297 AC
They made a strange sight passing through the Bloody Gate. His Ser had rallied over one hundred mountain men and armed them in new steel. Jack-o-nose with his twenty, more Dreadfort men who came down the Kingsroad with gold, his sister's Frey guardsmen, the Sand Snakes, Ser, and his squires made up the balance of their force. Fewer than three hundred swords in all.
Not much of an army, he thought. How would they war with so few? They said the mountain men ran off with women. He feared for his sister. He even feared for Elia.
"I want you to hire two hundred archers once we reach the Gates of the Moon," Ser Domeric told Alyx Frey, whom he kept by his side while they rode into the Vale proper, kept closer than his squires to tell it true.
"At what wages?" Alyx asked shrewdly. Al's sister always had a good head for figures.
"A silver stag per day, two moons guaranteed. I want the best that can be found." He turned his head to indicate the carts behind them. "And set more men to fletching arrows. These will be used up quickly."
So five hundred men. That still wasn't very much. Those mountains looked terribly high to Alesander!
Rather than being displeased, Alyx looked excited to be given such an important task. "Anything else?"
"Much and more," Ser answered. "This is more long-term, but I mean to squeeze the mountain clans. They won't just lose one battle and bend the knee. We're going to go up there and stay. Conn knows every goat track and secret path in these parts, every defile and every dead end. We'll plant our feet in places where they must contest us. They'll bleed, and we'll take more and more every day. I want stonemasons, prospectors, and miners. Ship them in from Lannisport if you must. You'll have access to the Maester at the Gates, so I want ravens flying at all hours. We'll build little fortified mining camps athwart their path, deny them the ability to move freely. Beyond that, you'll be in charge of our supplies and caring for the wounded we send back down into the valley. I want more mounts, surefooted garrons if you can get them, mules laden with flour and salt beef. I want spades, axes, and torches."
Alyx smiled wolfishly. "I will give my love all that he wants. It'll be good practice for when we're wed!"
"It will," he agreed. "I'm heir to a lot of land, you know, and you'll be lady over all of it. There are hills that could be mined, trees that could be felled, and more. I will be warring or riding off to tourneys. Much of the management of our family's interests will be in your hands."
His sister blushed a color he didn't know she was capable of.
***
"Got one!" Tyene said brightly, lowering her bow. The shaft she loosed pierced a bird in flight, and it tumbled down into the woods below.
"The golden girl is as fine an archer as I've ever seen," Conn, son of Coratt, praised the Sand Snake.
The innocent-looking girl smiled wickedly. "You can praise me more tonight!" Alesander wanted to gag; another pair he'd have to listen to fucking in their bedroll.
All the Sand Snakes were pretty decent archers, as it happened. They weren't shooting wildlings, though.
"Every animal," Ser Domeric told them. "Shoot down every bird, rabbit, squirrel, and mountain goat you see. Leave the meat to rot. If the kill attracts shadowcats, shoot them too. Burn every berry bush and every tree bearing fruit. Dig up every edible root. The Shadowscalps know everything in these mountains that can be eaten. We'll destroy it all."
Flushing small game out of thickets didn't exactly feel like war, but Al could understand Ser's plan. They'd seen not a single wildling, but many a goat and bird. They rode through narrow, steep passages single file, relying on their shaggy garrons to get them through.
"Move!" Elia pushed him aside rudely and spitted a hare on her spear, lashing out like a viper. Odd, he hadn't even seen it there. "Fancy rabbit stew tonight?" she teased.
Al rolled his eyes. "It's biscuits and salt beef for us, as you well know. Ugh, when are we going to get some action?"
He tried to sound brave, but to tell it true, Al was afraid. They were high up, and far from help. If the wild men came on them in numbers, it was kill or never come home.
"I'll protect you, don't worry," Elia promised arrogantly.
This girl was impossible, Alesander decided. She vacillated between hatred and grudging respect, seemingly at random. Al was jealous Ser let her joust, but he could admit she really was better. A little healthy competition never hurt anyone, his master told him once.
