A ballad of blood - A tale from the song of Ice and Fire

For all game of thrones enthusiasts and fans of fantasy A short novel that takes place at the beginning of Clash of Kings

A Ballad of Blood. A tale from the song of Ice and FIre " Prologue

 

Wildlife scattered into the trees as someone came crashing through a small opening. Small birds chirped in panic and annoyance as they scampered to the safety of the tallest branches. The larger birds followed, staying low before clearing the trees entirely and taking to the sky. One of the birds, slower than the rest swooped right up in front of the woman as she sprinted. She closed her eyes as she felt the wings beat close to her face. Something sharp and hard cut into the sole of her foot causing her to wince as she pressed on. To slow down was to risk getting caught. She swore to herself that she would not get caught. She would not die like the others.

Dogs could be heard barking from some distance behind her. They would latch onto her scent and signal to their masters. It was what they were trained to do. As what they did when they set upon their prey. She had being running for some time now and was beginning to tire. It was vital that she not give into panic. She forced her mind clear and her breathing measured as best as she could.

Her wits and youth were her only allies. Her long legs though scrawnier than they had been, allowed her to make good pace. But now they started to burn in protest as she climbed to higher ground. The incline had been gentle at first but now it sloped ever upwards as if taunting her. She had to reach the peak. It is what her father had taught her and her brothers when they were children.

‘It could well save your lives if you ever find yourself lost and alone’ His gruff voice cut into her memory.

‘Find high ground and look around. Streams are what yer looking for. Find one and follow it to a river. Follow that and get yourself home. Now I ve told yer I won’t be needing to come out there. My gout won’t allow it and even if it did I ve got better things to do then look for sprogs in the wilderness.’ He had chastised them.

Her father had been a trapper, and her brothers had followed suit. They supplemented their meagre income by offering themselves as guides. For extra coin they would take their clients hunting. City folk usually, looking for a little adventure. For the most part they lived off the land. She used to hate being a trapper’s daughter. Now it was the one thing that might keep her alive.

From somewhere off to her flank she heard a man scream out. Or was it ahead? The trees had a habit of playing tricks with the senses. When the wind blew it sounded like the leaves were laughing and it was not a pleasant sound. There was the faint sound of a man crying out in terror and then it was gone.

She stopped then, not out of fear, never fear. She chided herself as she confirmed her bearings. She strained her ears to try to pinpoint the sound. Somebody running in panic was a person running blindly. She thought back to what she just heard. It was most likely the oldest prisoner among them. He was already hobbling before the hunt began. She thought back to it then as her mind drifted.

She remembered hands pushing her to her knees. Her wrists had been tied behind her with rope that had started to burn her skin. The light almost blinded her as her hood was removed so accustomed to dark was she. There were others beside her similarly bound but in differing states of vitality. Their attention was soon brought to their chief captor with a clap of his hands.

He was young, perhaps a few years older than her. It had not been so long ago that she had reached womanhood. His hair was brown and curly and in keeping with someone of means. As was his attire, dark colours for the most part, but their quality was evident. But she never forgot those eyes, coloured like the ocean and just as cold. It overshadowed anything that may have been considered handsome about him. They all knew by then to be silent around him, unless spoken to directly.

 

‘When I drop this handkerchief, you are to run as fast as you can. If you can evade my hounds, my men, and most unlikely of all, myself until the sun sets then you are free. If you are caught however...’

She remembered watching helplessly as he nodded to one of his men who held onto one of the dog’s leashes. As soon as the leash was loosened it lunged forwards right for the poor blighter in its sights. Its jaws snapped repeatedly and its eyes were wild with bloodlust.

‘Well, its best not to dwell on that too much. Just know that they have not been fed in a good while and they have such voracious appetites.’ He spoke over the growls with a smirk that only made his blue eyes seem colder.

She watched the beast as it neared its victim, dragging its handler with it. He was shaking with terror and his eyes were closed shut. He was sobbing uncontrollably and his breeches soon turned dark as urine filled the ground beneath him.

‘Hush my sweet girl. All good things come to those that wait.’ Her captor consoled the hound as it was once more brought to heel. With one lick of the lips it rested on its haunches in placid submission. Somehow that was the most terrifying thing of all. He patted its head in reward.

‘This one seems to have a certain fixation for you. It is a pity that your piss will make it easier for her to track you down. There is nothing worse than a hunt being over too soon. Try to run fast at least, there’s a good fellow.’ He finished by clucking his tongue in disapproval.

‘I do so love these beasts. Can you see their magnificence?’ He asked those that would soon be chased by them. His voice overflowing with pride.

‘Bred especially for power, stamina and speed. They were a gift from my esteemed father. Perhaps he felt some semblance of guilt for not allowing me his family name. The politics of it all you see. Nothing to be done about it. Life can be unfair sometimes, cruel even...’

The smirk left him then and his eyebrows furrowed as his thoughts seem to drift. The smile soon returned however.

‘They came to me as puppies, at my request of course. They say hounds take on traits of their master. These ones certainly have a fascination for human flesh.’ He concluded with a wry chuckle.

He patted the hound once last time before he made to mount his horse. He had barely turned when one of her fellow captors called out.

‘You re that b*****d, Snow, aren’t yer? Aye, you re the b*****d alright.’

 She did not know his name or any of the others kneeling next to her for that matter. They were forbidden from talking as they were pulled along by the cart. For most of the journey their heads were covered. Except for when they were given stale water to drink. She simply knew him as number four. There were five in total.

Given his relative fitness he was likely to be the fourth one caught she had decided. The fourth and last she had promised herself.

‘I ll not die running from the likes of you. Kill me now or as the seven as my witness I’ll have your throat out.’ The fourth one called out again in defiance. It was clear he was trying to provoke a reaction.

Their captor stopped in his tracks and appeared to tense for the slightest of moments. When he turned around his eyes and smirk remained however. It had sent a shiver down her spine despite the midday sun warming her. She watched as he nodded to two of his men who also grinned as they made their way to the agitator.

‘Havn’t got the balls to do it yourself? I expect no less from a godless b*****d.’ The fourth one said resentfully even as they dragged him to his feet.

‘Oh, they re not going to kill you. No no no my dear fellow.’ Their tormentor explained as he appeared to take something small and shiny from his saddle bag. He held it up to examine it and it was then that they all realised what it was.

‘I was just thinking to myself how I was going to kill the time whilst we waited to commence our little game. But I think I ve solved that particular conundrum now.’ He explained as he glided his index finger up the slender blade.

With his other hand he raised a dark silk handkerchief. Somebody behind her cut her wrist bonds free. It was time.

She remembered turning to run without hesitation as soon as it left his gloved hand. A gut wrenching scream soon followed from where she came. The sound got fainter as she put distance between them but it was some time before it could no longer be heard.

The sun had since passed its peak as it arced the sky but still had some way to go before setting. The shadows had lengthened considerably as less light penetrated through the thick leaves. By her estimation there was just one other captive left alive, the one that had pissed his breeches. It was cruel of her to think it but she hoped his was running blindly. The scent of his urine may help to disguise her own trail. She needed to find a river before it got too dark to see.

Up and up she ran. Up until her calves burned and her chest was about to burst. She began to stumble over fallen branches and roots concealed by the foliage and shadow alike. The sounds of the hounds barking kept her pushing on. By the time she reached the top of the incline she was on all fours. Her hands and knees were scrapped and bruised and her finger tips covered in mud.

Her throat began to burn and her head swam causing her to slump to the ground. A leafy bed of yellow and orange shades comforted her as she closed her eyes.

It had been just over a month since her brothers had all been conscripted into the Tully army. All the banner lords of the riverlands heralded the call to arms. The Tully’s had declared for Stannis Baratheon. The beheading of Eddard Stark had swayed them to supporting the late King’s brother over the son. Hardly surprising considering one of their own had married into the Stark family. Joining their den in the north.

‘When it comes down to it they always take care of their own. Damned be everyone else!’ She remembered her father’s outburst upon hearing the news.

As a trapper living away from any of the towns, he did not consider himself or the family as subjects of anyone. He paid his taxes begrudgingly, just so he could be left alone in peace. Not that the tax collector came often. It was a long journey for a few silvers. It was probably more cost effective to leave well alone. What was worse, conscripts were expected to provide their own arms and armour. They all had some skill with the bow and small blades but none could wield a sword or spear with any real competence. She remembered well the day the agents came to their little lodge.

The dogs were the first to notice as they began to bark in warning. They could make out voices and the sound of horses neighing and clopping as they came to a halt. Three large thuds against their door came next from a fist that clinked each time it did.

‘Open in the name of Lord Edmund Tully!’ A commanding voice rang out.

‘Alright alright, hold yer horses. Get out of the way you mutts!’ Her father replied gruffly, annoyed at the intrusion and having to control the dogs. 

She could tell he was worried as his opened the door, more hesitant than usual. From over his shoulder she made out about a dozen or so mounted men. Some were dismounted and the others remained atop their garrons, content to look on. The visitor at the door was broad shouldered and took up most of the frame. His head was covered in mail and most of his face was covered by a great thick beard. The dogs attempted to rush forward to sniff them out but she kept them in check using the scruff of their necks. Something told her these men, each of them armed, were not to be messed with.

‘What brings you lot to our humble abode?’ Her father asked with as much bravado as he could muster.

The man at the door gave him a distasteful look before handing her father a parchment of paper. She could make out some sort of fancy seal from where she stood but not much else. Her father looked it up and down as if not quite sure what to do with it. He gave it a sniff.

‘It certainly looks pretty. It’s not a love letter is it? Been a good while since I got one of those.’

The man scoffed in impatience, after realising that her father was without the required skill to read it.

‘It is an order from your liege lord. Every household is to provide up to two able bodied men to report for immediate duty. Those that have no able bodied men to offer shall instead contribute in the form of a mandatory war tax. Such sum is to be left up to the discretion of the officer present. That would be me, Sergeant Fenris. But seeing as you have two healthy looking lads here that won’t be necessary.’

‘Duty for what?’ Her father cut in defiantly.

‘I ve never broken bread with this Edmund Tully, or any Tully for that matter. Nor have we exchanged words. I couldn’t even tell you what the b*****d looks like.’ Her father spat out in contempt.

One of the men outside made to draw his blade and moved forward towards the door in response.

‘How dare you insult his lordship. I ll run you through where you stand!’ He called out.

Before he could take more than two steps Fenris raised his hand sharply.

‘Calm your breeches. The man is clearly upset. Give him a moment to realise the seriousness of the situation. Its the least we can do after all.’

For a moment she thought her father was going to argue but she watched as he looked around to gaze at the all the armed men about his house. He sighed in resignation before submitting.

‘Let me and my eldest gather our things-'

‘Your eldest, yes. But I will be taking your young’un there also.’ Fenris stated as a matter of fact.

‘What? The boy is barely seventeen. He has yet to shoot a bow better than I can.’ Her father protested, panic overcoming him.

‘That may be, but its your ability to march to the battlefield that concerns me. He is able bodied and of the required age. He’ll do.’ Fenris replied, once more growing impatient.

‘No please, do not take both my sons. I ll pay, whatever tax you bloody like! Just don’t take my baby boy.’ Her father cried out as he made to reach out to the man about to take them away.

It had been many years since she had seen her father that desperate and teary. The last time was when her mother had passed away when she was still a child. Fenris declined the offer and shoved her father back when he tried to beg at the Sergeant’s feet.

‘You have a few moments to say your goodbyes. If all goes well they’ll be back in a month or two. Heroes of the town no less. We’ll be waiting outside.’ And with that Fenris stepped back as the door was closed for privacy.

She watched as her father, now broken took her two brothers aside and hugged them both with more affection then she could ever remember having received herself.

‘Now listen you two. Keep out of harm’s way. You ll be better with the bow than most. Even you Derran. Don’t listen to the stories about heroes, come back alive you hear?’ He instructed them.

‘Yes father.’ They both nodded in unison.

‘Look after each other. I ve already lost two children as well as your dear mam. She’ll never forgive me if I lose two more.’

With one final hug he watched as they both took their packs and left.

‘Cheer up lads.’ One of the soldiers called out to them as her brothers trotted to the back of the line.

‘You re fighting for the best army in all of the seven Kingdoms. We’ll smash those Lannister b******s and make all of the ladies in the area moist with excitement.’ Another whooped before marching off at the head.

All of them laughed, except for Fenris and her brothers. Her elder, Garrick tried his best to smile. Derran’s face went white and his eyes widened as he looked back hoping to be dismissed. She remembered it well for it was the last time she saw either. Two weeks later word had spread that the Tully forces had been routed by the Kingslayer at the Golden tooth. No word arrived of what happened to her brothers.

 

Her father may have done his utmost to avoid civilisation but there was no escaping the affects of the war. His sons gone and no more tourists to guide on hunts times soon became hard. He trapped what he could but increased activity in the area meant there was less to hunt. 

As his only remaining child she had taken herself into town to find any work she could. Employment was far and few between and the coin she made was scant enough to feed her and her father. She even resorted to bedding men for coin, those that were clean and respectful enough. This source of income also became scarce as the war claimed more men, respectful or no.

Her options diminishing, she did what she did best, she poached. Instead of game what she took this time was coin that did not belong to her. That too did not last long as she was soon caught and sent to the jail at Seagard.  It was the largest town in the Riverlands and located by the cape of eagles. And the only one with the capacity to hold the increasing number of those charged with breaking the law. That is where she and others awaited justice from lord Mallister. To her great dismay it was not the lord that came to deliver the King’s justice. It was the devil himself.

