The flat plains of the Reach were good in every way, except for hiding people.
However, this was not necessarily a bad thing. Neither side could set up an ambush, which saved everyone from harboring ill intentions or worrying that the other side harbored ill intentions.
With his back to the setting sun, the commander of the Golden Company rode toward a particularly conspicuous large tree standing in the wilderness a few miles east of the camp, meeting the figures waiting beneath it.
It was evening, and a secret meeting was about to take place.
...
Defeated and retreating during the great battle, then blocked when they tried to withdraw into Highgarden, this defeated army, a mixture of the Golden Company and House Tyrell's household soldiers, first fled south for more than ten miles.
Finding that the enemy had not pursued them, they then desperately sought a path west, intending to flee toward Oldtown and plan their next move.
However, there were several thousand of them. Such a large group, no matter how quickly they fled without looking back, could not outrun scouts and messengers who were lightly equipped, carried no baggage, and had spare horses.
Thus, before the soldiers sent ahead to contact House Hightower could bring back a reply, messengers from Highgarden arrived first along the army's trail, delivering Daenerys's pardon. They informed the defeated generals of the peace treaty reached by Margaery and Aegor, and stated that as long as all the terms of the agreement were accepted, the safety of everyone, including the prince, would be guaranteed.
For Jon Connington, the prince, Lord Tyrell, and the other rebel lords of the Riverlands, this outcome, while not ideal, was probably not the worst.
But for some others, this plan was completely unacceptable.
The defeated army stopped today in the small village where they had camped the night before. They neither continued fleeing west toward Oldtown nor returned east to Highgarden to surrender.
The Golden Company had quit.
Not only did the sellswords refuse to move themselves, they also drew their swords and strung their bows, threatening to stop the other soldiers of the Reach and forcibly halting the breaking of camp. Their lord, Harry Strickland, after hearing the news of the peace treaty, was determined to demand an explanation from the prince and Lord Tyrell for the Golden Company.
Ever since Harry became the company's Chief Logistics officer, he had been shrewd and had never made a losing deal.
It was precisely because of his godlike record in making gold that, despite not being a fighting man himself, he had miraculously been elected as the company's leader by a group of fierce men.
"The worst sellsword, the most competent lord," this was Harry's image in the eyes of the Golden Company soldiers.
Being able to lead everyone to prosperity was the only reason for his authority as a lord who had neither martial prowess nor charisma, and it was the source of the absolute obedience he received.
Supporting Aegon's claim to the throne was supposed to be the perfect end to four generations of the Strickland family's sellsword career. Who would have thought that this seemingly certain gamble would make him lose even his smallclothes because a man of the Night's Watch had suddenly appeared in the south from the far north?
Losing a battle was not frightening, but if he were to admit defeat and accept Daenerys's terms of pardon, surrender unconditionally, obediently lay down his arms and accept arrangements, then slink back to Essos by ship... he would probably have to worry about more than just losing his reputation. He might be chopped up by his own men and thrown into the sea to feed the fish before the dock even disappeared from sight.
Harry was always reasonable. The Golden Company could not turn the tide and win, so they would not unreasonably demand the rewards of victory.
However, the compensation for fallen soldiers, their travel expenses across the Narrow Sea, and their hard-earned pay had to be reimbursed by someone, no matter what.
No sellsword would think this demand excessive, so he certainly had to argue for it with reason.
As for where his confidence came from?
The answer was this: in the composition of the remaining army, the Golden Company held an absolute advantage in both numbers and fighting quality.
I cannot defeat Aegor's Western Expeditionary Army, but can I not handle you few landowners?
Harry had already thought it through. If Mace Tyrell and Aegon did not meet his demands, he would tie both of them up and take them to Oldtown, threatening House Hightower into providing ships for him to escape back to the Free Cities.
Lord Tyrell would be used to exchange for ransom from Highgarden, and his good son-in-law would be sold to the slave masters.
The Anti-Dragon Mother Alliance and Westeros were still at war, and a Targaryen would be an extremely valuable hostage and source of legitimacy for the war.
The slave masters would definitely be willing to pay a good price for Daenerys's nephew, set him up as a puppet king, and force him to continue fighting his aunt, Daenerys.
After a full day of heated arguments, Harry Strickland returned to the farmhouse that had been requisitioned as the army's headquarters, dragging his weary body with him.
Jon Connington and Mace Tyrell had neither agreed to nor rejected his price, but promised to consider it overnight and give him a reply.
This was likely a delaying tactic, so he specifically took the time to arrange guards to prevent those old men from acting desperately or escaping during the night.
Just after giving the orders, his attendant leaned close to his ear and told Harry a new piece of news.
Another messenger had arrived outside the camp, mysteriously presenting an invitation and claiming that the Hand of the Queen wanted to hold a secret meeting with him.
Years of managing a sellsword company had taught Harry that you usually could not negotiate a good price with an enemy you could not defeat.
So at first he wanted to refuse flatly, but after thinking it over, he changed his mind.
He had nothing left to lose, so what harm was there in going to hear what that bastard had to say?
...
Returning from his thoughts to the present, as the distance closed, Harry Strickland clearly saw the figures on top of the dirt slope in the afterglow of the evening sunset.
One, two, three, four, five...
Just as agreed, there were ten people, not one more, not one less.
He felt slightly relieved, but quickly noticed that among the ten people opposite him, one was wearing a red robe.
A Red God priest!
He immediately remembered the dark figure who had appeared at the last moment of the decisive battle and crossed the battlefield to cut down the central army banner.
This was a bit troublesome.
How many men could a witch who could use magic be worth in a small skirmish?
Hard to say, but certainly more than one. The other side was cheating!
He felt a slight urge to retreat, but after thinking about it, the reason did not seem sufficient.
Nine of the best men in the Golden Company were right behind him. What sort of thing was it to be scared away by a woman?
Normally, the soldiers would tolerate him, a lord who came from a Chief Logistics background and cherished his life like gold, but now, his life was not worth much.
As the men of the Golden Company approached, the ten people waiting by the tree gradually shifted from a relaxed state to a vigilant one.
Harry quickly identified the important person who had invited him from their posture and clothing: a tall but rather thin man, by sellsword standards, fair-skinned, black-clad, and with a distinctly foreign appearance.
"Hand of the Queen," he began with a forced smile, but his feet remained at a safe distance, and his hand rested on the hilt of the sword at his waist, although he was not skilled in using it. "Please allow me, a defeated man, to congratulate you on your great victory."
As the defeated party, Harry tried his best to show respect without appearing servile, but deep down, he could not suppress the surge of disappointment and unwillingness.
He had met many important people, some of whom looked as if they held high positions, while others seemed quite ordinary.
But even compared to the latter, this black-clad Hand of the Queen before him was still too ordinary. He did not have the suffocating oppressive presence and decisive strength that the rumors spoke of...
His Golden Company and the hundred thousand allied forces of the Reach had been defeated by such a person?
"You are too kind, Lord Harry."
The attendant, who had been magically transformed into Aegor's appearance by the Red Priestess, desperately recalled his Lord Commander's words and actions, trying to project a calm and dignified demeanor.
"You should have seen the peace treaty I reached with House Tyrell. What are your thoughts on this?"
(To be continued.)
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