As the sun began to dip behind the western ridges, the fields outside Unicorn Fortress transformed. Thousands of tents in various shades of grey, tan, and faded green sprouted like mushrooms after a sudden autumn rain, forming a sprawling, disciplined canvas city.
The heavy cavalrymen of the Karstark personal guard had already begun to settle. Some were stripping off their sweat-stained mail, while others tended to their mounts, the rhythmic sounds of horses chewing grain providing a steady backdrop to the camp's hum. After a quick meal of dry rations, half the camp fell into a deep, soldierly sleep; they were the watch for the second half of the night, and in the North, a tired sentry was a dead one.
By the only entrance to the fortress, a narrow, steep slope carved into the hillside massive bonfires blazed. The orange light danced off the stone walls, illuminating the work of hundreds of commoners. Karas Snow and his men had spent the afternoon driving the locals from the nearby villages, providing them with steel saws and heavy axes to fell the surrounding oaks.
"Approximately how many men are currently behind those gates?"
Eddard sat by a fire, cradling a bowl of hot mutton broth. The steam obscured his face, but his grey-blue eyes remained fixed on the fortress. Beside him sat several village elders, ancient men with skin like weathered parchment and beards as white as the coming snow. They held their own bowls with trembling hands, glancing nervously at the rows of warhorses and the silent, armored men surrounding them. To these elders, the young Marquis of Riverrun was a figure of myth, a lord who sat in the dirt and shared meat with the smallfolk.
One elder, his face mapped with age spots, cleared his throat. "Lord Buck called for a levy last month, My Lord. I'd say two hundred men were in the permanent guard. The best lads from our village... they never came back."
"More than that," another hissed, his few remaining teeth clicking against the wooden bowl. "I saw the banners of House Turner and House Bert enter the gates yesterday. They brought carts and riders. Dozens of men in plate, and sheaves of arrows. There must be four hundred men in there now, My Lord."
"They took my sheep," the third elder added with a sudden spark of resentment. "Lord Buck's men had already taken the grain, but those 'guests' from Oatfield Manor snatched my last dozen chickens. They acted like they were at a wedding, not a siege."
Eddard nodded slowly, his mind processing the figures. Four hundred men. Most would be militiamen, strong boys who knew which end of a spear to hold commanded by a core of fifty or so seasoned household knights. The defense was centered on the geography: the steep slopes, the narrow path, and the two scorpions mounted above the gate.
House Buck had clearly hidden their true strength from the Freys for years. Now, they thought they could use that strength to force a compromise.
The silence was broken by the groaning of the fortress gate. A single rider emerged, carrying the white-and-green banner of the Buck family. He rode down the narrow slope with practiced ease, his hands held high as he approached the Karstark lines.
"I am Rand Buck!" the man shouted, his voice cracking slightly as fifty longbows were drawn in his direction. "Son of Ser Harlan, heir to Unicorn Fortress! I seek an audience with the Marquis of Riverrun! I seek mercy and a word!"
Eddard stood up, dusting the dirt from his cloak. "Bring him over, Karas. Let's see if he's brought a surrender or a song."
A few minutes later, Rand Buck stood before the fire. He was a handsome youth with cordial hazel eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He looked like a man prepared for a courtly ball, not a life-and-death struggle. He dropped to one knee before Eddard, his head bowed.
"Lord Marquis," Rand said, his tone dripping with a respectful, well-rehearsed amiability. "My father drew his sword at your banquet. It was a moment of heat, a mistake born of old loyalties. House Buck does not deny this guilt."
He looked up, his expression sincere. "We have emptied our treasury. Five hundred gold dragons and thirty of our finest destriers are yours as compensation. My father is prepared to take the Black tonight. We only ask that the fortress remains with my line, and I swear to you, the four hundred men inside will be your most faithful hounds from this day forward."
