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Game of Thrones: House of Black Dragon
Game of Thrones: BLOODTHIRSTY BASTARD
Game of Thrones: Dragon Knight of Harrenhal
Game of Thrones: Archer's Ordinary Life
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Three straight weeks of nonstop fighting around the Lake of Dispute had pushed every single man to the absolute breaking point.
Lysandro Rogare used the last of his strength to yank his fancy spear out of the corpse of what looked like a Volantene sentry captain. Mud and dried blood were caked thick on his armor, and his handsome face was etched with pure exhaustion and frustration.
The White Company had just taken a remote Volantene supply point near the lake. The haul was pathetic—piles of oats, some salted meat, and a pitiful handful of silver coins.
In the eyes of the young Rogare lord, there wasn't even a decent prisoner or real trophy to show for it.
To him, these supplies and scraps of silver barely counted as loot. Might as well have been handouts for beggars.
Leaning on his spear and panting, Lysandro looked over at Tiberius—who was directing auxiliaries to collect arrows from the bodies and the ground—and complained bitterly:
"Tiberius… why the hell did we have to come to this godforsaken shithole? We're out here fighting these worthless Volantene fish-scum just to steal a handful of stuff that wouldn't even fill our teeth?!"
He kicked the corpse at his feet. "This place is nothing but rocks and water. Not even a decent-looking girl anywhere! For three weeks we've been rowing at night and riding by day—my bones feel like they're about to fall apart!"
"We're killing ourselves and getting almost nothing in return!"
Tiberius didn't answer right away. He pulled out a sweat-stained, wrinkled piece of parchment—the latest scouting report from their patrols—and handed it to Lysandro. His voice was calm, almost cold:
"Take a look at this. Volantis's vanguard has already reached Cliff Fort. They'll be at Broken Spear City and the ford in a matter of days."
He pointed at the spot on the map where they had won their great victory earlier, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold smile. "And the Broken Spear City we left those other mercenary bands to defend is currently the only major stronghold in the upper river capable of holding over a thousand men."
"Even more 'conveniently,' it's also the only crossing point upstream wide enough for Volantene war elephants to cross the river."
Tiberius almost couldn't hold back a laugh. "Right now, those scum we left behind only have two choices. First, try to hold the fortress. That means facing Volantis's main force and their elephants head-on—a guaranteed death sentence. Second, abandon the position and try to run south along the river to link up with friendly forces downstream, or head straight for Rhaesh. But—"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the small boats and fishing vessels they had captured on the lake.
"Before we left, we 'borrowed' every horse, mule, camel, donkey, ox, and even the more cooperative goats in Broken Spear City."
"And every decent boat on the river is here with us now. We burned everything we couldn't take."
"How far do you think those bastards can run on foot with Volantene cavalry breathing down their necks? They'll either fight a hopeless siege with no reinforcements, or they'll sit there starving while waiting for their fate to catch up."
Lysandro frowned. "I get what you're saying, Tiberius."
"But according to you, the Volantenes are already too close! If it were up to me, we should've done what we originally planned—strike straight into Volantis's heartland. We could've even watered our horses in the Rhoyne by now!"
"You saw how those slave soldiers and garrison troops around the Lake of Dispute reacted when they saw us. They looked like they'd seen ghosts!"
"Exactly," Tiberius said with a grin as he pulled a still-usable arrow from a corpse and wiped it clean. "Because they never in their wildest dreams imagined that the Three Daughters—supposedly on the verge of being wiped out—would suddenly have an army strolling through their backyard."
"Yeah, we cut through them like vegetables," Lysandro said confidently.
"Truth is, Lysandro, that's exactly what I thought at first too: go straight for the throat and turn their empty heartland upside down."
"But then I realized I made a mistake."
He gestured at the dejected Volantene garrison troops they had just captured. "These people—the trash guarding the Lake of Dispute region—are weak as hell. Their weapons are garbage. They're more like farmers or shopkeepers who happen to live next to a military camp than real soldiers."
"But there are still four thousand of them!"
"If we'd left those four thousand blades at our backs, the moment they decided to move, we'd be caught in a pincer between them and the main Volantene force. We'd be completely surrounded."
"Even if they didn't attack, just having them follow us would slow us down and force us to stay alert every single night."
Lysandro looked confused. "Pincer? What's a pincer?"
Vito happened to walk by at that moment. He raised one thick black eyebrow and jumped in.
"Young lord, simple way to put it: in war, there are two things you never want. One is having someone constantly staring at your ass. Two is the enemy always having fresh troops ready to join the fight."
"Unfortunately, those Lake of Dispute bastards had both."
He clapped Lysandro on the shoulder and explained in his usual crude-but-clear style:
"No matter how weak they are, four thousand living men aren't four thousand pigs. Leave them behind and do you think Old Jules would sleep easy at night? Let them trail us and after we finish looting an estate, could we still sit around chatting and collecting spoils and prisoners?"
Jules walked over at that moment, setting down a sack of oats he'd just inspected. His voice was steady as he added:
"Besides, by wiping them out we've opened up a second retreat route besides the downstream crossing. If the plan to strike into Volantis's heartland goes wrong, or if the situation downstream changes and our naval advantage isn't as strong as we hoped, we can still turn around and come back through the Lake of Dispute or the Broken Spear Ford."
"But that's dangerous," Lysandro said. "Marcus might leave men behind to guard it!"
"He might," Jules replied, "but he won't leave many. After all, we already stripped every supply depot and took all the available coin in the area. His Tiger Cloaks would have a hard time getting resupplied if he stationed troops here."
"As for those scum we left behind—if they don't turn Broken Spear City into a wasteland, then the Lord of Light must have taken pity on them."
"Now that the threat at our back is gone, the next step is figuring out how to cross the river and go 'visit' Volantis at home."
Tiberius's gaze turned toward the vast land across the water, his eyes shining with an adventurer's hunger.
"Lysandro, weren't you complaining that there weren't any worthy prisoners or decent loot here?"
"Good news—there's plenty of both over there!"
"Wealth? Valuable captives? They've got it all!"
Just then—
"Captain Jules! Tiberius!" "Stableboy" Leon came galloping in from a distance and practically tumbled off his horse in front of them.
"We've got trouble, sirs! Several Ironborn just showed up!"
"Ironborn?!"