The seat of House Gardener was a wonder of the world, a living monument to the wealth, power, and beauty of the Reach. Flowers of every color spread across terraces and courtyards. Marble fountains sang beneath the sun. Tall hedges had been carved into the shapes of animals, knights, and ancient kings. The great white walls of Highgarden gleamed like polished bone, and the Mander flowed nearby, broad and glittering.
Beyond the castle, however, beauty gave way to war.
Tents stretched across the fields as far as one could see. Banners snapped in the wind: the green hand of House Gardener, the tower of Hightower, the fox of Florent, the grapes of Redwyne, the apple of Fossoway, the huntsman of Tarly, the bees of Beesbury, and dozens more.
Over eighty thousand men.
The greatest army the Reach had gathered in generations.
Edmund watched it from the battlements. He should have felt comfort, yet he did not.
The Lion King had crossed into the Reach with more than sixty thousand men, a host of westermen hardened by years of careful preparation and emboldened by their alliance with the sorcerer-king of the Heartlands. They had already won their first victory, defeating a force led by Lord Rowan and Lord Oakheart. The Reach had suffered its first defeat, and now the lion marched toward Highgarden.
Edmund was afraid.
Not of Loren.
Loren was a man. A dangerous man, yes. A capable king, certainly. But still a man.
What frightened Edmund was who was allied with him.
Harald Stormcrown.
The Herald of the Covenant.
The Anathema, as Archmaester Eddard called him.
The man who had broken the Ironborn, shattered Harrenhal, turned the Riverlands into the Heartlands, and now spread his new faith like a plague across the continent. Edmund knew it was Harald's power that gave Loren the confidence to invade. It was Harald's power that had allowed Loren's smaller force to defeat Oakheart and Rowan.
If Loren won here, if the Reach broke before him, then nothing would stop the Covenant from spreading south and west. This was the heretic king's plan, that much Edmund realized something his father never understood.
"My king," Archmaester Eddard said from behind him.
Edmund turned.
"We can awaken Urrax in the evening," Eddard said.
Urrax.
That was what Eddard called it. He claimed it was House Gardener's birthright, that the maesters had only been keeping it safe until House Gardener was threatened by great dark magic.
Edmund found himself distrusting the maester more and more, especially after he revealed the price Edmund would have to pay to awaken the metal beast.
"Are you sure I can control this thing if it does awaken, as you promise?"
"Yes. Yes, you can."
Edmund turned away from Eddard, his eyes landing on the golden dragon's shattered pieces, which lay in Highgarden's courtyard.
"Your Grace, Loren will arrive soon. His army is unnatural, demonic, strengthened by dark magic given to the lion by the Anathema. You need Urrax."
Edmund's jaw tightened.
"And the cost?"
Eddard swallowed. "Only a few lives will be needed. The old notes were very clear. A spark is required, nothing more. The souls of those sacrificed will awaken Urrax... and Highgarden has many in the dungeons."
"Sacrifice? Human sacrifice? Am I that desperate? Have I fallen so low?" Edmund said, almost to himself.
"There is no other way, Your Grace."
Edmund stared at him.
Then he looked past him toward the stairway that descended into the depths of Highgarden.
The dungeons had been emptied. That order had come from Edmund himself.
Every murderer, rapist, oathbreaker, and bandit awaiting judgment had been brought below. Even men who would ordinarily have been sent to the Wall were dragged from their cells. Nearly two hundred souls in total.
A few lives, Eddard had said.
"The Reach will be saved," Eddard said. "And we all need the Reach to remain strong, to act as the shield of the Faith against the Anathema, Your Grace."
Edmund closed his eyes for a moment.
The Seven would understand.
"Then let us begin."
==========
Edmund walked with Archmaester Eddard down through the courtyard to the large opening where Urrax had been laid out.
The golden metal caught the evening light and threw it back in warm flickers across the faces of everyone nearby. The parts had been hauled from reinforced carts with great difficulty. It had taken oxen, pulleys, chains, and nearly two hundred sweating men to move them into place. Even then, the golden metal had resisted them strangely. It did not behave as iron, bronze, or steel should. Some pieces were almost weightless, while others had required all two hundred men and the animals besides to move them. It was truly the work of some magic.
Guards stood at the perimeter with the rigid stillness of men trying very hard not to show they were frightened.
Some made the sign of the Seven.
Others whispered prayers.
A few would not look at Urrax at all.
Edmund could not blame them.
He wanted to look away too.
Instead, he turned his gaze toward his gathered lords.
