RM: Chapter 114

The Tattered Prince had ferried his troops out of the Town in the night, commandeering several cogs from the ships trapped in the Harbor of Maidenpool to do so. Salhador Saan and the Fleet met with him aboard the Goldenwood Hull Galleon that served as his flagship, the Triple Seven, and transferred the funds that we had agreed to pay the Tattered Prince in order to buy out the remainder of the Sellsword Contracts. This process was eased by the Sellswords being placed in position around the Harbor, and the enemy woke the next morning to find a significant portion of their strength had vanished.

Unfortunately, I never got to meet the Commander who had given me so much trouble earlier. Instead, the Tattered Prince wished to sail for Essos as soon as feasible in order to begin taking new contracts. Last I had heard, his plan was to make his way toward Tolos, where the new Archon was in need of veterans after her recent purge of her brother's loyalists. I wished him well, knowing that Danaerys was the current Archon of Tolos. Honestly, as long as she and her Dragons were tied up in Essos, they weren't fucking with things in Westeros, and that was good enough for me. After all, we were only just now seemingly about to win the Civil War. Westeros would be in a fragile enough state, especially with the Others stirring in the far North.

Not that I was concerned about Dany and her Dragons in terms of military capability, mind you. Not only did nobody alive today know how to properly utilize Dragons in Warfare, but I was fairly confident in my capability to down Dany's Dragons. I had designed a Hwacha-Style Arrow-Cart aimed at saturating areas with razor-sharp, rune-scribed arrows propelled by black powder rocketry. The idea was to use those to perforate Dragon Wings, similar to how the Triarchy Fleet managed to down Vermax during the Dance of Dragons, with lucky shots from Scorpions to the Wings. The strategy was sound enough, and I wasn't worried about that.

No, the big worry I had about Danaerys coming west was political in Nature. Dorne hadn't declared for anyone in the latest round of Civil Wars, and I knew exactly why that was. The Martells were staunch Targaryen Loyalists, after all. If I found myself on the opposite side of a second Civil War from them, I was pretty sure that I wouldn't take it as in stride as I currently was taking this Civil War. After all, both Prince Doran and the Red Viper were personal friends of mine, to say nothing of how some of my allies in Crackclaw Point might react. The Crabbs were Targ Loyalists, too, and I had ties to them that were more than just Feudal Overlord. It would be a mess in a way that the current situation just hadn't turned out to be, and right on the eve of the Others' attack, to boot.

Regardless of consideration for the possibility of a Targaryen attack, however, I had a job to do here first. As the sun rose the day after the Tattered Prince's departure, we began the assault on Maidenpool with a bombardment. I had all of our remaining field guns begin hammering away at the massive pink stone walls of the town, concentrating on the landward side in order to draw attention away from the harbor. This was easy enough to manage, as whoever Lord Tollett had put in command of the Town was clearly not an accomplished or experienced commander. As I watched throughout the day-long bombardment, it seemed that whoever was commanding the forces in the Town was clearly a reactive commander, concentrating troops on areas where the bombardment had hit the hardest.

That gave me an idea, and I headed over to where Ser Harry Ruskyn was overseeing the Bombardment, ordering him to have the Batteries begin to change up the sections of the walls that they were targeting at random. The Response I received in return was puzzlement, as Ser Harry didn't seem to understand the tactic.

"My Lord, that would drastically reduce the number of breaches we might be able to form in an appreciable time frame." He warned.

"But it will run the defenders ragged, being sent to sections of attack hither and thither. If my read on their commander is correct, he is entirely too reactive and will fall into the trap of trying to repair and reinforce every damaged section of wall as it comes under fire." I explained.

"Are you certain your read is correct, My Lord? It seems a mistake that no seasoned commander would make." Questioned Ser Harry.

"I do not believe that Lord Tollett has placed a seasoned commander in control of his forces in the Town." I informed.

"I see, My Lord. How do you wish us to determine the randomness?" Questioned Ser Harry.

"Do you have dice, Ser Harry?" I asked.

"No, but this is an army camp. Someone will have a pair." Answered Ser Harry.

"Divide the walls into twelve sections and use dice to determine which section to bombard every hour or so. If this works, it shall make our taking of the town tomorrow night that much easier." I commanded.

