From Westeros to Essos : The Crusader King

Chapter 26 – Gott Mit Uns!

When Bronn told him about a slave ship hoisting Baelish's flag, he thought that it would be only one ship, but that was not the case. Seven ships, five of them filled to the brim with sellswords or men loyal to Baelish while the remaining two ships were filled with slaves, men, women, and children from the mountain clans of the vale and some, from the looks of it, even from King's landing.

His father was doing a poor job of bringing justice for the people and yet, considering the rumors they heard, Konrad could blame his father for having to rule a kingdom alone while the king drinks, whore and eat himself to an early grave.

Nevertheless, watching as the seven ships landed a few miles away from the demon road was strange, since from what the maps said, there was nothing anywhere near, unless… Baelish was dealing with the slavers on neutral territory so that no one could trace the slave business to him. Smart, but also dangerous.

Letting them land, was a calculated risk, one that Konrad was willing to take and while his uncle was quite against his decision, Bronn, Gendel, and Tyrek agreed with him. They were no sailors and a fight of such proportion on the sea would be disadvantageous for them.

For the first time since he became the one in charge of this extremely profitable business, Ronnel found himself in a situation he hadn't expected at all. Watching the white flags with a black cross in the middle of them, he knew that to offer battle to the Brothers of the Cross was madness, yet to avoid doing so would mean he and his men would have to run away.

He had no desire to be replaced by his lord and so the only way to demonstrate the validity of his cause was to defeat the bastards in battle. Yet a small part of his made him wonder who would have contracted them to attack, after all the good masters were pleased with the prices they had to pay for fresh slaves. Mayhaps some jealous Magister? Or even one of the triarchs?

Ronnel knew that ordinarily, he could not defeat those crazy bastards in open battle. But these were not ordinary circumstances. As his men walked from the trees into position he peered at the gaudy flags and banners of the mercenary army. He could see a few men on horseback, both riders and horses wearing white and black with only a few wearing something different. If there had been any wind, he would have been a happy man, as the enemy wouldn't have been able to use bows and arrows against his men. But there was no wind and even though it was still early morning he could feel sweat running down his neck. It would be a long, hot day. He smiled, a good day to kill, aye.

The trumpets sounded assembly just as the first rays of dawn were lancing the sky, as his men were putting on their armor. They hoisted up their shields, grabbed their spears, and filed out of camp to form up in their companies. Crossbowmen waited at ships to be issued with quivers of quarrels and squires rushed around saddling their masters' horses before their own. Many of the men were already tense, and yet even now at the dawn of the battle, men and women who took the faith as their new lives, walked amongst the soldiers praying before joining the ranks.

 It was already stiflingly hot and men in full armor were beginning to feel drained. At the same time Konrad, to his uncles' horror, rode with two of the first Teutonic knights.

 "There are very many of them," Konrad sighed, trying his best to count just how many enemies they were going to fight. "It saddens me to think that men of the Vale had fallen so low."

"I would not take it personally, lad," Tyrek said, trying to reassure him, "Men are greedy beings, but they are easily turned. We beat Baelish's men today and any desire to make a living through slavery will quickly wither and die.'

Bron pointed at the block of heavily armored knights forming up in anticipation of the charge.

 "What about them, my lord? I mean no offense, but, these men of yours… are…"

"Too devoted, Bronn?"

"Aye, will they…"

"They will charge the enemy and bring death and destruction in their path. I might not be able to ride with them yet, but I trust the men and women who followed me in smoking sea willingly and remained by my side."

As they rode back to the rear, Tyrek decided to ask his young lord if he would lead the battle himself or stay behind and command from there. He knew Konrad was brave and eager to prove himself, but he worried about his safety, especially when they were soon going to clash with the men of the Vale.

"Konrad, I have a question for you," Tyrek said while riding closer to the young lord. "Will you be joining the charge, or will you stay here and direct the battle from a safe distance?"

Konrad looked at him with a serious expression. He was only seven namedays old, but he had already seen more of the world than most men would do in a lifetime.

"I will stay here, uncle," Konrad said looking at the almost six hundred men and women forming a shield wall. "I am not strong enough to wield a lance or ride a horse in full armor. I would only slow down the knights and put everyone in danger. Besides, I have another role to play."