In Westeros, this was the "standard" resolution. A bribe, a hostage, and a change of management within the same family. It was how Robert Baratheon had stabilized the realm. It saved the liege lord the cost of a siege and gave the vassal a chance to survive.
"Are you finished?" Eddard asked, his voice flat.
Rand blinked, his smile faltering. "My Lord?"
"If you're done, get out," Eddard said, returning to his broth. "I'm too tired to execute a messenger today, and I'd hate to ruin my reputation for 'mercy' on someone as insignificant as a Buck heir."
Karas Snow stepped forward, his massive hand closing around Rand's shoulder like a vice.
"My Lord, reconsider!" Rand shouted as he was dragged backward. "The Baratheon civil war is beginning! Stannis has sent the ravens, he calls Joffrey a bastard! Robb Stark needs every man in the North to fight the Ironborn and Roose Bolton! Are you truly going to waste your elite guards and your time on a pile of stones like this?"
Eddard signaled for Karas to stop. He looked at Rand with a newfound interest.
Rand Buck grinned, thinking he'd found the lever. Every lord fears internal instability during a broader war, he thought. He'll take the gold. He has to.
"Karas," Eddard said, his voice cold and devoid of the "mercy" Rand expected. "Tie him up. Hang him from that tree by the road. Don't kill him, just let him watch. I want the 'Clever' Master Rand to have a front-row seat for tomorrow's performance. And gag him. I'm tired of his voice."
"What?! You can't, this is against the laws of!" Rand's protest was cut short as Karas's fist found his stomach. A dirty linen rag was shoved into his mouth, and within minutes, the heir of Unicorn Fortress was dangling by his wrists from an oak branch, swaying in the cold night wind.
The next morning broke with the sound of a hundred saws.
By noon, the Karstark camp had produced its masterpiece. It was a four-meter-long, strangely shaped contraption built from the remains of the Buniel wagons. It had six massive wooden wheels and a reinforced timber frame. A ten-centimeter-thick plank roof had been nailed over the top, designed to shrug off arrows and boiling oil.
In the center, suspended by thick hemp ropes, was a five-meter-long battering ram tipped with a cluster of iron hammer-heads. It looked like a multi-fingered iron fist.
Eddard approached the tree where Rand Buck was hanging. The young man's face was pale and slick with sweat, his trousers soaked from a night of terror. Karas roughly pulled the gag from his mouth.
"Water..." Rand croaked. "Please... Lord Marquis..."
Eddard signaled, and Karas poured a skin of water down the man's throat until he sputtered.
"You said the path was too narrow for an army, Rand," Eddard said, looking at the fortress. "You said I'd have to fill the slope with the bodies of my men. You were right. It's a blood-meat-grinder."
He looked at the battering ram, then back at Rand. "But I've decided not to use my men's lives. I'm going to use yours."
Rand's hazel eyes went wide with a primal horror as Karas and two guards lowered him from the tree. They didn't take him to the dungeons. They marched him to the front of the armored ram. They lashed him tightly to the iron-tipped head of the ram itself, his body forming the "padding" between the machine and the castle gate.
"The scorpions above the gate are manned by House Turner, you said?" Eddard whispered as he checked the ropes. "Let's see if they're as 'notoriously selfish' as you claim. If they fire, they hit you. If they drop stones, they crush you. If they don't... I break the door."
Eddard stepped back, drawing Heartbreaker. The Valyrian steel hummed in the afternoon air. A dozen Karstark "Wolfguards" in full plate climbed into the protected belly of the ram. Two hundred archers formed into ranks, their bows nocked and ready.
"Good luck, Rand," Eddard said.
Then, he raised the black blade and roared a single command that echoed across the hill.
"ATTACK!"
[System Notification: Siege Assault Commencing.]
[Psychological Warfare: Human Shield deployed.]
[Target Morale: Shattered.]
[Soul Power Spent on Engineering: 50 SP.]
For Advance/Early Chapters:
patreon.com/Shadownarch_
If you're enjoying the story, consider dropping some Power Stones.