Chapter 190: The Front Line
Inside the great hall of Sarsfield, the lords of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale, gathered around a long table piled with maps for their final war council before marching on Lannisport.
Robb Stark stood at the head of the table, smiling with quiet confidence, looking every bit the commander of this meeting.
He had earned his pride. As the youngest high lord present, he commanded the most powerful of the three allied hosts. Since leading his family's banners into war, he remained undefeated, cloaked in the glory of storming both the Bloody Gate and the Golden Tooth—the gateways to the Vale and the West. He was also one of the few high-born heirs in the Seven Kingdoms to have chosen his own spouse; even kings were rarely so fortunate as to wed for love.
Relying on a force ten times the size of the garrison, lessons learned from watching Robert assault the Bloody Gate, and the sheer ferocity of the Northern vanguards, the Northern Army had breached the Golden Tooth on the fourth day after Robb's letter to his father, Ned, guaranteeing victory in three. Though it took a day longer than promised, the actual fighting had indeed spanned three days. With that barrier broken, the northeastern gateway to the West lay wide open. A few days later, they had taken this castle belonging to House Sarsfield.
Discounting the garrisons left behind to secure their supply lines, the Northern Army still numbered over thirty thousand men. Now, between them and the prize of Casterly Rock and Lannisport, lay only the gently rolling but unobstructed River Road and a scattering of villages and towns. No fortified strongholds remained to bar their path.
...
"What is there to discuss? Eat well, drink well, sleep well, and once we've gathered our strength, we strike straight for Casterly Rock!" Greatjon Umber boomed in his gravelly voice. "We'll drag the Old Lion and his incestuous whelps out to be hanged! If time permits, I might even go down into the mines myself. Whatever a man digs up is his to keep—you don't get the chance to feel gold at the end of a pickaxe back in the North!"
Galbart Glover rolled his eyes at Umber. "Dig all you like, the mines are yours. I'll settle for what's in the vaults."
The exchange drew knowing laughter from the assembled lords, but some remained cold and focused. "Casterly Rock has never been taken by storm," Brynden the Blackfish Tully said sharply. Formerly the Knight of the Gate, his status had soared following the suppression of the Vale rebellion. With many major Vale houses in disgrace, he had become the de facto spokesman for the Vale's forces. "The safest course is to encamp east of Lannisport, at a safe distance from the walls. We wait for the other two hosts to arrive, take Lannisport in one blow, and then dismiss the levies. We keep only the elite to besiege the Rock until Tywin runs out of food and surrenders."
"We have thirty thousand men; we can't take Lannisport on our own?" Rickard Karstark grunted. "Why wait for the others? If we break the city ourselves, we won't have to share the gold inside with them!"
"Scouts report that the finest twenty thousand Lannister veterans are concentrated in Lannisport, and they are training new levies as we speak," Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, spoke softly. His voice was low, yet no one dared interrupt him. "Attacking a city of twenty thousand with thirty thousand is poor odds, especially considering the Lannisport City Watch is among the best-trained forces in the Seven Kingdoms. Even if we take it, the cost will be staggering."
"Every Northman is worth ten of them. Twenty thousand defenders is a trifle... hmph."
"I was born in the North, yet I do not believe I could fight ten men," Roose Bolton continued, his tone devoid of emotion. "Even if we assume 'one Northman equals ten commoners,' there are over a hundred thousand residents inside those walls, likely more now with refugees pouring in. Combined with the walls, your ten-to-one advantage vanishes. I grant you, we could break it if we ignore the cost. But the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale would be left with a sea of widows. I wonder how many of you would fall? You might die bravely and be written into a song, but some other man will inherit your castle, bed your woman, and beat your children. Is that the victory you want?"
"Lord Bolton makes a fair point," Edmure Tully added cautiously. Though the heir to Riverrun and nominal leader of the Riverlands' forces, his poor performance against the Lannister raiders had left his influence diminished; his words carried less weight than those of his nephew, Robb. "However, our supplies are running low. Lord Tywin has employed scorched-earth tactics as we marched west. We have looted plenty of gold, but we haven't found much grain. If we sit and wait, we'll be hungry soon enough."
