During the first half hour of the march, shouts of "no" were constantly released by the army, still influenced by Ser Gerold Hightower's speech. But after the first hour, as they approached their destination, the noise slowly diminished.
This was not just because the effect of the speech was naturally wearing off, but because, as they moved into the interior of Old Wyk, corpses appeared strewn across the ground. At first, there were only a few dozen, separated from one another. But the further into Old Wyk they marched toward the castle of House Drumm, the more apparent they became.
Scattered half-dozens became overlapping dozens, and overlapping dozens became mounds of hundreds. The corpses left for the crows were not just men—possible combatants—but also children and old women; only the old.
The story told by the countless corpses was a grim one. It involved the Ironborn, likely lifelong acquaintances, killing one another in the name of a god who intended to transform them into monsters, all while sparing the younger women for even more nefarious reasons.
Witnessing that scene, the men began to march in silence, merely contemplating the carnage that had occurred there.
Through this contemplation, they instantly noticed how, a few miles ahead, the appearance of the bodies began to change. Some were taller and fatter than normal, others had blue skin, and others even had scales. Some of them, the rarest, had two or all three characteristics at the same time.
It did not take a genius to explain that these were the dead bodies of the fish-men they were already familiar with. But what most did not understand was why so many of them were lying dead there, in their own territory, leaving the men confused. Some reasoned, incorrectly, that they must have died during the conflict between themselves.
But the wiser ones, like Gerold himself leading the march and Alaric, who was as far back in the ranks as possible, realized that the process that transformed them was not one hundred percent safe. It generated various failures that were then tossed aside.
This became clear from the incomplete physical characteristics presented by most of them.
This understanding led both Gerold and Alaric to deduce that perhaps the number of enemies was not as large as initially thought. This had been previously theorized due to the absence of the fish-men during their second voyage, but was now partially proven.
The countless number of bodies scattered everywhere their eyes could see only reinforced this theory.
There were so many bodies that it was impossible for those in the center of the army to advance without stepping on them, and for those on the flanks, one could count the visible patches of soil on one hand.
More than ten thousand. That was the number of bodies many deduced.
The mountains of corpses became so high that they eventually hindered the march, forcing them to break formation to move forward.
The formation had the men of the Crownlands, Stormlands, and Westerlands at the center of the vanguard. Led by Ser Gerold Hightower and totaling just over five thousand remaining men, they were flanked by the Riverlands on the left with four thousand, and the Vale on the right with another four thousand, led by Ser Brynden Tully and Lord Jon Arryn, respectively.
The Northern forces, which had only a little over two thousand, were in the rear line behind the forces of Brynden and Gerold, far from the initial combat. This position was given at the personal request of Lord Rickard Stark as a means to ease his men, who had already lost too much.
King Aerys initially did not want to grant the request. He argued, without any sense of the North's losses, that since his own force, as well as those of Steffon and Tywin, had lost much more, they were the ones who deserved to stay behind.
But being persuaded by his Hand, who informed him that the North's losses, though lower in number, would affect the North much more than theirs would affect them, King Aerys granted Rickard Stark's request.
To the right of the Northern force, behind the forces of Gerold and Lord Arryn, were the forces of the Reach, which had just over eight hundred men.
The low number was not a sign of heavy casualties up to that point. No. Having sent exactly one thousand men and lost just over a hundred so far, their current number was a sign of the Tyrells' cunning intelligence. They had found a way to preserve their forces without being punished by the crown.
"At least they had enough shame to compose their forces only of knights," Gerold thought bitterly.
The only force from the continental armies not present was Dorne and its two thousand spears. They had been detached from the main army and sent on a special task, taking Quellon and Steffon with them. Steffon had been commanded to lead them by Aerys as a way to redeem himself.
Seventh Moon of 269
Old Wyk
The Hour of the Hammer (9 A.M.)