She shuddered once more as she remembered the day he walked up to the cell she and the others were in. She had met men before who took pleasure in inflicting pain. Some enjoyed the emotional trauma they caused upon their victims. Others were more primal in their pursuit, preferring to rape and beat those weaker than themselves. They all had a similar look in their eye, an edge that veiled their dark desires. Something about the newcomer told her that he enjoyed both.

After a moment of taking their measure he spoke. His voice was quiet, meek almost, but it had a steel to it that cut through her.

‘They will have to do. I suppose we must all make sacrifices in times of war.’ He concluded as if barely acknowledging their existence.

His adjutant nodded his agreement before offering his consent.

It was explained to them that lord Mallister was making every effort to limit resources spent on keeping prisoners, which had risen sharply recently. He had consented to the offer to alleviate his costly problem. That was of little comfort the day they were dragged to the woods, half starved and stripped of their footwear. Running barefoot meant more cuts and scrapes which the hounds could follow. One of the men begged to be allowed to join the nights watch instead. To this the guards guffawed cruelly before splashing the man in tar oil.

‘Here’s your black. Now say the words and we ll let you make your own way to the wall. Of course you ll have to escape our little beauties here first.’ She remembered them laughing.

The sound of another man screaming cut through her. That was all the motivation she needed to push herself back to her feet. Dizziness from hunger and exertion threatened to swamp her but she fought it. She strained her ears and blocked out the sound of a man being savaged to death. She was listening for something else. Very faintly she thought she could hear the sound of water trickling. The sound of her salvation.

 

 

After gauging the direction as best as she could she began to sprint once more. She ignored the pain that shot up from her soles. Her heart pounded stronger than it ever had before. It dawned on her that she was likely the last one remaining. There was still some time to go until sunset and her legs were beginning to cramp. This she pushed through, it was the nausea in her empty stomach that caused her to stop once more. She retched up bile by a tree and wiped what she could away with the back of her hand.

She did not have the luxury of catching her breath again, but it did not matter. She could clearly hear the sound of running water. She could have cried from relief but she could not waste it. Her throat was burning from thirst and the bile that had risen up it. 

She continued as best as she could. Passing one tree then another until they all looked the same. Wildlife scurried out of her way but she ignored them. Suddenly she burst through a bush and felt the twigs scrap against her skin. Her feet hit something hard and cold, but most importantly of all it was wet. Her eyes were fixed ahead. There it was, her escape route from this torment.

On all fours she entered the stream. She washed herself furiously, rubbing her arms and legs with her hands. Conscious that she did not have much time. She dunked her face into the cool clear water, more out of gratitude than anything else. She allowed herself a much needed drink and elation spread through her as it passed through her lips. She closed her eyes and imagined herself far away from here, far away from him. Then she heard something that caused her heart to freeze in its place.

 

‘There you are. That was quite the chase you gave me. But I ve always said good things come to those that wait.’

She did not have to look up to know who it was but she did anyway in hopeless despair. It was as if she was hypnotised by his voice. So sweetly spoken that one may be forgiven for not knowing the dark intent embedded within them. Not so her, she knew all too well.

‘Those eyes... just like ice.’ She thought as he waded towards her, blade in hand.

 

 

 

 

A Ballad of blood and fire. A tale from the song of Ice and Fire.

Chapter 1 " The clouds gather.

 ‘Three victories do not make you a conqueror.’ The king slayer said defiantly to his captor. He ignored the cold iron collar as it bit once more into his neck. That was until the chain attached to it could give no more and forced him back to his knees.

‘No, but it’s better than three defeats.’ The young wolf king replied. Behind him gleaming red eyes glowed menacingly.

 

‘The storm is coming.’

The words faded as he awoke with a groan. It was the groan of a man who had drunk in excess the night before. It was also a groan of a man who should have known better. The light intruding through the open windows told him it that late in the morning. This was not good. He sat up and let the wine and sweat soaked cotton sheet fall from his body. His head pounded in protest so that for a moment he was forced to close his eyes to try and block it. Empty cups and clay jugs lay cluttered by his feet. His stomach churned as he attempted to shield his half closed eyes from the light that poured unwelcome into the room. This was also not good.

A groan, softer sounding than his own came from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the face of a woman buried beneath long dark hair, matted from their drunken coupling. His eyes naturally fell to her exposed breasts and her pink fleshy n****e. He felt arousal stir into him. This most definitely was not good. In fact it appeared he had made a string of bad decisions since yesterday’s eve.

The sounds of a town spluttering into life could be heard from his high storied chamber. It was a stark contrast to days past where the break of day had brought the sounds of iron nails being incessantly hammered. Tree trunks too would be heard being stripped of their bark and whittled and chiselled away at. With it the grunting of men at work and the occasional curse as something went wrong. Above all of these was the barrel chested master builder shouting orders to the craftsmen under his charge. His voice rumbled like a mountain shaking itself free of the thick layers of snow that covered it.

Not so this morning. In their stead the sounds of men coughing and retching filled the air, thick with the unsavoury smells of the night before.

The town of Duskendale along with its port had been commandeered by the sizable forces of the King slayer, Jaime Lannister. It allowed supplies to run smoothly from Kings landing. Troops from Casterly Rock, the Lannister ancestral home in the west arrived in the hundreds, as the ships rolled in day after day.  Masts flying the banner of the golden lion could be seen blowing in the wind as they crest the horizon. The men stood in ceremonious order, shoulder to shoulder, fully armed in their trademark red armour and matching cloaks.

‘They certainly know how to put on a show.’ Rylen remembered one of his men commenting to him as they watched them disembark one warm evening.

‘Poor b******s. Must be roasting under all that tin and cloth. But it certainly looks pretty, I ll give them that.’ He remembered commentating in response.

Since then Duskendale had been largely evacuated and turned into a temporary garrison. The nearby farmholds had largely been abandoned as the tenants sought the safety of city walls. Some of them resided here, bringing with them their livestock and valuables. The son of his current employer was expected back any day now. The last raven that had been received carried word of the coming engagement with the young wolf from the north. That was near ten days ago now. Driven by boredom and the expectation of payment in full he had allowed his men a small celebration in the courtyard. Rylen had foolishly let himself become too drunk. Now he was paying the price

‘A lannister always pay his debts.’ The words of their house came unbidden to his addled mind.

‘Aye, don’t we all.’ He replied bitterly to himself.

 He was tempted to close the window and return to the sweet escape of sleep. He thought better of it as his head swam. Besides he knew at his age return to sleep was impossible once awoken, no matter the desire. In his younger days he could happily sleep away entire mornings and awake as if the excesses of the previous night did not happen at all. Those days were long gone and in the days present he had a town to run. He was charged with protecting the garrison and overseeing the fortifications. The stewardship was temporary but if he wanted to be compensated well then he had to earn it first. First order of the day, to relieve his swollen bladder he decided. The town could wait a moment longer.

All in all it was a good time to be a sell sword, better yet to be the commanding officer of a company of sellswords. And better yet still to be in the employ of the wealthiest family in the seven kingdoms. Captain Rylen Harner of the twin suns was the name and title he went by. Least it was when he accepted the contract offered by the Tywin Lannister, grandfather to the young king Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name.

There had been other names before he was known as Rylen. Almost as many as the number of commissions he had accepted in his career. For a simple business like fighting for money, there could be a heap of complications. He had lost count of the different names he had fought under in the free cities.

Any time he had to recollect was cut short but a sudden banging at his door. The force caused it shudder in its hinges. The crashing of a fist against the timber caused his head to throb with fresh pain. Rylen cursed the old gods he no longer believed in and stumbled as best as he could to where he’s clothes from the day before lay strewn on the ground.

‘Enter’ he managed to croak out finally as he stooped to pick up his trousers. He ignored the wine stains and smell in lieu of his current state. He half kept on the door as it opened. Leaning casually against the frame with his arms folded was his brother in arms, Marquello.

They had first met back in Pentos many years ago. Worse for wear and struck by the dry heat Rylen had attached himself to the first sellsword company that would have him. Rylen first came across him at the back of the mess tent line. New recruits as a rule were not entitled to pay or loot until they earned their keep or  ‘stripes’ as they were referred to by the others. Until then a few morsels scrapped from the bottom of the cooking pot was all they could expect. Beatings were dished out as a reminder of the order of things. 

That was a far cry from where they stood now. Although Rylen felt like he had just taken a thrashing.

 ‘By the seven gods, I hope you ve brought water and a cure.’

‘Water I have. However there is no cure for stupidity or the clap. Do you want me to fetch the maester?’ His distinctive raspy voice chuckled in response.

He was half a head shorter than Rylen but broader and bronze in complexion. His hair was also short cropped around the ears. But where Rylen’s was fair and thinning, Marquello’s was raven black and as thick as ever. Around his chiselled jaw was a fuzzy beard which he scratched often out of habit. His brows were thick and his eyes deep and just as dark as the hair that surrounded them. Raven claw wrinkles outstretched from their edges, one of the few signs of his age.

Attached to each of his hips was a pair of ivory hilted long daggers, his two constant companions. The quality of which stood out from his otherwise worn attire. The crossbow was his weapon of choice but he was just as adept with small blades. He had a surprising swiftness to him despite his bulk. ‘Sea legs’ he would often brag about. His most striking quality was his charm and natural charisma, which complemented Rylen’s own dry sense of humour and ability to plan ahead. The two of them led and the rest followed. Rylen made the decisions and Marquello made sure they were carried out.

He was happy with the arrangement, except on mornings where he felt like he had just been fucked by a frost giant. And by the way he felt, it was not consensual.

‘No, one lecture is enough. Do you have good news for me at least?’ Rylen asked in hope as he grabbed the water skin offered with eager fingers. He gulped down as much as his body would allow before splashing some on his face in a vain effort to rouse himself.

‘Good?’ Marquello asked rhetorically.

‘I suppose it’s not raining and most of the townsfolk and men enjoyed themselves last night.’ He concluded after rubbing his beard in contemplation

Rylen snorted in response as he began to dress. Pulling up his leather trousers was testing and he clipped his belt less dextrously than he liked. But it was a start.

‘And the not so good?’ He asked reluctantly.

‘The storehouse is a mess. The quartermaster is in a fit of rage. Several fights between our men and townsfolk have already broken out over the matter. I have locked up the worst offenders until cooler heads prevail.’

‘That’s something I suppose.’ Rylen interjected dryly as he finished fumbling the clasp on his jerkin, ignoring the smell of stale sweat.

‘Anything else?’ He asked hesitantly.

Marquello nodded.

‘Most of the sows are missing as are several horses. I suspect they were let loose in the early hours of the morning and herded out by deserters. Along with coin yet to be noticed missing I’d wager.’

‘Do we know who?’ Rylen asked contemptuously as he splashed some water over his face. Which did little to wash the grit from his sore eyes.

 ‘There has yet to be a full account of the men. I will have hunting parties sent out.’

Rylen gave his approval.

‘It is imperative we get those swine back and get the storehouse back in order. The men I want back alive. If they belong to the town then they will face the King’s justice. If they belong to me they will face something far worse.’ Rylen stated definitively.

In his capacity as captain he was no stranger to dishing out the occasional hiding to one or two of his men. However, theft and desertion would require a more drastic example being set. More immediately he had the problem of feeding an ever hungry town. The storehouse and the livestock and laying hens provided the staple diet. Not to mention the imminent king slayer’s return.

‘Is that all?’ Rylen asked as he finished adjusting his belt and headed towards the door where his friend waited patiently to escort him out into the courtyard.’

Marquello smiled ironically before continuing.

‘Old misery balls is on the prowl, demanding that you attend his request for an audience. As does the potato knight.’

‘Lucky me.’ Rylen replied sourly. 

He saw Marquello hesitate in his response and it was clear he was chewing something over. Something that made him pause.

‘And?’ Rylen prompted him.

‘Still no raven from the king slayer or anyone else for that matter.’

 ‘How many days has it been now?’Rylen asked himself.  

Of everything this was the most worrying. Up until a few days ago messages from Jaime’s staff were frequent and there was even the odd message from Casterly Rock requesting an update. Messages too would arrive from neighbouring towns of possible sightings of bandits. To receive no messages at all for any length of time was cause for concern.

‘Have we sent any out?’

‘Not that I am aware of. I will have words with the maester.’

‘No. I will see him personally with messages to send out. I want to see them take flight myself.’

As they continued to descend the winding stairs to the ground floor Jaime’s last words came to mind. He never forgot the sneers of his entourage and his officers as he spoke them. Just as the last of the rear guard disappeared under the gate’s cullis.

 

‘Make sure the place is still standing by the time I return, there’s a good fellow.’ Jamie spoke to him as his squire finished adjusting his liege lord’s straps.

It was meant as a jest, but there was a cold warning in his eyes that Rylen would not soon forget. The Kingslayer was many things; Flamboyant, a charmer, a soldier but above all he was a Lannister. And Lannisters always paid their debts. And there would be a great debt of pain owed if Rylen did not carry out his orders. With one final nod and a signal to his entourage he trotted off to the head of the column as it marched out, his chin nobly high, his jaw set and his shoulders square to the task. He was a man you could not help but admire and fear. The chief of the guard was there dutifully at the gate. In all his grey sunken glory, like an old guard dog eagerly awaiting a petting from his master.

