Crescent Valley – Seagull Town – dusk was falling.
On the largest square near Seagull Town's harbor, bonfires had been lit earlier than usual.
A great gathering of singers filled the plaza, their voices blending in a song few had heard before. Never before had there been a chorus of such scale—the lody drifted across the harbor, drawing more and more townsfolk to listen.
So began asking the na of the unfamiliar tune. It was called "Whispers Beneath the Crypt", said to co from the Crab Claw Peninsula across the southern strait.
Night deepened, and at last the crowd began to drift away, reluctant but sated—yet the song seed to linger in the air.
Suddenly, startled cries broke out among the people.
To the west of Seagull Town, a column of fire roared into the sky, painting half the heavens red.
By the next morning, all of Seagull Town knew: the estate of the rchant Wushouer ika had burned to the ground. Not a single soul within survived.
Crab Claw Peninsula – forr Crabb battlefield
"Hoah! Hoah! Hoah!"
"Hoah! Hoah! Hoah!"
"Hoah! Hoah! Hoah!"
Chanting in unison, the wildlings advanced in steady steps under the command of House Brunn of Dread Hollow Keep, moving toward Gawen's formation.
At two hundred yards, Gawen drew and loosed—an arrow hissed through the air, and a knight toppled from his horse.
Ser Emparro rode back and forth along the front, calling out, "Hold! Hold! Wait for the order!"
Gawen's second arrow struck, another knight crashing to the ground, swallowed by the press of their own ranks.
After five mounted knights had fallen to his bow, the rest dismounted, leading their horses into the infantry lines.
The two sides were still over two hundred yards apart.
When Gawen dropped the Brunn standard-bearer with another shot, he gave Emparro a small nod.
"Fall back!"
"Fall back!"
"Fall back!"
Emparro carried out the order, and under the lead of Crabb troops the "soldiers" turned and began withdrawing—naturally toward the mouth of Crescent Valley.
The sudden movent drew the enemy's attention at once, and they quickened their pace to pursue.
Everything was unfolding according to Gawen's design.
He was just about to spur his horse to join the "retreat" when a small, unexpected complication arrived.
A figure, round as a boulder of flesh, suddenly barreled into the field—shield high, warhamr raised—charging straight at the Brunn and wildling lines.
The enemy's formation was already in disarray from trying to chase Gawen's force.
The rotund warrior smashed into the foremost pursuers, his shield sending two n flying. The warhamr ca down in a crunch, splitting a skull like an overripe lon.
Without pause, he swung again, prying open another man's head.
For all his bulk, the stranger was fast, his shield absorbing every blow, his hamr crushing skull after skull with ease.
Like a beast sensing danger, he paused mid-slaughter and glanced toward where Gawen had been monts before.
Where was everyone?
Only a single mounted knight remained?
Hadn't there been a whole group? Was he misrembering?
Now a flicker of unease crossed his face—no matter how fierce he was, he couldn't kill them all. He began edging backward.
Gawen, for the mont, judged the newcor a friend, not a foe.
He spurred forward, loosing arrows as he rode, dropping wildlings around the stranger.
When a mounted knight galloped toward the man, Gawen brought him down with a single shot. "Mount up!" he called.
The bulky warrior crashed into the fallen knight's horse, seized the riderless steed, and with surprising agility swung into the saddle.
Gawen kept shooting to cover him.
The man urged his mount closer, voice thick and guileless: "Lord Gawen, your na is known far and wide. I've long admired—uh… uh… I forgot the rest!"
"I heard the summons for the Crabb lands and longed to serve you. But I'm a bastard, so I dared not present myself openly."
"I learned this battle was here, and I thought I'd prove myself first, to earn your notice!"
A wandering warrior offering himself?
Still riding in reverse, Gawen called, "Stranger! Tell your na!"
"Oh—oh! Sorry, my na's Mondon Waters."
As his horse pounded across the field, Mondon's great belly wobbled like a sloshing cask.
Gawen's mouth curled faintly. "Welco, my warrior."
Hearing this, Mondon's voice wavered with the edge of tears. "You're too kind. I'm truly grateful. I swear I'll fight for you forever—uh… uh… forgot the rest again. I—I'll eat less?"
"My warrior, eat your fill. No need to hold back."
Mondon turned to look at Gawen's profile, montarily stunned.
Then, lifting his head, a slow, guileless smile spread beneath determined eyes. What a fine day it was.
—Thus did Lord Gawen gain his first "adorable general," Mondon Waters.
Weapons and gear abandoned by the Crabb "soldiers" littered the ground, luring the Brunn and wildling forces on as they shouted and cursed, pouring into Crescent Valley.
Only when all had entered did the trap spring—fierce fires erupted at both mouth and exit, hemming them in.
Screams and wails rose from the blazing gorge, as though they would tear through the very cliffs.
Despite Gawen's careful planning, there had been too little ti to prepare, and recent rains hampered the blaze.
Even so, more than three thousand never left Crescent Valley.
The survivors staggered out at last, spent and broken, most falling swiftly into Gawen's hands as prisoners.
Five days later – near Dread Hollow Keep
Seven hells.
From horseback, Gawen gazed up at Dread Hollow Keep, its towers seeming to scrape the clouds, and found himself montarily at a loss for words.
.
.
.
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