Bolton already had a counter-proposal. "March further west and take Oxcross to establish a defensive line. Keep the main force there to pin down the Lannisters in Lannisport, then split the army to the north and south. We take the smaller castles and villages to live off the land while we wait for the other two armies."
It was a sound plan, but a new question soon arose: "Where are the other two hosts? The Golden Tooth was supposed to be the hardest nut to crack, yet we are the first to reach the Rock while we're stuck waiting for them! It's ridiculous!"
"The Crownlands army reached Deep Den long ago, but their numbers are small and their quality mediocre; they've failed to take it and are waiting for the Stormlands reinforcement," Robb explained with a frown. "As for the southern host from the Reach, the last word I had two days ago was that they had crossed the border. They should be close. I'll send out scouts to link up with them before we make our final move."
It seemed the Young Wolf was choosing the cautious path, refusing to let a string of victories cloud his judgment—a fact that earned him the silent respect of the veteran commanders. If all went as planned, the next step was to assign tasks: who would hold the line against Lannisport, and who would lead their men to raid the surrounding lands. In a position of total dominance, the chance to plunder the wealthiest region of the Seven Kingdoms was a dream assignment. Every lord watched Robb, hands itching for action.
...
Just as the lords were sizing each other up for the plum assignments, a soldier hurried in.
"My lords, a scout claiming to be Dornish has arrived at the gates! He says he has urgent news!"
"Dorne?" Robb was surprised it wasn't a man from the Reach. "Bring him in."
At a signal from the Blackfish, they covered the maps on the table. A moment later, a man in exotic garb with dark skin and dusty clothing entered.
"Which lord sent you?" Lord Umber bellowed.
"I come on the orders of Prince Oberyn Martell. Who among you holds command?"
"This is a council; we lead together," Robb said. "Whatever news you have, speak it plainly."
The Dornish soldier did not hesitate. "Two days ago, the Dornish host passed Crakehall, following the Ocean Road north to join the siege of Lannisport and Casterly Rock. But roughly fifty leagues from our destination, we were blocked by the army of the Reach. They offered no explanation; they simply deployed in battle formation and refused to let us pass. My companions and I were ordered to slip through their lines under cover of night to reach you."
"The Reach is blocking the Dornish?" The room erupted into chaos. No wonder the other two hosts were late. It took Robb considerable effort to restore order. "Do you know why? Has there been blood?"
"The Reach has explained nothing. Since they outnumber us two-to-one and have not yet attacked, we are currently in a stalemate."
"Likely the Reach sees the gold in the West and wants it all for themselves! Hahaha!" Karstark was the first to guess, drawing nods of agreement.
"Is there anything else?"
"The Prince sent word that you should be on your guard, lest you be taken by surprise."
"Understood. You've had a long journey. Someone... take our Dornish friend and see him fed and rested."
Once the Dornishmen left, Greatjon Umber laughed. "Southron greed knows no bounds. They haven't even taken Lannisport and they're already fighting over the spoils."
"Lucky for us, the Wolf, the Fish, and the Falcon stand together. But we should move fast—grab what we can while we can."
The room was noisy, most lords finding the news of the squabbling allies amusing. But some saw the danger. Roose Bolton leaned in close to Robb to avoid the din. "The Reach is as wealthy as the West. Even if men were to act shamelessly over loot, the richest among them shouldn't be the first to draw steel. Is there news from King's Landing? Could something have changed at court?"
The Blackfish also looked troubled. "Send someone to the rookery. See if there are letters from the capital... if not, check if the number of ravens has increased."
...
As the lords continued to mock the infighting between the Rose and the Sun, two Stark guards quietly slipped out. A long while later, they returned, dragging the Maester of Sarsfield by the arms and forcing him to his knees. "My lord, this man claims there are no letters from the city. But we counted the ravens and found two extra. When we pressed him, he admitted a letter arrived yesterday—he claimed he 'forgot' to give it to you in the pile."
Robb's brow darkened. "Where is it?"
"Here."
Roose Bolton took the letter and handed it to Robb, his pale, cold eyes fixed on the man on the floor. "A Maester owes his loyalty to the castle, regardless of who holds it. Am I wrong?"