They stood clustered in small groups, their conversations low and fragmented. Edmund could feel the unease radiating off his bannermen like heat from a forge. Lord Hightower stood nearest, his face pale but firm. His eyes were fixed upon the weapon with fear, yes, but also with faith in the plan. Of all the lords present, Hightower trusted the maesters most. Perhaps that was natural. Oldtown and the Citadel had always stood close together. House Hightower had protected the maesters for centuries, and the Citadel had, in turn, served as one of the great pillars of Oldtown's influence.
When Edmund met his gaze, Lord Hightower gave a slow nod.
Beside him stood Lords Peake, Florent, Ashford, Tarly, Fossoway, and others. Most wore grim expressions. Lord Tarly's hand rested on the pommel of his sword. Lord Peake looked impatient, as if he wanted the matter done quickly. Lord Florent's lips moved in silent prayer.
Lord Fossoway looked at Edmund almost pleadingly.
Do not do this, his eyes seemed to say.
Edmund's jaw tightened.
The argument had nearly torn his council apart.
Human sacrifice.
Sacrifice.
A soul, good or wicked, was meant to pass before the Seven after death. The Father would judge it. The Mother would show mercy. The Stranger would guide it onward. That was the order of the world. That was the promise given to all men, even sinners.
But here, what would happen to these prisoners' souls? What kind of afterlife would they receive? How would the gods who watched over them all react to this? Would Edmund be condemned to the Seven Hells, to the deepest pits of them?
Many of his lords had argued exactly that. Some had called it heresy outright. Lord Fossoway had nearly shouted himself hoarse, declaring that if the Reach embraced abomination to fight abomination, then they had already lost.
For one dangerous moment, Edmund had thought half his court might rebel.
Then Lord Hightower had spoken.
He had reminded them that Loren Lannister marched upon them with dark powers given by the sorcerer-king of the Heartlands. He had spoken of Harald Stormcrown, of the Covenant, of heathen gods, the darkest of magics, and the corruption of all Westeros. He had asked whether they would allow the Reach, the most faithful and fertile kingdom in the realm, to fall because they lacked the stomach to do what was necessary.
After that, most objections died.
Not all.
But enough.
"My king," Lord Fossoway said quietly from beside him.
Edmund glanced at the man. Fossoway kept looking at the pieces of Urrax and then back at Edmund with an expression that came as close to pleading as a lord could permit himself without actually saying the words.
"Are you certain this is wise?"
Edmund almost laughed.
"No," Edmund said honestly. "But it is necessary."
Fossoway said nothing more.
Edmund nodded to Eddard.
The Archmaester's face lit with grim satisfaction.
"Bring them in," Eddard commanded.
The great doors at the far end of the courtyard opened.
The prisoners were dragged in.
Fifty of them, chained at the wrists, shuffling forward in a long line. Murderers. Rapists. Thieves. Traitors.
When they saw Urrax, their courage broke.
"No! Please!"
"Mercy!"
"I did nothing!"
"Seven save me!"
"Please, my lord, please!"
"I did nothing, I swear it, I swear on the Seven—"
The guards forced them down to their knees in a rough line before the construct, and every single one of them trembled. Some wept openly. Some looked around wildly for any possibility of escape, finding none. One man kept repeating a prayer under his breath, the words tumbling over one another too quickly to be intelligible.
Edmund looked away.
Only for a moment.
He thought of his family.
His young heir, his wife, his daughters, his sisters, nieces, cousins, and the ladies of his household.
Most of the women and children of House Gardener had been sent away two moons ago to a castle near Oldtown. It had been done quietly, under the excuse of protecting them from the coming war. That decision now brought him a small measure of relief. Whatever happened here, whatever happened if the worst came to pass and Loren won, they would be protected. That thought was the only solid ground he had left to stand on.
Eddard moved to the center of the courtyard, between the kneeling prisoners and the largest piece of Urrax: the broad golden chest with its ribbed cavity and the gem within it. He produced a staff, tall and ornate, with a crystal set into its head that matched the color of the soul gem. He planted it in the ground before him with both hands, driving it into the earth, and straightened.
"Behold," Eddard cried, turning so every lord and knight could hear him. "The salvation of the Reach. The answer to the sorceries of the Anathema. The weapon that shall cast down the lion and preserve the faithful."
Some lords shifted uneasily.
Others leaned forward, unable to look away.
Eddard turned toward the golden pieces of Urrax and lifted the staff with both hands.
"Urrax," he called in an exaggerated voice, putting on a performance. "Awaken now. Rise, and serve your master!"
Edmund watched him carefully.
