RM: Chapter 110

We set our ambush up alongside the Maidenpool Road, in a hilly area that was around partway between Haypile and the Town of Ironmonger's Corner. The idea being that the hills would allow us to hide our ambush force in such a way that the enemy wouldn't see it until it was too late. Once our ambush had been set, I sent out some cavalry to further bait the trap. The idea was that the Cavalry would attack villages and hamlets around the area that made it look like preparation for an attack on Ironmonger's Corner, and when the Enemy came to chase them off, the Cavalry would withdraw, retreating back down the Maidenpool Road toward our trap in apparent haste. When the Enemy followed them, looking for an easy victory, we would spring our ambush and slaughter them.

As traps went, it wasn't very elaborate. In fact, it was rather simple. Of course, it didn't need to be elaborate, with a ton of moving parts, any number of which could fail to work and tangle up the plan. Sometimes, there was a lot of merit in keeping things simple, which was a lesson that I expected that someone like Baelish had yet to learn. After all, his investment bank scheme that he had used to skim the treasury dry for years had been fairly involved. It was largely because of that fact that I expected Littlefinger's Forces to fall for my ruse. When it came to traps, people like Ser Symond Templeton were used to expecting large and involved schemes, just based on the osmosis of working for Baelish.

I hadn't expected it to be quite so easy, however. You would think that centuries of institutional experience in fighting the Mountain Clans of the Mountains of the Moon would have ensured that the Army of the Vale would be cautious enough of ambushes in rugged terrain to send scouts out first ahead of their advancing army. I had actually invested a decent amount of time and effort in camouflaging the artillery on the hilltops and hiding the ambush troops. However, when the enemy came barreling down the road, they had no scouts out, just streaming down the road with their blood up, hoping to catch my cavalry forces. It was actually sort of insulting and a bit annoying, to boot. I had gone to all this trouble to hide my forces, and the enemy didn't even seem to care. They'd fallen for the ruse hook, line, and sinker.

I had sent out two thousand cavalry, and the enemy force that was barreling down the road was perhaps four times that in numbers. Eight thousand Valemen and Mountain Clansmen, with the Banners of House Templeton, nine black stars on a yellow saltire with a black field behind, flying proud among the Vanguard of the enemy force. Ser Symond Templeton seemed to be among the enemy force chasing my cavalry down the road and into my ambush. The Man clearly didn't deserve his position as a commander. Certainly not over the Tattered Prince. It was annoying, in all honesty. You go through all this trouble to set up a carefully concealed ambush against an opponent would you thought would act tactically, only for them to charge bollocks first into enemy territory like an amateur.

With a sigh of annoyance, I prepared to give the order to attack, just wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. Once we finished up here, we would move against the troops holding Ironmonger's Corner, another four thousand men or so, before moving on further toward Maidenpool. It was likely the Tattered Prince would take charge of the remaining eight thousand mixed Valemen, Riverlanders, and Sellswords in Maidenpool, and I was expecting a hell of a fight there, but this wasn't anything close to that. This would be a massacre.

"Spread the word to the ambush troops, spring the trap shut as soon as the first battery opens up. Then to the Battery at the top of Conkers Ridge to make ready to fire! Hurry now!" I hissed at a pair of messengers.

The two messengers, a pair of young boys from Bloodstone and Mourne respectively, hurried off to do just that. Soon enough, the ambush would be sprung and the enemy would be decimated. I didn't think it would take much, given their poor performance so far.

As the messages were delivered, I drew my Valyrian Steel Blade and prepared to charge with the Ambush Troops, counting down the seconds before the attack. . .

XXXX

Ser Symond Templeton was furious at these upjumped sellswords and pirates who had clearly reverted to type after taking Haypile. He supposed he should have known this would happen. Lord Seawynd may have been a Bright Lad, but he was still a Lad, after all. He lacked the experience to realize that you could attempt to civilize such people all you wanted, but you had to expect them to devolve back to their natural impulses the longer they acted without proper oversight. That naivete was now going to cost Lord Seawynd his campaign. That was a shame, of course, as the Lad had been doing so well until now. Of course, Ser Symond figured it was only fair that he inflict a defeat on Lord Seawynd. After all, he had almost drowned in the Bay of Crabs during the attack on their transport fleet.