"I shall see to it, My Lord." Nodded Ser Harry.

With that done, all that was left was to ensure that things proceeded apace and wait for our chance to actually attack. Of course, the initial attack would come from the fleet, as planned, with Salhador Saan leading landing parties on ship's boats to slip into the Harbor of Maidenpool under the cover of Darkness. With any luck, that will divide the attention of the Enemy further and allow us to more easily assault through any breaches in the walls, or failing that, blow down the gates and assault that way, from the Landward Side of Maidenpool. Once we had the town, only the Castle would remain left to take, and then we would have the Riverlands entirely in our grip. This bombardment was just the prelude to the main event.

That Main event would happen the next night, as the sliver of the Moon, a waning crescent, was obscured by a hazy mist coming off the sea, courtesy of a Rhoynish Water Magic Ritual I performed in order to hide Salhador Saan's task force. It took the sacrifice of a pair of captured bulls to perform, bleeding them out into the surf as I drew upon the magic given to me by my twin souls, but it worked nonetheless. Salhador Saan would have his approach to the harbor covered.

And as I armored up back in my command tent in preparation, I knew that the true attack would soon be underway. . .

XXXX

Ser Harrold Hardyng, known to many as Harry the Heir, sat drinking in the Pool O' Ale, a Tavern and Inn near Jonquil's Pool that he had commandeered as his command post when Lord Tollett had acquiesced to putting him in Command of the Town. After all, he was the current Heir to his cousin, Lord Robin Arryn, who, if Harry were being realistic, was unlikely to live out the remainder of the year. After all, Harry doubted that Lord Baelish was willing to keep such an intractable lad in place for very long. Sweetrobin, as Aunt Lysa had called him, clearly did not approve of having to take orders from Lord Baelish, who was acting as his Regent. Harry wouldn't be surprised if Sweetrobin took a tumble down some of the Eyrie's many steps and wound up bedridden or worse if he kept up his attitude.

Harry himself was more flexible than that. He'd already reached an agreement with Lord Baelish some years ago, just as he had turned four and ten. The Agreement put him in Lord Baelish's pocket, but would allow him to still become Lord of the Eyrie. It was an ideal arrangement, one which would see Harry have all the perks of being the Lord of the Eyrie, while Lord Baelish took care of the responsibilities the position entailed, and all that would be required of Harry would be to approve of a few documents every now and again. Honestly, it was a win-win as far as he was concerned. It was just that arrangement that had allowed Harry to press for the Command of the Town of Maidenpool. His status, and his potential future status, practically demanded it.

Of course, first, this Bloody War had to finish up. Unfortunately, the Riverlanders and Tywin Lannister had bungled it all up, and now, they scarcely had a toehold in the Riverlands here at Maidenpool. It was unfortunate, of course, but Lord Baelish had told him he was working on it in his last correspondence. Apparently, he had a meeting in Tyrosh with several well-regarded Sellsword Companies, including both the Golden Company and the Second Sons, as well as a Meeting with the Archon of Tyrosh himself regarding the acquisition of the Tyroshi Fleet as Sellsails to help break the blockade that Lord Seawynd had the Eastern Riverlands and Vale under. He likewise claimed he could get more black powder weapons from his allies in Pentos, which would increase their chances substantially.

No, Harry the Heir wasn't worried. All they had to do was hold out here in Maidenpool for another month and a half, and Lord Baelish would return with reinforcements armed with Pentoshi Black Powder Weaponry, which was of a similar caliber to the stuff that Lord Seawynd had, owing to the Braavosi designs that Lord Seawynd had shared with the Sealord and that the Sealord had shared with Pentos. That shouldn't be difficult. After all, the walls of Maidenpool were strong, thick enough to rebuff the bombardment that Lord Seawynd was currently trying to batter them down with, and both the Town and Castle were well-provisioned for a siege. No, Harry the Heir figured he could afford to relax a moment and indulge in the ale stores his chosen Command Post had on the premises.