The master, Eddard had told him, would be the king. The weapon would awaken and obey Edmund's command. That was what had been promised.
The crystal in the staff began to glow, as did the crystal inside Urrax.
The light inside the construct's chest started faintly, a dim red pulse. Then it strengthened, beating with increasing rhythm, brightening from red to gold, the light pushing through the gaps in the golden ribs and casting long, shifting shadows across the courtyard.
A low hum spread through the air.
The guards stiffened. Horses in the nearby stables began to panic. Somewhere, glass cracked.
The prisoners began crying louder.
One of them screamed.
Golden light erupted from his eyes, his mouth, his nose, every pore in his skin blazing at once, as if he had swallowed the sun. His body arched violently against his chains, lifting off the ground, his back bending at an angle that should not have been possible. The scream climbed higher and higher until it passed beyond any sound a human throat could make.
Then he collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
A thread of pale light rose from his corpse and flowed into the crystal.
The construct twitched.
Another prisoner screamed. The same eruption of light and another thread of pale light rose, flowed, and was consumed.
Then another.
Then all fifty at once.
The courtyard became a place of horror. Pale ribbons of light poured from fifty dying men, all flowing into the pulsing golden heart. Some of the prisoners tried to crawl, dragging themselves across the stone on their bellies even as the light poured out of them. Some called on the Seven with their last breath, the words barely formed before the light took them.
The crystal drank all their souls.
Several of Edmund's lords had stepped back without appearing to notice they were doing it. Lord Ashford had turned away entirely, his hand over his mouth. Lord Fossoway stood rigid, his face the color of old ash. Even Hightower had gone very still, his earlier composure fractured at its edges.
Edmund did not look away.
He made himself watch every second of it.
The last prisoner collapsed.
Silence fell, and for a breath, no one moved.
Then the golden metal brightened.
All around the courtyard, the scattered pieces of Urrax began to move.
A guard shouted and stumbled backward as one of the wings slid across the stone toward the central body. Then another. Then a curved plate. Then a long golden limb.
Each piece struck the body with tremendous force.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The golden parts slammed together as if pulled by invisible chains. Plates locked into place. Limbs unfolded and attached to sockets. Spines aligned across the back. Curved armor plates wrapped around the torso.
The wings were now completely outstretched.
Edmund let out a sigh of relief, a shaky sound that left his chest as though some great weight had finally been lifted from him.
"My king," Eddard said, his voice trembling with excitement. "Speak your command. Let Urrax destroy your enemies."
Edmund swallowed.
Urrax turned its head toward him, and every instinct in his body screamed for him to run.
But Edmund did not run.
He was a king.
He was the blood of Garth Greenhand.
He was the protector of the Reach.
He raised his voice so all could hear.
"I am Edmund Gardener, King of the Reach," he said. "I command you, Urrax, to seek out and destroy Loren Lannister. Destroy the army marching upon Highgarden and save the Reach."
Urrax stared at him.
The silence stretched, and none moved.
Then Urrax bowed its head.
Relief crashed through Edmund so powerfully that his knees almost weakened.
It had worked.
For a moment, he nearly laughed.
"My king," Lord Hightower said, his voice filled with awe. "Your Grace, we have done it. The Reach is saved."
A cheer erupted.
It began hesitantly at first, one voice, then another. Soon, several lords and guards joined in, their fear turning into desperate joy. Men raised fists. Some praised the Seven. Others shouted Edmund's name.
Lord Hightower stepped forward to the golden dragon, smiling through the fear still lingering on his face.
"Here stands the proof of our strength!" he shouted. "The power the Kingdom of the Reach holds! We are the heirs of the..."
He did not get to finish.
Urrax moved.
One of its golden claws shot outward like a spear, punching through Lord Hightower's chest and emerging from his back in a spray of blood.
For half a moment, no one reacted.
The cheers died without fully ending. Lord Hightower looked down at the golden limb protruding from his body, his mouth opening in confusion. His hands rose weakly, touching the metal as if he could not understand how it had gotten there.
He did not even scream.
Golden light erupted from within him.
His eyes shone and his mouth opened wider, pale fire spilled out between his teeth as his soul flowed from him into Urrax.
"No," Edmund whispered.
Chaos erupted instantly.
Men screamed and ran. Some brave men drew swords. Others froze where they stood, too horrified to act.
Urrax raised its head and roared.
It was unlike anything Edmund had ever heard. It was not the roar of a dragon, nor the scream of a lion, nor the thunder of a storm. This sound did not belong to flesh, beast, or anything naturally born beneath the sky.