Gerold, leading the army, did his best not to vomit and appear weak before his men. Even as he heard others around him giving in to the odor of hundreds of bodies, he resisted. He had to be the example. The light in the darkness. The certainty in the midst of that sea of uncertainty.
It was difficult. Even having been informed of that hellish field by scouts, he was not mentally prepared for it. He felt that he too would give in and vomit at any moment. But he resisted.
Stepping on another corpse and dodging a hill of bodies to keep moving, he felt something vibrate in his head. It was the same vibration he had felt before the fish-men, the Deep Ones, and the Drowned attacked.
Looking at the top of the hill 250 meters ahead of him, Gerold shouted without a second thought.
"Raise your weapons and shields! They are coming!"
His shout startled several people around him who were not expecting it out of nowhere.
"They will appear at any minute! Prepare!"
Seeing no one, but hearing the voice full of certainty from the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, many were confused. They simply passed the command along and raised their weapons out of respect for the chain of command.
"Raise your weapons!" they passed the word.
And since the people in the back could not see the lack of any threat like those in the front could, they raised their swords, axes, and spears with their hearts racing, anxious for another confrontation against the sea demons.
Gerold, certain they were coming, continued to stare at the top of the hill, feeling the vibration guiding his attention there.
The only doubt in his mind was which of the two would emerge from behind it. Would it be the Deep Ones? The Drowned? Or perhaps both are attacking at the same time.
After two minutes of keeping his guard up while staring at the hilltop and ignoring the skeptical looks of the men at his side, the vibration proved correct once more as figures emerged from behind the hill and charged toward them.
While the men in front finally took the situation seriously and gripped their weapons tighter, Gerold analyzed the figures. He wanted to, and succeeded in, discerning them as fish-men.
"Have the undead decided to wait until even these beams of light disappear?" he questioned.
"Shield wall!" he shouted, ordering the strategy he believed most effective against them and retreating behind the shield of a pikeman.
Seeing no Drowned among the hundreds of fish-men, no matter how much time passed, Gerold thanked the Seven for their cowardice in not wanting to fight even with so little sunlight piercing the darkness over Old Wyk. Despite his speech from before, he seriously believed they would be a problem, even though the night had not yet arrived.
Gerold considered fighting the Deep Ones a much simpler task, despite their massive strength and resistance. Even seeing the number of Deep Ones grow to thousands as they continued to crest the hill, he did not fear.
He already had a plan. Instead of fearing, he initiated it.
"ARCHERS! CROSSBOWMEN! NOW! CLIMB AND SHOOT!"
To make his voice heard by those who needed it, Gerold shouted as he had never shouted before in his entire life.
Thanks to the strength put into that cry, his voice reached those it needed to reach. Slowly, his shout began to be repeated by others, and men began to climb the mounds of corpses. Across the field, dozens of men scaled the mounds, with two or three men sharing the same pile.
Men holding bows and crossbows now had a view over the fish-men advancing toward them.
Fulfilling the first part of Gerold's order, these men moved to the second. They made arrows and bolts rain down on the enemies who ran clumsily and slowly toward them.
And so, even before the Deep Ones reached their target, they began to lose limbs. Not many. Their tough skin made it difficult for just two or three arrows or bolts to kill them, but it was more than enough to weaken them and facilitate the work for those in the vanguard.
But this one-sided attack did not last long.
Since the distance to the hill where they emerged was not far from the continental coalition, it did not take long for them to reach the wide, gigantic shield wall that stretched for over 400 meters.
But even under the pressure of thousands of monsters with incredible strength, Gerold did not panic.
He still had a plan.
"ENCIRCLE! NOW! ENCIRCLE! NOW!"
He repeated the command incessantly, wanting to be heard with much more urgency than the previous one.
The encirclement had to be executed quickly. Otherwise, the monsters, who followed no formation, would wander in search of someone and find their flank, perhaps breaking the formation through sheer strength.
