Stone Hedge lay shrouded in silence, save for the faint flicker of firelight dancing against weathered stone.
The Blackfish led his host forward through the darkness, moving with the quiet purpose of a hunter stalking prey. Beyond his charge to breach the northern defenses of Stone Hedge, he bore the greater burden of commanding the entire vanguard—a responsibility that weighed heavy as mail upon his shoulders.
Ser Kevan had granted the Blackfish two thousand men, a force divided with the precision of a master tactician.
The Riverlands cavalry—banners bearing the dancing maiden of House Piper of Pinkmaiden Castle and the golden dragon of House Vance of Wayfarer's Rest—would strike from the west. Their task was clear: shatter the fortifications, cut down any who dared resist, and seize the enemy commanders. Though this portion of the vanguard numbered but one thousand swords, Ser Jaime had blessed them with three hundred Holy Warriors, men whose prowess in battle was whispered of in taverns from Oldtown to the Wall.
To the south, the Vale cavalry rode beneath different banners—the broken wheel of House Waynwood of Ironoaks and the nine-pointed star of House Templeton of Ninestars. Two thousand mounted knights thundered across the southern approaches, accompanied by another two hundred Holy Warriors whose steel gleamed like starlight in the darkness.
Southwest and north bore the brunt of the assault, leaving only the eastern road seemingly open—a trap as cunning as any Tywin Lannister might have devised. Should Stone Hedge's defenders dare flee or attempt to circle eastward, hundreds of cannons positioned upon the surrounding hills would teach them that the east offered not escape, but the swiftest path to the Stranger's embrace.
Clop, clop, clop.
The soft percussion of hooves ceased mere hundreds of paces from the rebel encampment. In this final moment of calm before the storm, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
The Blackfish gazed upon the battle map within the shimmering light curtain, wonder still fresh in his eyes despite having witnessed this sorcery before. Dense blue points of light marked his own soldiers, now flowing like rivers toward their convergence, forming three azure bands that would soon strangle Tengshi Town in their embrace.
The enemy's position lay bare before him, exposed as a woman before her lover. Rebel troops, pressed together like grain in a silo, could no longer be distinguished as individual red dots—instead, they appeared as crimson stains and bloody circles across the map's surface.
The Blackfish continued to divine greater detail from the mystical chart. Each house within the town revealed several or dozens of red marks scattered within. The rebuilt castle at Stone Hedge's heart—originally designed to quarter perhaps a hundred guards—now bore the deep, dark red of clotted blood. At least five hundred souls crowded within those walls, maybe more.
Yet even crammed together like salted fish in a barrel, Stone Hedge could not contain thirty thousand soldiers within its boundaries. The remainder had pitched their camps beyond the walls, forming a crimson ring around the settlement like a serpent swallowing its own tail.
East, west, north, and south—each cardinal direction bore a brilliant red jewel at its center, like ruby buttons holding together a cloak of scarlet silk. These were the enemy's main camps, connected by ribbons of lesser forces. Near ten thousand men encircled the town from without, their numbers rivaling those trapped within.
With such intelligence laid bare, the enemy's dispositions were as clear as words upon parchment. This advantage alone filled the Blackfish with confidence that he could rout ten times their number with his mere thousand cavalry.
Yet the light curtain's gifts extended far beyond simple reconnaissance. His forces had taken their positions like pieces upon a cyvasse board. The Blackfish's fingers danced across the mystical surface, plotting the safest and most devastating routes of attack for each unit under his command.
The enchanted map revealed not merely the enemy's movements, but every road, fortress, warehouse, stronghold, fortification, trench, and trap they had laid. More precious still, it showed the gaps and weaknesses the rebels had left unguarded—invitations written in their own blood.
The Blackfish could scarce ask the gods for more. Yet more he possessed: Holy Warriors who could stand against ten common soldiers, cannons that roared with the fury of dragons, a rearguard of more than six thousand men ready to crush any who broke, and divine instruments crafted for the art of night warfare.
Never had the Blackfish fought such a battle. It was as if a grown man were to discipline a wayward child—effortless, controlled, the outcome never in doubt. Small wonder that King Joffrey spoke of "forgiveness" rather than slaughter.
The Blackfish found his thoughts wandering to grander possibilities. With such power at his disposal, the complete submission of the Seven Kingdoms seemed less a challenge than an inevitability. What difference lay between the Reach, the Riverlands, and Dorne when viewed through such overwhelming might? Every man who died was one fewer subject for the king to rule—perhaps this stayed Joffrey's hand more than mercy alone.
