Chapter 46 – We Are the Kingsguard!
Rumble… rumble…
Bathed in the brilliance of the rising sun, three knights in white cloaks charged forward in a wedge formation toward an enemy force ten times their number.
At the very tip of the spear rode Lance Lot, Dawn clutched in both hands, his figure the sharp arrowhead of the formation. Ser Barristan and young Ser Jonothor Darry flanked him, one hand gripping sword, the other a steel shield, guarding both wings as they thundered forward.
As the distance between the two sides closed rapidly, Lance could clearly see at least half of the enemy reaching for the bows slung on their saddles.
"Steady!!"
At his command, Barristan and Jonothor urged their horses forward, pulling ahead of Lance just enough to shift their formation into an inverted triangle. Both men angled their shields above their heads, crouching low in their saddles to meet the coming storm.
Whssshh—whssshh—thwip—
The hiss of arrows filled the air. A dozen shafts screamed toward them.
Fortunately, the enemy knights, while disciplined, were no Dothraki horse archers—their aim was far from flawless. The blistering pace of the Kingsguard charge carried most arrows harmlessly wide. Those that did find their mark clattered off steel shields.
Only two arrows came dangerously close—aimed at the horses themselves. Lance's blue eyes narrowed beneath his helm as he swept Dawn downward, the milky-white greatsword batting the shafts aside. Through the narrow slit of his visor, he locked eyes with Simon Toyne and the infamous Smiling Knight—their grins seemed to taunt him across the field.
"FORM UP!"
With a roar, Lance gave the signal. The two Kingsguard flanking him slowed fractionally, sliding back into wedge formation.
The enemy discarded their bows, raising swords. Thankfully, none carried lances—the five-meter reach of a knight's lance would have made this charge nearly impossible to break.
"Closer… closer…"
Simon Toyne licked his lips, the tip of his sword trembling despite himself. He had spent years preparing for this moment. Victory—or ruin—would be decided in the next heartbeat.
The Smiling Knight, on the other hand, looked half-mad, bloodshot eyes fixed on Dawn as though the blade itself had insulted him. His twisted grin widened.
"You want my sword?"
Lance's own lips curved into a mocking smile.
"Come take it, dog!"
The two sides met with a crash like thunder.
Lance swung Dawn in a wide arc, shattering the first sword that came at him and cleaving the knight cleanly in half, man and horse alike.
Four more blades lashed toward him—but Lance did not slow. His entire being was focused on the Smiling Knight.
Clang—clang—clang!
Beside him, Barristan Selmy was a whirlwind of steel. His sword seemed everywhere at once, knocking aside every strike aimed at Lance while finding fatal gaps in enemy armor—two men fell before they could even scream.
Jonothor Darry was less composed, parrying blow after blow but unable to counterattack. Yet even so, he threw himself in front of one strike aimed at Lance, taking it on his own left arm with a grunt of pain.
Protected by his brothers, Lance finally reached the Smiling Knight.
He raised Dawn high, sunlight rippling over the strange star-forged steel as though the blade held a shard of the heavens.
"Here—TAKE IT!"
The Smiling Knight shrieked with laughter, lifting his longsword to block—only to have the greatsword shear through his weapon like it was tin.
With no time to think, the knight turned his shoulder into the blow.
Crunch—
The sword bit deep through armor and into bone, but momentum lost from two deflections kept it from cutting all the way through.
Snarling, Lance twisted Dawn and swept sideways, trying to take the knight's head and leave him "as regal as King Louis."
But the Smiling Knight was no ordinary foe. He ducked low, his face nearly pressed to his horse's mane, the blade whistling over his head and instead cutting the man behind him cleanly from the saddle.
With a savage grin, the Smiling Knight drew a dagger from his boot and hurled it at Lance's horse—
Clang!
A flash of steel intercepted the blade mid-air.
The Smiling Knight's eyes went wide.
The other White Cloak had turned in the saddle, the blue eyes behind his visor locking onto him like a predator marking prey.
The look said it all: I will remember you, boy.
For the first time in his life, the Smiling Knight felt the chill of fear run up his spine.
Rumble—rumble—
Both cavalry lines tore past each other in mere seconds, trading places on the field.
Simon Toyne yanked on the reins, bringing his horse around—and his blood ran cold.
Five of his men lay dead in the churned mud.
Five.
And one of them was the knight-captain who had been speaking to him only moments ago.
They had lost five knights—on the very first charge—against an enemy outnumbered ten to one.
They were almost within grasp of each other — if Simon Toyne hadn't sensed danger and pulled his horse aside at the last second, it would have been him on the ground, not the other man.
"Gods…." Simon ground his teeth, glancing at the Smiling Knight beside him, shoulder slumped and shirt already dark with blood. A heavy silence settled over him. Five of his men were dead, while the enemy had paid only a single wounded arm. If anyone heard that casualty ratio, they'd think our side was outnumbered ten to one.
Under the incredulous stares of Simon and his riders, the three white-cloaked Kingsguard turned slowly. The leader hefted his milky-white greatsword onto his shoulder; blood dripped steadily from the blade's point. Even from a distance and through visors, Simon could read the mockery in their eyes.
"Let us re-introduce ourselves, you swine."
The white-armored knight smiled and his voice rang out, bright and arrogant in the morning air. The wind played through the bloody folds of their cloaks; sunlight struck the red-stitched blade and threw back a strange, dazzling glare.
"I am Lance Lot. At my side are Ser Jonothor Darry and — the Bold — Ser Barristan!"
"We… are the Kingsguard!!!"
Lance's shout set off a ripple of sound through the enemy ranks.
"Barristan?"
"Seven Gods — it really is him!"
"I heard he killed hundreds at the Battle of the Bronze King!"
"No — I heard it was well over a thousand!"
"Damn… we have no chance against Barristan and Lance!"
"Quiet!" Simon barked, trying to shepherd flocks of wavering spirits. The men's chins went up and down in uncertain whispers — morale fraying under the weight of reputation. Five dead had already made them question the wisdom of the charge.
"They're only three men," Simon thundered. "You are knights — you are elite! Are you going to let three men frighten you?" He stared into the crowd with eyes that cooled the blood. "I may be a hunted dog, but I still have the courage to charge. Are you cowards?"
Silence met his taunt. The names Lance Lot and Barristan carried too much weight; the failed first charge had shaken them.
The Smiling Knight laughed — a sound edged with madness. "Hahaha… Barristan… Lance… Dawn…" His voice trembled with zeal. "If I can kill the King's finest, my name will echo across the Seven Kingdoms! I will be a legend!!!"
"Legend!!" The cry lifted a tremor of reckless courage among the men. Who could refuse the lure of glory — to fell a Kingsguard and claim a story for the ages?
"Looks like you won't surrender, then." Barristan's sneer cut through the murmur. "Count your lives, boys."
Lance let the blade fall from his shoulder; a bead of blood slipped from its tip. Then, with all eyes on them, the three white-cloaked knights raised their weapons and let their blood-streaked cloaks fly free.
Lance hoisted Dawn high, the rising sun glancing off the stone-forged steel. His blue eyes chilled to ice as he answered in a low, furious shout: "For the king. For honor. For the
Kingsguard—"
"KILL THEM ALL!!!"