The morning light, warm as a hearth fire, spread across the clear, winding river and the lush wheat fields of the Reach. It was a beautiful day for a harvest, but the only thing being reaped today was steel.
"Your Grace, the soldiers are about to win."
Davos Seaworth stood on a gentle slope, his hand shielding his eyes as he looked through a brass telescope at Honeycomb City. In the distance, the seat of House Beesbury was a swarm of frantic activity. "I still strongly recommend that after the city falls, we lead the army back to the Stormlands. We are too deep, Your Grace. We are a stag in a field of lions and roses."
Since the twenty-thousand-strong Stormlands army had emerged from the mountain passes at Summerhall, they had been a whirlwind of destruction. They had seized over ten castles, Bitterbridge, Longtable, Cider Hall and helped the Florents reclaim Brightwater Keep. Stannis had used the Florent seat as his base of operations, pushing further south to consolidate his hold on the Reach's breadbasket.
Stannis watched the siege towers lumbering toward the walls of Honeycomb City like wooden giants. Under a rain of arrows, his elite infantry surged onto the battlements. Honeycomb City was a wealthy prize, but it was no Storm's End. It was built for trade, not for a war against a King.
"Since this is a campaign against rebels, there is no reason to abandon it halfway," Stannis replied, his voice a dry, rhythmic grind. "Most of the Tyrell host is still blocked at Bitterbridge. My soldiers are fearless, and my vassals have tasted victory. If I retreat now, I am a King who harbors fear. And how can a King who harbors fear make others fear him?"
Stannis turned his head, his deep blue eyes cold and shifting like a winter sea. "Davos, it was you who suggested I attack the Reach. Now, you suggest I flee. Tell me, how am I supposed to persuade Earl Caswell or Earl Florent to give up the lands they have just bled for?"
The Onion Knight smiled bitterly. His original advice in the caves of Storm's End had been a survival tactic, a way to feed the army and break the Lion's alliance. But once the chariot of war started, even the King found it hard to pull the reins. The Reach was too rich, the victories too easy. No one wanted to go back to the salt and rock of the Stormlands.
"Your Grace, the night is dark and full of terrors."
Melisandre emerged from the King's tent, her crimson robes fluttering in the morning breeze. The ruby at her throat drank the sunlight, flickering with an inner fire. "In the flames, I saw a crowned stag trapped between beasts and thorns. Ser Davos's caution may hold a seed of truth."
Stannis grunted, his jaw set. "My lady, the visions in the flames cannot command my vassals. I will see this through."
He felt a dark, vengeful satisfaction in this campaign. Years ago, during Robert's Rebellion, the Tyrells had sat outside Storm's End for a year, feasting while Stannis and his men ate rats and boot-leather. Now, he was the one feasting on their lands.
"Urgent intelligence! Make way!"
A rider galloped up the slope, his horse lathered in foam. Ser Richard Hope, one of Stannis's most trusted knights, dismounted and knelt, an arrow still protruding from his shoulder-guard.
"Your Grace," Ser Richard panted. "Reach forces have been spotted coming from Oldtown. At least ten thousand. I saw the Hunter of Horn Hill, the Hightower of Oldtown, and the grapes of the Redwynes."
"Tarly?" Stannis's brow furrowed. "I was told Randyll Tarly was a prisoner at the Twins. How is he in the south?"
Earl Eldon Estermont, Stannis's elderly uncle, stepped forward. "It is the work of the 'Winter Wizard,' Your Grace. Rumors from the North say Eddard Karstark has been trading prisoners for grain. The boy-king Robb Stark likely needed the food more than he needed a caged hunter."
Stannis gritted his teeth, the sound like a stone cracking. "What is the Wolf boy doing? To release such a man is madness."
"Perhaps Tywin Lannister sent his sister back as part of the price," Davos suggested. "Terms a Stark could not refuse."
Stannis looked at the smoke rising from Honeycomb City. His victory felt suddenly fragile. "Tarly never fights a battle he cannot win. His presence means another army is coming, likely the Lannister veterans from the capital."
"If we leave now," Estermont suggested, "we can head north along the Rose Road. Tarly's numbers are smaller; he will not pursue a superior force."
"I will not sneak away like a thief in the night!" Stannis declared, his eyes gleaming with a stubborn fire. "I would rather crush the thorns and kill the beasts. Ser Richard, find me a field. I want a place where we can break them."
"A few miles south, Your Grace," Ser Richard replied. "A plain that slopes from north to south. It favors the defender."
"Good. Take five hundred cavalry and scout their approach," Stannis commanded. He then turned to Davos and Estermont. "Take the remaining ten thousand men north. Encamp at Highgarden. Block the junction of the Ocean Road and the Rose Road. If the Lannisters come from the West, you are my wall."
Davos felt a chill. Stannis was splitting his forces. Ten thousand to face Tarly's ten thousand, while the rest guarded the rear. It was a gamble of the highest order.
South of the plain, Randyll Tarly shifted in his saddle, a dull ache throbbing in his knee. The dampness of the Karstark dungeons had left a mark that Reach sunlight couldn't cure.
"My Lord, the enemy is ahead," a scout reported. "Ten thousand men. They have taken the high ground."
Tarly nodded, his face a mask of iron. He had failed once at the Crossing. He would not fail again.
He rode to the front of his line and pulled out his telescope. Across the plain, Stannis's army was arrayed with the precision of a machine. Archers in the front, pikes behind them, and heavy cavalry on the flanks. At the very rear, atop the slope, flew the Crowned Stag and the Flaming Heart.
A small party of riders emerged from Stannis's lines, carrying a peace banner. Ser Richard Hope rode forward, his face scarred and resolute.
"My Lord Earl," Ser Richard called out. "His Grace King Stannis bade me tell you: he will wait on this slope until sunset. If you have not launched your attack by then, he will depart with the regret of not having met a worthy foe."
"Tell your master," Tarly replied, his voice a cold rasp, "that I do not dance to a rebel's tune. I will attack when I am ready."
Ser Richard offered a mocking bow and rode back.
"They are looking down on us!" one of the Hightower knights spat. "Let's charge them now!"
Tarly ignored the shouting. He watched the stag banners through his glass. He was a hunter, and he knew Stannis had arrived with twenty thousand. He could only see ten thousand on the field.
"Send scouts toward Honeycomb City," Tarly ordered. "I want to know where the other half of the King's army is hiding. I will not walk into another Karstark-style trap."
The Hunter had learned his lesson. This time, he would wait for the prey to blink first.
[System Notification: Southern Front active.]
[Strategic Event: The Battle of the Honeycomb Plain initiated.]
[Current Momentum: Stalemate.]
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