The Torrentine River surged violently, its waters crashing against the rocks on either bank with a low, thunderous roar.
On the high ground north of High Hermitage, near the border of the Blackmont lands, dozens of tents were pitched. Above them fluttered banners embroidered with the sigil of House Blackmont: a black vulture with a pink infant in its talons.
Inside the central command tent, Erwin Blackmont pressed his trembling fingers against his temples. His pale face was beaded with a fine sheen of sweat.
"Lothor Brune!" Erwin slammed his fist onto the table, standing abruptly. A sharp stab of pain in the back of his head made him stagger, and he had to grip the corner of the table to steady himself.
He glared at the disheveled figure of Ser Carlo. The once-arrogant commander now stood barefoot, his armor caked in mud, looking more like a fleeing peasant than a knight.
"You let a common hedge knight beat you so badly you abandoned your armor and fled? He isn't even anointed!"
Ever since Arthur Snow unhorsed him with a lance strike to the gorget at the tourney in Sunspear, Erwin felt as though an iron nail had been driven into the back of his skull. The pain returned in spasms, sharp and agonizing.
Even the slightest touch to the back of his head caused excruciating pain, forcing him to sleep face down every night.
The maester tending to him had warned that waking up at all was a miracle, and that extreme emotions would only worsen the headaches.
But right now, his rage eclipsed the pain.
To avenge the suffering Snow had inflicted upon him, Erwin had raised the Blackmont levies for training while sending small bands of men—scouts disguised as bandits and wildlings—to infiltrate Starfall's lands, burning villages and raiding taverns.
And now this...
Ser Carlo shrank back, his voice as thin as a mosquito's whine. "My Lord... that Lothor Brune... his men are almost all knights... well-armed, fast as the wind... and there were at least five hundred of them..."
"You mean to tell me they have five hundred heavy horse?" A knight inside the tent couldn't help but laugh. He slammed his wine goblet onto the table. "Carlo, were you counting double while you were running for your life?"
Carlo's face flushed crimson. Realizing his exaggeration was too obvious, he tried to walk it back. "The dust from their horses blotted out the sun... the noise was tremendous... if not five hundred, then at least three hundred..."
His voice trailed off toward the end, muttering to himself.
"Ser, get out of my sight! You are reassigned to the baggage train!" Erwin ground his teeth. "Ensure every scrap of supplies from Blackmont arrives on time and in full!"
Erwin closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He had seen enough of Carlo's cowardice. He felt that if he had to look at Carlo's round, flat face for one second longer, his head would split in two.
Once Carlo had slunk out of the tent, Erwin continued discussing the training of the levies and supply logistics with his war council.
Outside, the roar of the Torrentine River mingled with the shouts of drilling soldiers, creating a strange rhythm.
Just as they were debating how to deal with Lothor Brune, a messenger burst into the tent, his face beaming with joy.
"My Lord! A letter from Chian in the Red Mountains! He says he laid an ambush in the Vulture Tribe's territory and defeated the thousand-man force led by the overconfident 'Sword of the Morning,' Ser Arthur Snow!"
The tent erupted instantly.
"What?"
"Impossible! That's the Sword of the Morning!"
"Even the Sword of the Morning is just a man. He can fail like anyone else. Everyone knows the last Sword of the Morning was killed by Eddard Stark, didn't he?"
An old knight with greying hair frowned. "This sounds suspicious. I heard the thousand men Arthur Snow took with him were the elite of Starfall."
"Elite or not, they aren't White Walkers," another knight retorted. "Cut their throats and they bleed. Bleed enough and they die."
Erwin snatched the letter, his fingers trembling with excitement.
Chian described in detail how he had used the terrain to ambush Arthur Snow, who had advanced recklessly. The details in the letter made Erwin slowly believe the news.
"Chian says he used the prestige of defeating the Sword of the Morning to fully unite the wildling tribes of the Red Mountains," Erwin's voice rose with excitement. "But due to a lack of supplies, he couldn't pursue them fully, allowing the wounded Snow to escape with a hundred men."
"Furthermore, since wildlings are poor at sieges, he proposes we join forces. We march south together along the river and take Starfall directly."
As the letter was passed around, a scout hurried into the tent. "My Lord! For some reason, the Starfall forces facing us have struck camp and are retreating!"
Erwin stood up abruptly. Miraculously, the headache that had tortured him for days vanished in an instant. "Like father, like son! The hawk does not breed a chicken!"
He slapped the table in triumph, knocking over his goblet. Dark red wine spilled across the sheepskin map, spreading like blood.
The old knight, who had been cautious before, was now flushed with excitement. "My Lord, the Sword of the Morning is defeated, and Starfall's elite are destroyed. This is a gift from the Seven! Why should we not seize this opportunity to march?"
Clearly, even he was now convinced that the Sword of the Morning had met his end in the Red Mountains.
The others in the tent couldn't wait, clamoring for orders to advance.
"House Blackmont will not miss the chance to unify the Torrentine like we did last time." Erwin looked at his commanders, his eyes burning with ambition.
"Issue the order! Strike camp and advance!"
"Tell Chian... err... no, tell our new Vulture King to bring every warrior he can muster and meet me beneath the walls of High Hermitage! We will provide all the food and supplies they need!"
"When this is done, we will divide Starfall's lands, with the Torrentine River as the border!"
Over the next few days, Erwin felt as though everything was finally going his way. Not just his headaches, but good fortune seemed to rain down on him.
First, the news of the Sword of the Morning's defeat spread through the Blackmont camp. The soldiers were energized, marching with incredible speed.
Morale soared even higher when they found abandoned supplies in the camps the Starfall forces had hastily evacuated.
Along the way, Erwin Blackmont kept his army on a tight leash, ordering them not to pillage villages or taverns—after all, these lands would soon belong to House Blackmont.
The only fly in the ointment was Lothor Brune's cavalry, buzzing around them like annoying insects, harassing his columns and slowing his advance.
But even that annoyance was soon dealt with. His ambush, using the baggage train as bait, was a resounding success.
"Their actual numbers are around a hundred, nowhere near as exaggerated as Carlo claimed," reported the cavalry commander who executed the ambush.
"Though their fighting strength is formidable. Even after springing the trap, they managed to break out, leaving about twenty of their riders dead on the field."
Hearing this, Erwin was overjoyed.
He felt that even if Carlo's detestable flat face appeared before him right now, it couldn't ruin his mood or bring back his headache.
Watching the Torrentine River surge forward, he felt that the army of House Blackmont was just like the water—unstoppable.