The twilight was blood-red, staining the high walls of Blackmont a deep crimson as the sun died in the west.
"My Lord, just hold on a little longer. We will be safe once we are inside the walls."
Truitt, the young squire, was quick to catch Erwin Blackmont as he swayed dangerously in the saddle.
With Truitt's help, Erwin dismounted with difficulty. His lips were cracked and white, his breathing shallow and ragged.
"Truitt..." His voice was barely a whisper. "Thank you... for your devoted service... You are truly... a brave and excellent squire."
His eyelids felt as heavy as lead. He could barely stand, leaning heavily on Truitt for support.
Three days of forced marching had drained the last of his strength, to say nothing of the headache that worsened with every passing hour.
Just then, the heavy hinges of the city gate let out a piercing groan.
Following closely came the rapid thunder of hooves approaching from behind.
"My Lord! What has happened to you?"
Erwin knew that voice all too well. It was Ser Carlo, the knight he had publicly humiliated and demoted to managing the baggage train.
Erwin tried to force his eyes open to see him clearly, but he could only make out a blurry silhouette.
"We are defeated. Starfall's pursuers are right behind us." Truitt's voice was thick with exhaustion and despair. "Help me get My Lord inside, quickly! Then shut the gates!"
"Gods be good!" Ser Carlo swung down from his horse, his armor clanking. "Everyone, hurry inside! We are safe within the walls!"
Erwin felt another strong arm hoist him up.
Through his blurred vision, he saw Ser Carlo's round, flat face—the face that usually gave him a headache just by looking at it. But now, seeing it brought a strange sense of familiarity and relief.
"Carlo..." Erwin rasped, his voice so hoarse it didn't sound like his own. "I wronged you... That Lothor Brune... his cavalry truly fights like demons..."
Ser Carlo furrowed his brow. "My Lord, save your strength. We can talk later. Just focus on resting and recovering."
Erwin was stunned. After all the humiliation he had heaped upon the man, Carlo still cared for his well-being.
True loyalty reveals itself in adversity... Erwin smiled bitterly to himself.
If House Blackmont survived this calamity, he swore he would knight the loyal Truitt and have his cousin appoint Carlo as Captain of the Guard.
The remnants of the army, fewer than two hundred dusty and defeated men, shuffled through the inner gatehouse.
The heavy portcullis slammed down behind them with a dull thud, sealing the world out.
"This isn't the way to My Lord's chambers."
Crossing the inner courtyard, Truitt suddenly stopped.
Erwin lifted his head with effort and realized they were heading toward the Great Keep, not his private quarters.
Ser Carlo didn't slow his pace. "We must go to the audience hall first. Lady Larra is waiting there for news."
Erwin frowned. "I... need to change."
He could smell the thick stench of sweat and horse on himself. Three days of hard riding had left his clothes unrecognizable; his cloak was a ragged, mud-and-blood-stained cloth hanging from his shoulders.
Ser Carlo continued to half-carry him forward. "I don't think that will be necessary. Lady Larra won't mind your appearance."
The words struck Erwin like a dull knife to the heart. It's true, he thought. Even if I dressed in silk and velvet, it wouldn't change the fact that I lost three and a half thousand men.
The thought triggered a sharp, piercing pain in the back of his skull, nearly making him groan aloud.
Finally, they stopped before the massive oak doors of the audience hall, carved with the sigil of House Blackmont.
Ser Carlo nodded to the guards. The doors groaned open slowly.
"Who are you? Why are you sitting in the Lord's seat?" Truitt's voice suddenly rose, filled with shock and confusion. "Lady Larra! Why have you allowed him to sit there?"
Erwin forced his heavy eyelids open, his blurry vision slowly coming into focus.
On the high seat of the Blackmonts sat a figure at once familiar and strange. The young man he had once sneeringly called a bastard, whom the realm now hailed as the Sword of the Morning.
"We meet again, Ser Erwin," Arthur's voice was as calm as still water. "You arrived a little earlier than I expected."
Hearing the voice, Erwin's mind flashed back to the first letter Snow had sent him—a letter full of provocation. He still remembered the line: We have already killed one vulture that dared to intrude. We do not mind killing a second.
