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"Deacon, aren't the casualties too high for this kind of assault?"
Ser Marldune watched the soldiers charge forward like swarming bees, only to be mowed down by arrows raining from the city walls. His chest tightened. The loss was unbearable. Hundreds of men had fallen in barely an hour or two, yet the defenders seemed almost untouched. How could his forces continue like this?
"Ser, Eddard Karstark commands fewer men but holds a strong position," Deacon replied calmly, his voice as cold and controlled as steel. "We have the advantage in numbers, yes, but time presses. My father always said we must commit every soldier to the battlefield fully. Nothing less will bring victory."
Dickon Tarly's expression was as icy as the northern winter, his words carrying no hint of emotion. "You see the dead, but I see steady progress. Siege ladders are in place, even if some were knocked down. Our men have engaged the enemy and inflicted casualties. This is as far as the defenders can push back."
Ser Marldune's jaw tightened. "Your Tarly family knows war better than any. I won't offer further opinion."
Dickon merely nodded, eyes fixed on the distant moat and city wall. Before him, dozens of rafts floated down the river, some empty, some teeming with soldiers, carried along by the current. Each movement was deliberate, part of a larger, deadly plan.
On high ground, Roose Bolton surveyed the battlefield, his pale eyes analyzing every move. Beside him, Captain "Iron Leg" Wharton awaited silently. A squad of cavalry surged into the skirmishers, shouting orders:
"Throw the siege ladders into the river! Rafts closer! Move the ladders!"
The cries echoed across the field. Soldiers carrying the ladders had no time to question their purpose; survival demanded obedience. Amid the arrow storms, men ran blindly, raising the ladders high before heaving them into the moat.
Soon, a dozen ladders tangled with rafts drifting in the current, forming a makeshift, crooked bridge across the water. The structure wobbled and creaked but held.
"Iron Leg" dismounted, raising his shield to deflect a stray arrow. Spotting a young conscript, he barked, "Boy! Go straighten those rafts and arrange them with the ladders. Make a bridge!"
Mick, the boy from Goldengrove, shook his head in terror. He had been forcibly conscripted and had already survived impossible odds. Now he faced a deadly task under a relentless storm of arrows.
The veteran soldiers around him scowled. One brandished a longsword, yellow teeth bared in a grim smile. "This is an order, not a question!"
Swallowing his fear, Mick seized the shield from Iron Leg, sprinted to the water, and leaped onto the nearest raft. "Straighten the rafts! Straighten the rafts!" he muttered, gripping the edges with both hands and feet. Rope in hand, he secured the first raft and scrambled to the next.
But Twin River City's defenders were vigilant. Angai, bow drawn, loosed an arrow with deadly precision. Mick collapsed into the water with a splash, heart pierced by a single shot.
Soon, other soldiers approached the entangled ladders, attempting the same perilous crossing. But Eddard Karstark was relentless. "Heartbreaker" swung with surgical precision, cleaving heads, severing grappling hooks, and pushing siege ladders back into the river.
Outside the walls, Eddard's sharp gaze noted the enemy's ingenuity. They had begun using ladders as supports on the water, weaving rafts into crude bridges. Lightly armored soldiers could cross swiftly, bypassing his most effective defensive strategies.
Angry and calculating, Eddard grabbed a hefty stone from the battlements. He hurled it with all his might at a raft, smashing planks and sending soldiers flailing into the moat. "Whoosh!" The splash was satisfying, and he laughed, exhilarated by the destructive impact.
Quickly, he moved along the wall, alternating between swinging his sword and launching stones, acting as a human trebuchet. Rafts shattered one after another under his relentless assault. Each strike bolstered the defenders' morale, dissolving their earlier fears.
The enemy skirmishers paused, unsure of how to proceed. Any attempt to advance now risked instant death.
From his vantage point, Roose Bolton frowned. He had hoped this tactic would establish a foothold, yet Eddard's ingenuity had destroyed it. The defenders were proving far more formidable than anticipated. Bolton's eyes swept to the opposite bank, assessing his remaining options. Then, with a grim expression, he spurred his horse toward the camp.
"Dodge! Dodge!" Lando's horn echoed across the walls, warning the defenders of incoming missiles.
With the rafts destroyed, enemy archers no longer faced constraints. The sky darkened with arrows, raining upon the walls with renewed fury. Only the heavy infantry and remaining skirmishers held their ground at the moat, a grim testament to endurance and discipline.
Eddard's mind raced. The enemy's pause was illogical. Even if he exhausted himself, he could not maintain this pace forever. Yet the Reach forces, facing constant losses and relentless defense, had stopped attacking.
He surveyed the battlefield: roughly a thousand casualties for the enemy, substantial yet overshadowed by the progress they had made. Moat sections fifty centimeters wide and thirty meters long had already been partially filled. Thirty to forty attackers had died under "Heartbreaker," and hundreds more had engaged in climbing attempts, claiming more lives. Arrow storms had also taken their toll on civilians and slow defenders.
Every inch of the wall was a battlefield, every step measured against death. If Eddard were attacking, he would press relentlessly, exhausting the defenders' stamina and morale. The enemy's cessation was therefore perplexing.
"Lord Eddard," a voice called softly.
Berry Dondelion appeared nearby. "Count Berry? Did something happen in the West City?" Eddard asked, surprised. Berry was stationed with the cavalry, meant to respond only if called.
"It's good news," Berry said, smiling. "A detachment from Seagard has arrived outside—about five hundred men. Their leader, Patrick Mallister, claims to know you."
Eddard's lips curved into a satisfied smile. Reinforcements had arrived. The tide of battle was shifting, and with skilled hands and fresh warriors, Twin River City's defense could hold longer than the Reach anticipated.
Above the walls, stones continued to rain down, arrows whistled past, and the relentless pounding of siege engines shook the air. Yet with courage, clever tactics, and timely reinforcements, Eddard Karstark and his men were repelling the tide, one deadly blow at a time.
Füll bōøk àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)
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