Many years passed his prime Duncan still had the frame of a soldier and was still somewhat tall despite a slight arch in his back. He was leaner than those typical of his age. He kept to a strict diet of tough hard bread and three cups of stew a day. He would allow himself a half pint of ale with his last meal and cheese with his first. His hair was greying fast and thinning and flat across his crown. Deep wrinkles lined his brow, so deep they appeared as jagged scars from battles he never fought in.  His eyes were black, as were his brows and they always seemed to be firmly fixed on Rylen and full of distrust. Rylen disliked the man immediately upon being first introduced and the feeling was mutual. Not that his counterpart tried to conceal it.

‘Sellswords. Now there’s a fancy name for a bunch of piss ants and thieves. I won’t mince my words. I don’t much care for your sort.’

‘Oh, and what sort is that?’ Rylen had asked dismissively.

‘Foreigners. The type that churns the butter sour as my dear old mam used to say. May the stranger watch over her soul.’

Informing Duncan that he had just as much westeroan blood in his veins did little to ease the older man’s distrust. He scoffed and wiggled his noise as if he had just smelled something rotten and tapped his nose with his finger to confirm it.

‘That may be, but you smell foreign and that means that you re one of them. If Lord Tywin knew what was good for his house and his people, he would send you packing with the rest of them.’

‘I ll be sure to bring it up. Maybe he’ll let you lick the gravy from his fingers as a reward.’ Rylen retorted, beginning to resent the consignment already.

Rylen quickly learned that Duncan was as thin skinned as it was old and wrinkled. He face went red made easier by the veins that lined his cheeks and nose. His eyes widened in fury. Clearly he was not used to being spoken to and insulted in such a casual manner. He reached for his sword and almost had it drawn but stopped as Rylen’s own was at his throat.

‘Let’s not add threatening a superior officer to the list of insubordination. I would hate to have to explain the cause to the good lord. Agreed?’ Rylen spoke as coolly as he could.

Duncan looked him dead in the eye, unwavering in his anger and disgust at not being able to do anything about it. For a moment Rylen thought the man at the end of his blade would rush him anyway.  Much to his relief, the older man had taken a step back from the point of Rylen’s blade. Conscious now of the men that had gathered. Rylen was resolute as he stood there, his arm beginning to burn but it was important that Duncan was the first to flinch and back down, now that everyone was watching. Word would spread of the confrontation and it needed to be known who was in charge. Some of the men had encouraged Duncan to retaliate in kind but he was no fool. For all his insults he knew sellswords knew how to fight.

Duncan took a step back as he wiped his chin.

‘Report what you like. I ve been loyal to this house for longer than you ve been alive. And  I ll still be here long after your lot have gone. Until that day comes I ll be watching every move you make and be making a report of my own.’ The older man had pledged. His sneer back in place and worn ever since.

Since Jaime’s departure his hawk like gaze seemed to double in its intensity. It was probably one of the reasons that Jaime left him in charge. He knew that Duncan’s dislike and distrust of the sellswords would keep them in check. Or it could just be one of his games to keep him amused. Either way there had been an uneasy truce since. Duncan and his lot kept the populace that remained calm and feeling secure. Rylen’s men patrolled the surrounding countryside and woodland. They kept themselves apart and thankfully confrontations between the two groups had been far and few between. As resentful as Duncan was, he was meticulous in his orders.

The man also had an annoying habit of rising before the dawn, if he ever slept at all.

‘One more thing.’  Marquello’s voice brought him back to the present. The lowered tone and Marquello avoiding his gaze was not lost on Rylen.

‘Out with it.’ Rylen instructed.

‘You should not have slept with her.’ Marquello obliged with a sigh.

‘Who, Cliara?’ It was a stupid question, after all she had been the only one in his chambers. But he was taken aback by the statement. Traditionally Marquello  cared little for whoever shared Rylen’s bed. After all it was rarely more than a passing fancy. Usually prompted by heavy drinking. Marquello needed no such drunken aid, and was all too happy to share his bed with as many as he could fit into it. If they ever made it that far. And they were not always the fairer sex.

 

Before he could discover the cause of his friend’s concern in the matter they stepped out into the courtyard and he immediately wish that they had not.

The late morning sun, though not especially bright from behind the thin clouds, was enough to hurt his eyes. The familiar smell of animals and damp hay hit his nostrils. 

One of the local hounds came and sniffed about his leg before waiting to be patted. The master of hounds had them patrol in case any intruders infiltrated the grounds. Rylen sent his visitor on his way with a quick scratch behind his floppy ear. Not before receiving a grateful lick on his fingers.

‘Think that one likes you.’ Marquello observed after the dog barely glanced at him during his casual patrol.

‘Hmm Why’s that?’ Rylen asked his mind half absent in thought.

‘He doesn’t lick my fingers.’

‘Probably knows where they ve been.’ He would have chuckled at his own jibe but his throat did not feel up to the challenge.

 ‘You godless b******s have done it this time!’ Duncan’s barking gruff voice suddenly cut through the still morning air. It was only fitting that the miserable b*****d had sniffed him out as quick as the hound had.

 

Rylen stifled a groan as his would be tormentor strode across towards them, his usual entourage in tow. Empty Tankards, half chewed bones and broken plates lay scattered between them. Any that were on the ground had been licked clean by the hounds on their morning patrol. No doubt a few rats had had their fill as well and now slept lazily somewhere. Rylen envied them that luxury as he watched his counterpart approach, like an oncoming storm, grey and fierce. Duncan halted without slowing, barely at arm’s reach. The fervour in his eye shone brightly with a mixture of hatred and satisfaction.

‘You ve done it this time.’ Duncan repeated. His tone more threatening than before. His gnarled rheumatic finger pointed at Rylen’s chest with such animosity that it would run him through if it had the strength to do so.

Rylen, not entirely sure as to what he was referring to feigned indifference

‘Good morning Duncan.’ He greeted him lazily.

‘Morning is it eh? Aye I suppose it is... barely.’ He finished in blatant contempt.

‘And how can I be of assistance. Lost a tooth?’ Rylen finished with a half attempted smile.

‘Listen to that lads, how he jests. They say its the fool that laughs as the noose tightens. Laughing in ignorance even as it snaps his neck.’ Duncan swiped his finger across his neck as he imitated the sound of it breaking with a cluck of his tongue.

Rylen continued to stare blankly trying to give little away.

‘As you pointed out the morning is late and I have much to do. Speak your grievance plainly and go back to playing somebody important.’ Rylen shot back, not in the mood for idle threats.

‘And there’s that highborn tongue he hides behind when what little wit he has desserts him.’ Duncan smiled then revealing his yellowing teeth. 

It was not a pleasant sight nor was it something that graced his features often. It was more a stretching of his thin lips and creases appearing his wrinkled line cheeks. One of the corners twitched once or twice, the nerve strained from underuse before relaxing back to its natural grimacing state.

‘Something smelled wrong about yer, the first time I caught a whiff.’ Duncan declared with an unusual amount of delight to his voice.

‘Hop back to your cage old man’ Marquello cut in, coming to his friend’s aid.

‘The lannisters always pay their debts, aye and they always collect them too. I just hope its me and my boys he gives the honour of giving you the boot. My bunions won’t mind the company. That’s if he doesn’t hang you for theft.’

He cackled to his men, clearly pleased with himself. For his part Rylen felt the back of his neck start to burn and his chest tighten. It would not do to lose his temper. It was what the b*****d clearly wanted. He was right though. Some of his men had taken liberties with the celebration and a full account must be made. A near empty storehouse was problem enough for any garrison. But for the King slayer to have to go without upon his return would have dire repercussions.

 Rylen swore inwardly for letting himself get carried away last night. Some of the men took his own lack of discipline as tacit approval to indulge themselves. He would need to make corrections and quickly. Jaime was no doubt on his way back now, even without the ravens announcing it. First he would need to rid himself of the current nuisance.

‘He is cute when he’s happy is he not Marquello? I have an ointment for those bunions should you need it. Otherwise the day’s duties call.’. He turned away from Duncan to signal an end to the discussion.

He heard Duncan chuckle once as the older man and his gang departed. The sound of his gruff voice singing aloud about a noose did little to ease the pain he felt in his temple. He rubbed it and pinched the bridge of his nose as he collected his thoughts. Marquello took the opportunity to voice his own opinion.

‘You should have let me gut him. That would have wiped the smug look from his face.’ 

‘Never mind him. What’s the damage?’ Rylen replied shorter than he intended.

‘Most of the cured meats are gone, as are the honey jars, the cheeses and the wine.’ Marquello informed him as if checking off a list.

Rylen snorted in displeasure.

‘Is there anything left?’ He asked tentatively.

‘The grain and flour was left mostly untouched. As were the spices.’

‘The spices?’ Rylen asked nonplussed.

‘Stealing another man’s spices invokes bad fortune.’ His friend explained.

Rylen shot his companion a quizzical look. Marquello spread his hands in response.

 ‘Do snuff and Greenleaf also fall under the same rule?’ Rylen asked conspicuously.

‘I believe so.’

‘That’s funny I could have sworn that my own supply looked oddly diminished of late.’ Rylen shot back, his accusation evident.

‘I did not say everyone believed it.’ Marquello returned with a sudden twinkle in his eye before continuing with the ordeal at hand.

‘So what are we to do? I do not relish explaining away empty stocks to a hungry army when our own bellies are full.’

‘It’s not you that will have to explain.’ Rylen replied bitterly as he deliberated to himself.

‘A hungry mob I can deal with. The kingslayer, with several hundred armed men I cannot. I do not relish being strung up by my innards.’ He concluded poignantly.

Rylen paused once more to survey the town. The courtyard was a mess but could be put to rights soon enough. Most of his men were awake, either stumbling or squatting in the shade. A handful could be heard honing their skills and whooping at a good shot near the far wall. No doubt a bet had been won. A handful was not enough. They would all need rousing, which would be less easy. The threat of forfeiting pay should be enough to inspire motivation in most. A boot to the ribs would do for the rest.

 Lastly there was the small matter of replacing the storehouse. Fresh cheese could be made and he was sure some of the town’s women could be persuaded to do so. The rest would need to be procured and coin was light until the contract was fulfilled.

‘Right, get these men up. Splash water over them and give them a swift kick up the arse if you need to. Even if you do not, do it anyway.’ He instructed as his mind continued to work furiously.

‘Gladly, and then?’ 

‘Have a few of our more reliable lads ride to Glensdale and purchase whatever wine, ale and honey they can get. Mead if no wine or ale is to be had.'

‘No meat?’

‘Cant afford it. Have some of the boys slaughter one of the horses. I ve yet to meet a man that can taste the difference’ Rylen ordered with little pleasure.

‘They wont like that. Horses aren’t cheap.’ Marquello countered with his reservation.

‘They should have thought of that before gorging themselves. They should be glad its not their own testicles going on the roasting pit.’ Rylen replied irritably

‘You westerners certainly have strange tastes.’ Marcquello replied whilst pondering the solution. After finding no better one himself he consented.

‘Its about a day ride for our swiftest riders to the nearest town. More time will have to be allowed for the return. Who should we send?’

It was Rylen’s time to ponder. Time was of the essence but more importantly so was making sure the wares returned untouched and unspoiled. The men must also be trusted not to delay by other temptations.

‘You go, and take with you half a score of men with clear heads. Forage what you can. Have another party ready to track down our thieves and bring back with them as much swine and chickens as they can get their hands on. I don’t care what the source is.’ Rylen concluded, satisfied it was the best solution he could come up with.

Marquello was about to protest his involvement. Swift journeys as a rule were not comfortable. Plus a supply run, no matter how important was tedious and demeaning.

‘Welcome to being second in command. You have to do what the first in command orders you to do.’ Rylen quipped without humour. He put his hand up to quell Marquello’s protest.

‘Go as soon as you are ready. And fetch the maester if you see him. I would have conversation.’ Rylen ordered.

‘Now if that’s all I am in desperate need to defecate.’ He declared with a small amount of urgency.

 

Before he could make his way to the latrine there came the sound of a great bell ringing out. Tension immediately swamped the air, choking it of all conversation and mirth. Birds scattered in flight and dogs could be heard barking. Everyone else remained where they stood or else slowly stumbled and shuffled towards the gate. Like Rylen they used their hands to gain better view of the gate. Atop it the guard on watch duty could be seen frantically shaking the striker so that bell continued to ring out in alarm.

Rylen swore as he marched closer to discover the cause, Marquello barely a step behind in their urgency. The rest began to speak in hushed tones and make guess as to the cause.

The bell was used to signal an approaching force that was unidentifiable. As Rylen’s vision adjusted he saw one of his men earnestly tugging the rope that caused the bell to oscillate wildly back and forth. The man next to him had clearly been dozing for he had shot up and was peering over the wall into the distance.

‘Ahoy’ Rylen called up.

‘Who approaches our gates?’ He asked trying to swallow his anxiety. A sudden image of the king slayer approaching at the head of his forces flashed in his mind.

Duncan had probably been taking the Raven’s reports in secret, conspiring with the maester against him. He cursed himself inwardly and swore to never drink or bed a woman again whilst in employment. He was about to shout to his men to clear the grounds and make ready to present themselves as soldiers, and not the drunken rabble they appeared as currently. He saw Duncan approach with his own men, looking the part with polished boots and combed hair. Before he could however the response came from up atop.

‘A lone rider captain, approaching fast. He looks to be injured.’ The lookout called down.

‘Nobody else?’ Rylen called back up, surprised at the answer but no less anxious.

‘Not that I can see.’ The lookout again called down after scanning the horizon once more.

‘He speaks true captain.’ The other guard called out having ceased his fervent bell ringing.