He pointed at the archers and crossbowmen who were lining up behind the infantry. They were armed with longbows and crossbows. And judging by how silent they looked, there was no doubt, they were ready to rain fire and death on the enemy.

"I will command the archers and crossbowmen. While you and Uncle Andar lead the men, I will make sure our ranged troops hit their targets and cause as much damage as possible. For now, I will use my eyes and my mind as my weapons."

Tyrek nodded, and for the first time since they landed, he took a deep breath, he didn't know he needed. While he raised Konrad, he knew better than anyone how much it meant for the boy to return home when no one would hunt him down, and seeing his people becoming the very thing he swore to destroy… He feared that the boy would become reckless and want to take charge of the battle like most green boys thrown in command do.

"Go forward with a group from amongst the sellswords requesting a parley," Ronnel said to the captain of his men, a short man wearing a rather old-looking chainmail.

"A parley, ser? I do not understand."

"By the seven. Anything to waste time." replied the master-at-arms. Ronnel then looked into the cloudless sky almost as if he was thanking the sun. "This heat is insufferable even for us. Ask whoever is in charge of that company if he would be so kind as to surrender."

The short man's eyes widened with surprise but he did as he was ordered, walking forward with two of the sellsword and holding aloft a sprig of fir to show he came in peace.

A few minutes later, Ronnel smiled as he saw a party of horsemen leave the mercenaries' ranks and trot into no-man's land. There was then a short meeting out of earshot, the outcome of which he already knew, even before his captain returned with confirmation.

"The knight in charge of the mercenary company refused your offer, ser. One of the men, whom I could swear was a savage, that followed him became very angry and…"

"And?"

"He insulted you, ser, his words are not fit for your ears."

Hearing that, Ronnel couldn't help himself from laughing aloud. "Give the order to begin. Are all of our men ready?"

"Yes, ser."

Ronnel drew his sword. "Then let us show these haughty mercenaries how we fight in Westeros."

"Arrogant bastards. Time to ride them down." Andar shouted angrily as the men of house Baelish were slowly walking towards them.

Seeing that, Tyrek signaled the trumpeters to sound the advance, just at the moment when a great cheer came from the army opposite and some rather exotic-looking sellswords began walking forward.

"It would appear that they too are eager to get to grips with you, my lord." Bronn joked as he saw the young lord glaring at the small group of knights wearing leather armor.

"God be with you, Sers," Konrad said before galloping away from the main line, leaving Bronn, Andar, and Tyrek to lead the charge while Gendel was in charge of the infantry.

"If he were not so young…" Andar said before stopping.

"He would have led. Aye, that much even I can see. The lad might be a young lord, but he not even close to those I've seen before." Bronn continued while looking at the valemen and sellswords.

Those sellswords and sailors or whatever they were, were banging their spear shafts and swords against the insides of their large round shields, the thumping sound echoing across the open field. Under the young lord's command, the longbowmen and crossbowmen rose to their feet and loaded their weapons, while in front of them, a man collapsed from exhaustion every few minutes or so. While not many, some had already been transported to the rear and luckily no one had died of their exertions yet, but that still left their line even thinner. Their enemy was hurling insults as they closed to within four hundred paces of them, the crossbowmen and the archers were already losing bolts and arrows as they got closer. Thirty fell in the first volley and many more were hit and disappeared among the tall grass as trumpet blasts on the right wing signaled the advance of Ser Tyrek and his knights. Seeing that brought a smile to Bronn's face as he too fell in line beside Andar.

A succession of shouts from within the slavers' ranks brought their advance to a halt and then they began to fall back into what Bronn could only describe as a mess. For a bunch of men who threw insults just a few moments ago their formation crumbled easily under the arrows of bolts rain.

As soon as Tyrek saw the enemy beginning to retreat from behind the vision slits in his helmet, he grinned. Slaughtering enemies would make anyone feel much better or so Bronn told himself as he saw Tyrek raise his lance and dig his spurs into his warhorse, which broke into a gallop and the ground shook as the hooves of twenty horses pounded the earth.

