Outside the forest, several miles from Twin River City, the afternoon wind blew gently, soft and caressing, like the tender touch of a maiden's hand. It carried with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth, lulling the senses yet hinting at the lurking dangers within the dense woodland.
Eddard Karstark's eyes blinked slowly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corner of his lips. On his shoulder perched a magpie, feathers a dazzling swirl of blue-purple, black, and white. It chattered quietly, as if understanding the whispered words of its master—words no one else could hear.
Eddard was clad in his usual armor, layered yet flexible, allowing for both defense and mobility. Behind him, forty warriors stood in formation, fully armed and alert, each checking their javelins, swords, and bows, ensuring they were ready for the confrontation ahead. A short distance away, a group of horses grazed, their flanks glinting in the sunlight, seemingly oblivious to the tense preparations unfolding nearby.
"Lord Eddard," Lyman Frey called from beside him, his tone a mixture of impatience and excitement, "are we not attacking yet? The scouts guaranteed—swore on their honor—that the bandits carrying the plundered valuables have entered this forest. They're likely holed up in a cave or a clearing somewhere."
He patted his chest, trying to show confidence. "If we strike now, we can catch them completely off guard!"
Lyman's excitement, however, carried a thin layer of fear. He had already provided intelligence on the bandits twice before. Each time, Eddard had led his small contingent to victory, eliminating the targets without a single casualty among his soldiers. Tales of these feats, along with the dozens of heads displayed on the city walls, had spread far and wide throughout Twin River City, bolstering Eddard's fearsome reputation.
Eddard's eyes flickered toward Lyman, cold light briefly flashing within them. Despite the warmth of his smile, there was no true kindness there—only measured control. "We will fight," he said calmly, "but how and when we strike is my decision alone. Understand?"
Lyman swallowed hard, a shiver running down his spine as he felt the weight of Eddard's presence. "O-of course, my lord. I—was merely reminding you," he stammered.
Eddard nodded once and then waved a hand, summoning his three most trusted companions. "Abel, Dita, Konn, come here."
The three approached promptly, their movements disciplined and alert. Eddard gestured to the ground and, using a fallen branch, began sketching a detailed map of the battlefield. He outlined positions, potential enemy movements, and the timing of their coordinated strike. Once the plan was complete, Abel, Dita, and Konn turned their attention to Lyman Frey, their expressions icy and unwelcoming. Though no words were spoken, the implication was clear: any misstep would have consequences.
Moments later, the three split their forces into three squads of ten, each armed to the teeth and moving silently through the forest, spreading out to flank the enemy. The magpie on Eddard's shoulder took flight, disappearing among the trees to scout ahead. Ten other attendants remained with Eddard, waiting patiently.
Lyman Frey, still unsure of the unfolding strategy, shifted nervously. After half an hour of tense waiting, Eddard turned to him. "Sir, stay and watch the horses. The coming battle is perilous. Swords have no eyes, and if you are injured, I cannot justify it to Lord Walder."
Lyman bowed quickly, relief flooding his face. "Understood, my lord. I will remain here."
Eddard adjusted his armor, slung a bag of short javelins across his back, took the greatshield and battle-axe from the white-haired McKen, and led the way into the dense forest. The forest floor was littered with fallen leaves and broken branches, the decay of nature sending up a faint, musty odor. Shafts of sunlight barely pierced the dense canopy, creating a dim, oppressive atmosphere. Even the smallest creatures seemed to have vanished, leaving the forest unnaturally still.
Suddenly, the air was split by the whistling flight of arrows. "Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!" Twenty to thirty dark shapes streaked through the undergrowth, followed immediately by another volley from archers hidden in the shadows. Simultaneously, dozens of bandits emerged, their armor mismatched, coats dirtied and torn, faces grimy, and weapons raised in chaotic unison.
"Charge! For Lapi Gou! For Xiong Xiazi! Seize their armor!" the bandit leaders bellowed, pushing their men forward.
Eddard raised his greatshield, the tough hide layered with thin steel absorbing the arrows that clattered against it harmlessly. "Javelins!" he roared. In one fluid motion, he drew a short javelin, over half a meter in length, and hurled it with deadly accuracy. A bandit clad in worn chainmail screamed as the steel tip pierced his chest, pinning him to the forest floor.
Several more bandits fell under the relentless barrage, their shouts of panic drowned out by the roar of battle. The enemy pressed forward, but Eddard and his men remained calm, coordinated, and deadly.
As the bandits closed in, Eddard raised his battle-axe, swinging it in a wide arc. The blade struck a bandit's chest, splitting armor and ribs alike. Blood splattered across his shield and face, yet he spat out the taste, undeterred. Another attack was deflected by a transparent barrier—a magical shield that shimmered for a brief moment before vanishing. The bandit's smirk froze into terror as his hand was severed, followed swiftly by his neck.
Even as more enemies attempted to attack, Eddard moved with inhuman speed. He kicked one charging bandit away, cleaved through two more, and continued forward, leaving a trail of carnage.
Meanwhile, Konn had maneuvered his squad behind the enemy archers. With a roar, he charged, catching the bandits completely off guard. Within moments, seven or eight more bandits fell to his axe. Panic spread through the enemy ranks, their cohesion unraveling.
"Run! We cannot defeat them!" a bandit shouted. The rest scattered, trying desperately to flee through the forest. Konn hurled his battle-axe, taking another down, retrieved it from the corpse, and pressed the chase. Each severed head could fetch ten silver moons; three could be exchanged for a gold dragon. For Eddard's men, victory was as profitable as it was brutal.
The forest soon echoed with screams, then fell silent as the remaining bandits were cut down. Eddard surveyed the scene, watching his subordinates remove the heads and gather spoils. He habitually checked the magical system he relied on, his frown betraying mild dissatisfaction. Despite the flawless coordination, use of magic, and personal involvement, one of his men had died. The small casualty gnawed at him—a reminder that even perfect plans carried imperfection.
Eddard shook his head and muttered, "No one should have died."
He sheathed his weapons, stepping through the aftermath of the battle, his eyes scanning for anything that could be improved. Around him, the forest floor was littered with the remnants of the defeated, a grim testament to the skill, discipline, and ruthlessness of his command.
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting long shadows through the forest, Eddard's magpie returned, circling overhead before settling on his shoulder once again. Its eyes seemed to sparkle knowingly, as if acknowledging the completion of a mission that few could have executed with such efficiency.
Eddard breathed deeply, letting the tension of battle leave his body. The forest was quiet once more, save for the soft rustle of leaves and distant sounds of fleeing wildlife. He glanced at his companions—Abel, Dita, and Konn—each cleaning their weapons, alert and unbowed.
"We did well," he said simply, his voice low but carrying authority. "Let's move. There will be other battles, and we cannot linger here."
The men nodded, the forest now a graveyard for the defeated bandits and a testament to the unyielding discipline of House Karstark.
Outside the forest, Lyman Frey waited, unaware of the precision, strategy, and merciless efficiency that had taken place behind him. Eddard allowed himself a faint, cold smile. Old Frey would learn soon enough that underestimating the North came at a terrible price.
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