‘I think I spot the tabard of Glensdale across his breast. It appears bloodied.’ He added as the stranger neared the gate.

Rylen paused for a moment and looked at Marquello who shrugged his shoulders in response. Glensdale was the nearest town to them.

‘Bandits?’ He queried tentatively.

‘Perhaps...’ Marquello replied as he rubbed his beard, his eyes full of concern as the other hand fiddled with his dagger’s hilt.

‘Open the gates!’ Rylen shouted at those posted by the lever.

‘Fetch the maester now and his medicines. Go.’ He ordered to another nearby, not catching the man’s face.

Duncan met him at the gate looking equally solemn.

‘Bandits most like. The only kind worse than yourselves. They must feel bold to attack armed men.’ 

Rylen ignored the insult and nodded in response. In his breast a feeling of uneasiness such as he had not felt in a good while began to rise in him. Bandits had not been seen in force since their arrival. Those that they had come across since had been killed or captured. His mind raced for another explanation that his heart did not want to accept.

So alongside the man he despised they both waited as the gates swung open. The horse slowed its approach before passing through the cullis.

Before they could get to the rider, he collapsed from his saddle and fell to the floor with a staggered thud. He was badly wounded that much was clear as Rylen rushed to his side. The man’s eyes flickered in and out of consciousness as he tried in vain to focus on his savour’s face.

‘What happened to Glensdale?’ Rylen asked trying to remain calm himself. He thought the man lost before his eyes suddenly flashed open feverishly.

 ‘Dead, all dead. Do not open... the gates.’ He trailed off as his eyes closed once more.

Duncan attempted to make further enquiry but Rylen knew the man was unconscious and would speak no more.

Rylen chewed the words over.

It was a warning, but of what? Another one came to him then. One that caused a latent dread in him to rise. The words came unbeckoned from a dream almost forgotten and of a life he had lost a long time. No matter how much he drank or whored they had remained with him. He had buried them deep but without realising it they were being uttered from his lips.

‘The storm is coming.’

           Chapter 2 " A new dawn

 

In my family, we say "A naked man has few secrets; a flayed man none"

At hearing words the newly crowned king in the North surveyed the battlefield once more. Strewn with the dead of Lannister men as far as the fog would allow him to see. He looked up to see the crows gather in ever larger circles. He listened to them caw for a moment before turning to look south, towards the iron throne.

 

Somewhere in the town of Duskendale a solitary man laid on a cobbled street. The sun’s light shone through his outstretched hand as he attempted to shield his eyes from the worst of it.  He felt the warmth of the mid morning wash over him as he shifted his weight to ease the discomfort on his slender frame. He contented himself with the sun’s rays as they danced through his fingers. Shadows streaked over his face. He watched them dance with half closed eyes as they gave way to the light.

All shadows were cast from light and all light came from R’hllor, the God of flame and shadow. In these lands precedence was given to the seven. Worship of the old gods was allowed but practiced by a diminishing following. There was no place for the red god as they called him with tongues rife with condemnation. To the man lying on the cobbled ground, he was simply the deity that he had forsaken long ago.

In years past he was considered a promising acolyte by his order’s standard. Visions were among the greatest gifts the lord of light could bestow upon those who worshipped him. They were also incredibly rare. Different temples all across Easteros would pray and invoke the one true god’s blessing in hope of receiving it. Most would sacrifice cattle and non-believers and criminals in the great pyres of the temple grounds. Some would offer up willing virgins, the purest offering of all. They would promise the brave girl an eternity by the lord’s side.

The more merciful priests would offer a last gift of milk of the poppy to dull the pain and senses to those they sacrificed. The less merciful ones would not, believing it tainted the offering. The screams were not hard to imagine as the flames licked their bodies before engulfing them completely. He had heard them before. Once upon a time they had come from his own lips.

Word had spread quickly through all of Asshai, the great seaport city by the Jade sea. A new seer with the gift of flame sight had emerged. Flame born his order had named it. He had been cleansed of his past life, his sins burned away and he had stepped forward from the embers a new man. Or so he was told. Followers flocked to the great sandstone temple, as did travellers and the sick. All came to see the man called Alaric Vyrwel.

Fire could no longer burn his skin, proof of his devoutness and favour of R’hllor. They would all pay generous donations for the privilege of receiving his blessing, much more for a flash of a vision. There was something he knew that he dared not utter in the confines of the temple. Not if he wanted to continue to live outside of them. Simply put, his visions did not come from the flames.

No matter how long he stared into them as they cackled they would not come. Tears would streak from his eyes from the strain. Instead they came from dreams, dark in nature and darker still in their meaning. In his heart he knew that his newfound ‘gifts’ did not come from the lord of light, or if they did then it was not something he wanted to follow.

He also knew he was not native born to Asshai, nor anywhere in Easteros. His appearance gave that much away. His hair was dark, almost black like those born in the lands east of the great sea. In his acolyte days his hair was cut short in keeping with his order but had since grown long and curly. His only attempt in maintaining it was putting it in a loose ponytail. His eyes were rounder than the natives, as were his eyebrows. His skin though tanned, burned easier than the others of the region. That was before he became flame born.

On this particular morning he found himself lying under the morning sun of a town like many others he had visited since arriving in Westeros. Like the others this town happened to be caught up in the conflict that plagued the seven kingdoms. The difference being it was a town that had been in his dreams of late.

He contemplated the one he had just awoken from as he dropped the back of his hand over his eyes, closing them once more. There were wolves howling and snarling and full of blood lust as they rushed towards a single pen. Within it was a single stag, with a broken horn and pawing nervously at the ground. A three eyed raven cawed above as it circled the carnage about to happen. Alaric awoke to the sounds of howling still fresh in his mind. It did not come from any beast, but from men. Men burning alive. The dreams had started as soon as he had arrived at Duskendale. Last night’s was the most vivid of them all.

‘Must have been the snuff.’ He muttered to himself. Recalling the narcotic he had indulged in the previous night.

Alaric had learned to dismiss his dreams as much as he could since leaving his faith. He had travelled to these parts for another reason, to seek out one said to have gifts like himself. Stories had reached him of a man who could be seen riding through the Riverlands with a flaming sword in hand. Some called him a protector, some called him crazed, others still whispered of a demon who consumed children’s souls. Alaric was hoping to hear some word of a sighting as he travelled between the towns and villages and farm holds. Most of the latter were deserted now.

‘War and fire claims all.’ He would mutter to himself bitterly as he rode by ransacked barns and homes before spurring on to the next one.

Alaric spent days like this, wandering and camping in the wilderness. The road was not safe during the day as it was. Not that there were many encounters to be had. Occasionally he would happen upon Lannister men patrolling the roads and groups of refugees heading to Kingslanding for safety. The former he would avoid given the tensions in region. To each of the others he would enquire about the man with the flaming sword. Most would either spit at his horse’s hooves or stare at him as if he was mad before huddling on. Taking their children and carts in fearful hands and quickened step.

Eventually, and against his better judgement but urged on by desperation he decided to try the soldiers. The first group promptly dragged him from his saddle and gave him a beating.

‘How do you come to know this heathen b*****d?’ One, more important than the rest demanded an answer before striking him once more.

The two that held him in place made sure he felt the full force. And feel it he did as he felt a tooth loosen and blood exploded from his mouth. His assailant was slightly shorter and stockier beneath the thick leather armour he wore. Alaric could tell that much through his swollen eye. His hair was golden blonde and plastered to his crown due to the helm he had been wearing. His eyes were a steely blue and his features thick set. His patchy stubble belied his youth. The classic fairy tale soldier, Alaric thought bitterly to himself as he winced once more.

As addled as his senses were from being struck repeatedly he knew telling the truth would not end well for him. Telling part of it might well just save him. The best lies were laced with the truth. He knew he had to lace it well, the taste of blood was warning enough.

‘Are you with the brotherhood? Speak! Or by the seven as my witness I will run you through where you stand.’ The soldier spoke with a conviction that told Alaric that he meant it.

‘Who may I ask are you to hinder the work of the faithful?’ Alaric managed to splutter out.

His interrogator seemed taken aback by the question before replying.

‘Captain Erik Westerman, sworn sword to Lord Banefort.’ With pride he pointed to a silver brooch attached to his breast. It appeared to be in the shape of a hooded man. The border was fiery red. It also served to denote his rank as none of the others appeared to have one.

‘Now, if you would do me a similar service and tell me yours.’ The captain asked in return. His tone was less threatening but his hand remained firmly on his hilt.

‘I am tracking anyone who may be connected to the false demon god.’ He answered as best as he could through gasps.

At the mention of this his assailants flinched and loosened their grip. Folks in this region tended to be superstitious. The last thing they wanted to find themselves was in the midst of a battle of the supernatural. Several of the men crossed themselves and offered up quick prayers. Erik swallowed and licked his lips nervously before making further inquiry.

‘For what purpose?’ There was a hint of respect in his tone now, though not enough to overcome his suspicion.

‘To exorcise any taint upon the land as is my holy duty.’ Though no longer a man of faith, it invited disaster to invoke gods he did not serve. But perhaps he could subtly imply it without consequence.

Erik nodded his approval.

‘Very well, it is not my place to stop the Seven’s work. I would offer aid in this but I am assigned elsewhere. When I return from Riverrun I hope to root out these demon worshippers and send them to hell!’ The captain declared, to the general approval of his men.

Looking into his eyes Alaric could see that he was sincere despite being afraid. He was clearly a devout man and was worried he had offended the gods he had pledged himself to. Something Alaric could prey upon.

‘Do not worry, you are a dedicated son of the faith. It will be rewarded in due time. Go now and do not let your heart waver in the days ahead.’ Alaric recited the words he used to believe in.

Erik was visibly relieved to hear this as were the others. Though a few did not seem concerned either way and were bored now that the beating had stopped.

All of them followed his advice and began to march on. Not before the captain offered him his sword.

‘Take it for your protection. It is the least I can do.’ He said earnestly as he extended the blade by its hilt.

Alaric had always been uncomfortable around bladed weapons, preferring instead to use a quarterstaff or cudgel. Even then sparingly for he preferred using words instead. When those failed he relied on fleetness of foot which is why he dressed light. A little discretion never hurt anyone and valour was much too overrated he felt. With a sword he felt clumsy as it dangled by his side. Besides, it would only weigh him down and clutter into his leg.

Alaric smiled and shook his head before continuing on. The copper coins that a few of the troops dropped into his hand he had no problem taking. He was relieved the facade was over. He had become quite adept at it since leaving Asshai but playing the part of an acolyte of another faith, especially where it had a strong presence left him feeling tainted somehow. Besides he only needed enough to be able to travel on. Thankfully other soldiers he came across gave him little bother once he dropped the good captain’s name into the conversation.

Unfortunately he was no closer to finding the man with the flaming sword or his new companions. That was until he caught word that there was a sizeable garrison at Duskendale that had managed to capture a few of them. It would be precarious gaining entrance to a jail in a town that he did not come from. It would be tougher still to get the jail’s residents to confess the man’s whereabouts. Doing so would give away their hideout, information that their jailers were no doubt endeavouring to extract.

So Duskendale is where he headed and Duskendale where was he had spent the past few nights. The town was largely abandoned by the populace by the time he had arrived. It had been commandeered by the Lannister army as they made preparations to march out to war with the young wolf king everyone in the area was talking about. Upon his arrival he found it under the stewardship of a sellsword captain.

Not that he saw much of the man and that suited him fine. From time to time he would be seen talking with groups of his men. The odd order would be given but he normally left them with a chuckle before moving on. Of late he had been more reclusive. A woman would be seen leaving his chamber in the early hours of the morning. Alaric had only one encounter with the man, and that was when he first arrived.

Alaric recalled it well as he flicked a coin between his fingers when a moment ago there was none. He watched it shine brilliantly as it caught the sun before seemingly disappearing again. Winning games involving chance was easy if you knew how and the patience to practice it. The soldiers here were happy enough to play not having much else to occupy their time when off duty.

Alaric was careful not to win every game for fear of rousing suspicion and worse still, their ire. His objective here was to build trust and get a lay of the jail and how it was guarded. He had managed to slip in once and confirm that the prisoners were indeed part of the brotherhood. That much was easy. Breaking them out so they could take him the man with the flaming sword was less so.

There were eight in total, split between different cells. They each had a single door, a straw mattress, a high slit window and not much else. The smell of defecation filled the air, clearly the mess buckets were not cleaned out regularly. A few sported fresh bruises, cut lips and swollen cheeks. Most likely birthed from fruitless interrogations. But apart from that they looked well fed enough.

‘Im here to break you out.’ He declared in a hushed tone.

It was the best greeting he could come up with given the circumstance. Few paid him any heed. Those that did scoffed at his incredulous offer. No doubt they thought it was some sort of ploy to extract information.  Alaric recalled one man lying at the back of one of the cells, chewing on a piece of straw as he looked up at the ceiling, humming to himself absently. Alaric repeated his offer. This time he got a response, just not the one he was hoping for.

‘Hmmm, what do we have here lads? A mouse has snuck his way in. Now why would he do that?’ The man asked dismissively, his only motion was to shift the straw to the other side of his mouth. His casual demeanour and indifference in attitude led Alaric to believe he was the leader. Even if he was not, it was somewhere to start.

‘I need to find the man with the flaming sword. Do you know his name and where I can find him?’ Alaric cut straight to the point. It was not his usual style, preferring instead guile but this was too important to play around. Besides, time was of the essence.

