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Joffrey watched the flames climb and muttered under his breath.
"Damn fine fire.
Better than the one at the Mud Gate."
Green hedges burned into green flowers that bloomed across the night sky like demons spreading their wings, spewing emerald bile from deep in their throats. The white walls of Highgarden showed black scorch marks. Smoke darker than the night rolled upward and swallowed half the stars.
The Crownlands lords grew louder by the second, competing to outdo each other with praise.
"Your Grace, Highgarden will fall! The Reach will be finished!"
"The Iron Throne can finally be united!"
Eddard's face stayed grim as ever.
"Westeros hasn't seen rain in months. Why is it pouring like this now?"
"Lord Hand, the gods have their reasons. Don't trouble yourself." Lord Ryker forced a smile and pointed across the river. "We've marched for months and finally cornered Renly. The only thing left between us and victory is Highgarden itself."
"The gods sent this storm to remind us it's time to end it."
Joffrey nodded to himself.
Tywin could squeeze gold out of stone. Mace Tyrell poured rose water. He could smother ordinary fire, but wildfire left him helpless. The trimmed gardens and firebreaks he had built became perfect fuel.
The rain hadn't saved him. It had doomed him.
Eddard had been the biggest obstacle to using wildfire. He hated how it burned out of control and what it would cost. He only gave in after two days of trebuchet stones accomplished nothing and the sudden storm washed the fire out.
Dragging it out only meant more smallfolk would suffer.
The Crownlands lords had seen what wildfire did during the defense of King's Landing. Lord Ryker was obsessed with it. He watched the green flames race up the walls, burst from the watchtower windows, and turn the whole tower into a roaring torch. He giggled like a fool.
"Alchemist. How long will it burn?"
The ugly pyromancer grinned. "Heh heh heh. Till dawn, probably. We didn't bring enough… fruit, you understand. We're spacing the shots to make it last, but we can still burn that pretty garden to ash."
He rubbed his hands together.
"If you're feeling brave, we can bury a few jars at the base of the wall and bring the whole thing down."
Joffrey kept his eyes on the far bank.
Tyrell had already abandoned the outer wall. The trebuchets up there had the range, but nobody wanted to sit there trading fire with wildfire and the army outside.
Green light lit half the sky. The flames burned through the night.
At first light the horns sounded for the general assault on the south bank.
To the west, the Reach troops camped in the town had watched the defenders inside burn. They were already terrified. Last night they tried to raid the siege camp and wreck the engines, but Joffrey had expected it. The rain turned the ground to mud and the raiders were driven back by arrows before they got close.
To the east, twenty thousand men stood ready. Northern troops mostly, with Vale infantry and dismounted knights filling the ranks.
The red chained-giant banner of House Umber surged forward first. Greatjon Umber swung a sword bigger than Ice and guarded the standard with his own body. Umber axemen in mail carried long axes and big shields. The levies roared and swung double-bitted axes. Winterfell guards wore plate over mail and carried steel longswords forged in the cold of the North.
The largest block followed the flayed man of the Dreadfort. Roose Bolton stood quiet in the center in dark plate and padded leather, the screaming-head plates at his armpits the only flash of his usual cruelty.
The Reach soldiers across from them had twice the armor, but they froze when the Northerners charged.
Archers loosed three quick volleys, then the lines crashed together in a roar of steel, screams, and splintering shields.
Greatjon and his axemen smashed straight into the weakest point and tore the Reach line into ragged pieces. Roose led his spearmen through the gaps and drove for the enemy archers. The allies enveloped both flanks. Reach men broke and ran.
Farther south, ten thousand Riverlands troops had crossed the Mander and cut off the retreat. The rain had raised the river, but the current stayed manageable. The boats landed on the flat banks and sealed the trap.
With nowhere left to run, the Reach soldiers tried to fall back inside Highgarden's gates.
Joffrey had left the gap on purpose. He wanted the routed men to smash into the gates and create chaos they could exploit.
Mace Tyrell was too much of a coward. He let his own soldiers hammer on the gates and beg while he kept them shut tight.
So the Reach men threw down their weapons and surrendered.
The field outside the walls was clear.
Now came the castle itself.
Rain had turned the ground to thick mud. The siege towers and rams sat crooked and half-buried like dying beasts. Every push took everything the men had.
"Leave them."
A handful of soldiers carrying jars crept up to the main gate. They splashed green liquid across the heavy doors until they glowed in the morning light, then tossed torches.
Moments later the gate blew inward in a spray of charred splinters.