After receiving Bear Di's report, Arthur ascended the highest tower of Ring.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and linked his consciousness with his eagle, Sharpwing.
When he "opened his eyes" again, the world had become a vast expanse of slate-blue and grey.
Sharpwing's wings sliced through the morning wind with a soft whistle, speeding westward.
From high above, the Honeywine River looked like a silver ribbon winding across the emerald plains.
Sharpwing's keen eyes quickly caught sight of black dots moving on the ground—a massive army.
Arthur guided the eagle into a spiraling descent until the view became clear.
In the disciplined square formations, the banner of House Hightower—a white stone tower crowned with flames on a smoke-grey field—snapped in the wind. Interspersed among them were the sigils of a few other houses.
Arthur recognized the black-and-orange butterflies on white of House Mullendore of Uplands, as well as the banners of several minor houses bordering the Ring.
"So, these three thousand are just the vanguard," Arthur's consciousness returned to his body, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.
He rubbed his temples; the vertigo from prolonged warging hadn't fully subsided. The further he was from Sharpwing and the longer the connection lasted, the stronger the dizziness became.
House Hightower's vanguard alone rivaled the entire military strength of some lesser houses, not to mention their superior equipment—armor gleaming in the sun, sharp lances, sturdy warhorses. It all spoke to the immense wealth of the Reach lords.
The army soon split into two columns.
The main infantry force made camp on the vital road connecting Ring to the Honeywine, pitching tents and digging trenches.
Meanwhile, the cavalry thundered toward Ring like a torrent of steel.
The sound of hooves was like rolling thunder, shaking the earth. When the cavalry arrived beneath the walls, Arthur squinted from the battlements.
The leading knight removed his helm, revealing a familiar face—Ser Garth "Greysteel" Hightower.
The very same Garth whom Arthur, in a fit of mischief, had nearly turned into "Roast Garth" at the tourney in Starfall.
"His luck holds," Arthur muttered softly.
Six hundred fully armored knights and heavy horse formed ranks beneath the walls, their plate armor reflecting blinding light.
Garth led the column in a circuit around the walls, horses snorting white mist, iron hooves kicking up clouds of dust.
After this show of force, they retreated as quickly as they had come, leaving behind only trampled grass and settling dust.
"My Lord, an envoy from the Reach approaches," a soldier ran up to report.
"Let him in." Arthur straightened his collar and strode toward the gate.
The envoy was an unusual knight—Ser Mark Mullendore.
His armor bore the butterfly sigil of his house, but what drew the eye was the black-and-white monkey perched on his shoulder, dressed in a tiny suit of chainmail.
The monkey hopped nimbly on its master's shoulder, occasionally letting out a shrill chee-chee.
"Ser Arthur Snow, Sword of the Morning," Mark said casually, tickling the monkey under its chin.
"I come on behalf of Ser Moryn and Ser Garth to invite you to a parley outside the walls. Seven men from each side. You choose the location."
Gerold stood beside Arthur, arms crossed. "You look less like an envoy or a knight and more like a performer from a mummer's troupe."
His voice dripped with undisguised mockery.
Mark took no offense. instead, he grinned. "Coincidence. Ser Garth thinks the same."
The monkey on his shoulder made a comical face at Gerold. "He said if the Dornishmen harm the envoy, the only loss is a juggler with a monkey."
The monkey screeched twice as if to emphasize the point.
Arthur studied this eccentric envoy. Despite Mark's frivolous demeanor, his eyes were razor-sharp.
"Tell them I agree to the parley," Arthur said finally. "On the condition that your cavalry withdraws to a safe distance."
"As you wish." Mark gave an exaggerated bow. The monkey nearly tumbled off his shoulder, drawing chuckles from the surrounding soldiers.
After setting the time and place, Mark mounted his horse to leave. Young Penrose couldn't help asking, "Where is that monkey from?"
"From the Summer Isles," Mark replied without turning back. The monkey made a throat-slitting gesture at Penrose. "He's a fearsome assassin."
As the hoofbeats faded and the strange pair disappeared around the corner, Jimmy scratched his head. "What game are they playing?"
Ser Bard stroked his greying beard. "The Reachmen don't want to storm the castle. If words can solve the problem, everyone prefers it."
Arthur nodded. "Go prepare. You're coming with me."
The Reachmen kept their word.
When Arthur rode out with his six companions, the enemy cavalry had withdrawn, leaving only seven horsemen waiting at the agreed spot.
The parley took place on a bare hillock outside the city. The view was open, making ambushes impossible.
A breeze carried the scent of grass and earth.
After brief introductions, Ser Moryn spoke first, his voice steady and authoritative. "Ser Arthur, I trust you have seen our cavalry. That is merely the vanguard.
"If you release all prisoners, retreat to Starfall, and swear never to invade the Reach again, I guarantee the Redwyne Fleet will lift the blockade on Starfall Port immediately."
Arthur shook his head. "As long as the atrocities of House Redwyne go unpunished, I guarantee the wildlings of the Red Mountains will not stop raiding the Reach, nor will I withdraw my troops.
"As for the naval blockade? Let them do as they please. It has limited impact on Starfall."
"Then there is nothing to discuss!" Garth spurred his horse forward, his face red with anger.
"Let us return to our armies and settle this beneath the walls!"
"Why should I give up the advantage of the castle to fight you in the field?" Arthur asked, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"You dare not?" Garth lifted his chin provocatively.
"I am not a fool," Arthur explained patiently. "You have superior cavalry, but horses cannot fly over walls. If you want Ring, you'll have to siege it properly."
He turned his gaze to Ser Moryn. "I have stockpiled enough food in the city to last a year. I am prepared to hold out until the bitter end.
"I believe that even with the Reach's numbers, trading ten Reachmen for every one Dornishman will be enough to make you understand our desire for justice and our resolve to punish House Redwyne."
"Coward!" Garth roared, his voice echoing in the valley.
"Snow, you bring shame to the name of the Sword of the Morning! You speak of justice, but it's just an excuse to hide behind walls!"
His warhorse circled anxiously, kicking up dust in response to its master's agitation.
Arthur replied unhurriedly, "Garth, at the tourney in Starfall, you lost to me."
He deliberately ignored Garth's reaction, turning to Ser Moryn with a sly smile. "If you can agree to my terms on behalf of Highgarden, I would be happy to duel Ser Garth one-on-one under the eyes of the Seven."
"Moryn, agree to it!" Garth nearly jumped out of his saddle, his eyes wide. This was the chance he had craved.
"If not for that damned Dornish weather, I never would have lost!"
Ser Moryn shook his head, his white hair fluttering in the wind. "Ser Arthur, since that is your answer, rot inside your walls."
He turned his horse, his voice turning cold. "When the main host of the Reach surrounds you, I hope you can still smile."
As Ser Moryn rode away, Garth glared daggers at Arthur before reluctantly following. He turned so violently he nearly tore his cloak.
Arthur watched their backs disappear into the dust, a smile slowly spreading across his face.
"Prepare for a siege," Ser Bard said to the others. "The real test is coming."
"No!" Arthur's voice was stern.
"Pass the order. Prepare meals this evening. At midnight, the entire army attacks!"