At the description the man stopped chewing and sat up. His eyes were hazel and narrow just like his eyebrows. They fixated on Alaric for a moment as if sizing him up. One was half swollen shut. His hair was long and matted and tied up at the back. Fuzzy hair covered most of the bottom half of his face so that all that could be seen were his front teeth. They at least looked to be in good condition, despite a large gap between the front two. He looked slender and a little gaunt. Alaric chalked that up to his imprisonment.

‘Cant help you there mate. I took a sacred vow of silence.’ To which the others sniggered.

Desperate now Alaric used the only bargaining tool he had, his role as a rescuer.

‘I can get you out of here.’ He declared with more conviction. It was not his first jail break, only his first where he was not the one to escape.

‘You get us out of here and I ll give you as many flaming swords as you like. I ll even chuck in my sister. The flaming sword will burn less afterwards if you get my meaning.’ Again there was chuckling from the others as he made to lay down again.

‘Three days, that’s all I need. But I need to know now. Do you know of the man I speak?’ Alaric pleaded once more. Why he needed three days in particular, he could not have said but it seemed to have the effect he was looking for.

 The man rose seamlessly as if unaffected by his cramp surrounding.

‘Aye, I know the man you speak of. Strange fellow who worships fire. Nice enough but never smiles. Yeah I know the bloke alright. Question is, why do you want to meet him so badly?’ Hawke asked, curiousity getting the better of him.

‘Three days I ll be back. Be ready to move swiftly and remember our bargain.’ Alaric assured him before making a swift exit. The guards were lax but he did not want to push his luck. Besides he had gotten what he was after.

That was two days ago now. Today was the last day that he had to fulfil his pledge.

The town was half asleep. The captain of the guard and his small roster were the only ones alert to their purpose. But they seemed more preoccupied with keeping an eye on the sellswords.  The pillaged storehouse was their primary concern.  The fat knight had caused him concern at first, but his incompetence was soon evident. 

Alaric had been careful not to drink too heavily last night. He had to be seen to enjoying the party without falling victim to it if he was going to avoid suspicion. Of course he did his part to encourage others to excess. There were a few drinking games he knew from back east involving dice. Simple sleight of hand ensured it was others that ended up doing the lion’s share of the drinking.

As such it was not difficult to move the subject of drunken ramblings to the unguarded storehouse. After watching the ransacking unfold he dutifully informed one of the guards. The old guard captain could move remarkably fast given the right motivation. Alaric had watched as he swooped down on the culprits, scattering them into the night with their drunken haul. It was just the level of commotion Alaric needed to steal a key to the jail house.

It was now the time to act with most of the town in a morning stupor. With a sigh, he vanished the coin one final time before rising. He stretched his arms to the sun and felt his bones crack into place before making his way as inconspicuously as he could. He pictured their faces as he strolled in, key in palm. They would take him seriously now, of that he was sure. How could they not?

‘And a little gratitude would not go amiss.’ He muttered to himself.

The walk across town was largely uneventful. Most of those he passed barely had the strength to nod their greeting, if they did at all. There was one small group huddled around a young man as he retched by a wall. Much to the amusement to the others who whooped and slapped him on the back.

‘Don’t worry lad, im sure there’s some bacon and eggs left to refill yer belly. Milo will fix it up with plenty of grease.’ One of his tormentors teased him jovially.

To this the young man’s face turned another shade whiter before retching again. This caused another rapture of laughter from those stood around him. Not to appear out of place Alaric held his stomach in mock discomfort and ambled past.

‘Another one who can’t hold his drink it looks like.’ One of them spoke in his direction contemptuously. 

Alaric ambled on, ignoring them. He was so close now, he could feel it. So close to what he had been searching for all this time. It did not take him long to find himself on a street by the southern wall. Far removed from the courtyard it was devoid of life except for several stray cats and a lone guard fast asleep atop a stool beside a door that Alaric knew was locked shut. A door for which he had the key, pick pocketed the night before from just the right drinking partner.

Just a few more steps, a quick turn of the lock and they could clamber over the wall to freedom and to the man he had been seeking all this time. The man that he had travelled half the world to find. The only man that could save him from a life that had haunted him since stepping forth from the embers.

He felt the hand holding the keys in his pocket begin to shake slightly from anticipation. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He set himself to purpose and checking that the guard really was passed out, reached tentatively for the lock. Then came the sound of a bell ringing out and everything changed.

He did not remember dropping the keys where he stood. Nor did he remember the guard in front of him who had just been startled awake. What he remembered was a coldness running through him that froze him to the spot. The sudden smell of burning hit his nostrils despite the absence of smoke. And from somewhere he could have sworn he heard the sound of a raven cawing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A ballad of blood " Chapter 3

 

Rylen pinched his nose so hard that his finger tips went numb and the bridge that they clasped began to burn. He rested his forehead against the timber pillar in the middle of his office. It was not really his, nor was any of the fittings and furniture that resided in it. It was where Jaime Lannister had conferred with his officers after commandeering the town. Before that it had been the personal library of one the more affluent residents. All of them were gone now. If Rylen’s guess was correct, it would belong to the Starks soon enough.

‘A copper for your thoughts?’ Cliara’s voice caused him to open his eyes and release his nose. He could feel the mark he had left.

She stood coyly at the far end of the room leaning with her back to the wall. He had not heard her enter, nor did he know how long she had been watching him.  Her hands fiddled with something behind her back as she cocked her head in curiosity.

‘Sorry, I do not recall summoning you.’ Rylen stated dismissively. As he made to gather some cups. His own confidants would be arriving soon. They were less conventional than what his predecessor was accustomed to. There was business to discuss.

‘You seldom do. But I have a habit of arriving when you want me most.’ She replied playfully, ignoring his poor manners.

Rylen cast a sideward glance at her legs. They were as long as they were bare, leaving little to the imagination. He was not in the mood for coupling. Dark thoughts consumed him instead.

‘I do not have the time to lay with you.’ He shot back with some semblance of regret as he continued to arrange the cups.

‘Is that all you think of me?’ Cliara pouted as she strided to the table and perched herself upon it.

‘Im not one of your common w****s, I am here to help. I like to think my counsel counts for something even when not beneath the sheets.’ She stated with wounded pride, as her legs dangled over the edge.

He was about to send her on her way when a great knocking came at the door. Causing the latch to shudder in its place. They had arrived.

‘By the gods tell me you have wine in there. This town has left me destitute.’ A man’s voice rang out from behind it.

‘It is unlocked Ashur.’ Rylen replied ignoring the plea as he made to unroll a map of the riverlands upon the table where Cliara sat. She was here now, not much could be done about it.

The door swung open from behind him and he heard others enter likewise. Ashur was the first to enter, cocksure in his stride. He was the latest and youngest addition to his staff, and by far the most brash. He flashed Rylen a boyish grin from behind his straw coloured beard. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, as was the rest of him. Rylen avoided making enquiry as to how he fared the night before to spare himself from the bragging that would follow. The man had a penchant of not suffering after excessive drinking, or whoring for that matter.

‘What can I say? It was what I was put on this green earth to do.’ He would usually besmirch.

Like Rylen he too was originally from Westeros. Although he did not seem to know from where. Or if he did he would not say. For all his bravado and reckless abandon few could match him with the blade. Even when drunk he had a deftness to him. Often involving all sorts of acrobatic feats with his sword much to the delight of his audience. He had only consigned with Rylen’s band a handful of seasons ago but he soon became popular with the younger recruits. By these virtues he gained position quickly in the company.

Behind him came Marquello, looking visibly irritated and a little haggard. He gave swift nod before taking his place at Rylen’s side.

‘They ve been at it again.’ His second whispered in his ear as he made a point of looking over his shoulder at the papers on the table behind them. He seemed to disapprove of Cliara’s attendance but said nothing.

The last one in the room was the tall and broad shouldered Sirasha. She was no beauty. Made worse by two scars borne upon her heavy features. One cut right along her bottom lip which was thick to begin with. The dark jagged flesh left a permanent snarl on her face. The other ran along the back of one of her ears. This at least was mostly covered by her braided hair. Her skin was dark gold which contrasted nicely with her green eyes. She did not speak much about her past and Rylen dared not press for fear of igniting her temper, which was as short as it was fierce. She barely took a step into the room before stopping to lean by the frame.

From what he knew of her she used to be part of the last legion. They were one of the few companies in Easteros to accept women among their ranks. Their legend was as mysterious as the members themselves. Conscripts would receive orders through coded messages that needed a cipher to decrypt. Failure to comply meant death, as did desertion. Such were the tales anyway.

Rylen often wondered if that is where her scars came from. In battle her prowess was second to none. What she lacked in grace she made up with in sheer ferocity. Her curved blade would hack and slash as her shield swung about her. She tended to favour women when the mood took her, but Rylen had known her to occasionally lay with a man. That was if he could match her stamina and was none too fussed with who he bedded.

The men had quickly come to respect her. Those who did not would find themselves with something broken if the wrong thing was said. The only one who risked taunting her was Ashur. Sirasha disliked him instantly and they would often clash, much to Ashur’s amusement. All of which caused a serious headache for Rylen. Who did his best to keep them separated.

 Ashur positioned himself a little closer to where Rylen waited and began to pour himself a cup of wine. He had the signs of a man who slept little the night before. He also had the faint smell of perfume about him and a small bruise could be seen upon his neck. Strangely both of them ignored Cliara’s presence. Rylen was sure they would have made enquiry. But they did not even raise an eyebrow. Rylen decided to keep the topic on something else. Something he would soon regret.

‘A good night I take it?’ He asked as Ashur swallowed the cup, clearly not accepting that the celebration was over.

Ashur grinned and wiped his mouth clean with the back of his sleeve.

‘Aye, as nights of revelry go it was not so bad. Although My hips and back are playing havok.’ Ashur made a point of wincing as he rubbed both. Implicitly bragging about their overuse.

‘Getting a little fragile are we? I did not think there were many boys left in this town’ Sirasha shot him a barb of her own.

‘And it begins again’ Rylen muttered sourly to Marquello who scoffed in reply.

‘Hm you scared them all away I think. But I ve still got enough here left for you, if you like?’ Ashur blew her a kiss and grabbed his crotch.

‘I would sooner cut what little of it there is off. Although I would need a much smaller blade.’

‘Ha! That is only because you have not seen one grow befo-‘ Ashur cut himself off and Sirasha also stopped in her tracks. It was unsettling to say the least.

All eyes had turned to the man that had just entered. He was tall, slim and darker of skin than anybody else in the room. He had a cat like grace as he walked and his face was unreadable. His hair was jet black and shaved short as to avoid upkeep. Talon is the name he chose for himself. He did not remember his birth name nor did he wish to keep the one that his former masters imposed upon him. He was every inch the unsullied that he was trained to be. Both in his skill with the blade and spear and the forced castration. When he spoke, his voice was like soft iron, quiet and measured but everyone heard it.

‘Why the pause my friends? I was quite enjoying the back and forth.’ Rylen watched as Talon looked between Ashur and Sirasha. Both were visibly uncomfortable as they avoided his gaze.

The room tensed along with them. Making jokes involving c***s within earshot of a man who lost his own was in bad taste. It was a different matter entirely if that man was specialised in the art of killing. After receiving no response Talon raised an eyebrow and continued.

‘Let’s see if I remember correctly. You made a humorous observation about his love for buggering young boys?’ Talon directed his question to Sirasha who confirmed, clearly embarrassed. Satisfied he turned to Ashur.

‘And then you replied with an equally humorous comment about her frightening appearance, yes?’ He asked, already knowing the answer.

Ashur fumbled an attempt at an apology.

‘Did I not say that it was funny?’ Talon cut him off, annoyed at the interruption.

‘Now we are at the point where you threatened to remove it but the challenge would be the size. Please Ashur I wish to hear your reply to this. Make it funny. It has been a while since I have laughed.’

Rylen understood their fear. They were all accomplished with the blade. None of them held a flame to Talon, they all knew it but none would admit it out loud. It had not been the first time that Talon had made an example out of one of the men. Nobody quite knew why it happened last time. Only that it was quick as it was bloody. Talon had made his apology to Rylen and never spoke of it since.

 

‘Is there to be no witty response, no decisive comeback?’ Talon prompted once more, tired of waiting.

‘Unless you actually mean to...’ Talon trailed off as he turned to face Sirasha. She folded her arms as she met his gaze.

‘Mean to what?’ She asked, aggravation creeping into her voice. Afraid or no, she did not care for games.

‘To remove his penis of course. I could show you how to do it if you like?’ And with that last word a blade appeared in his hand, seemingly from nowhere.

‘Think of it as pruning back a twig from a branch. Just one snip, that’s all it takes.’ He explained as he made the motion with his dagger. Ashur’s face went pale at the sight.

Talon extended his arm to offer her the blade. After locking gazes for a moment she shook her head and looked away, her thick eyebrows furrowed.

‘No? That’s a shame. It can be a little lonely being the only eunuch at times.’ Talon sighed in disappointment as he tucked it back within his wrist guard.

Ashur’s shoulders dropped slightly as he shuffled where he stood. The twinkle had left his eyes however. This Rylen missed this as Talon walked towards Cliara and put his arm around her.

‘Well, I have managed to find one pretty flower in this otherwise plain garden so I cannot complain too deeply.’ He said with a smile as she slid naturally into his hold and by his side.

