Chapter 68
Ser Daeron Grafton was already regretting his decision.
If he hadn't hesitated over the goods and had rationally ordered a retreat immediately, he would have only needed to leave behind three or five men, enough to cover the retreat of the main force.
The poor terrain here would limit not only himself, but also the pursuers from the fishing village.
But those few moments of hesitation had cost him the choice. Now, more than half of his men were already entangled in battle. Retreating now would mean abandoning them.
It wasn't that Daeron was unwilling to abandon his companions, but the key point was that their informant in the Wilder Alliance, Ser Simon, had mentioned in a letter that Wilder had mobilized a large number of sellsword cavalry.
The fact that Wilder's cavalry were not present here meant they must have been deployed somewhere outside the fishing village, waiting to emerge and strike him after his defeat.
Rather than retreat with less than half his men to confront those veteran cavalry, Daeron preferred to fight to the death here, to face this rabble before him.
"Spread out! Through the reeds and outflank them from behind!" Ser Daeron ordered his remaining men who hadn't yet been drawn into the fray.
A long weapon gives advantage at range. Facing an enemy armed with spears, a direct engagement on the trail would be disadvantageous for Daeron's side. He needed to break the enemy's shield wall and draw them into a melee before Ser Ryon Shett's death at the hands of the enemy leader irreparably damaged his own morale.
Without the formation holding, the opposing rabble would quickly be slaughtered one-sidedly.
At Ser Daeron's command, more than a dozen dismounted cavalry quickly dispersed into the reeds lining the trail, swiftly advancing and charging from the flanks and rear of the levies.
With a single charge, they instantly broke the Wilder Alliance's formation.
The chaotic melee between the two sides forced the archers in the fishing village to cease their fire.
"As expected of cavalry—even dismounted, they execute flanking tactics with such skill," Ian, hiding on a high point in the fishing village, observed.
"I had expected them to retreat, allowing our cavalry to intercept them on the outer edge of the trail and annihilate them." Wilder's mood was much grimmer than Ian's.
"I can only say that Ser Daeron isn't a fool. He didn't fall for your ruse. He chose to fight our infantry to the death. That was his best option," Ian shrugged.
"Quickly, order the outer cavalry to dismount and enter the trail to strike the enemy's rear, or you'll lose your army." He gestured toward the levies, which were already showing signs of breaking.
Wilder nodded and glanced at his squire, who immediately understood and hurried off.
"Time to fight," Ser Wilder said to Ian, putting on his helm. "Want to join us?"
"Generally, I prefer not to place myself in dangerous situations," Ian smiled and shook his head.
Ser Wilder, unbothered by Ian's refusal, summoned the few guards who had remained with him in the fishing village and, sword drawn, charged out.
Wilder's side was at a significant disadvantage on the battlefield. After Daeron's flanking tactics successfully broke the levies' shield wall, several of Daeron's best fighters charged into the ranks like wolves among sheep.
Among them, old Ser Shalit was a particularly devastating force. First, in single combat, he severely wounded Wilder's son, Ser Roger, forcing him to be carried from the field. He then proceeded to slay six spearmen in quick succession, striking terror into the hearts of Wilder's soldiers.
Just as Ser Shalit swung his sword to finish off his seventh victim of the day, a longsword deflected Ser Shalit's strike, saving the soldier.
Shalit looked up and saw a figure who appeared even older than himself.
Wilder's levies erupted in cheers. The arrival of Ser Wilder and his guards on the battlefield undoubtedly gave them a surge of confidence.
"Stand aside! The battlefield is no place for you, old man," Ser Shalit said to Wilder, then let out a laugh like a crow's caw. "That's what your son just said to me, and now his elderly father must fight to compensate for his inadequacy?"
"You will pay for this!" Ser Wilder replied with a dark expression. His son's life hung in the balance, and he hadn't expected his opponent to twist the knife.
"Come then, Wilder! I've long wanted to test the strength of the man who could sever Aris's forearm while he wore Jonothor's armor!" Shalit said, closing on Wilder, ready to strike.
However, Wilder's sword was faster than Shalit expected. Before Shalit could attack, he saw the tip of the blade pointed directly at his face.
Shalit could only retreat, but Ser Wilder's barrage of thrusts followed, forcing Shalit back toward the caravan.
Fortunately, another dismounted cavalryman attacked Ser Wilder from the side, forcing him back and giving Shalit a brief respite.
Just as Shalit was about to abandon his plan for single combat and rally his comrades to overwhelm Ser Wilder, he heard Daeron's cry for help from behind.
Wilder's cavalry stationed on the perimeter had dismounted and entered the path leading to the fishing village, attacking from the rear.
Ser Daeron, who had remained in the middle of the caravan and had not yet joined the fighting, was about to face a massive enemy assault.
Shalit glanced around, hoping to find a few men to rescue his young lord, but was quickly disappointed. All his men were caught up in the melee and unable to break free.
Seeing the enemy within thirty yards of the caravan, Ser Daeron lost his nerve.
He had never been a skilled warrior. Though he led this band of brigands, he wasn't remotely as formidable as Ser Aris.
His passions were commerce and sailing. Last time, while attending a merchant dinner hosted by Magister Illyrio in Pentos, he'd heard about the betrothal between the Targaryen princess and the legendary khal, and had conceived the idea of using this opportunity to restore his house's fortunes.
He'd consulted with his sworn brother, Aris Rivers, a former squire of House Grafton. They'd eventually decided to raid the riverlands together, using the proceeds to raise an army and join Viserys.
He'd never imagined that, having come this far, he would be defeated.
"Ser Daeron!"
Daeron suddenly heard a voice call from the nearby reeds.
"Who's there?"
"Ser Daeron, come here! My master has sent me to rescue you," the voice echoed from the reeds, igniting a spark of hope in Daeron's heart.
"Who is your master? Is it Aris?" Daeron asked eagerly.
"Ser Aris's brother," came the reply.
"Ser Simon?" Daeron didn't hesitate and plunged into the reeds.
(End of Chapter)
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