Still, though, he could practically taste the vengeance for the various hamlets and small villages that had been attacked by the Scum that made up much of Lord Seawynd's forces. When his force of Knights, Mounted Guards, Mounted Yeomen, and Mounted Levies had ridden out of Ironmonger's Corner, they had come across a force of five hundred cavalry attacking a small village of four hundred smallfolk named Miller's Pool, after the windmill and duck pond that the Village possessed. On sighting the much larger Mounted Force, the enemy Cavalry made for the next village, a place called Weaver's Watch that produced wool cloth for Maidenpool. There, a force of nine hundred Mounted Scum was attacking the village of one thousand people.

That force too fled before Ser Symond's vengeance. As did the next force, three hundred Mounted Scum attacking a village called Chicken's Run, after the primary export of the village, which was poultry. Chicken's Run had two-hundred-fifty people who would be grateful for Ser Symond's assistance. The enemy then fled to the next hamlet or village, Ser Symond would chase them off, and so on. The enemy cavalry joined the mass of Fleeing Horsemen in drips and drabs after Chicken's Run, ten here, a dozen there, as they stopped attacking hamlets of a few dozen people at a time. In the end, Ser Symond estimated that there were two thousand horsemen fleeing his eight thousand mounted troops. That had to be close to the entire cavalry strength of the enemy force!

Of course, this never would have been possible without Ser Symond's foresight. He'd ensured that every man under his command could ride a horse, even the levies. After all, a force that could mount up could travel much farther and much faster than a force that had to wait for infantry to catch up. Even if the bulk of his forces, the levies, couldn't ride well, it was still a great boost to their mobility. This had been borne out of the system of Yeomanry that the Vale and parts of the Riverlands practiced, where Smallfolk could work farms in exchange for providing military service to the Lord in times of war. It had mostly been borne out of issues with the Mountain Clansmen, and had dared to the area of the Riverlands around Maidenpool and Saltpans during the various Civil Wars as a way to stop bandit raids. Accordingly, a much larger proportion of his force could already ride, ensuring less effort was needed for his goal.

"At them! This must be their entire cavalry! We'll put them to the sword and have an overwhelming advantage!" Called out Ser Symond from atop his steeds.

"Ser Symond, those hills look primed for an ambush. Perhaps we should advance cautiously just in case?" Queried Lord Alyn Ruthermont from his position near Ser Symond in the Vanguard.

Lord Alyn was young, a mere twenty-and-two years old, with a bit of a lean, beanpole-like physique. His Auburn Hair was cropped close to his head, and his goatee seemed to mimic that of Lord Baelish's. He was, however, it had to be said, a dab hand with a blade, and good with those matchlock pistols he wore in a brace over his breastplate. However, he clearly lacked experience if he thought now, of all times, was the time for timidity. Ser Symond would explain to Lord Alyn the fact of the situation, and the Young Lord would learn.

"Nonsense! We have them on the run! Now we need to press the blade home!" Insisted Ser Symond. As he said this, Ser Symond Templeton was completely unaware that his force had just crossed into the pre-arranged killing zone set up by Ricasso in advance of Ser Symond falling right into his trap.

He would learn that fact soon enough as the first of the hidden gun batteries opened up. . .

XXXX

Conkers Ridge was so-named after the multitude of Chestnut Trees that grew wild on the top of the ridge. The game of Conkers, where two people tied chestnuts to a piece of string or twine and swung their respective chestnuts at each other till one broke, was a favored pastime in parts of the Vale and Crownlands for the Children of Smallfolk. It had given the ridge its name because of said trees. For generations, it was known that the best and sturdiest Conkers for the game came from the chestnut trees on Conkers Ridge. Now, those trees were hiding more than good chestnuts for Conkers. They were hiding something far more deadly, a battery of bronze six-pounder cannons, pre-sighted on a specific spot on the Maidenpool Road. A spot that was now swarming with enemy troops.

The commander of the battery was Captain Gerold Sand, a Dornish Bastard who had come to Salt Bay to make something of himself. His father, Lord Dagos Manwoody, refused to acknowledge him, and so Gerold had needed another path. He found one in the Artillery Corps of Lord Seawynd, a bastard like he was, who had similarly been unacknowledged and managed to claw his way from the bottom of the Noble Hierarchy to be one of the most powerful men in all of the Seven Kingdoms. It was inspiring, and if Gerold could perform even a fraction as well as his Lord had, then he would be set for life. Accordingly, when he got the message to make ready to fire, Gerold Sand had done his utmost to ensure he was prepared to do so, wanting to prove himself to his Lord. As the enemy swarmed through the pre-sighted killing area, Gerold put those preparations to good use.

"Fire!" He ordered.