Had he understood what Lord Seawynd had planned, however, Ser Harrold Hardyng might not have been so eager to fall into the false sense of security that the scattered bombardment had put him in. However, he was young and inexperienced, a reactive commander far too fond of women and drink and far less fond of doing his duty than he ought to be. Harry the Heir had taken the bait set out for him by Lord Seawynd's plan.

And that fact would soon bear bitter fruit for the defenders of Maidenpool. . .

XXXX

Salhador Saan smirked as his Longboat pulled up to the nearest pier of the Docks of Maidenpool. He hadn't really believed that Lord Seawynd's Magic would wind up working, but it had. The mist he had conjured up out of the sea was thick as pea soup and hid their approach well, even beyond the cloak of night they were attacking under. The lights of Maidenpool could scarcely be navigated toward, but his men were veteran sailors and were able to row them into the Harbor all the same. Salhador Saan doubted that anything similar could be claimed by the defenders of Maidenpool. After all, he had caught one of them taking a piss off the side of the dock with his crossbow as his Longboats pulled up out of the fog bank, the bolt punching through the Mail Collar of the Guard in the Chequy Colors of House Hardyng before he could so much as pull up his breeches.

As the man fell into the harbor, his mail coat sinking him down to the bottom, Salhador Saan jumped out of his Longboat, landing on the pier and drawing his cutlass while his men tied the Longboat up to the dock. His own Longboat had been in the lead and would soon be joined by dozens of others, each with twenty good men in them. While he waited, Salhador Saan pulled a flask from out of the boiled leather Buff Coat he was wearing as armor and raised it in salute to Lord Seawynd over on the Landward side of Maidenpool.

"Here's to you, My Lord. Your trick with the Rhoynar Magic worked as you said it would." He toasted, before downing a mouthful of the spiced rum inside.

The flavor of spices and candied fruits hit his tongue mere instants before the burn hit his gullet as Salhador Saan swallowed. He grinned, stowing his flask back into the Buff Coat he wore while the others tied up their Longboats at the Harbor. While the ships, steelmaking process, and black powder weapons might have been some of Lord Seawynd's most famous creations, Salhador Saan had a soft spot for the Rum above any of the others. Truly, the stuff was nectar of the gods. As he finished stowing his flask, however, a Watchman in a Mail Hauberk, Castle Forged Steel Greaves, and Lobstered Gauntlets of Castle Forged Steel with a lantern on a staff rounded a corner. Emblazoned on his surcoat was the Broken Wheel on Green of House Waynewood of the Vale.

As the Watchman turned the corner, clearly patrolling, his eyes bugged out beneath the open-faced, Burgonet Helm he wore. Salhador Saan let out a silent curse as he began to reload his crossbow. He would be too late to do so, thanks to taking that drink, he knew it in his bones, but fortunately, he wasn't alone. An Olive-Skinned, Split-lipped, Ghiscari, Mokaz the Scarred, one of his original crew who were still with him after all these years, put a crossbow bolt of his own into the face of the Watchman who dropped his lantern pole and fell to the cobbles of the street, dead after only managing a brief stangled exclamation.

"All right, form up! And someone douse that lantern before something catches flame! We want this town intact, do we not? Best to ensure that occurs!" Hissed Salhador Saan.

His men rushed to obey him, drawing blades and unlimbering crossbows. It was a motley group, armored in Buff Coats of Boiled Leather, or perhaps a Brigandine and Padded Jack, armed with Cutlasses, Boarding Axes, and Crossbows. Marines and Sailors of the Fleet being used in an Infantry Role, something that seldom happened unless they were landing to attack a target, like now. However, each man of them was a veteran, and Salhador Saan would put them up against the Rabble that remained in the Town of Maidenpool any day of the week and give them good odds of victory. Once the Men had formed up, Salhador Saan gave the word, and they began their advance deeper into the Harbor.

The attack on Maidenpool had begun, and it would not be long before Salhador Saan's attack force would be joined by the Main Army. . .

XXXX

I smirked as we fought our way into the Central Square of Maidenpool's town. I carved open the throat of a Surprised Tollett Guardsman in a Brigandine over Mail Shirt with a horizontal Manco slash of my Valyrian Steel Blade from left to right. As I pushed past the Man, whose black and gray surcoat was now stained with rapidly spreading crimson, I parried an attack from a Swordsman with the green serpents of House Lynderly on his Surcoat. Grinning, I slammed my helmeted forehead into the Man's face, smashing teeth out that weren't protected by his Kettle Helm and sending him to the Cobbles. A descending thrust followed, which spit him on the point of my blade, Valyrian Steel parting leather and Castle-Forged Steel easily and ripping into the Hapless Swordsman's Chest.

