Just as Garth finished rallying his soldiers and forming them into ranks, ready to counterattack the enemy spreading through the camp, a sudden series of horn blasts sounded.
The wildling riders, warriors, and Starfall armored infantrymen who had broken into the camp abruptly ceased their attack. Under the cover of darkness, they retreated swiftly.
Within a quarter of an hour, the Starfall soldiers had withdrawn completely, vanishing into the night and leaving behind only burning tents and scattered corpses.
Just as Garth was about to lead his troops in pursuit, Ser Moryn Tyrell rode up and blocked his path.
The old knight's meticulously groomed white beard was singed and yellowed by fire, and his armor was marred with scratches and bloodstains.
"The night is dark. Rash pursuit will only lead us into an ambush.
"We should quickly reorganize our ranks, count our losses, and retreat to a nearby castle in the rear to reconsider our strategy."
Garth, still high on battle lust, wanted to argue. But remembering how he had just fallen for Snow's trap, he hesitated.
Given Snow's cunning, an ambush was entirely possible.
Moreover, throughout the battle, he hadn't seen Snow fighting in the camp, which reinforced Moryn's deduction.
"Moryn, you are right." Garth gritted his teeth, sheathed his sword, and looked around.
The flickering light of the burning tents cast dancing shadows on the shaken faces of his soldiers. Moans of the wounded rose and fell.
He tightened his grip on the reins and shouted orders:
"Do not pursue! Quickly inventory supplies and tend to the wounded. At first light, we retreat to Uplands.
"Also, increase scouts and sentries. Beware of another Dornish attack. Until we reach Uplands, keep your swords in hand and your armor on!"
The soldiers looked relieved and immediately sprang into action.
Some extinguished the fires, while others carried the wounded. The clatter of iron and suppressed sobbing wove together in the air.
Garth noticed that when he issued commands, even Ser Moryn bowed respectfully in acknowledgment.
His heroic performance in turning the tide during the night raid had naturally made "Greysteel" Garth the true commander in the eyes of the men.
Dawn broke like spilled blood, dyeing the camp a dark crimson.
As the first rays of sunlight touched the camp, Garth stood before the pile of ash that had been his personal tent, his boots sinking into the warm embers.
He didn't know if the woman who had woken him had also turned to ash along with the tent.
Garth inspected his plate armor. The breastplate was dented, marks left by arrows during his charge.
Both pauldrons bore long scratches from sword strikes. The most obvious mark on his body was a dent caused by a wildling's axe; he remembered that blow nearly unhorsing him.
If not for her warning giving him enough time to don his armor, perhaps he would have perished in the attack like his two squires, Krog and Dir.
"My Lord." The voice of Garth's newly promoted lieutenant pulled him back to reality.
The young man held a damaged helmet, his face smeared with soot. "The count is complete... we have only fourteen hundred men left."
Hearing the report, Garth felt as if a knife were twisting in his heart.
Of the three thousand vanguard troops, only fourteen hundred remained.
The heaviest losses were among the vassal levies gathered along the way. Their tents were on the perimeter of the camp and had borne the brunt of the enemy's first strike.
Next was the cavalry. Of the original six hundred, only a little over a hundred remained. They had either been drunk and burned to death in their tents, or caught without armor or horses, their reactions dulled by alcohol, and slaughtered in the melee.
"I intended to lead them to glory, but instead I led them to their deaths." A trace of remorse flashed in Garth's eyes.
This cavalry unit was composed of landed knights, sworn swords, and squires loyal to House Hightower. Some had trained with him since childhood; others had been knighted by his own hand.
On the road to Uplands, Garth suppressed his impatience and personally directed the scouts to guard against Starfall ambushes.
They encountered no ambushes along the way. Lord Martin Mullendore of Uplands, learning that Garth's squires had perished in the night raid, eagerly offered his own son to go to Oldtown and become Garth's new squire.
Having just suffered heavy losses and worried about Snow's next move, Garth had no mind to entertain Martin. he gave a vague, noncommittal answer.
Only when the mottled walls of Uplands appeared in view did Garth let out a breath of relief. His tense nerves relaxed slightly, and he agreed to Martin's request.
Martin was overjoyed. "Ser, it will be the honor of House Mullendore for my son to serve you."
His forces had suffered greatly in the night raid. If his heir could serve Garth Hightower, son of his liege lord, and build a good relationship, it would be the best outcome.
With a groan, the heavy gates slowly opened. Once inside Uplands, the soldiers finally let down their guard.
Many collapsed directly onto the ground. Others leaned against the walls or found a shady spot, closed their eyes, and fell asleep instantly.
The cavalrymen handed their horses to stable boys, instructing them to feed the beasts extra oats.
After crossing the threshold, Garth felt drained. His eyelids were heavy, fighting a losing battle against exhaustion.
Beside him, the elderly Ser Moryn fared even worse, needing support from his squire to walk.
"My Lords, Sers, this way please." Martin was surprisingly energetic, leading Garth, Moryn, and the other knights toward the main keep, his face full of solicitude.
"I've had the steward prepare rooms and food for you."
Martin called loudly for his steward, but no one answered.
Just then, with a heavy thud, the castle gates slammed shut behind them.
It was like a signal. Suddenly, countless archers in Starfall livery surged from the towers connected to the walls. They quickly lined every battlement, drawing their bows and aiming down into the courtyard.
A steady stream of Mountain Corps soldiers poured out from the main keep, instantly surrounding Martin—who was still confused—and the nobles preparing to rest.
"I trust you've been well, Ser Garth, Ser Moryn." Arthur walked out of the main keep, fully armored and wielding dual swords. "I didn't expect we'd meet here."
"Arthur Snow!" Garth reacted first, roaring as he drew his longsword.
Arthur pointed with one of his blades to the Starfall archers with drawn bows surrounding them, and the Mountain Corps soldiers ready to strike.
"Ser Garth, if I were you, I would drop the sword. Because we are not the Arbor, nor House Redwyne. We do not kill those who surrender, nor the elderly, women, or children."
As Arthur's voice fell, the soldiers of Starfall shouted in unison: "Drop your weapons! Surrender and live!"
The exhausted soldiers of the Hightower force, facing gleaming arrowheads and swords, couldn't withstand the pressure. They threw their weapons to the ground with a clatter.
When the first soldier dropped his weapon, it was like dominoes falling. The sound of steel hitting stone rang out continuously.
Seeing this, Ser Moryn sighed and advised, "Garth, we have lost. Put down your sword."