Arthur sat on the high seat, looking down at the feeble Ser Erwin, who needed help just to stand and could barely keep his eyes open.
It was a stark contrast to their first meeting in the Blackmont war tent, where Erwin had been arrogant and domineering. Time had changed everything; the man before him now was a shadow of his former self.
Summoning strength from somewhere deep inside, Erwin shoved away the two men supporting him. He straightened his back, refusing to look weak.
He forced his head up to meet Arthur's gaze on the dais. "How are you here, Snow?"
Arthur ignored Erwin. Instead, he turned his gaze to the woman sitting below him—Larra Blackmont, Erwin's cousin and the nominal ruler of House Blackmont.
"Well then, Lady Larra," Arthur said, his tone gentle but leaving no room for refusal. "Please, go and tell the soldiers who just entered the city to lay down their arms. Let us have no more meaningless resistance or sacrifice."
Larra rose slowly and performed a perfect curtsy. "As you wish, My Lord. Thank you for your mercy."
As she passed Erwin, a bitter smile touched the Lady's lips. "Erwin. We lost. We lost completely."
With that, she left the audience hall under the escort of two guards. The heavy doors closed behind her with a sound like the tolling of a funeral bell for House Blackmont's independence.
Erwin's face turned deathly pale. His voice trembled as he repeated, "How are you here, Snow?"
Arthur gestured lightly. "Ser Carlo, tell him why."
"At once, My Lord." Ser Carlo bowed fluidly.
When he turned to face Erwin, the humility in his eyes vanished, replaced by cold indifference.
"When we were transporting supplies, Lord Arthur intercepted us. He then led his men, disguised as our returning baggage train, into the city. Taking advantage of the garrison's weakness, we seized the gates and took control of the castle."
The hatred in Erwin's eyes was palpable. "You chameleon! You traitor!"
Ser Carlo showed neither fear nor shame. Instead, he offered a mocking smile.
"Erwin, if someone offered you the position of Castellan of Blackmont and the hand of Lady Larra in marriage, and the price was merely your loyalty... what would you choose?"
Erwin didn't answer. He turned back to Arthur, his voice rasping.
"And what did you use to buy Chian and the wildling tribes of the Red Mountains?"
"Buy Chian? I sent him to meet his father. I do not tolerate rebellion," Arthur shrugged. "As for the tribes of the Red Mountains... after I annihilated the Vulture Tribe, they became history. They have submitted to me completely."
"Soon enough, I will be the Warden of the Torrentine in truth as well as name."
"Annihilated the Vulture Tribe?"
Erwin's pupils constricted. He found it hard to believe that a young man could achieve such a victory without becoming arrogant—that he could plan a feigned defeat and execute such a complex scheme.
The events of the past days flashed through his mind.
The forged letters... the hasty retreat of the Starfall army... Lothor Brune's harassment and feigned retreat... the Viscount of High Hermitage sending gifts to show weakness... the envoy claiming he was late because he was paying respects at a grave...
Every link in the chain had been forged perfectly. And he, Erwin Blackmont, like a foolish vulture, had flown straight into the cage built for him.
"He is too young, too naive. He treats war like a tourney."
Erwin recalled his own mockery of Snow. Now, those words seemed to be mocking him.
The more he thought, the more his head throbbed. "Snow... your heart is venomous. Do you deserve the title Sword of the Morning?"
"You jest, Ser Erwin," Arthur said with an innocent expression. "I could have defeated you on the field. I went to all this trouble only to minimize the killing. To spare lives on both sides."
"Because these soldiers will answer Starfall's call in the future. They will obey my commands."
Obey my commands!
Those three words hit Erwin like a warhammer to the back of the skull.
He remembered marching on High Hermitage, ordering his men not to pillage because he naively believed those lands and assets would soon belong to House Blackmont.
A violent surge of pain struck him, stronger than ever before.
Erwin felt as if his skull was being split in two. The world began to spin.
In the last moment before darkness took him, he saw a gallery of cold faces—Carlo's mockery, Truitt's shock, Arthur's calm... and the banner of the black vulture carrying the infant, high above them all. The sigil that had represented House Blackmont for a thousand years now looked down coldly upon his failure and his death.