I withdrew my blade and raised it into the air as I did so, drawing attention to the men around me that I was leading through the streets of Maidenpool. I cried out to rally them, as the winding streets of a town could separate attack groups, and it was best to keep them focused and cohesive with frequent reminders of where the main force was in relation to their own force. After all, Ser Denys Irons and Ser Roger Groves were both leading separate attack parties on our flanks. It would be good to let them know where I was for coordination purposes.

"Forward Men! Take this town for King Stannis!" I called out.

As I did so, I made myself a clear target for a Stocky Knight in Chruburg-Style Plate Armor of Castle-Forged Steel, his own Surcoat bearing the Broken Wheel on Green of House Waynewood. He charged me with a Bastard Sword in hand, and I ducked under his powerful, arcing slash, striking for his legs with a horizontal Mandritto cut from right to left. My opponent, however, had the presence of mind to retreat a few paces, and instead of parting through his Poleyn and cutting into the side of his right knee, my Valyrian Steel Blade hit only air. I was forced to bring it up shortly afterward as the Waynewood Knight moved back in with a vertical slash at my head. My parry deflected his blade to the side, allowing it to plummet into the Cobbles, and I rose up with a rising, vertical, colpo sottano cut, aiming to cleave apart the Knight from knee to forehead. He sidestepped, however, and smashed a punch into my helmet with a gauntleted fist.

His fist crashed into the Arsenal Steel temple of my helm, staggering me sideways and disorienting me enough that when he brought his blade around, I couldn't parry. The strike of his Bastard Sword crashed into my Arsenal Steel Breastplate, creasing the metal and bruising my ribs underneath. Thankfully, I had the presence of mind to retreat a few paces, and his follow-on Murder Stroke with his crossguard whiffed, passing my helmet with a bare inch to spare. Gritting my teeth, I bulled forward, lashing out with a Colpo Fendente slash, aiming to carve him up diagonally from teeth to knee. However, he dodged back away from the blow, only to catch the Riddopio rising diagonal cut I threw as a follow-on in the thigh.

My Valyrian Steel Blade sheared through the cuisse and mail he wore and bit into the meat of his thigh, sending the Knight to one knee. My follow-on thrust was parried desperately by the Knight as he took up a halfsword grip, one hand holding the blade while the other held the hilt. He tried to bind my blade with his own, winding and binding from the halfsword grip, but before he could get too far, I pulled my dagger and thrust for his eyes. The Arsenal Steel blade of my dagger plunged through the slits of his visor, even as he managed to strike my left side with his crossguard, denting the breastplate inward a bit and cracking my already-bruised ribs. Thankfully, that was the end of the man, as my Dagger sank into his brain through the eye. He fell sideways shortly afterward and took my dagger with him. I winced as my cracked ribs protested as his corpse pulled the dagger out of my grip.

A second, Taller, Knight, likewise in Waynewood colors, charged me, this time with a Longaxe, and, wounded as I was, I was in no mood for a protracted duel. I pulled one of my pistols off the brace slung across my chest and fired, the snaplock belching smoke, sparks, and lead that punched into the chest of the Churburg Plate Harness, piercing the castle-forged steel plate and chain and sending the Second Knight to the ground with a ribcage that had been shattered by the shot and a chest likewise perforated. Nearby, a Squire with the Twin Towers of Frey on his surcoat tried to charge me with a battleaxe, clearly one of these two Waynewood Knight's Squire. I lashed out with my Valyrian Steel blade, wincing as I did so, in a sloppier overhand, descending, imbrocatta thrust than I would have liked. It was enough to punch through the Squire's breastplate, carving into his chest, slaying him.

