Daenerys Targaryen, astride the largest dragon, surged ahead of the screaming and whistling Dothraki. Drogon descended almost to the ground itself, flying straight toward the charging riders. And when you see such a monstrous beast hurtling directly at you, it takes no small amount of courage not to rein in your horse.
No one reined in.
It was Jaime's flank and our attacking knights advancing to meet the Dothraki. They had ridden beyond the protection of the scorpions. Dany had caught them perfectly.
Drogon unleashed a mighty torrent of flame, unnaturally long and fierce. Men screamed — those who did not die at once.
The next moment, the two mounted hosts crashed together. Cries of pain, the clash of iron on iron, battle shouts, curses, and savage cheers rose to the heavens.
The second dragon, the smaller of the two, swooped toward our center, only to be met by such a dense storm of arrows that it loosed a burst of flame—which harmed scarcely anyone at all—and lurched sideways, banking into another turn.
Soon after, the flank commanded by Randyll Tarly collided with the Dornish cavalry thousands.
A few minutes later, the centers of both hosts also met in battle. Watching the Unsullied maintain a formation so even it looked measured by a ruler was almost a pleasure. Unfortunately, they were fighting against us, which reduced any admiration for their discipline to nothing. They advanced as a single wall, lowering their spears almost in unison at the last instant before striking hard and true.
And the two hosts, like a pair of three-headed beasts, locked together and began tearing at one another with steel claws, fangs, and talons.
Everyone was shouting, screaming, somewhere a shrill whistle sounded. Amid the crack and clang of iron, I beckoned to Rolf Braye, commander of the Roaring Flame.
"Ser Braye, can you do anything to aid Ser Jaime?" I cast a quick glance toward the left flank. Daenerys Targaryen continued her rampage there atop her dragon, and though the two armies were now fully engaged — limiting the dragon's freedom somewhat — Jaime was clearly having a miserable time of it.
"They've ridden far out," the lean, middle-sized knight remarked thoughtfully, scratching his chin.
"Get at least a dozen scorpions over there. They need help. Ser Mooton and his men will cover you."
"We'll see it done, Your Grace," both knights answered with simultaneous nods.
"And one more thing… It is time for the wildfire. Lob a few test jars over our infantry toward the Unsullied."
"At once," he replied, turning sharply before hurrying off to carry out the orders.
The center was slowly buckling. The Unsullied were formidable men. Though they wore only leather armor, their true strength lay elsewhere — astonishing discipline and flawless coordination. They moved as one hand, and our men had begun slowly falling back.
"Orm, hold the horse."
My bodyguard stepped closer, seized Rivulet by the reins, and steadied him. I planted my feet on the saddle, straightened, and surveyed the field.
Tarly was performing magnificently on his flank. Not only had he held the line, he had blunted the initial Dornish assault and was now beginning to push them back. Good. He knew the plan and knew that, eventually, he would have to retreat. He would not forget that, and so far he was doing everything correctly.
The detachment under Rolf Braye swiftly began aiming three scorpions, carefully adjusting their angle. The trained crews worked quickly enough, drawing the strings taut before launching the first jars filled with sand — ranging shots. They sailed too far, the crews adjusted the weapons, and fired another volley. This time the result satisfied them, and from somewhere behind the soldiers, three men very carefully brought forward jars containing the true Fire. They loaded them into special cradles and hastily withdrew.
From afar, Ser Braye turned toward me. I nodded.
He spun sharply, raised his arm, and barked:
"Loose!"
My heart froze for an instant. Three jars launched into the air almost simultaneously. Tumbling as they flew, they passed over the heads of the fighting men and crashed somewhere among the rear ranks of the Unsullied.
One of the jars exploded immediately, hurling bodies, spears, and swords into the air.
And if the battlefield had already been deafening before, Clover Field itself now seemed to shudder beneath screams of agony and terror. The Unsullied, for the most part, remained silent even then, but the Dornish footmen shrieked as though someone were slowly sawing off their balls with a dull knife.
Our infantry, seeing the effect, took heart.
"Strike! Thrust! Cut them down! Hold the line!" the officers shouted one after another. It seemed as though the men's strength had redoubled tenfold.
Behind the Unsullied, a great green demon was born and rose above the earth. Everything there burned and melted.
The other two jars had not yet ignited, but Braye knew his business well. At his command, nearly a hundred archers loosed flaming arrows in the same direction the jars had flown.
A moment later, hell itself opened behind the Unsullied. Our center rallied instantly, while the enemy found themselves in a dire position, trapped between fire and foe.
Despite their discipline, they faltered. Their advance slowed, and more and more warriors began glancing over their shoulders, trying to understand what was happening behind them and how great the danger truly was.
To Daenerys's credit, she did not lose her head and immediately recognized the peril threatening her Unsullied. The great dragon sharply altered course, pulled back slightly, and swept toward our center in a broad arc.
(End of Chapter)
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