Being heard once more, his command was repeated to those at his side, who then repeated it to those at theirs. Eventually, his words reached the ears of the two target people: Ser Brynden Tully and Lord Jon Arryn.
Receiving the order, both began to move the flanks around the Deep Ones.
And because Gerold had previously organized the formation in a long, rectangular shape instead of a compact square, they already had enough length to surround all the Deep Ones.
And that is what they did. Slowly, the flanks began to close around the monsters.
Seeing the flanks moving, Gerold decided to dedicate his attention to the battle right in front of him, between the pikeman and the Deep One.
Placing his hand behind the pikeman's back, Gerold pushed, helping him resist the Deep One's strength and maintain the formation while he stabbed the monster whenever it drew too close.
The monster, possessing a simple mind and incapable of focusing on two people at once, was constantly skewered by Gerold and the other nearby pikemen in the head and neck whenever it managed to push past the spear, sending it reeling back in a panic. This repeated several times. Gerold compared the monster's intelligence to that of an animal, like a dog, only to correct himself: a dog, despite initial ignorance of danger, eventually stops repeating an action that causes it pain.
The monster in front of him proved incapable of even that.
During the fifth attempt, the monster, repeating the same strategy and expecting a different result, had its right eye, the only one it had left, pierced as well. This blinded it and sent it into a mad frenzy against everyone around it, including the other monsters. The other creatures, not tolerating the friendly fire, quickly put him down.
Even with the fish-man dead, the pikeman had little time to breathe, as another, just as eager to kill him as the last, took its place.
"Fear not! We shall not die today! I am right behind you and will help," Gerold spoke, trying to motivate him.
The new monster, being as stupid as the previous one, attacked and committed the same errors. It also ended up blind, attacking everyone around it until it was finished off by its own kind.
Ridding himself of another Deep One, Gerold lifted his head and noticed that the ends of both flanks had connected, finally encircling the fish-men.
"Push! Those crouching, attack the legs!" he shouted, giving the command for the beginning of the end.
From that point on, the circle slowly began to close. It was slower than usual; since all the Deep Ones possessed considerable strength, pushing them proved much more difficult than a normal enemy. The difficulty increased with every new step. Still, through great effort and the crouching pikemen attacking the legs, preventing the monsters from walking properly, they managed to start squeezing the Deep Ones against one another.
Through all this, arrows and bolts continued to rain down on the Deep Ones in the center. None of them were safe.
"Push! Almost there! A little more and they will have no room to breathe!"
As Gerold shouted, he once again pushed the pikeman in front of him to keep him from being shoved back. But because he wasn't paying full attention this time, pushing instinctively when he felt the pikeman step back, he didn't realize the man wasn't being pushed, but was retreating of his own accord to dodge an attack.
Because of this, the Deep One's blade managed to descend and cut deeply into the man's right shoulder, the arm that held the pike. Hearing the pikeman's cry of pain, Gerold looked forward and was met with the sight of a bloodied shoulder and a dangling right arm.
"Someone replace him, now!"
He spoke, pulling the pikeman back and setting him on the ground.
Even with the pikeman pulled away, the Deep One that attacked him advanced, wanting to finish its work and break the position. But another man took the open spot and managed to stop it in time.
Gerold, holding the bleeding pikeman in his arms, was momentarily detached from what had just happened, or almost happened. He was totally focused on the face of the pikeman in his hands, who looked to be a boy of only fifteen.
Gerold was well acquainted with death, so he didn't usually freeze when witnessing it, but this case was different. Normally, his hands were the ones to save lives, not cause the loss of them.
His lack of attention, his carelessness, had caused the death of the one he had set himself to work alongside. It was a lapse that could have killed his King, another he had promised to protect. If the King had been there, and not with Gwayne Gaunt and Harlan Grandison in the center of the army, it would be him bleeding out in Gerold's arms.
The weight pressed on his heart. He didn't cry or act dramatically. He just passively observed the boy's last moments while thinking of his error.
