The Eminence in GOT-Chapter 60: The wars of the family. Part 1. The Spacious Campaign

Chapter 60 - The wars of the family. Part 1. The Spacious Campaign

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The beginning of the tenth month of the year 299 A.D.E.

Town Hall, Osgiliath Central Square, Valley of the Solar Flame, Dorne.

Every city of the Middle Ages, whether Earth or Planethos, has its main town square. This place, occupying a considerable amount of open space that could be profitably used for trading areas, markets and dwellings, often played a leading role in the life of cities.

In the times of the ancient Greek polis and the Free Cities of Europe and Russia, they played the role of a meeting place for the people's assemblies, which governed the entire internal and external life of the cities, relying on the opinion of the people or the richest of their representatives. In this world there were Free Cities that used a similar system. Lorath and Pharos. And while in the former the people's assembly elected three lifelong leaders - the Princes of the Harvest, the Fishermen and the Streets, the latter was an exact copy of the ekklesia of Athens, where the right to govern the city was given to every male resident of the city who had reached the age of twenty. This policy had already lasted for two centuries and had worked well, turning Pharos into an undisputed hegemon in its region, managing to oppose New Gis and Quartus on equal terms and single-handedly control Greater Morak.

The other cities of the Free Cities, the Bay of Slavers and the Spice Straits were ruled by an oligarchy (commercial or spiritual, depending on the city) and their power was exercised within the walls of luxurious and monumental town halls, where mere mortals were forbidden to enter. But the squares existed there and played the role of places from which the will of the great lords was transmitted to the plebs by heralds, places where merry fairs and festivals were organized in honor of religious festivals and good events for the city, places where ceremonies were held to serve the gods and offer them deserved sacrifices to receive their blessing.

In Westeros, where orders were quite different, religion was not as strong except in Staromest, and cities belonged to only one family, squares were used much less often and were much smaller. In the same King's Landing it served as an extension of Bread Street in front of the sept of Baelor, which could hold at most two or three thousand people.

But there was another function that all city squares, regardless of the cultures and peoples of Planethos, fulfilled. It was here, in anticipation of future wars and campaigns of conquest, that the elite of the army would gather, eager to demonstrate to the citizens the power their city and ruler could bring down upon their enemies.

«As much as I look at this, I can't take my eyes off it. - I said, crossing my arms behind my back, standing on the second floor of the town hall, located in the central district of my brainchild. After all, the castle is first and foremost a lord's dwelling, and it was foolish to allow a few hundred of the city's lower-ranking officials in.

«True, my lord. - Volkan agreed, standing beside me. He had grown even more over the years, and had become a man worthy of standing beside me. It was he, along with Robin, who first led the Ironfooters when they first appeared as a unit. It is he who has been responsible for organizing the training of the soldiers at the training camp since its inception. It was he who was the head of the small community of werewolves that had grown to a hundred over the years, though only a third of them could control and inhabit animals. And finally, it was he who was the Master of Osgiliath Weapons, serving as my chief commander, leading my entire army in the event of war. Like now. - Even though I've seen it dozens of times, I can't stop having goosebumps running down my spine.

In front of us, in the central square of the city, three thousand people, dressed in red, with a stylized sun on the chest, lined up in rows. Armor glinting in the sun, spears pointing skyward, straight backs, and firm gazes pointed directly at Volkan and me made me understand why ancient emperors and kings were so fond of military parades and triumphs. When you see hundreds and thousands of fighters loyal to you, dressed and armed in good steel, who are ready at the first order to rush into battle, to kill your enemies, wreak havoc and give their lives for you, it is a great ego boost.

After all, power over people and their destinies has always been one of the three greatest vices of all men, along with wealth and women.

Of the three thousand warriors of my kind, a third of them were phalangists, standing in straight rows and not even thinking of moving (yet their discipline was the harshest of all my troops). Another third were archers, holding thin two-meter staffs, which before the battle turned into deadly battle bows. For despite all my expenditures on the army and the purchase of rare Dothraki horsehair from Vaes Dothrak, the bowstrings deteriorated very quickly and it was incredibly foolish to keep the bows taut at all times. The remaining thousand consisted entirely of the strongest and most expensive part of my army, the swordsmen. Clad in fully encased steel armor, with swords and shields strapped to their backs, these killing machines, teamed with their furry partners, now anxiously sniffing and nervous of so many people, were the kings of catfights where their comrades with spears and bows could do little.

