read more inpatreon CaveLeather
The Mud Gate was a blackened wasteland. The once-bustling harbor had become a realm of death.
"My left hand is fucking useless—can't even hold a sword properly!" Jaime grumbled, pointing downward with his good arm and giving full voice to the Lannister family talent for complaining. "If I hadn't been wounded, how the hell would the Hound get to have all the fun?"
If you hadn't gifted the enemy a free commander kill, would we even be in this mess?
Clearly, nothing short of losing an entire arm was going to fix that arrogant attitude.
With the Dragon Gate under heavy pressure, Eddard had detached a hundred cavalry, ordering them to ride out the Lion Gate, loop north, and strike the enemy's flank.
"Ser Clegane, take the men."
The Hound had been more than happy to accept the order. The Mud Gate was a nightmare of smoke and flames licking from the river all the way to the walls; the sight made even his scarred face twitch.
Besides, as Joffrey's personal guard he couldn't leave the king's side. A chance to get away from the smoke and screams was welcome.
The price of the Hound's departure was that Jaime took his place.
The restless Kingslayer had stolen someone else's armor and tried to slip out with the cavalry. The Hound had spotted the arrogant posture from a mile away, grabbed his right arm, and squeezed hard.
Now Jaime stood on the wall cradling his injured limb.
"That dog my father keeps actually dared lay hands on me? Once my arm heals I'm going to skin him alive!"
Joffrey treated the muttering like background noise.
After a brief moment of chaos, Stannis's troops had reformed. Instead of charging immediately they spread out in a long line along the mudflats, preparing a full-scale push.
Dozens of men hauled what looked like salvageable planks and began piling them into a large bonfire right in front of the formation. Then they started circling the pyre, tossing things into the flames at intervals.
"Are they cursing us?" Jaime leaned over. "Some kind of red god ritual?"
"Looks like it," Joffrey said.
Even without the red woman present, who knew what strange blessings these fanatics might receive after their little ceremony? Joffrey had no intention of finding out.
"Fire crossbows."
Several burning pots screamed through the air.
You set my ships on fire early—I'll set your altar on fire early.
BOOM.
Sparks exploded. A knight in a red-and-gold fox-embroidered cloak was splashed with burning pitch. He screamed and rolled on the ground while his comrades frantically stamped out the flames on his body.
Laughter rippled along the battlements.
The laughter had barely died when a single figure strode forward like a soldier on parade.
Stannis Baratheon.
He wore plain grey plate, the breastplate engraved with the same flaming red heart that flew on his banners. At his hip hung a longsword whose pommel held a large square ruby. On his head sat a crown of red gold shaped like leaping flames that just covered the thin ring of black hair around his otherwise bald scalp.
From the wall above, the smooth bald patch in the center was perfectly visible.
Stannis ignored the still-rolling knight. He drew his sword slowly.
The moment it cleared the scabbard the blade began to glow with an eerie light—first the dull red of embers, then the bright orange of newborn flame, and finally a blinding white blaze. The air around the edge shimmered and distorted from the heat.
Why does the red god always have such flashy toys?
Jaime whistled. "Now that's a sword!"
"Little Joff, when the battle's over can I have a go with it first?"
Being a little taller had apparently given him even more nerve; his mouth was even more annoying than his dwarf brother's.
Joffrey kept his eyes fixed on the enemy.
There could be only one sun in the sky.
There could be only one king on the Iron Throne.
Stannis raised the glowing blade and pointed it forward. The sword left a trail of scorching light in the air.
His soldiers answered with a thunderous roar and charged King's Landing once more.
Crossbowmen on the walls opened fire. Joffrey braced his repeating crossbow on a merlon and took aim.
Jaime could only glare. He had once loudly declared that crossbows were weapons for cowards; the words had come back to smack him squarely in the face.
The first wave was still Dragonstone's regular troops—mail, spiked helms, shields raised against the arrow storm, drawing the heaviest fire. Their sacrifice bought time that their "allies" had no intention of using.
The Lysene pirates were far too clever for that. They advanced three steps, retreated two, staying glued behind their round shields and peeking out with one eye to gauge the situation. Getting pinned against the wall would make retreat impossible.
The defenders were hardly in better shape. The sellswords, terrified of Stannis's reputation, didn't dare defect, and Eddard had men watching them constantly, so they simply drifted toward the quieter sectors. The fresh levies were even worse—given a few days of inspiring speeches and then shoved onto the walls. The sudden blood and chaos had broken them. At the first wound they dropped their weapons and crawled behind the battlements, howling for their mothers.
After all, the good armor had gone to the City Watch and veteran troops. These boys had only helmets and padded jacks; an arrow would go straight through.
THUD THUD THUD.
A band of burly axemen reached the gate and began chopping at the reinforced wood in relays.
"Desperate now," the chatterbox beside him commented. "Even resorting to axes on the gate."
Everyone—inside and outside the walls—was growing frantic.
Because upstream on the Blackwater, a dense swarm of makeshift rafts had appeared. Men paddled frantically with crude oars, driving the rafts toward the north bank.
Enemy? Ally?
Or both?
One fire had not been enough to burn the entire Kingswood; the Stormlands army had still gathered enough timber to build these river-crossing craft.
As the rafts neared the shallows the soldiers leaped into waist-deep water, holding shields and weapons high, wading ashore in a churning mass. A few daredevils even tried to ride the rafts all the way in wearing full plate. Two rafts overturned mid-river and sank with their crews, never to surface again.
A knight bearing a flaming-heart banner galloped toward the landing troops. He reined in, seemed to speak with the men on the bank—
—and was yanked from the saddle.
The newly landed Stormlanders let out a wild shout and charged straight into Stannis's flank.
The troops still scaling the walls had already faltered at the sudden appearance of so many new combatants; now their formation collapsed entirely.
"They're fighting each other!" Jaime helpfully announced the obvious.
The King's Landing defenders lowered their weapons and settled in to watch the show.
Not every Stormlander had joined the attack. Most looked bewildered, unsure what was happening. But some were swept along anyway, and once blood was up they fought like madmen.
At the front the attackers raised their banners and roared their battle cry:
"Griffin! Long live the Griffin!"
House Connington.
Joffrey recalled Varys's intelligence and couldn't help a wry smile.
"In a time of national chaos, there are still loyal ministers!"