Rylen felt his stomach lurch and mouth dry. His heart seemed to stop between beats. He felt Marquello stiffen next to him and his eyes instinctively fell to where Talon’s blade rested in its hilt. Rylen had known Talon to pay women just to lay next to him during the night. In some cases a bond would be formed and the relationship would continue. There were other ways of satisfying a woman after all. Rylen was starting to wonder if that display was a warning for him and not the others. He cleared his throat as he realised all eyes were now on him.

 ‘We have a problem.’ He stated, forcing himself to calm.

‘You mean the half dead man riding through our gates?’ Ashur spoke up first.

The  visitor he spoke of appeared to have come from the neighbouring town of Glensdale. Unlike Duskdale, there were no sellswords. It had little strategic importance so protection was minimal. It was clear that it had been ransacked. By whom? They had no idea. The only witness was currently unconscious and gravely wounded. He was currently being attended by the town’s maester and under guard. Duncan was adamant that it must have been a bandit raid. The brotherhood was in force in the area. Even so to attack a town was bold indeed. Especially in a region firmly in the grip of the Lannisters.

Then there was the newcomer to the town. He could be seen from time to time performing tricks much to the amusement of his men. Beyond that Rylen did not know much else about him. His accent placed him from Asshai but he was clearly of Westorean descent. Usually Duncan would handle interrogations of new visitors. But given his attitude towards foreigners Rylen had decided to step in.

‘Name and purpose for coming here?’ Rylen had asked curtly when first he had arrived. This was much to the annoyance of Duncan who made it clear he did not appreciate the assistance.

‘Alaric Vyrwel. I am here to rest and resupply before continuing my pilgrimage.’ He had stated plainly enough.

‘A man of the faith I take it. Who do you worship?’ Duncan had asked, his voice containing its usual suspicion.

Rylen kept his own annoyance contained and let the question stand. The newcomer turned to Duncan and seemed to weigh his answer for half a moment before giving reply.

‘That is a very fine pendant you wear. A gift or a purchase if I may ask?’

‘A gift.’ Duncan fumbled for it as he answered.

‘May it serve you well.’ Alaric had replied with a smile. Duncan‘s lips had twitched as if making an attempt at the same. It was disconcerting to say the least.

He had been released then to be allowed a temporary stay. Since then Rylen had very little to do with him. He behaved himself as promised. That all changed earlier in the day when the rider collapsed. Murmurs had already began to spread throughout the town as more and more poured towards the main gate.

‘Where is the Kingslayer?’ One man had shouted out.

‘He’s abandoned us for Kingslanding.’ Another called out in response.

‘Aye, where his sister awaits with her legs spread I wager!.’ Someone from the other side of the courtyard chimed in.

‘Watch your tongue. We’ll not tolerate such vileness towards her royal highness!’ Yet another shouted as tempers began to flare. More and more began to voice their concerns and scuffles began to break out.

Rylen turned to Marquello for help to restore order when he felt a hand grab at his jerkin. Shocked at the strong grip Rylen turned to see Alaric right in front of him.  The grip was surprisingly strong for a man so slender. His eyes were wide and and bulging with fear.

At first it was hard to make out what the man was trying to say. His own hand gripped onto Alaric’s instinctively as he tried to free himself. Yelling could be heard from everywhere as scuffles began to escalate. Alaric made no further move to cause him harm and Rylen finally realised what he was trying to say.

‘They are coming. They are coming. They are coming.’ He had repeated between pants. His brow was covered in perspiration, causing a sheen to cover his skin.

Rylen barely remembered Marquello dashing past him and holding a dagger to Alaric’s throat. Nor did he remember Marquello prising the grip from his Jerkin. He did remember calling out to Alaric as he was dragged away. He tried his best to struggle but Marquello was too strong for him.

‘What is coming?’ Rylen had called out with cupped hands.

‘Fire and death.’  Alaric had shouted back before being knocked unconscious.

It had taken a while for order to be restored and a few heads had been knocked and backsides given the boot. Duncan had relished the role but thankfully no serious injuries had been caused. Truth was Rylen had been caught flat footed. That was some hours ago now and he was still unsettled by what had occurred.

His rational side told him that nothing was amiss. The town was well armed and fortified. Bandits would not risk a similar assault here. The king slayer would return shortly and their efforts should still be on bringing affairs into order. Intuition told him something different entirely. And it had been his intuition that had kept him alive thus far.

‘I will speak plainly with you as I always have.’ He declared with gravitas.

Rylen paused to make sure they understood his meaning. Satisfied he continued.

‘To put it simply then, I believe the king slayer to be either dead or captured.’ He concluded with resignation heavy in his tone.

If his suspicion were to be spread outside these walls the whole town would riot and flee in panic. Duncan and his men would turn on the sellswords and the potato knight’s retinue would likely seal themselves in whatever building could hold them.  Then again they may attempt to cleave themselves a way out.

‘What makes you say that?’ Sirasha chimed in.

‘I could not tell you exactly. Having no ravens for days now perturbs me. I do not believe the brotherhood were responsible for Glensdale.’

‘Who else could it have been? Perhaps they were taking advantage of most of the fighting men marching north. If I were them I would have struck now.’ Marquello countered.

‘True, but why did he choose to ride here? And why risk such a journey when so gravely injured?’ Rylen spoke his doubts for the first time and the more he spoke them the more he was becoming more convinced that something more sinister was behind this.

‘He was clearly in shock, there is no denying that. It can cause a man to become crazed.’ Marquello explained as he spread his hands.

Rylen understood his doubts. To accept Rylen’s suspicions meant tough choices would need to be made. Tywin lanister would have to concede the river lands as lost. This would make the sell swords in his employ an unnecessary investment. As retaliation he would hope that the mercenaries would raze the town in frustration, thus denying it to the enemy.

‘What if you are wrong and the slayer of kings is fast approaching our gates?

 Do we leave these lands empty handed’ Talon chimed in. The others murmured their own concerns. All except Cliara, who continued to watch Rylen as she bit into her bottom lip.

‘No, we stay. If it happens to be Stark banners on the crest of the horizon I will offer terms. If it is the kingslayer then this conversation never happened.’ Rylen answered, having already thought of that eventuality.

‘What would be the terms, do we surrender?’ Ashur blanched at the notion even as he asked the question.

‘No. If they want this town quickly then they will have to pay for it. In return they gain our services and a fat knight to use for ransom. As deals go it works for all. I see no reason for them to refuse.’ Rylen explained. Ashur seemed somewhat satisfied by the response.

‘What about the townsfolk, what becomes of them?’ Cliara cut in, her voice full of concern.

Rylen locked eyes with her. He was surprised by the question for Cliara was not native to this town. She had taken up residency not long after the war broke out.  He had a sudden urge to explain the realities of warfare. There were no fairytales or heroes. No shining swords and knights slaying dragons. There were those who survived it and those who did not. A select few who had the foresight and stomach enough to make difficult choices could even profit from it. Everybody else understood this. It was why they were there.

‘The town is no longer our concern. We have fulfilled our obligation and either way I intend to get paid. Are we all in agreement?’ He asked them all as he faced each one.

Marquello was the first to state his approval. Sirasha nodded despite looking concerned. Talon was stoic as always as he also dipped his head in deferment. Cliara seemed to tense in his arms and avoided Rylen’s gaze. He watched as Talon whispered something in her ear. She seemed to relax but still kept her head low. Rylen turned to Ashur who raised his cup and winked before drinking once more. Again satisfied Rylen concluded the meeting.

‘Quietly prepare the men. If and when the time comes I want this town under our control with minimal fuss. Now go, if my hunch is correct there is not much time.’ He finished as they put down their cups and made to leave.

He watched as they left one by one until it was just him remaining.

Alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A ballad of blood " chapter 4; a caged sparrow

 

Alaric stretched on the balls of his feet to reach the cell window. It was designed to let in some light so the prisoners could be seen from a safe distance in the jail. It was not designed for comfort as Alaric was just now discovering. It was impossibly high up and despite reaching the bars with his hands he was not able to raise his head high enough to see what was happening outside. Eventually his grip gave way as his arms strained and finger tips slipped from their tenuous hold. He rested against the wall as he battled to contain his frustration. His jail mates seemed amused as they watched from the comfort of their own cells.

‘Im no expert mate, but I’m pretty sure getting yourself banged up in here isn’t the best way to break us out.’ Hawke called out as he sniggered with the others.

‘I told you he was full of it.’ Another voice spoke up. Alaric did not know his name.

He ignored them, there was too much at stake. He cast a look around the room for anything that could be used. He had been here for a few hours now as best as he could judge. It was hard to tell. They had dragged him here half senseless from the blows he took. He had been trying to warn them even as they shoved him into the cell. But they did not want to listen.

‘Yeah yeah save it for the captain.’ They said dismissively as they slammed the door shut.

With that they left, eager to escape the smell of stale sweat and urine. It was something that Alaric had to contend with as it hit his nostrils. Evidently nobody had attended to the prisoners since the previous night’s celebrations. That is when he spotted the bucket.

 It was in the corner among a damp pile of straw that concealed most of it. The wood was warped from age and the iron ring around it was heavily rusted. Though empty whoever cleaned it left a lot to be desired. Alaric did not care. He picked it up and kept it at arm’s length before placing it below the window.

The only other item in the room was the bed. Unfortunately this was bolted in place and was low to the ground and too far from the window to be of any use. The thin straw mattress however could be removed. This he folded and along with the bucket he constructed a makeshift platform on which to stand. It was tricky to balance upon as the mattress was less than firm and the bucket wobbled considerably at first. After a moment of practise he was able to raise his chin high enough to see out of the jail.

Not that there was much to see. Some feet hurried this way and that as they spoke excitedly. But he could glean nothing that was helpful. By straining his neck he could just about make out the tip of the northern wall. He shushed the others as they called out jibes and questions as he tried to listen, but this only seemed to encourage them further. Alaric shifted more of his weight onto the tip of his toes trying to gain better vantage.

He had to see the gate, it was imperative they closed it. Images from his dream flooded into his mind of what could happen. Suddenly the bucket gave way and he found himself on the flat side of his buttocks. He winced, more in frustration than in pain, though there was plenty of the latter. He rose slowly to the eruption of laughter from the others.

‘They wouldn’t be laughing if they knew what was coming.’ He thought bitterly to himself.

Giving into despair he sat on the hard wood planks of his bunk. He forsook the mattress having lost the will to retrieve it. He ignored the others as they debated on whether their new cell mate was delirious or just foolhardy. He sat there with his head in his hands and his neck bowed barely listening, as he chewed over what to do next. Whether it was pity or from mere curiosity, Hawke spoke up.

‘Leave the poor sod alone fellas. Like it or not, he’s one of us now.’

‘Hell he is. He’d piss his pants in a fight. Besides, how do we know this isn’t some sort of trick?’ The one from before countered. There were grunts and murmurs of agreement from some of the others.

‘Because I say so Gil, that’s why.’ Hawke shot back.

 ‘I think your head’s gone soft. The walls have gotten to you, or have you forgotten how slippery these b******s are?’ Gil retorted, unsatisfied. He knocked his temple with his knuckle to highlight his point.

‘Slippery as an eels arse to be sure. But these hirelings running the show don’t care. They re holding us until their masters come back. Except I don’t think they will. Not anytime soon anyway.’ Hawke explained.

To this the rest all fell silent and listened intently. Alaric looked up, as the dark spell over him was broken by the exchange. He was taken aback by how much Hawke seemed to know. Did he also have the gift of sight? Was the man with the flaming sword here all along in front of him? Hawke continued before he could ask.

‘You all heard that bell earlier, same as me, same as him.’ Hawke nodded in Alaric’s direction as he spoke. Some of the others turned in his direction, as if sizing him up for the first time. Gil for his part still seemed unconvinced but he kept quiet. Alaric was starting to see why Hawke was the leader. It was more than his las vaire attitude.

‘Now that bell seems to have them all in a bit of tizzy. If I had to guess things don’t look too good for our hired hosts. Moments later they shove him in here, wailing like a child taken from his mother’s teat.’ Again Hawke nodded in his direction. This time Alaric nodded back, finally seeing where this was going.

‘That tells me he isn’t with them. Besides he seemed earnest enough in his bid to break us out, even if he made an a*s tit of it.’ He winked at Alaric as he finished.

 ‘Our boys will be here shortly I reckon. As much as I ve enjoyed your company I could do with someone a lot prettier.’ Hawke concluded emphatically before lying down once more and humming to himself.

The optimism in his voice was evident and the mood lifted throughout the jail. So it was with a heavy heart that Alaric interjected.

‘They won’t be.’ He muttered with a sigh so that only those closest to him heard him speak at all.

They continued to talk of a rescue and what they would do once freed. Whoring and drinking seemed to be the consensus. They next point of call was taking their revenge upon the Lannisters.

 ‘They won’t be.’ Alaric spoke once more, with more conviction so that most fell silent.

‘What was that now?’ Hawke asked, not best pleased that his good news had been dampened.

 ‘They won’t be coming.’ Alaric repeated himself. He stood up and looked towards the window as if it had all the answers.

‘Oh and how have you come by that little bit of intelligence? If you don’t mind me asking.’ Hawke asked with a furrowed brow as he scratched his beard in irritation.

‘Because something far worse is heading this way.’ Alaric answered as if in a dream.

There was a smattering of nervous laughter as tension began to creep in. Even Hawke licked his lips in discomfort before pressing on. Not that Alaric thought that they believed him as such.

‘What may that be?’ Gil asked this time.

‘A harbinger of death and destruction. A flayed wolf it’s avatar. The lion has been caged and now the beast has caught the scent of a trapped stag. Where it treads, death follows. And it treads this way.’