«Listen to me carefully, Volkan. - I turned to my Master of Arms, who instantly became serious at my tone and focused on my words. - Our plans for the march into the Expanse are ready and approved by the other lords and Prince Doran. And because of my appointment as Lord Bannerman, our warriors will not be at the top of the list.

«What does that have to do with it, my lord? - Volkan asked as his eyes traveled from soldier to soldier, looking for flaws in the ammunition or health of the wargs. Still, he took his job very seriously, almost with manic pedantry.

«Simple. - I grinned, leaning against the railing. - Unfortunately, most lords are very different from the Martells, Fowlers, and schemers sitting in King's Landing. They don't know how to think ahead. To summarize, their entire lives are built on three pillars: increasing their power, gaining pleasure, and enjoying their exclusivity. They don't care about what is happening in the northern kingdoms, they don't care about avenging their beloved princess, and they don't care about the possible benefits for all of Dorne after the war. For them, the feast a couple of weeks ago had been remembered only for elevating a penniless upstart to a title beyond their reach and the opportunity to plunder a very rich kingdom that had been their blood enemy for centuries. So I had to make concessions - no one will let me plunder the Expanse, discounting the most "unnecessary" work.

«Judging by your calm tone, my lord, you didn't mind. - Volkan remarked, smiling slightly. He knew my nature well, and remembered the lessons I'd taught him when he was small. One of them was "a good deal is a good deal when both sides think they've cheated each other.

«Should I lose my men in skirmishes with the evil Spacers or fight the Bloodhunter that the Queen of the Spikes will send as soon as she learns of the siege of Highgarden? - I asked jokingly, eliciting a smile from the fire-haired man. - Of course not. I have enough money already, and what I encouraged Doran to go to the Expanse for in the first place can be done with other people's hands.

Volkan only grinned wider at my words, barely suppressing a chuckle, and said:

«And did you also tell your son that you are a bad schemer?

«Experience, my friend. Only experience. - I said, smoothing my beard. - Lyon still has a long way to go. Even his venture with the Mother of Dragons, though it was an unnecessary risk, gave our family a very strong defense for the unexpected. There are too many instances in history where the most unexpected and weakest force has emerged victorious.

«You know best, my lord. - Volkan nodded in agreement, glancing toward the people standing in the square. - But I recommend that you give the signal to march. So much time in the sun in full armor isn't good for anyone.

«You're right about that. - Recognizing the rightness of the commander, who even in such small things cared about his men, I coughed and prepared to make a short but good speech. - Warriors!

Warriors...

Warriors! Warriors!

Wo...ines...

My voice echoed over the square, drawing the attention of all the soldiers and the small crowd of onlookers standing around the edges. That's what a well-positioned voice and strong vocal cords mean - it was not for nothing that Robert's voice could quietly spread for many hundreds of meters around, attracting the attention of both friends and enemies. In the realities of the present day, when few warlords like Tywin Lannister can afford to command from behind their men, this skill was one of the most important, along with swordsmanship and knowledge of tactics and strategy.

«The games are over! Now your enemies are not the eunuchs of Ancient Giskar! Not the cowardly mercenaries of the Free Cities! Not the unwashed savages of the Dothraki! Not a bunch of brigands from the mountain passes! Now you're going up against warriors just like you! Armored! Trained! Fearless! - I continued to speak, tearing my vocal cords. Though I exaggerated a bit with those last words - only the Lannister Scarlet Guards, the guards of the major families of the Vast Lands, and the true knights who were not allowed to show their backs to the enemy had such characteristics in Westeros. - So go and prove to them that you're just as good! You're dozens and hundreds of times better! Prove to yourself and to me that you are the strongest warriors in the world! Leave behind such a memory that you will be remembered only with awe and respect! Ahu!

I finished, raising my fist, waiting for a response, which did not take long.

«AHU!

«AHU!

«AHU! - The incredible roar of the warriors, bred with the simple idea that they owed everything in their lives to me was deafening, making me involuntarily smile from the overflowing feeling of pride inside. After all, I was now looking at the result of decades of labor and investment, and it would be sacrilege not to savor such a moment.