I pulled my second pistol from the Brace as a Third Knight, likewise in Waynewood Colors, and clearly the youngest and smallest of the three, charged at me with an Arming Sword and Shield. He janked to the side at the last moment, and a twinge of pain from my cracked ribs threw my aim off. The ball went slightly wide, missing the last Knight. I was forced to sidestep the thrust of the arming sword and slash out in a descending cut that the Knight took on his shield. The Leather-covered Oak of the Shield was destroyed by my blade cutting through it, but the Knight once again survived sudden death. His arming sword lashed out for the joint between my Vambrace and Rerebrace and carved into the meat of my upper left arm. I let out a cry of pain as I slashed out for his now, shieldless arm with a Trammazonne cut, flicking my blade out in a circle. He managed to dodge the worst of it, but my blade still bit deep into his left hand.

Snarling through the pain, I lashed out with my right leg, kicking his legs out from under him. He collapsed to the cobbles, and I placed the tip of my Valyrian Steel blade at his gorget. He yielded soon after. A few moments after that, the enemy forces began to rout, streaming out of the Square toward the castle. A bewildered Knight in Churburg Plate Armor wearing the red and white Chequy of House Hardyng stumbled out of a Tavern as the enemy forces began to stream past, swearing at them and demanding they stay and fight in slurred words. As some of the enemy began to listen, I pulled my last pistol, sheathing my blade to do so with my uninjured arm, and sighted down on the Hardyng Knight. Squeezing the Trigger, the last of my three Snaplock Pistols belched smoke, flame, and death, striking the Knight in the pauldron and shattering his right shoulder. As he went down, the enemy redoubled their attempts to flee.

"Hack them down!" I called out through gritted teeth.

My men did so, charging the routing enemy. Meanwhile, I strode over to the downed Hardyng Knight, drawing my Valyrian Steel Blade once again and pointing it downward. The Knight let out a string of invective at me which I couldn't quite manage to make out through the slurring, though whether that was from drink or pain, I was unsure. Seeing the Knight refused to surrender, I plunged my blade down into his throat, Valyrian Steel parting the Castle Forged Steel of the Gorget and opening his throat. It would only be later, once the morning came, that I would discover who these Knights were that I had killed and taken captive.

The first Knight had been Ser Donnel Waynewood, Knight of the Bloody Gate. The Second had been his older Brother, Ser Morton Waynewood, the heir to Ironoaks. The Captive Waynewood Knight was their youngest brother, Ser Wallace Waynewood, only recently knighted. It was the Hardyng Knight that really was the kicker, though. I had killed Ser Harrold Hardyng, Harry the Heir, Littlefinger's potential future Puppet Lord of the Vale. Lastly, the Frey Squire I had slain was Sandor Frey, Ser Donnel's Squire. Joining them before the night was over would be another one thousand men killed and two thousand captured. Meanwhile, our own force lost only three hundred killed and six hundred wounded.

That left Lord Uthor Tollett in the Castle of Maidenpool with a scant one-thousand-five-hundred men against our six-thousand-six-hundred combat-effective troops. By any metric, that would be more than enough to storm the castle of Maidenpool and take the place by assault. I sent a messenger to Lord Uthor Tolloett at the Castle in the morning, offering terms of surrender which I felt were fairly lenient. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the Tolletts' famed Grim Fatalism had Lord Uthor in its grasp. He was refusing to surrender, even under the circumstances. We would have to assault. Unfortunately, I would be unable to take part, thanks to my cracked ribs needing just over a month to heal, according to the Physicians and Maesters who bound them up. Instead, Ser Denys Irons would lead the Assault.

I could only hope that he did so successfully from the sidelines. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, so here we go with the next chapter. Ricasso manages to seize the Town of Maidenpool, though he has to fight through seemingly half of House Waynewood, including Ser Donnel Waynewood, the Knight of the Bloody Gate, to do it, along with Ser Donnel's Squire and Ser Harry Hardyng. Accordingly, he has suffered wounds that will put him out of action for the assault on Lord Uthor Tollett's position in Maidenpool Castle. That means that he has to delegate it out. He's done so to Ser Denys Irons.

At any rate, the next chapter will be the assault under Ser Denys Irons, followed by a look at what's going on in Tolos with Dany. I've already hinted that she's in the market for Sellswords, but you'll see why in the interlude.

Stay tuned. . .