Following the lead of the horsemen, Gendel gave the order for the footmen to advance. They did so as the ranged support from them, after reloading followed behind them under the young lord's command. And on his side, the thirty knights under his and Andar's command likewise trotted forward to follow the enemy who were falling back.

Bronn felt alive for the first time in weeks, the dreadful effects of sitting on his arse and doing nothing but training and trying his best to get in Nyssa's good graces had been finally exorcised by the exhilaration of battle. He lowered his lance and then his horse reared up and groaned in pain before crashing to the ground and throwing him from the saddle. Other riders were likewise thrown as their mounts stumbled and collapsed on the ground, breaking legs and thrashing around in pain to crush their riders underneath them. Where moments before there had been an irresistible torrent of armored men on horseback there was now bloody chaos. Bronn felt a sharp pain in his back as he hit the ground. After a few seconds, he managed to look around, only to see blood and bodies everywhere. Men and horses were screaming and dying, pierced by huge bolts that came from nowhere. He turned briefly to look at what hit his horse, and he almost shit himself when he saw a long bolt like a spear sticking through the chest of his now dead horse.

He cursed himself for not thinking about this, wondering just when those fuckers brought such a weapon to the battlefield and none of them saw them. It didn't take him long at all to find three scorpions on a hill overlooking the battlefield.

Bronn knew he had to get out of this hell as soon as possible. He ignored the pain in his back and rolled over to his side, praying to all Gods that none of the bolts would find him next. Luckily for him, he saw a horse nearby, still alive but trapped under the body of another horse and its rider. Seeing that, Bronn crawled towards it. By the time he reached the horse, the poor thing managed to free most of its body by himself and so he only grabbed its reins, pulling it with all his strength. A second later, the horse neighed and kicked, before freeing itself from the dead weight. With that out of the day and the horse free, Bronn quickly mounted it, before looking at the hill where the scorpions were. If something wasn't done, they would lose, and with a strange feeling inside of him, Bronn charged forward.

He spurred his horse and galloped towards the hill, ignoring the men of House Baelish and the sellswords who tried to stop him. And while he did from time to time, cut down a fool or two trying to stop the horse with their bodies, that didn't slow him down at all. On his left, he saw Andar leading a group of knights who had also survived the ambush and before he knew it, the lad joined him in his reckless charge, something that he didn't expect to happen.

Being the one in the front of the charge, Bronn was the first to reach the scorpions, and to his luck, all of them were too busy reloading and aiming to notice him until it was too late. Jumping from his horse, he plunged his sword into one of the men before swinging his sword at the throat of another, leaving the last man to look at him in shock. Just as the man recovered and was about to attack Bronn with a dagger, a lance pierced the man's chest lifting him in the air.

"Use the bloody weapon against them!" He heard Andar's voice as the future lord of Runestone pierced another man.

On the other wing, it was a different story, though when four of his first knights had fallen Tyrek had recalled his men and sent an urgent messenger toward Gendel so that a part of his footmen could be deployed on their flank to assist them.

Seeing the knights retreating, the almost a thousand men-at-arms and sellswords on Tyrek's side halted their withdrawal and then advanced to hurl their javelins at the knights, alas that was only a wishful thought in Tyrek's opinion.

After all, a horse would always be faster than a man and so the enemy could not pursue them, especially on open ground. Therefore, the men loyal to house Baelish, or better said the money of said house, stood and began to whistle and jeer at their attackers until the crossbowmen under Konrad's command began shooting at them. They numbered only forty but they each shot four quarrels a minute and after five minutes, they killed or wounded nearly three hundred enemies. The latter began to edge back and Tyrek's flank had been saved. But in the center… Gendel was in for more than anything he could have ever dreamed of.

As soon as he got the order to attack, Gendel gave the five hundred men of faith a charge. It took Many of his men were nothing more than smallfolk but they were they were eager and strong and now they gripped their swords, axes, and spears and followed him as he charged at the head of the footmen.

Those valemen and sellswords were dumb beyond measure. Not only had they left their center vulnerable, but they even left their archers unguarded and so he led a charge against their weakened center.

