing the enemy's stables and casually leading back four thousand of the Vale's finest warhorses?
Marlon couldn't help but marvel at it all. If it had been him in Clay's place, he was certain he could never have pulled it off.
Of course, he knew Christen well. He was one of Clay's personal guards, always close at his side.
And Christen hadn't co empty-handed. Without wasting any ti, he delivered Clay's direct orders to Ser Marlon, who, in practice, was now the overall commander of the combined forces at Lord Harroway's Town. Along with the orders, Christen also brought a new arrival — Lord Karstark himself.
"Understood. No problem. You can take the two thousand cavalry."
Ser Marlon didn't even blink, let alone hesitate. It wasn't that he blindly trusted Christen standing before him.
But if he really were so spy sent by the Vale or the Lannisters to deceive them and make off with two thousand elite Manderly cavalry, then showing up with this many warhorses would've been one hell of an investnt. The cost of earning their trust that way was simply too high.
Christen nodded slightly in response. He and Ser Marlon both bore the Manderly na, both were kin by blood, though neither ca from the direct main line like Clay or the old lord himself.
"Can Clay really hold out at Stone Hedge? He's only got… what… not even two thousand n, doesn't he?"
Ser Marlon finally voiced his concern. Logically speaking, with the troops stationed here and the twenty thousand gathered at Riverrun, they had more than enough n to trap the remaining Vale forces and crush them where they stood. Fewer than ten thousand enemies remained… if they pressed hard enough, they could wipe them out completely.
And yet, reality was a different beast altogether. At this mont, they were relying entirely on Clay's small force of just over a thousand to hold the line and keep the enemy tied down. As the one commanding a much larger army, Marlon couldn't help but feel a deep frustration rising in his chest.
Christen shook his head, clearly sharing the sa unease. He had brought n to escort the warhorses east, which ant Lord Clay was now left with even fewer hands to work with on the front lines.
"Ser, I'm worried too," Christen admitted, his voice calm but urgent. "So I won't be staying here a mont longer. I'll take the two thousand cavalry and ride to et Lord Clay imdiately. With our reinforcents joining him, I believe he'll finally have the strength and confidence to face Yohn Royce in a decisive battle."
Without wasting a breath, Christen delivered Clay's full strategy for the eastern front, then swiftly turned around and led the Manderly cavalry west once more, galloping hard along the River Road.
He had already considered the possibilities. If Lord Clay's offensive had gone as planned, then the Vale soldiers under Stone Hedge were likely already swept away.
And now that Yohn Royce had discovered his base of operations lost, he surely wouldn't be foolish enough to slam his forces headfirst into Clay's defensive walls at Stone Hedge. That man had to be thinking of one of two options… either turn south to regroup with the Vale troops stationed at the other two castles, or cut straight east and begin a full retreat.
Whichever path he chose, Christen's task was clear.
These two thousand n under his command had one urgent mission above all: block Yohn Royce's escape route at any cost.
Clay had said it himself; Yohn Royce's army had to be shattered, broken to pieces.
And as his personal guard, Christen would do everything in his power to make sure his lord's wish ca true.
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"My lord," Ser Marlon said evenly, "since Lord Clay has entrusted you with command of these troops, I won't hold back. I'll serve as your second-in-command and assist you in leading this army."
His tone was steady, composed, but the man sitting across from him, Lord Karstark, could barely contain his emotions.
All the way here, his mind had been spinning. How had the Manderly family managed to muster seven thousand n in the East and then hand that force over for him to lead?
If he added up the losses they'd already taken in the war, along with the two thousand cavalry that had just departed, then didn't that an the Manderlys had deployed over ten thousand soldiers under their direct command?
That was a number no other house in the North could even begin to accept.
But now, standing here, Lord Karstark had seen it with his own eyes. A brand-new earthen fort rose from the open wildlands like a beast planted firmly in the dirt, and all around it, dense crowds of laborers bustled with the unrelenting rhythm of construction. In that mont, Karstark finally accepted… Clay hadn't lied to him.
Seven thousand n. No matter what their individual strength might be, that number alone made them a force no one could afford to ignore. It was a power that could tip the balance of the war all by itself.
With these seven thousand soldiers in place, and this newly built fortress standing firm, Lord Harroway's Town had transford from a vulnerable position into a stronghold that was, for now, almost impossible to take.
Clay had summoned him here for one reason: to use whatever command ability he still possessed to make sure that if anyone dared to attack this fort, they would bleed for every step — and pay for their arrogance with their lives.
This was the one point on the map that neither the Vale nor the Lannisters could afford to lose.
If the Vale wanted a way ho…
If the Lannisters wanted their food…
Then this was the place they would have to take back.
And that was exactly what Clay wanted.
From this mont forward…
The roles had reversed!
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[Chapter End's]
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