«Let's go, Volkan. - I said to my commander, turning on my toes and heading down to the square where the saddled horse was already waiting. - Soon the name of our house will rumble both on land and sea.

«You are right, my lord. - The man answered me with a clenched fist to his chest.

Soon our army marched out of Sunflame Valley, toward the Dornish army standing near the Royal Tomb. There was only one wide passage leading into the Sunflame Valley, what had once been a few dozen small mountain paths, later widened and turned into a wide and convenient tract, which, if compared to the same Royal Tomb, won it a hundred points ahead. But to leave my domain with such a vulnerable place would be a formidable folly - a second fortress was built at the narrowest and steepest point of the tract, completely removing the very possibility of enemy troops passing through here.

Minas Anor. Guardian of the West.

The fortress, built on a steep cliff just off the main road, did not block the path itself. It was a bit trickier - if the enemy ever invaded my lands, they would have to take a castle as impregnable as Eagle's Nest to avoid a shower of arrows, rocks, and bolts. Yes, there was always a chance that a quick troop of cavalry could break through the shelling of Minas Anor, but beyond that there were numerous huntsmen ambushes and the Gate, a high wall that served as an entrance to the valley itself, which a small band of the enemy would not be able to take.

A simple and almost impregnable defense that provided my descendants with security on par with the Lannisters of Casterly Rock and the Arryns of Eagle's Nest. There was a price to pay, though, and when development of this tract began, Osgiliath's coffers remained nearly empty for several years.

***

P.O.V. Oberyn Martell.

The middle of the tenth month of the year 299 A.D. A week later.

Castle Nightsong, the border of the Stormlands, Spaceland, and Dorne.

Night Song.

The gate that locks Dorne.

The castle that for centuries, on par with the Dondarrion Black Haven, had kept the armies of the Dornish and the Commoners from ravaging and overrunning the Stormlands, and at which our army had prepared to shed much blood, fell.

In a matter of hours.

Without an assault.

«Felix, is that it? - I asked, one hand massaging my temples and the other trying to find a small flask of fire wine. - How did you, baking monster, do it? А?

«It's simple, Oberyn. - He grinned at the bastard who'd almost made my jaw twist when I saw the gates open by themselves. - There isn't a castle or a city that a horse loaded with gold can't pass through.

«Felix, don't take me for a fool. - Involuntarily, I clutched the reins of the horse I sat on as Tempest and I talked atop one of the many hills surrounding Night Song. - Do you expect me to believe that even you have that much money to bribe the Carons? A house that for centuries has extolled its loyalty to its suzerains? Who take pride in their role as mere guardsmen almost in their blood? It's not a funny joke.

«Only it's not a joke. - He smiled as he looked at the castle not far away. Night Song was built primarily as a fortress that could be defended by a small number of people. Three rows of high walls and two barbicanes protected the tall twenty-story donjon from enemy attacks. Admittedly when I first saw this castle on my trip to Casterly Utes many years ago, I thought there was no building in the world taller than it. But the White Tower, three times its height, showed perfectly how wrong I was. Anyway, when taking this fortress, all the lords prepared for heavy losses and threw off the role of the main attacker to Temper, who somehow took the castle without losing a single man. - The Caron family, which had ruled these lands for centuries, had been interrupted. - From such news, I couldn't keep my face and looked at the former Westerner in surprise. - Bryce Caron was a close friend of the late Renly Baratheon and, when he announced his claim to the throne, joined his rainbow guard as an Orange Knight. But when the younger stag died, he swore an oath to Stannis and marched with him to King's Landing, where he was killed by a fellow western knight. The outcome is disappointing - the clan is decapitated, because there is only one bastard left of it, a half-brother of the deceased - Rolland Storm. Tywin gave the "no man's" castle to the Fouts, creating a younger branch, and Stannis gave it to the Swanns to join him and bring their troops. All I did was get those letters in advance...

«...and gave them to the bastard who was castellan of the castle. - I finished, convinced once again that when Dorne becomes a strong and independent kingdom, Felix should be made Master of the Whisperers. With his informants and spies, he should be no worse than the Spider who has been weaving his web through the Seven Kingdoms and Essos for years.

«That's right. - He nodded, confirming my hunch. - I promised Rolland a good sack of gold and my intercession to Doran on his account.