The Blackfish could no longer regard Joffrey through the lens of memory, seeing only the willful prince who had once been the realm's shame. Since donning the crown, it seemed the gods had touched the young king with wisdom, burning away his worst impulses while kindling something altogether more mysterious. He was not the worst king in the history of the Seven Kingdoms—that much was certain.
Undoubtedly the most legendary and enigmatic. Perhaps, in time, he might prove the most revered as well.
Lannister or Baratheon? The question mattered little to the Blackfish. Was not kneeling to one lord much the same as kneeling to another? House Tully's position in the Riverlands would remain unchanged, so long as they remained true to their liege.
This knowledge brought the Blackfish considerable peace. Family, duty, honor—all demanded House Tully's loyalty to the Iron Throne, and besides, the king's victory was as certain as sunrise.
The entire vanguard had assumed their positions. The time had come.
Yet on the eve of battle, a strange unease crept through his chest like morning mist through a graveyard. Something terrible stirred in the darkness beyond his sight, though he could neither name it nor divine its nature.
Thousands of men awaited his word, their eyes reflecting the distant firelight like wolves in winter.
Swallowing his misgivings, the Blackfish spoke in a voice rough as stone: "Attack!"
Shoo—shoo—
The eastern cannons answered his call, launching their "candles" into the star-drunk sky. The blazing shells shrieked overhead like the cries of burning hawks, their light transforming night into day across Stone Hedge's huddled buildings.
"Long live the King!"
"For Casterly Rock! Hear me roar!"
Armored destriers thundered past the Blackfish, their riders' battle cries mixing with the drumbeat of hooves on hard earth as they charged toward the enemy camps.
The Blackfish remained still as stone, his attention fixed upon the mystical battle map. Three cavalry forces had begun their deadly dance, the blue bands transforming into sharp wedges driving toward Stone Hedge's weakest points like spear-points seeking the gaps in mail.
The northern weakness appeared to be an abandoned camp, empty of defenders. Perhaps the sentries walked their rounds elsewhere, or perhaps his own scouts had already silenced them. Either way, these tents posed no more threat than scarecrows in a field.
The southern vulnerability lay in the camp of camp followers—whores and merchants who would flee at the first clash of steel, just as they opened their legs or purses to any with coin.
As for the west...
"House Piper, follow me to glory!" Ser Marq Piper led the charge, his banner snapping in the wind like a striking viper.
"Long live Wayfarer's Rest!"
Caryl Vance refused to let House Piper claim precedence, spurring his mount forward. It would not do for others to mistake the Pipers as leaders of this force—a role that by rights belonged to House Vance.
House Piper could hardly compare to the might of Vance. All men knew that House Vance commanded territories wider than their liege lord House Tully itself, and could summon more swords to their banners—though this strength came from the union of both Atranta and Wayfarer's Rest branches.
Still, this proved that Wayfarer's Rest was no mere lordling's holding. Even within this force alone, Vance cavalry outnumbered Piper two to one.
"House Vance, charge!"
Caryl Vance drove his spurs deep, his destrier stretching its legs until he drew even with Marq Piper before they reached sword's reach of the enemy.
"Let us see who draws first blood!" Marq Piper called out, recognizing the Wayfarer's Rest colors in his peripheral vision.
"Caryl, this time I claim your horse as prize!"
The burgundy birthmark beneath Caryl Vance's helm seemed to burn with embarrassment and rage. "Win it from me first!"
He urged his mount to greater speed, pulling ahead by half a length.
Marq Piper's battle-fury cooled slightly as wisdom reasserted itself. "Do not charge so recklessly—mind the explosions!"
The warning sobered Caryl Vance immediately. Ahead lay chaos incarnate: twisted metal spikes and sharpened stakes that could gut a horse as easily as a fish. He reined in his mount's fury, wisdom overruling pride.
A river barred the western approach, and the rebel camp stretched to kiss its banks. Every ford and dry creek bed bristled with chevaux de frise—but the plan accounted for such obstacles. "Water droplets" would clear their path.
Bang bang bang~
The explosive charges shattered the barriers before them like a giant's fist crushing kindling.
"Ha! Do not forget my prize!" Even as water mist still hung in the air, Marq Piper thundered through the gap.
Liar! Caryl Vance ground his teeth behind his helm.
In that moment, the light began to fade. Shadows crept back across the battlefield like a tide of ink.
Caryl Vance glanced skyward. The "candles" were falling, their flames guttering like dying stars.
Darkness reclaimed the night. Long heartbeats passed in blindness before—
Shoo—
The second volley of light ascended toward the heavens.