The words sprang from Alaric’s tongue but the words felt like someone else’s. He had not remembered feeling this way since he left Asshai. He had hoped being free of the grand temple would free him from the trances. He was sadly mistaken.

‘This one’s as loony as a jay bird.’  One of the others called out.

The others made a sign of divine protection and spoke quick prayers. The only one who did not flinch was Hawke, who stood up himself. He kept his eyes intently on Alaric as he weighed up what he just heard.

‘There’s something you re not telling us. First the interest in our man, Thoric. And now this?’ Hawke declared with accusation ablaze in his tone. His eyes narrowed, making it clear he wanted an explanation.

Alaric weighed up his options, which were limited at best. It was no use concealing who he was, not anymore. He had spent months carefully choosing his words, weighing them even as he spoke them. The red god was rarely welcome in these parts. But more than that he did not want his old order finding him. He would either be killed for deserting the faith or locked away, to be used like a tool when needed. But the situation he found himself in was far worse. Death was in the air, he could feel it. It was thick and growing more palpable as the daylight lessened. Alaric envied them their ignorance.

At least he now knew the name of the man he sought.

‘Thoric and I share the same faith. Or at least we did until I cast off the lord of light. But it seems he is not done with me yet. Maybe this is my penance...’ Alaric trailed off.

‘What has that got to do with our own fire worshipper?’ Hawke asked, still unconvinced.

‘From what I know it seems he too has strayed from the path. I was hoping to seek his help whilst avoiding my order. They do not take kindly to self excommunication.’ Alaric explained using only half of the truth. He was not quite ready to reveal everything about his past.

Hawke chewed this over for a moment whilst the others also listened. Somewhat satisfied he probed further.

‘And that babble you just spoke, what was that?’ He asked. It was Alaric’s turn to pause before answering. He chewed the tip of his thumb before speaking once more.

‘I don’t know exactly. It is from a dream I have been having recently. The lion, I have seen them on banners all over this town.’ He explained as he once more looked to the window.

‘The Lannisters, its their sigil.’ Hawke spat as the words left his mouth.

‘It sounds like the Kingslayer has gone and got himself in a little bit of bother. Caged, you said. I would prefer gutted or hung but caged... there’s something you don’t hear often.’ Hawke clapped his hands together as if picturing it himself. The others too seemed pleased.

‘If that’s true they ll be heading here next. Im no lover of the Starks either, but I would take a wolf over a lion. The pup will set us free. Afterall harrying the lannisters is what we do best. Isn’t that right lads?’ Hawke boasted to the others as they whooped in response.

Only Alaric remained stoic. The flayed wolf was far from young looking as best as he could tell from his vision.

‘The flayed wolf will spare none. And he is no pup.’ He spoke out once more. They again focused on Alaric as they contemplated what they just heard.

‘Flayed... Could it be Roose Bolton? The flayed man is his sigil.’ One of the others called out to Hawke. He was younger the others and had a lisp. It was the first time Alaric had heard him spoke.

Hawke confirmed as he began to tap at his cell door.

 ‘Hmm a ruthless b*****d to be sure if half the stories are to be believed. I don’t know why he would wish us harm but I’ll not wait around to find out.’ He finished by banging on his door with the side of his fist.

‘Ok boys time to bring the old fart to us.’ Hawke instructed the others.

Alaric watched as they began to howl collectively. Some even began to bang the buckets in their cell against the bars. The racquet soon became unbearable and part of Alaric wanted it to stop as the howls and banging became incessant. As glad as he was that they were taking him seriously he soon feared that nobody would come. Moments passed by and still they howled and banged and screeched. Alaric covered his ears and began to do the same. That was until the great thick door to the jail flung open and a guard stormed in.

‘By the gods if you don’t cease this bloody madness I ll end it myself.’ He threatened as he half drew his sword from its scabbard.

His helm was skewed to the side awkwardly and he looked as if he had just awoken. As such he had little patience for mischief. He made this known by whacking his sword against the jail cells. Undeterred they howled. All except Hawke who danced away from the cell door before the guard hit at it. Just as nimbly he darted forward pressing his face into the door’s small window.

‘Fetch the captain and we ll stop.’ Hawked declared before the guard could hit out again.

‘To hell with the captain, bring us food and water. We re half starved.’ Gil called out from his cell down the corridor. The guard spun to try and place the origin, causing his helmet to swing to the other side of his head.

‘Women and wine as quick as you please. If we re all going to die here I want to do so drunk and passed out in a woman’s bosom.’ Hawke got his attention once more. The others called out in unison causing the guard to become increasingly flustered.

‘What are you babbling on about?’ The guard asked as his face reddened.

‘Fetch the captain and you ll soon find out. And remember the wine and women. I like em full bodied and fruity’ Hawke replied provocatively, before once more beginning to howl.

After a moment of indecision the guard swore before marching out. To this the others laughed and whooped and some even continued to howl in victory.

Alaric admired their levity considering the dire situation they were facing.

It did not take long for their request to be fulfilled. The town was already in a bit of a storm and those running the show were eager to stamp their authority somewhere.

The guard returned, looking somewhat smarter than before. A step behind was the guard captain. The man he knew as Duncan, who for his part did not look best pleased at the summons. Behind him more guards fanned into the jail. They hit out at any not quick enough to jump back in time. It was not just their authority they were looking to stamp, but their frustrations also. Alaric counted half a dozen of them.

‘One of you b******s better start talking and fast. I ll not have bandits run amok in my town, not on my watch. Those foreign swine have tolerated you lot for too long. Not surprising, considering you re all one and the same.’

There was a fervour in Duncan’s eyes as he spoke. Sheen lined his brow as he continued to work himself into a frenzy. It was as if he was speaking to himself just as much as to those around him.

‘Now that the good decent men have gone off to fight for King and country, you think these parts are ripe for the picking. Is that it? He asked as he drew his blade and pointed it at each of the prisoners in turn. His arm was shaking, and Alaric was beginning to worry about what might happen. He had to try to get through to him.

‘You must listen to me, we re not your enemy.’ Alaric piped up, his voice squeaked slightly from nerves.

‘Bah! Not my enemy? You scum have been killing good decent men. Thieving, raping and pillaging to boot no doubt.’ Duncan shot back, swinging his blade towards Alaric in a wild arc. His eyes widened in recognition.

 ‘You! You were the one at the gate. So you re with this lot as well are yer?’ He stepped closer with his blade outreached, until it was mere inches away from Alaric’s chest. Alaric held his ground despite a great knot forming in his stomach.

‘Something is coming, something that means to destroy us all. Please you must close the gates.’ Alaric tried to say but he words were lost as Hawke cut in.

‘Good men. There’s what I think of your good men.’ He spat in contempt at Duncan’s boots.

‘How many homes and families have been destroyed by your good men?? Aye, we ve killed a few of your lot. Hung em up for the world to see them for what they are. I caught one of them raping a poor lass. I ran him through before he got to deposit his seed and sow another generation of good men.’

It was the first time that Alaric had seen Hawke worked up so. Unfortunately it only served to anger Duncan further.

‘I will not let you spread your heathen lies anymore. I know you ve taken up with the red demon. I won’t wait upon our lord Jamie to come back. I ll execute the lot of yer now.’ Duncan declared as his men made it clear that they wanted the same.

‘He won’t be coming back!’ Alaric shouted out in frustration and despair. It cut through the racquet and animosity just long enough for him to get their attention.

‘Stop it, all of you. We are all in grave danger. Your Lord Jaime is defeated. The brotherhood did not attack Glensdale. Someone else did. Now they re coming here to do the same.’ The words left him in a rush. So much so that he was not sure that they were fully comprehended.

‘Who is coming? Tell me.’ Duncan demanded as the deep lines along his burrow deepened further.

‘The flayed wolf.’ Alaric replied. Although it fell on deaf ears.

‘Pfft. More heathen nonsense. Take them one at a time and put them to the noose. Start with that one, first in first out.’ He pointed straight at Alaric.

The guards moved without delay and with eagerness in their step. It was clear that they were itching to give some justice of their own. Hawke attempted to come to Alaric’s aid once more.

‘Do what you must, but you should know your playmates are planning on selling you down the river. Personally I hope the Boltons put them to good use.’ He called out to no avail.

‘And save that one for last. I ll make sure he suffers the most.’ Duncan shot back with a snarl. Cleary he had blood on the mind and no words would reach him now.

Alaric felt panic rise in him. Just like how he felt when they first dragged him to the pyre and tied him to it. He remembered how they prayed and chanted from beneath their hoods. They threw the torch and watched it light up without remorse as Alaric struggled against his bonds in terror. It was then that he saw it, what one of the guards was holding. 

The small windows in the jail did not allow for much light to enter so the guards had to bring their own. Presumably so they could keep an eye on the prisoners without having to get too close.

‘Please not him. Not the fire!’ Alaric made a show of squirming as one of the guards grabbed him by the tunic. He continued to plead as he was thrown towards the door.

‘Is it now? Maybe we should have ourselves a little fun.’ The guard called out to the others as he grabbed Alaric once more. Alaric acted terrified as best as he could and forced himself to shake. This only served to delight the guards more, all except Duncan.

‘Don’t scold him too badly, we’re not savages.’ He reminded them of their duty with a disapproving stare.

‘Im just going to make him sweat a little...’ The guard reassured his superior.

Alaric dropped to his knees as he continued to beg. The guard obliged by waving the torch in front of his torso, clearly enjoying himself. When it was close enough he shot his arm out to grab it by the shaft. Using all of his weight he yanked it towards his chest so that the flames burnt through his tunic and pressed into his skin. Alaric watched as a look of horror descended upon the man in front of him. He tried to pull it free but Alaric kept it there with a firm grip and a strength he did not know he had.

Others rushed forward to assist their panicked comrade. The brotherhood were yelling in distress and pleading Alaric to stop. Smoke choked the room so that it became hard to see and coughing fits took any that entered to help. After enough time had elapsed Alaric released his hold. The torch clattered to the floor, the flame was all but dead as it flickered pathetically.

 

They were all hesitant to look at first, expecting to see black and red blistered flesh. Nobody knew if Alaric was still among the living. If he was he surely must wish he was not. After all no man could endure that pain. One by one they all looked as the smoke cleared and their curiosity grew. Gasps could be heard as they looked to where he knelt. Alaric knew what they all saw as he slowly looked about him. And that was his skin, completely unmarked. What remained of his tunic was still smouldering to dispel any doubt that the flame had seared into his body. A stunned silence filled the room.

Only one man dared to speak.

‘By the gods...’ Duncan muttered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A ballad of blood " chapter 5: A losing proposition

 

It was done.

Rylen began to relax before sipping once more from his cup. He loosened his belt and unstrung the top of his jerkin. He had foregone the usual evening meal and instead tentatively chewed on hard bread. Most of the bacon he left untouched. The last of the town’s stock but that was now the least of his concerns. His uneasiness had grown since his decision to turn coat for the Northerners. Why? He could not say.

All the signs had pointed to Jaime’s defeat at the hand of the Starks. In Rylen’s mind that made their contract null and void. Nor was this the first time they had turned on their employer. Sellswords had a reputation for being unreliable before Rylen had even picked up a sword. Common folk and knights fought for causes. Kings and rulers fought for power, either to retain it or take it. Sellswords fought for coin, it was that simple.

‘Except for the golden company.’ He thought bitterly to himself.

‘Our word is as good as gold.’ Their motto overflowed with vanity.

‘Easy to say when you re the largest army on the battlefield. But their s**t stinks all the same.’ Rylen would counter to any that would listen.

For the smaller companies it was a fool’s promise. Those that made it would not survive long enough to collect on their temerarious commitment.

Why then did this feel so different? Rylen forced the thought from his mind as he pushed his plate away.

 The others had their instructions and knew full well what it meant. The builders would be unhappy but the Starks would soon have them back to work. Duncan and his lot would resist, of that he was sure. Rylen allowed himself some small satisfaction as he pictured the old fool’s face as he realised what was happening. A blade to the throat had that effect of hitting home hard truths. Men like Duncan were born to serve those that barely knew he existed. And the world had a way of discarding them as such.

The fat knight would most likely surrender willingly and as dignified as circumstance would allow. It was only less than two weeks ago that they had met. But Lionel was another that Rylen could not wait to be rid off. For one thing his retinue consumed more than their share of the town’s food store. His mind drifted back to when they first met as he sipped once more.

It had been a day like most others, unremarkable to a fault. The afternoon had begun to wane without protest. The builders had finished their labour for the day and retired into the evening. The bell ringing out above the gate did little to increase the urgency of the town. Jaime’s forces had not long left and a clash with the Starks was not expected for a few days yet.

Rylen had casually loped to the top of the makeshift battlement to gain better vantage. A column of men could be seen marching in something resembling order. At its head a banner of the Westerlands was lofted high in the breeze. Upon it a handsome peacock in full display set upon an ivory backdrop. Rylen appreciated the fine embroidery, even from such a distance. The same could not be said for the oversized knight that rode before it. His face was red and he perspired profusely despite wiping his brow constantly with a handkerchief.

Rylen remembered watching them approach as the knight continued to bounce upon his saddle. It was not long before his groans and complaints could be heard.

‘Its the horse I feel sorry for’. Rylen muttered to himself.

‘Hmm looks like the sort that will get you killed in battle, when he’s not busy hiding from one.’ Marquello surmised, clearly unimpressed. 