«Night Song has been promised to Old Hawk. You haven't forgotten that, have you? - I asked, knowing full well the answer.

«Of course not, but I didn't promise that his clan nest would stay with him. - Fael answered, looking from the castle to the river of men, horses, and wagons that made up the thirty-five thousand-man Dornish army. - Here I will leave one hundred and fifty thousand of my soldiers under Volkan. They'll be more than enough to defend the castle even against an army many times their size.

«Half your forces? Are you sure?

«Yes. My role in this war was only to capture Nightsong and Highgarden, but in the Tyrell fiefdom, I will only be required to set up the war machines and hold the castle. There will be other lords who will be eager to plunder the High Garden.

«You're right about that. - I agreed, glancing at Temper out of the corner of my eye. As clever as Fel thought he was, Doran had long ago figured out his plans. Starting a war with Prostor, not taking part in the battles and negotiating with old Fowler and Vile. Felix was consolidating his power and that of his family with the hands of others.

He needed the war and the ruin of Prostor to get rid of his rivals. Both big and not so big.

The latter included the Staromest Merchants Guild, which had been working against him for several years now, using all available means, from simply damaging his reputation to attacking and attempting to plunder some of the caravans passing through the Redwyne Strait. Too rich and influential, my friend had become among the other peddlers for them to leave him alone. And the Old Town guild, led from behind the scenes by the Hightowers, is not used to being on the sidelines. So Felix decided to take it out on Fowler himself. The old Hawk simply whispered in his ear that if some of his warriors "accidentally" burn down the Guild quarter, then the treasury of Celestia will have one more gold chest.

The first reason for the war, however, was food. The Long Winter was approaching and in the coming future, the Expanse, which had gathered an incredible supply of crops during the years of the Long Summer, would only increase its wealth instead of being impoverished like the North, the Valley, the Riverlands, and the Iron Islands. And now, as our army marches through it with fire and sword, all those supplies will flow in rivers to Dorne. Or rather to the Tempers' storerooms, for only the ancient cellars of the Ark of the Sands can compare to the size of Osgiliath's underground warehouses, but we simply don't have the money to buy back all the extra crops that won't fit into the other lords' storerooms.

In short, Felix has been doing everything he can to get as much profit out of our campaign as possible. And that was kind of alarming. No, I trusted the man with whom I had seen and traveled so much, with whom I had shared sorrow, joy, and sorrow. But I knew very well how power changes people. And Fel came from a line of minor knights, managing to accomplish in a matter of years what many take generations to accomplish.

I was afraid.

Afraid that my friend would try to take even more power and authority for himself. Much more than he was destined for.

But Doran reassured me, telling me that Temper was too smart not to know his limit. And all his intrigues with the Vastor could easily be forgiven because of the benefits they would bring to House Martell. As long as he serves faithfully for the prosperity of the solar house, he can be forgiven such petty sins. Besides, his sons are not yet engaged, and Arianna needs a Prince Consort as the future ruler of Dorne. It's a shame he can't marry her to the Young Wolf - her niece is too sensible to trade the position of ruler of Dorne for the crown of the King of the North's wife.

Still pondering the subject, I gave the horse a gentle kick in the flanks and rode off toward the army marching westward. The quick siege of Night Song hadn't changed the plans much-our men were now marching westward at full speed. To where one of the richest and most beautiful castles in the world was located.

Highgarden was waiting for us.

***

The middle of the tenth month of the year 299 A.D. Four days after the capture of Night Song.

Castle Highgarden, the Expanse.

«Go ahead. - I gave the order to the Brigadier standing next to me.

«Yes, my lord. Beat them! - He shouted to the foremen standing nearby as his order quickly spread further and further away.

«Strike them down!

«Hit them!

Vshuh...

Shoo...

Vshuh...

"Good going," I thought as I watched the shells fly toward the white stone walls of the High Garden and smash into them, leaving black and ugly scars. This castle hadn't changed a bit since I'd last come here, still a symbol of the wealth and prosperity of the Expanse, with endless green mazes, small boat docks, elite vineyards, and protected forests surrounding the castle and the adjoining town. And now they were blazing.

After the quick capture of Nightsong, the army of Dorne under Oberyn's command had rushed toward the Tyrell fiefdom in a quick march, aiming to catch them off guard.