It was a sound that had never been heard in this world before.
Urrax turned its attention to the men around him, and they began to die.
Those closest to Urrax fell first. Golden light seeped from their bodies as Urrax drank their souls, the gem in its heart becoming brighter and more powerful.
"Stop!" Edmund shouted. "I command you to stop!"
"It needs more," the Archmaester whispered. "No. No, the notes said only the first spark. It should not need more."
Edmund watched as the golden beast somehow grew larger as it moved, as if the act of feeding made it expand. Its golden wings stretched wide as it prepared to take flight.
"Protect the king!" Lord Fossoway shouted.
Two Gardener household knights grabbed Edmund by the arms and dragged him backward.
"No!" Edmund shouted, struggling against them. "Release me! I commanded it! I can stop it!"
"You cannot, Your Grace!" one knight shouted.
Edmund watched as the golden beast killed all before it. Lord Tarly charged with a roar, his Valyrian steel blade raised high. He was one of the finest warriors in the Reach, a man who had killed Dornish raiders and broken bandit hordes with his own hands.
Urrax bit the lord in half and consumed his soul.
Lord Meadows tried to flee toward the archway, but barely made it three steps before he too began glowing. His soul was taken. One by one, all around Urrax, lords and soldiers fell. None of it mattered. Urrax drank and drank their souls.
And through it all, Edmund saw Eddard. The Archmaester was crawling away like a rat.
The knights dragged him toward the inner gate.
"Stop!" Edmund shouted, pushing against them. "Stop, damn you!"
"My king!"
"Stop!"
The men hesitated, and Edmund tore himself free. He turned back just in time to see Urrax rise from the courtyard. It beat its golden wings and flew upward. For a moment, it lifted into the air, but the motion was uneven, almost clumsy. Its body twisted as though it did not yet fully understand flight.
Then it faltered. One wing dipped, the other rose too high, and Urrax plummeted. It struck the west wing of Highgarden completely destroying it. But Urrax recovered quickly, tearing itself free from the wreckage and taking flight once more.
This time, it flew.
It rose above Highgarden, higher and higher, gleaming in the last light of evening.
Then it turned.
Toward the army.
Toward the eighty thousand men camped beyond the walls.
"No," Edmund whispered.
Then louder.
"No."
Urrax flew toward them.
"No!"
Edmund ran. His crown slipped from his brow and clattered somewhere behind him, but he did not stop to retrieve it. He reached the battlements breathless, his eyes fixed on the monster he had unleashed.
The Reach's army stretched across the fields outside Highgarden, vast and proud: men who had answered their king's call to defend their homeland.
Toward them, Urrax descended.
At first, some soldiers cheered.
They thought the secret weapon their king had awakened had come to their side.
Their salvation.
That feeling did not last long as Urrax opened its jaws, a sickly green energy poured from the construct's throat, humming as it left. The sound carried even up to the walls where Edmund stood. The green light swept across a section of tents and men, transforming into fire as it struck them.
Edmund watched in horror.
Soldiers ran in every direction. Some tried to attack with spears and arrows, but none of it mattered.
The golden lights of soldiers' souls rose into the air by the hundreds.
Then by the thousands.
They streamed toward Urrax like fireflies drawn into a lantern, screaming silently as they were consumed.
The entire camp was being devoured.
"No!" Edmund screamed from the top of the wall. "No! Stop! Stop! I command you to stop!"
"NO!"
His voice broke.
He screamed until his throat tore raw.
"ARAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
He screamed and screamed, fists striking the stone battlements until his knuckles split. He cursed Eddard. He cursed the Citadel. He cursed Hightower. He cursed Loren. He cursed Harald Stormcrown.
He cursed himself most of all.
In an hour, the fields that had held tens of thousands of men were burning wastelands, the brave soldiers of the Reach dead in the worst of ways.
Urrax hovered above the ruin and then turned back toward Highgarden.
Edmund prepared for death.
He welcomed it.
Urrax flew toward the castle.
But it did not come for him.
It rose.
Higher and higher.
Then it turned north.
Edmund watched as it flew away, fading into the darkness, becoming smaller and smaller.
Loren. He realized then that Urrax wanted to feed on more souls, and it had sensed Loren's army.
Edmund remained standing for a long time.
Then his legs failed.
He collapsed onto the battlements and sat against the wall, staring at his own bloody hands in the dark.
"Seven forgive me," he whispered.
.
.
You can read up to chapter 88 here.
p.a.t.r.eon.com/Illusiveone (check the chapter summary i have it there as well)