The Maester was terrified, his head hitting the floor in a frantic kowtow. "My lord, I truly forgot! My age... my mind isn't what it was! It won't happen again!"
Umber glared. "Hiding military intelligence? Drag him out and hang him. Why waste breath?"
It was a practical suggestion, but a castle only had one Maester. If he were hanged, no one could tend the ravens. Roose Bolton watched the old man's forehead turn red from kowtowing before speaking: "I will have men eat and sleep with you to ensure your memory remains sharp. If this happens again... I will turn you into my house sigil and ask the Citadel for someone who values their skin a bit more. Understood?"
The Maester caught a glimpse of the Flayed Man on the Bolton banners, remembered the dark rumors of the North's most bloodthirsty house, and nodded vigorously, trembling.
"Take him out."
With the local Maester gone, all eyes turned to Robb. The Young Wolf's face had gone pale, clearly shocked by the contents of the letter.
"What is it? Has King Robert passed?"
"The letter doesn't say that. It speaks of something else." Robb masked his shock, his expression turning grim. "Reports from the Riverlords along the Goldroad say the Stormlands army—which was supposed to join the Crownlands at Deep Den—suddenly turned back two days ago. They are marching east at full speed. This letter was written three days ago; by now, the Stormlanders are likely only two or three days' march from King's Landing."
The room fell into a stunned silence. A moment ago, they were on the verge of crushing the Lannisters in a perfect campaign; now, the wind had shifted. One ally was fighting another, and a third was deserting the field.
"That is Renly's army. Unless something has changed in King's Landing and he intends to seize the Iron Throne, that boy would never be bold enough to march on the capital!" The Blackfish was the first to realize. "Does the letter give us orders? Are we to return to the King's aid?"
"No. My father says he will recall the Crownlands army and Lord Stannis's fleet, and raise new levies in the city. Renly has barely ten thousand men; my father doesn't believe he is a threat to the city... the letter only tells us to be careful. With one less army to support us, we must watch for a Lannister counterattack."
"Is it truly only 'one' less army?" Roose Bolton asked darkly. "Lord Eddard likely didn't know what was happening when he wrote this. We wondered why the Reach was blocking the Dornish. Now we know it wasn't for gold."
"The Reach supports Renly for the throne!" The Blackfish, with his fifty years of experience, saw the truth immediately. "They are stopping the Dornish from joining us so the West doesn't fall too quickly. They want the Lannisters to keep us pinned down while Renly takes King's Landing. Gods... if this is true, the Hand isn't facing just 'ten thousand Stormlanders.' He's facing all of Renly's backers. With the Tyrells' wealth and the Reach's population, they could raise thirty or fifty thousand more men from their eastern borders to crown Renly without breaking a sweat!"
"Write to King's Landing immediately!" Robb slammed the table. A minute ago they were dividing spoils; now the world was upside down. "Then we march. We return to protect the capital!"
"It's too late. We are too deep in the West. To return to King's Landing, even for pure cavalry with remounts, would take nearly ten days. Do you think the Lannisters will let us leave peacefully? An army made of levies, if pursued during a retreat, will shatter into a rout..." Roose Bolton's face was shadows and bone. "And there is another problem. If we retreat now without breaking the West, once Tywin recovers, his gold will ensure that whichever side he joins wins. If he waits for the other six kingdoms to bleed each other dry and then strikes... he will have his revenge."
"Seven hells... then what do we do?"
"King's Landing is likely lost. Write to Lord Eddard and tell him that if he cannot hold, he should prepare to abandon the city and retreat to the North." Bolton's expression turned predatory. "My advice: march south immediately. Join the Dornish to crush the Tyrell force blocking them. Then, with Oberyn Martell, we sack every town and village in the West except the Rock itself. Spare few lives! Dorne hates the Lannisters; they will be thorough. This breaks the Reach's strength and destroys the resource base the West would need to return to the fight... and after such a slaughter, Dorne will never be able to ally with the Reach to support Renly. Once we are done, we withdraw to the Riverlands with our plunder... we grow fat, our enemies grow weak, and we remain undefeated."
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