Five hundred was too many. The clans would not dare attack such a large force, so Domeric split them into smaller groups as they climbed higher into the mountains. Their men were on either side of the High Road, the section Conn and his Shadowscalps knew best. Thankfully, Ser Domeric would not be parted from his squires. Just now, they were in a rocky area, high up and chilly, but almost flat.
"This is good stone," Nymeria Sand pointed out. "Skilled men could quarry, cut, and build a stout tower that commands this whole plateau."
"I agree," Domeric replied. "Right now, I think the mountain clans are waiting for us to leave. Building a permanent base will send a message, and Conn could use it for his seat when he's a lord. From here, his warriors could range all over this section of the mountains. We'll set up camp and bring the masons. Maybe they could dig a mine shaft right into the mountain."
There was nothing to eat but what they brought with them on the mules. Ser saw to that. They'd set up two more permanent camps at "chokepoints" Conn had shown them. That was Ser's word for a place where the wildlings had to pass, for the mountains were too steep to go over, even for the best climbers. From these chokepoints, he sent out parties of hunters and foragers, though they brought back nothing. The point was to take it from the wildlings.
The day the masons finally showed up and started piling stones atop each other was the night of the first attack. Al wasn't on watch, but Elia shook him awake quickly. "Get up, you slug! They're here!" Her spear glinted in the moonlight. He heard the soft thwip thwip thwip of arrows being loosed as he pulled on his sword belt. He'd slept in his mail, so all he had to do was pick up his shield, don his helm, and draw his sword.
Elia stood with him shoulder to shoulder, and that made him feel queerly safe. Their camp was in a high place, so the wildlings had to come up at them.
They must be desperate to do that, he thought.
No torches were lit to make them night blind. There was moon enough to see the foe in front. Thankfully, Conn's scouts had spotted the wild men coming up, so they weren't surprised in their bedrolls. Blurry purple shapes boiled up out of the woodline, here and there steel glinting.
"Just stick together and remember your training," Domeric said behind them, making Al and Elia both jump. When he looked behind, he saw his Ser in black ringmail, with Lady Nym at his side, clutching a long dagger in each hand. "Killing is like magic. You have to mean it. When you strike, say 'I mean to kill' in your head and heart."
The two squires nodded fiercely, and then the wild men were upon them. Al caught an axe on his shield, and Elia stuck him with her spear before Alesander could answer with his sword. She was always too bloody fast for him. It was a terrible, noisy, confusing brawl, but Ser and Lady Nym were easy to mark, even as the battle carried them further apart. Every clansman who got within a sword stroke of them was cut down quick as you please.
Alesander was wondering when he would kill his first man when he did so by accident. A starving, screaming old greybeard all but sprinted onto the point of his sword. He had to use his boot to pry the blade loose. Elia buried her spear in the guts of a youth who tried to take Alesander in his blind spot and avenge the greybeard; then it was his turn to save her when he nearly decapitated another wildling who grabbed hold of her spear and tried to wrench it from her grasp. The man's head hung by a single, thin strip of meat, and he crumpled.
Like a good squire, Al honed his blade every day, and the sharp steel cut into these men all too easily. They wore furs, leather, and mayhaps a little ironmongery if they were fortunate, which they weren't. They were skinny, stunted, starving creatures, roaring like bears, but their ribs showed underneath their jerkins. He and Elia cut down a few more, but it was almost too easy. The wildlings moved slowly, and their steel was quick.
Soon enough, it was over. The wild men didn't flee, choosing a quick death by the sword over slow starvation. Conn's men were already on the bodies collecting scalps.
"I'll save a few for you two," Ser promised. He and Lady Nym were completely covered in blood. "You've more than earned a few scalps; now get some rest. This won't be the last battle."
Al and Elia returned to their bedrolls without a word. When he was about to lie down, she hugged him harder than a girl that skinny should be able to.