Rylen nodded, not realising his friend had followed him up.

‘Open the gates’ He had called down.

Once through the gate the knight waited to be assisted down by his squire. A young lad, but taller than the knight he served. Rylen judged him to be in the middle of his adolescence. Freckles decorated his pale face, the colour matching his dark ginger hair. He had continued to watch the knight half rolled off his steed whilst the squire did his best to steady him as he landed. The boy attempted to offer him a waterskin but was waved off for his efforts.

‘Not now. Not now Simon. Introductions must be made first. I thought I taught you that already. Please do try to pay attention my dear boy.’ The plump knight chastised his ward.

‘Apologies ser Lionel.’ Simon replied solemnly before taking two steps back.

‘Ahoy ser Lionel!’ Rylen had called out from above as he descended the ramparts.

He remembered well the look of surprise on the plump man’s face as he jerked his head up. He had clearly not expected to be recognised in these parts.

‘How do you come to know... oh, of course.’ He replied as he shot his squire a dark look. To which Simon’s face reddened in response.

‘I don’t believe we have had the pleasure.’ Rylen had played along as he walked up to the newcomer. Rylen watched as Lionel straightened up and puffed out his chest with as much dignity as he could muster.

‘Ser Lionel Fyste, pledged to the service of House Serrett and gladly at yours in the interim.’ He formally introduced himself with a dip of his head, causing his two thick chins to meld into one.

Clearly past the prime of his years but not so far removed that he could not ride when called upon. Rylen recalled standing there as the potato knight made a show of cursing his ill fortune for having missed the rally point. According to his account of events the sea had been a cruel mistress. First the tide had delayed their departure and then at sea it had forced them off course.

Duncan having joined the gathering for his part was being respectful, glad to be in service of his betters.

‘Of course ser Lionel, these things happen. We are all in the hands of the seven after all. I will have some of my boys prepare you suitable quarters while you rest. We have had no word of the engagement. Perhaps it is not too late to rendezvous with Ser Jaime?’ He had suggested.

Alaric remembered Lionel blanching at the suggestion. He had clearly hoped that the battle had already concluded and hence the rebellion had been put to rest. He soon composed himself, conscious of his audience.

‘Excellent suggestion my good man, quite excellent.’ Lionel replied as he brought his hands together.                 

Duncan shot Rylen a victorious grin, which only made his wrinkles deepen further. He clearly felt the knight, in all his pompousness was superior to his rival in terms of rank. That was until their guest spoke once more.

‘I wonder though, with the battle so far away yet so close to a conclusion. That my services would not be better rendered taking command of this outpost? It is clearly of some strategic value but with no suitable commander... no offense of course.’ Lionel finished the thought with a gesture towards both his hosts.

Rylen did not need to hear the comments of his men around them to know their thoughts on the matter. Duncan’s men too were no doubt less than pleased at having to make way for Lionel’s men. Rylen put his hand up and gave his rebuttal.

‘I thank you for your kind offer Ser Lionel. It would be a great pleasure indeed to rid myself of the responsibility. Keeping everyone fed alone has caused my ulcers to flare up once more.’ Rylen made a point of wincing as he patted his belly.

‘Not at all, not at all. I would-'

‘Ah and then there’s the constant threat of banditry and fights between the guards and my men. Quite unpleasant business.’ Rylen continued over the interjection.

The plump knight licked his lips and blinked rapidly before trying to cut in once more.

‘Of course I would use a firm hand when needed. My man Reginold here, is no stranger to dishing out punishment. And any bandits would leave an armed fortification like this well alone’ Lionel asserted, gesturing to a large man with broad shoulders and a snarl that would make Duncan’s mother proud.

Rylen gave the man a quick glance and unimpressed, continued.

‘Quite so, quite so. And a good thing to. Although we do have some of them locked away here awaiting the King’s justice. Also my men, each one a killer, have come to be used to me being in charge. Duncan here would happily evict us if he could but he is also bound to the Lannisters and their orders.’ Rylen risked a look at Duncan who glared back in reluctant confirmation.

 He remembered sensing Marquello’s enjoyment from behind him.

 I can relieve my command to you ser Lionel, but for your own safety I would have to take my men and leave. Then again I can only do that when payment is received in full. If you would care to settle the ledger on the lord commander’s behalf...’ He had trailed off.

It was clear that even if Lionel had the coin he was not be willing to part with such a sum. Not for the sake of running a garrison in a land he had no ties to. The man was a coward that much was evident from the outset. But it appeared he was just as parsimonious.

 ‘You are most kind good ser, but perhaps it would be best that I defer to you whilst we make the neccessary preparations during our residence.’ Lionel had relented.

‘No sers here. Just a bunch of pissants and thieves, is that not so Duncan?’ Rylen asked without looking the old man's way.

Duncan stiffened where he stood before confirming.

‘Just so.’ He stated contemptously.

Rylen nodded, barely managing to contain his own smile.

‘There you have it. Please see to our guests' accommodations.’ Rylen had requested before ending conversation.

Rylen watched as Lionel and his entourage were escorted by Duncan to one of the larger houses that were still vacant. The fleas would have a fine bedfellow indeed.  The rest were watered and waited and huddled as best they could once their bodies cooled from the march. None of them looked exhausted which further suggested that their journey here was modestly paced. It was not long before Duncan had them all situated.

He would almost miss the old b*****d. Almost.

Rylen’s reverie was broken by the sound of shouting outside. Curses could be heard among the commotion. Rylen risked a glance out of his window. He spotted Duncan at the head of a score of others. They seemed to be dragging someone but the torches they carried made it hard to make out who it was. The last of the day’s light was beginning to fade but it was not so dark that torches were needed. Unless they were meant for something more sinister, he suddenly thought.

Duncan seemed to be mumbling to himself the entire time but Rylen could not make out what. His own men, alert to the threat began to form a protective ring around the building’s entrance. Rylen tried to make a quick count of his assailants but could only make a guess as they pressed into the courtyard. It was clear that his own were hopelessly outnumbered. Subduing the town was not going to be so easy after all.

Duncan stopped just short of the men who resolved to block him. The older man shot them a sneer before shouting up at the window.

‘Come out of hiding you traitorous b*****d!’ He bellowed. Murderous intent was thick in the words.

Rylen did not fancy his chances if he left. His chamber would become his grave if he stayed within, trapped by his own walls. He had to play for time, at least until more of his men could arrive on the scene.

 Steeling himself, he emerged from the window, leaning out as much as his body would allow. He felt his arms shake, more from apprehension than from the effort of supporting the weight of his body. When he spoke, he gave an air of being oblivious to the siege.

 

‘Good eve Duncan. You seem to have caused quite a stir. I have just retired to supper and now I see armed men at my door. This is unbecoming, even for you.’ Rylen called out as measured as he could.

As he spoke he scanned the courtyard. More of Duncan’s men were beginning to arrive as if some call to arms had been sounded. Behind Duncan the man they had been dragging was forced to his knees and kept there guards that flanked him. The weight of the manacles upon his wrists kept his arms down. His clothes looked scorched and torn. His body was unmarked but his cheek was swollen and blood trickled down his chin. One of his guards held a torch close to him.

He looked to the other small streets that adjoined the courtyard and was relieved to see his own men begin to trickle in. They kept to the walls cautiously as not to be seen. They were assessing the situation, as they had been trained to do. His attention was brought back to Duncan who called out once more.

‘Save your pleasantries and your supper, for it will be your last. I ll give you one chance to come peacefully before I send my boys to drag you out. Your mongrels here won’t be able to stop them.’ His would be persecutor warned. Shadows danced across his face.

‘You forget your place Duncan. You have no authority over me or my men. Now disperse your little gathering and go back to your duties.’ Rylen shot back, with as much bravado as he could muster.

‘Do not speak to me of duty, traitor. My duty is to King and country and has been since the day I was born. Yours is to your own skin and to the dagger that you would strike into our backs. I know my duty all too well and I will see it done before the sun is set!’ Duncan declared.

‘You keep speaking of traitors but it appears you are the one reneging on the orders of those that you serve. I will have you arrested if you do not disperse.’ Rylen shot back, rising to the bait.

‘Don’t play coy with me. I know all about your plans to sell us to the enemy, tied in a nice bow for your new pay masters. Not on my watch. I knew I smelt a rotter the day I met you. This one here had some choice things to say about you. Isn’t that right Demon worshipper?’

Duncan swung his torch around and pointed it at the man knelt behind him. His head was pushed down so that it was kept facing at the ground. Rylen recognised him as the stranger that had arrived a few days ago. Up until now he was worried that one of Duncan’s men may have overheard his orders being relayed. Now he was worried for Duncan’s sanity.

‘Traitors and demons. You sound like a senile old drunk Duncan. Please end this madness, for all our sakes,’ Rylen made a show of pleading.

‘Im not waste anymore time bandying words with you. You had your chance to surrender. But I ll give you a demonstration of what has befallen you. Let all men here bear witness!’ And with that he thrust the torch into Alaric’s chest without hesitation.

Rylen closed his eyes to block out the horror and turned his head away in disgust. Duncan was as short sighted as he was intolerant but he never had the impression that the older man was twisted so. He opened them to sounds of a collective gasp. Curious as to why there was no scream. He had seen men break and confess their crimes and secrets once the heat of fire was felt. He had even heard the stomach churning screeches and wailing of men set alight in combat. He had yet to meet a man who could endure that pain without a sound. But there Alaric was, as he was before with what remained of his clothes smouldering. His chest was smooth and untouched. And for the first time in a very long while Rylen was stunned to silence.

He had heard stories of course. The legends of the Targaryns and their immunity to fire. Though he always dismissed them out of hand. Such stories had a habit of beginning with the victors and were fanned until they had a life of their own. The fire worshippers also preached of their divine protection. Though Rylen had never seen a demonstration. Until now.

The fresh commotion had brought with it more of his men. Who know lined the streets. Rylen spotted Marquello and Talon who both looked up to him for a signal to attack. Duncan’s men may have more in number for the moment. But Rylen knew his were better trained and used to shedding blood. They would also have the initiative if Rylen gave the order first.

Duncan was currently stirring his own men, rallying them to take their town back.

‘Stop this please. Something is coming!’ Alaric called out suddenly. For which he was struck once more.

 

‘We’ll start with this one. I ll have no more of your witchcraft within these walls.’ Duncan declared before nodding to one of the guards.

Rylen watched as he duly pushed Alaric to the ground with the heel of his boot. The other raised his sword in preparation for a beheading. Rylen could see Alaric visibly shaking in distress.

Rylen had no idea who or what Alaric was but it was probably best he was put down too. He had hoped to subdue this town with minimal casualties but that opportunity was gone now. He was just about to signal to his men to charge in when another voice called out.

‘Ahoy there, what is all this then? A public execution? My my this simply will not do.’

Everyone turned to see the potato knight standing at the other end of the courtyard, his hands on his hips. Duncan’s men made way for him and his entourage. For all of his cowardly buffoonery the man knew not to walk into a fight without the men to get him out of it.

‘Nothing that concerns you ser Lionel.’ Duncan replied, annoyed at the interruption.

‘Still, if you could indulge me I would be most grateful. Such acts of justice must be approved by those of proper authority. I am happy to offer my assistance in this matter. These things must be cleanly done after all.’ Lionel concluded piously.

Duncan took a deep breath and shook his head before giving reply.

‘If you must know, it has to do with black magic. I also have cause to believe that our mercurial captain here is conspiring with the enemy.’

Duncan nodded up to the window where Rylen was watching the whole thing unfold. He watched as Lionel blanched at the mention of dark arts and cleared his throat as the gravity of the situation became clear.

‘Are the charges true captain?’ He called up. Although the question was directed at him Rylen could see that the knight was casting a calculating eye over the foray.

‘Of course not. Duncan has clearly been overcome with delirium. Fuelled by jealously and black magic. He means to take my place.’ Rylen called down.

‘Bah, yet more lies. Your assistance in this would be welcome ser Lionel. As a token of my gratitude I defer stewardship of this town to you.’

Rylen swore inwardly. He should have used that ploy to strike a bargain himself. He had underestimated Duncan and now the fight would be that much more difficult. He was sure to lose men now, good men. Men he had promised easy coin and easy living to. The least he could do was go out and fight with them. All swords were drawn now, and his own began to slide out of his scabbard. He locked eyes with Duncan and made a pact with himself that he would be the one to gut him.

 Everyone there sensed the blood about to be spilled and not a man spoke. This was it. In unison everyone rushed forwards, most yelled their battle cries as blades and bodies clashed.

 Then came the sound of a great bell, temporarily causing everyone to halt before too many fell.

Rylen was the only one who saw Alaric’s head jerk up. His eyes wide with fear. What could make a man immune to fire’s touch afraid, Rylen did not know. But he never forgot the words he spoke. Three of them and each cut through the tension as much as the last.

‘They are here.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here concludes the first part of the ballad of blood. I hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. For those of you that did please feel free to leave any comments and feedback you may have. I also plan to write more and release the second part in good time. What exactly has befallen the town of Duskendale and those that reside within it?

All shall be revealed in the second part of the ballad of blood.

 

Author’s disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the song of ice and fire book series or any of the characters mentioned within them or their affiliates. To the best of my knowledge all rights are owned by George RR Martin and the publishing company, Bantam Books. All other characters in this story are my own. This story in no way is meant to contradict the original story. Any contradictions are accidental. This story was written to bring further life to certain parts of world created by George RR Martin. In short, it is a story written by a fan, for fans.