And from that thought, that regret, that desire to have acted differently so he wouldn't commit the same mistake with his King, while holding the boy in his hands, a small white light began to emerge from them.
First, the light enveloped his hands, shocking Gerold and nearly making him drop the dying boy and recoil. But, feeling nothing but a good premonition, he decided to remain still and see what was happening.
Second, the light began to move into the pikeman's body, enveloping him in a white aura. Like the light in Gerold's hands, it was faint enough for Gerold to see the pikeman's equally shocked expression, but strong enough to draw the attention of several people who stopped to watch the scene.
Third, the light began to decrease until it disappeared completely, leaving behind the sight of a pikeman with a healed shoulder, looking even more confused than before.
Gerold, seeing the wound closed as if it had never been there, was also confused, but he could lose no more time. Swallowing his doubts, he stood up and pulled the boy with him.
"The war will not wait for us," he said, heading back toward the shield wall that had moved forward, leaving behind the pikeman who stared at his back, still frozen in confusion.
Reaching the shield wall, Gerold returned to leading it, this time dedicating his attention to the new pikeman in front of him as well.
In time, the circle closed tighter and tighter, squeezing the Deep Ones so much that those in the center had to climb over one another just to breathe. This gave them little salvation, as being at the high point made them primary targets for the archers and crossbowmen, who were finding it difficult to shoot without hitting their own men as the circle grew smaller.
The chance of an arrow or bolt hitting an ally had become a risk too great for the less skilled. So, when the Deep Ones began to climb onto each other's backs, it was like a divine gift for many.
And so, with the monsters in the center being shot or fainting from lack of air, and those on the edge being easily pierced by pikes with nowhere to retreat, their numbers slowly dwindled.
Thirty minutes after the start of the encirclement, three hundred had died. Half an hour later, five hundred joined them. Twenty minutes after that, when the squeeze became fatal for those in the center, seven hundred fell, with nine hundred more falling in the twenty minutes that followed.
More people were dying in each passing minute than the one before. This was the deadly effectiveness of a well-executed encirclement.
Conventionally, after many enemies were dead, it was common practice to create an opening for them to flee, since the battle was won and ending it would only cause unnecessary deaths on one's own side. But this was not a conventional situation. Contrary to common practice, every single Deep One was killed. And when the last of the fish-men was struck down by the King's own sword in front of everyone, the army exploded in war cries.
Few of those present did not share in the excitement. Those few were the ones who knew there was much more ahead. This small group included Gerold, who looked at the fading beams of light and the darkening sky, and Alaric, who looked at his EXP bar with frustration.
Needing only 878 to level up, he had practically begged Lord Rickard Stark to allow him on the front line, but Rickard was firm. He was too important and valuable to be placed in direct danger, Rickard had said. "Especially when you are so irresponsible with your own life," he had added.
Now, Alaric had accepted that he would likely enter battle, likely against the Drowneds and much more dangerously, without the safety of an extra life from the regeneration gained upon leveling up.
He was almost regretting having leveled up on the way to Old Wyk, having given in to the paranoia that he might find more danger on the road and that the power he had wouldn't be enough.
But it was only "almost." A certain magic gained upon reaching level five would prove too useful for regret to consume him.
Daylight
Casting Time: 1 action
Range: 60 feet (18 meters)
Components: V, S
Duration: 1 hour
A 60 foot (18 meter) radius sphere of light spreads out from a point you choose within range. The sphere is a bright light and sheds dim light for an additional 60 feet (18 meters).
If you choose a point on an object you are holding or one that isn't being worn or carried, the light shines from the object and moves with it. Completely covering the affected object with an opaque object, such as a bowl or a helm, blocks the light.
If any of this spell's area overlaps with an area of darkness created by a spell of 3rd level or lower, the spell that created the darkness is dispelled.
Having it already prepared in his two Level 3 spell slots was much more useful and safer than leveling up and trying to prepare it during combat.
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