And the ten, bronze, six-pounder cannons carefully concealed amidst the chestnut trees on top of Conkers Ridge threw off their camouflage and belched flame, smoke, and leaden death down onto the road below. Gerold watched with some satisfaction as the cannonballs flew and smashed through enemy troops, spattering them across the dirt road like smashing a bowl of eggs. Next to him, however, his young assistant, Xahalanal Chak, a young Summer Islander from Blue Flower Vale with a head for numbers, blanched at the carnage. His dark skin turned ashen with dismay, and he put a hand up to his mouth, as if gagging. Gerold was concerned for his aide at that. If he couldn't handle the carnage, it might be better if he were reassigned to logistics.

"Everything all right, Xahalanal?" Asked Gerold.

"This is my first time being able to see the effects of the guns so clearly." Admitted Xahalanal.

"Ah, I see. The elevation does add a certain clarity, I suppose. Well, cheer up. If the rest of the plan goes well, this should be over quickly." Offered Gerold.

He just got a nod from Xahalanal in response. However, as he watched on, the other hilltop batteries followed their leaders in pouring fire down on the enemy force. Gerold couldn't deny that it was a massacre. Horses and men turned to just so much gore on the road as cannonballs bounced around and through them. Indeed, as the Banners in the Vanguard faltered for a moment, Ser Symond Templeton losing his head to a bouncing cannonball, the new commander of the Enemy Force sounded a retreat. That was when the rest of the trap sprang shut on them and Lord Seawynd led the ambush forces into position to block the Enemy's retreat, all according to plan. Yes, Gerold figured, it wouldn't be long now before the enemy surrendered.

It was either that or be annihilated, after all. . .

XXXX

In the end, it took my forces a single hour to effect a surrender from the enemy. Once the trap had sprung shut, the enemy fought like madmen for a bit to try and break through my blocking forces, but they just couldn't manage. The fight seemed to go out of them almost completely after the forty-five-minute mark. Fifteen minutes after that, I was approached by a bloodied Lord Alyn Ruthermont under a bloodstained white flag, seeking to parlay for the lives of his remaining men. The terms of surrender had been easy enough to grant him. He just wanted his remaining men to be treated with honor and for his wounded to receive medical treatment. Of course, as I wasn't planning on giving the Others any more Wights than I had to, I eagerly agreed, and that was that.

One hour of fighting had seen two hundred of my own forces wounded among the blocking troops and another hundred killed, a measly three percent total casualties. Enemy losses were far more severe. Four-thousand-five-hundred men captured, with around a third of those captives, one-thousand-five-hundred men, being wounded. The remainder of the enemy, three-thousand-five-hundred men, had been slain on the field of battle. This included Ser Symond Templeton, the overall commander of the Vale Army in the Riverlands. This was a crushing, if anticlimactic, victory. Of course, that would happen with such an ambush, where the enemy seems determined to fall right into your trap like that. Now we could proceed to attack Ironmonger's Corner in preparation for a move against Maidenpool Proper.

Attacking that town would see me face off against a more cunning and ambitious opponent than Ser Symond Templeton. Ser Harlan Hunter, after all, was rumored to have killed his father and pinned the blame on Lord Gillwood Hunter. It was a maneuver that spoke not only of cunning and ambition but also of a facility with underhanded tactics.

And a man like that was not someone to be underestimated. . .

XXXX

AN: All right, so here's the next chapter. As you can see, Ser Symond Templeton is not a man who is a good battlefield commander. He's a decent politician and a good administrator, but a shitty Tactician and Strategist. Accordingly, he led his forces right into the jaws of Ricasso's ambush and paid for it with his life. Now the path toward Ironmonger's Corner is cleared for Ricasso and his Army to attack the town before moving onto Maidenpool to finish out this front. Once he's done that, he'll move to reinforce Bronze Yohn in the Vale.

A note, I realized that during the Vale Marches Interlude, I had said that Lord Hunter had died on a transport during the Naval Skirmish. That was a Typo. It was supposed to be Lord Horton Redfort who died on the transport. That error has since been fixed. Old Lord Hunter was assassinated by his youngest son, Ser Harlan Hunter, as per Canon, which factors into the upcoming Battle of Ironmonger's Corner.

At any rate, the next chapter will be an interlude showing a Naval Battle off of Runestone where Ricasso's Fleet clashes with Baelish's Fleet in the Vale as they try to keep the naval supply lines to Runestone open in the face of enemy attacks. Then we'll be back with Ricasso for the Battle of Ironmonger's Corner.

Stay tuned. . .