In the dark, silent depths of the Kingswood, torchlight flickered among heavy shadows.
Ser Barristan accompanied Gendry on a circuit of the camp hidden deep in the forest. Barristan had offered suggestions on its layout, and from the War of the Ninepenny Kings to the Usurper's War and all the way to the present, he was a living relic of the history of war.
The vanguard camp was now arranged with strict order, neat, organized, and hard to fault. Sentries had been posted around the perimeter, and sharpened stakes could be raised at any moment. The tents stood in rows, with broad lanes left between them. The horses were all tethered to the north, while the latrines had been dug by the water, so the river could carry away the army's waste and filth.
Long poles around the camp flew the golden war banners of the Stormlands. Beneath them, sentries in armor, armed with Longspears and crossbows, patrolled back and forth, watching for the slightest movement nearby.
"The soldiers of the Stormlands are good fighters on their own, but they have little experience with large armies. The lords often refuse to yield to one another," Ser Barristan said softly. "In such times, what they need is a strong leader."
Gendry nodded. The knights of the Stormlands were fierce and full of martial spirit, but they had tempers, pride, and no shortage of troublesome men among them. That was true of most armies. Of the Seven Kingdoms, the Westerlands had the strongest central control, while the other regions were all scattered to varying degrees. In one respect, the Stormlands and the Westerlands were alike: neither had especially powerful secondary lords beneath them.
There were far too many things a commander had to keep in mind on the march.
A camp gathered many people into one place. The soldiers' food had to be watched, and so did the camp's cleanliness, lest plague spread through the ranks. Since ancient times, the blood plague had been a killer of armies.
Fresh-roasted hare and wild boar, strips of salted meat, plenty of bread, and citrus fruit shipped in from Across the Narrow Sea kept morale high. At a time like this, Gendry also could not miss the chance to draw closer to the soldiers of the Stormlands. Even the lowest men in the ranks had to feel their rights were protected.
"Storm!"
"Storm!" the warriors cheered.
Men would fight for a leader who shared wind and rain with them. They would never trust some pampered noble hiding away in a palace.
Leading from the front had always been the style of many lords in Westeros. It was the spirit of knighthood itself. In the Stormlands, at least, every Lord of Storm's End throughout the ages had been expected to charge ahead and fight with reckless courage. Wildness and defiance were their nature, fitting for a house said to have waged war against the gods. The Last Storm, Argilac, had slain the King of House Gardener on the battlefield. The Laughing Storm had faced Tall Duncan. King Robert had killed the Silver Prince Rhaegar. It was all the same.
Torchlight shifted and flowed, and only then did Gendry return to his own tent. Inside lay a hand-drawn map of King's Landing, beautifully made and richly detailed.
Gendry drew Orphan-Maker and gazed with sea-blue eyes at the ripples in the blade, forged and folded countless times. Valyrian steel would cut through skin, fat, and sinew with ease.
Orphan-Maker had lain quiet for more than a century since the Dance of the Dragons. Surely it was thirsting for blood now.
"There are not many things in King's Landing that can threaten us, but there are some," Gendry said to the others: Ser Barristan, Anguy, Lothor, Jon Snow, and the red priestess.
"Wildfire," Ser Barristan said. His memories of King Aerys's reign were still fresh. He had never imagined that wildfire, that sickly green demon flame, would return to the world again.
"And the Three Whores of King's Landing," Lothor said. "Three giant trebuchets." Those were the three massive trebuchets set up inside the Mud Gate of King's Landing. The Gold Cloaks called them the Three Whores of King's Landing.
Relying on a strong city, Tyrion's six thousand men could fight with several times their strength, especially with wildfire and trebuchets supporting them.
"Do not forget Varys the Spider," Jon Snow warned. "Behind his sweet words are vicious traps. Petyr is dead now, but Varys is even more poisonous."
"King Aerys's folly began with Varys. The king trusted no one, not his wife and children, not even his Hand of the King, and Varys only fed that madness." Ser Barristan recalled the past with deep disgust. "Varys began his career as master of whisperers in Aerys's court. Aerys relied heavily on the eunuch's spy network, and all those scraps of rumor made him ever more paranoid and suspicious."
"So even if we take King's Landing, we may still face a hungry and furious city," Gendry said. "Just as Larys Clubfoot abandoned King's Landing to the Blacks back then, hiding in the tunnels while secretly stirring up riot after riot. Varys today is that same Clubfoot."
"Tyrion is short on men, so his deployment will not be complicated," Lothor said.
Jon felt a little dazed. He and the Imp had once shared a vague sort of friendship. He had never expected they would one day meet as enemies on a battlefield.
"The Imp's wildlings will serve as scouts. His strike force has the Hound and Balon Swann, since Anguy never entered the archery contest and Swann won instead. Ironhand commands the Gold Cloaks," Gendry analyzed.
"That is about all he has to use. As for my former white-cloaked brothers..." Ser Barristan paused. "Balon Swann is decent enough. Ser Balon is nobly born, brave, courteous, and skilled at arms. He is excellent with a Longspear, good with a Morningstar, and first-rate with a bow."
In truth, Barristan thought little of most of his old brothers in white.
"House Swann is crafty enough," Anguy mocked. Betting on both sides was awkward, but also practical. No matter who took the Iron Throne in the end, House Swann would survive.
House Swann was a great house of the Marches, proud and cautious. Lord Gulian Swann had claimed illness and stayed in his own castle, joining neither side. His eldest son had once followed Renly and now served Gendry, while his younger son Balon remained in King's Landing.
"If we break through the wildfire line, those men cannot stop us. But the casualties would be too high, and it would not fit my strategy."
"You mean to surround King's Landing and fight from there?" Ser Barristan asked.
Gendry nodded. "I have set a table near King's Landing, but I do not yet know how many guests will come to eat. So we must wait for news. News from Across the Narrow Sea, and news from Highgarden."
The apprentice maester also brought letters. He was one of the ravenry men trained by Qyburn.
One letter came from Mace at Highgarden, and its tone was warm and enthusiastic. But Gendry paid more attention to the news of war. That was far more urgent.
"Balon has crowned himself king. King of the Iron Islands," Gendry said. "If I have guessed right, he is attacking The North."
"Ever since Theon fled home, Balon has grown even more reckless," Jon said.
"That is why I told Robb to keep an eye on him, but he did not quite manage it," Gendry said. The North was about to suffer. Fortunately, he had already warned them to strengthen coastal defenses and key strongholds, which should lessen their losses. King Balon's longships were enough to make trouble for Gendry's fleets, even from thousands of miles away.
"But Balon... why would Balon not attack Lannisport?" Anguy asked in confusion.
"Because he is afraid, and because his mind is not clear," Gendry said. Balon was a madman, not a normal man at all. He did not treat even his own son as human. He bullied the weak and feared the strong. If Balon attacked the Westerlands, Tywin would have a much harder time, and there would be no need for the Ironborn to throw themselves at The North in wave after wave.
"Prince, this will damage morale in the North," Jon said earnestly.
"It will. That is why we must open the situation in the east."
"But Balon is not the first king like this. We have two more of the same kind," Gendry said. "There has been a coup in Lys. A First Magister has appeared, and at least two of the Volantene Triarchs support him."
"What is happening there?" Ser Barristan also sensed the urgency of the situation.
Gendry, however, felt a surge of excitement.
A larger stage for war.
When great events came, one needed stillness of mind. The closer war drew, the more an army had to guard against arrogance and impatience, and stand firm as stone.