It failed.

For one thing, they must have received a letter from King's Landing, written by a bald eunuch who couldn't possibly have missed preparing an entire kingdom for war. There's a reason Varys is considered omniscient and all-knowing-- the effort it took for my men to keep his "birds" and informants out of Osgiliath... it was worthy of an epic of its own... it was worthy of its own epic.

Secondly, the castle Garth Greenhand built was on the plains. That meant it had no special advantages in defense, like Casterly Rock or Riverrun, but from its walls a crowd of armed Dornish could be seen for miles. So we were greeted by locked gates, drawn bows, and a bewildered Willas Tyrell, heir to Fat Rosan, who asked Oberyn, with whom he was on friendly terms, what the hell we were doing.

We had to set up a fortified camp, dig ditches and trenches, prepare embankments, and assemble the siege machines I had brought with me from Osgiliath. The seven thousand men under my command were to take Highgarden, defended by at least three thousand Tyrells, in two weeks, while the rest of the Dornish army did what this campaign was all about: pillaging and ravaging the Vale.

It was only on the approach to Highgarden that the foragers, without much effort, managed to take so much livestock and grain from the peasants that allowed us to operate apart from Dorne for several months. Oberyn and the other lords, when they saw dozens of carts loaded to the top with sacks of grain and earth apples, almost swore with envy. After all, the deserts (as well as the taiga of the North and the bare rocks of the Iron Islands) did not yield such great harvests, even with quality irrigation with water from the rivers. And now ten thousand Fowlers, Viles, and Dain moved southward to ravage the holdings of the Hightowers, Tarlys, Florents, and their bannermen, while the remaining eighteen, led by Oberyn, moved along the Mandera toward the lands of the Fossoways and Mirriweathers. Both armies had their own objectives - the first to take Staromest and deprive the Spaceland of its most important trade vein, and the second to occupy and fortify Bitterbridge, waiting to clash with the Tyrell army that the Queen of the Spikes was guaranteed to send.

«Concentrate on the outer and middle walls. - I gave the order to the brigadier still standing not far away. - The donjon should not suffer much damage. fгeewebnovёl.com

«Yes, my lord. - The former artisan of Mira, who had been driven out by his competitors with the help of a bribed magistrate, answered me. He was the one who managed two hundred professional carpenters and blacksmiths who were responsible for the siege machines during the war for good pay. After all, unlike a simple scorpion or catapult, which can make more or less straight-armed soldiers or maesters, if they are somehow dragged to the besieged city, those monsters, which for a few minutes threw hundreds of kilograms of stone towards the snow-white walls, are not so easy to collect.

Of all the fighting machines that existed in the Seven Kingdoms, and indeed Essos, trebuchets were the most efficient, difficult to make, and underrated. The reason for this is simple: dragons. Back in the days of Valyria, the only way to bring the ruler of the heavens down to earth was through the use of scorpions, ballistae, and onagers. Harpoons and stones sent by them would pierce the fire-breathing beasts through or break their wings, causing them to be killed by their fall to the ground.

But the trebuchet works a little differently. Yes, it can easily send huge cobblestones flying, yes, it shoots much farther than an onager or a similarly sized arrow thrower. The whole problem is the way it shoots - overhanging. Because of this you can't hit the dragon and in a minute you'll turn to ash in the magical flames.

In general, the locals are not used to this beautiful weapon and are now paying the price, because not a single bolt or stone fired from the walls of Highgarden never reached my fighting machines, allowing me to destroy the ancient and beautiful castle with impunity.

«Keep firing at the same rate for another three days. The stones will be delivered to you. - I said to the nodding Myrian, turning around and heading for my tent at the back of the camp, which now resembled a worried anthill. Everyone was at work: sawing planks, preparing rostral shields, sharpening swords and spears, laying the bases of siege towers, building galleries and battering rams, and, judging by the abundance of earth bags being dragged toward the mound, carrying out my assignment to create an undercut under the castle walls.

"I am not Napoleon Bonaparte, but I am capable of using all available means to achieve my goal," I thought as I entered my tent and sat down in a chair brought from the castle itself. - "A few more days and the assault will begin. Then we will see what one of the oldest castles in Westeros is up to

***

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