He ran ahead of that tide, shield grasped tightly to his body, his axe held high, and launched himself at a spearman with his spear leveled. The spear point glanced off his shield as he let out a feral scream before slamming his axe into the man's neck, his death groan drowned out by a loud scraping sound as the two lines collided. The brothers of the cross behind Gendel began to cut their way through their enemy foot easily enough, forming a compact wedge with Gendel at its apex, thrusting their spears forward like a giant steel hedgehog. The first rank of those fanatics who saw Konrad as a saint, mostly died when they smashed into the enemy line, their spear, sword, and axe thrusts being defeated by seasoned sellswords who used their shields to ward off blows and then plunged their spears into lightly armored torsos. But they then faced a deluge of attackers as more and more of those men and women hurled themselves at the enemy line, slashing hacking with their axes, and jabbing with their spears. The men of House Baelish momentarily held, buckled, and then gave way under the sheer weight of the attack.

At least half of the men that followed Gendel died in that melee and hundreds more were wounded, but they killed twice as many fleeing enemies and pushed the survivors back. And from the wings came the knights.

Watching Tyrek charge forward with what remained of the cavalry was a sight he would always remember. The face of a man seeking vengeance was not something one could easily forget. Nevertheless, they won. Aye, it came with a heavy price, but they killed Baelish's main source of income or at least the main one in terms of slaves.

Dead men littered the ground, and a small part of him was blaming himself for the deaths of his people. He promised them a better life and now almost three hundred of them lost their lives for him.

No! He can't think like this. Their deaths allowed everyone else to survive and for many to never see the horrors of being a slave. Kneeling on one knee in front of all of their dead, Konrad closed his eyes and prayed, for both their souls and for forgiveness. Being in charge of people's lives was not an easy matter, nevertheless being the reason, they died.

Trying his best not to let his dark thoughts eat him from inside, Konrad got up and slowly made his way towards his uncles, Bronn and Gendel as they and a few others were looking at what few survivors were left from their enemy army.

Other than Bronn, who got himself injured in the initial charge none of his closest people were injured badly, which Konrad thanked God for.

As soon as Konrad stopped beside his uncles and Bronn and Gendel, Andar patted his back gently knowing very well how hard it must be for his nephew to deal with the loss of good men and women.

"You did well, nephew. Almost half of the enemy army had been shot by your group."

"Aye, young lord. You saved a lot of lives, today."

Konrad smiled weakly and thanked his uncle and Gendel, but he felt no joy in his heart. He felt only sorrow and guilt for the lives he had lost.

"Look there," Andar said when he saw Konrad's expression, pointing at a man lying on the ground, clutching his leg. "That's the bastard who led this attack. Bronn shot him in the leg with the scorpion he captured. He's still alive, but not for long. I… I wanted to kill him myself, but Ser Tyrek and even Bronn talked some sense into me, after all, you are the future lord of the Vale."

Konrad looked at the man and to his surprise, he didn't know how to feel. The man was clearly someone important judging what armor he was wearing, but other than that he knew nothing.

"Any idea who that might be?"

Gende was the only one who recognized the man. "Ronnel, he's the master at arms of House Baelish."

Nodding at Gendel, Konrad walked towards the master-at-arms, followed by his uncles. He saw the fear in the man's eyes as he approached, no doubt courtesy of his pale boy looking like a monster from the stories told in the north. "Do you know who I am?"

Ronnel nodded weakly and muttered, "You're Konrad Arryn, the bastard of Jon Arryn."

Konrad shook his head, realizing that he was dealing with an idiot. "No, I'm Konrad Arryn, the rightful Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale. While, you, ser… you're a traitor and a spit. You sold your honor and your loyalty for gold and power. And for that, I sentence you to death."

Ronnel accepted his fate, but not before shouting as loud as his lungs could, "Lady Arryn will avenge me! You're just a bastard, a freak of nature! The son she will eventually give birth to will be the true lord of the Vale!"

"You're wrong, Ronnel. Lady Arryn will not avenge you. She will not give birth to anyone to my brother. I doubt she would even care if you die."

He then drew his sword and plunged it into Ronnel's heart, ending his life with one swift stroke. "Have men gather their dead and make a pyre. We can't waste our time burying them."

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