The Wizard of Fury Chapter 21

Down by the river’s bend, Harry crouched low in a thicket of brambles. Getting in there had been painful enough from the stinging stems, but remaining crouched for countless minutes was what was really driving home the pain. His men had complained, asking why they couldn’t simply remain along the roseroad, and even after offering them suitable reasons for being here they still whined. Had it not been for the fact that he needed to leave so many of his family’s guards back in King’s Landing to protect his father as he sat the throne, he wouldn’t have been stuck with such mediocre men-at-arms.

At least Ser Barristan the Bold offered no complaints. He’d only offered criticism once, and that was when Harry’s father had ordered him to accompany Harry on his task of hunting down the outlaws in the kingswood. There should always be one member of the Kingsguard in the capital, he’d said passionately, and although Stannis had agreed with him, he argued that protecting the incoming visitors to the capital took priority. So, here he was, crouched in full plate with a steady ease that spoke to his years of experience.

Ser Lothor Brune was the only other who seemed at ease with the situation. He was quietly eating some berries he’d plucked from a nearby bush, but his eyes were scouring the forest beyond for any signs of other travellers.

“Another quiet day?” Harry asked Ser Barristan.

“A dangerous sentiment to put forward, my lord,” Ser Barristan replied. “We’ve had five days of good fortune, or ill considering our goal is to swiftly deal with these outlaws. Best not to try and predict what the day will bring. Remain ready to face whatever may come our way.”

Sound advice. In truth, Harry was growing restless. They’d visited small villages in the kingswood to ask after the outlaws' recent activities. It was clear that they were operating in the area near the roseroad, catching any who came travelling up from Dorne and the Reach, but none knew where the outlaws had set up camp nor who they were working beneath. Harry wanted a fight, but he knew that recklessly rushing into one could easily mean his death.

So he waited, sticking to his carefully-planned strategy of using the outlaws' own tactics against them. By setting themselves up in places where the outlaws themselves were likely to set up an ambush, there was the chance of catching them off guard. Each day that they found nothing, they travelled further south along the roseroad.

“I, for one, would welcome a bit of a scrap,” Lomas said, his teeth shining a bright red from the berries he too was eating. He was a young but large man-at-arms in service to House Baratheon of King’s Landing. He hailed from Lys and had fought pirates in the Stepstones at the age of six-and-ten before joining a trade vessel bound for King’s Landing, and he’d been here working in service to the King for the last year and a half. As he put it, the King had enjoyed seeing how much ale Lomas could put away while still remaining steady on his feet.

“Hold back on that, lad,” Bronn said as he pressed his hand against the blood-red pommel of Lomas’ falchion. The sellsword was one of the few quick enough to have learnt when Lomas was about to do something that Harry or Ser Barristan would have to chastise him for and to put a stop to it. Harry had asked him once why he did that, and Bronn had simply shrugged. Saves me from hearing Lomas blathering on about how unfair it all is at night, he’d told Harry.

Lomas scowled and swatted Bronn’s hand away. “I wasn’t going to draw it.”

“Right, and I’ve suddenly discovered how to rub two coppers together to turn them into a silver,” Bronn replied drolly. “We don’t need you nicking anyone again.”

“That was only once,” Lomas protested.

“Twice,” one of the other men, Grent, chimed in.

“Enough teasing,” Harry interjected, seeing Lomas’ cheeks beginning to turn red, a sure sign that he was about to unleash his anger on one of them. “Keep focused on the trees around us. These outlaws are said to skitter amongst them like squirrels.”

“You ought to keep an eye on the road instead,” Bronn remarked, gesturing further south. “Something’s coming.”

“Someone, you mean,” Lomas corrected him.

“Unless that someone’s hiding in the back of the cart, I doubt it,” Bronn replied.

Ser Barristan was clearly fighting a scowl at Bronn’s demeanour. He never trusted sellswords, and Harry could understand that to a point. Sellswords fought for the highest bidder and were known to change allegiances at a moment’s notice given the right circumstances, but there was no possible way that these outlaws could afford to pay more than what the Crown was offering.

Besides, Harry had a purpose in bringing along a selection of sellswords from King’s Landing. If any of them were being paid by the individual responsible for the attack on his father’s life, then there was a fair chance that one of them would turn on Harry here given the chance. Even if they didn’t attack him, that was still interesting information. Either it was only Stannis being targeted or the sellswords in the city weren’t bought out.

Harry turned to Ser Barristan. “You haven’t seen anything in the trees?”

“No, my lord,” he answered.

“And our scouts haven’t found any tracks?”

“None that could be the outlaws. They travel in groups, and the best we’ve found are a few solo tracks. It could be some of the outlaws scouting for ambush sites, or it could simply be hunters searching for their next meal.”

Harry nodded in understanding. “Everyone to the road then.”

There was a momentous shift as over fifteen men suddenly stood up and exposed themselves in the brambles. The sounds of clanging metal rang out from most everyone’s armour as they clambered out onto the roseroad, ready to face the cart that Bronn had spotted.

It was coming closer to the bend now, and Harry could see little more than a dark-coloured horse pulling a crude cart down the road. It was moving slowly, but there didn’t seem to be any sign of injury to its body.

Carefully, Harry drew himself closer to the horse, showing himself to be no threat. Lomas grabbed onto the reigns with his strong hands, and Harry passed around to the back.

“Guess I was wrong,” Bronn said casually as they stared down at the bloody body in the back of the cart. The aged man was slumped on its side with blood staining the wood beneath him. He had his arms wrapped around his midsection and an arrow stuck inside of his chest.

Just as Harry touched the man’s arm to move it, the man suddenly jolted alert. The sound of steel singing against scabbards as weapons were drawn rang out, but Harry waved everyone down. This man was no threat. He had nothing in his hands save for dried and fresh blood.

“What happened?” Harry asked him quickly.

Through bloody lips, the man coughed. His voice was broken, and little dribbles of blood came out with the saliva he spat on the cart. Ser Barristan was right there with his waterskin to offer to the man. Ser Barristan poured a slow trickle gently between the man’s lips for a moment before pulling back.

“Briga—” the man tried to say, only to tense up in pain.

“Brigands?” Ser Barristan finished for him.

The man nodded weakly.

“They must be close,” Bronn noted. “This man’s on his last legs, and he’s bleeding out fast.”

Harry wanted to chastise him for how bluntly he put it, but he could see that the man in the cart was past the point of truly hearing anything that was being said. His pupils enlarged and froze perfectly in place, just as Cedric Diggory’s had back at the graveyard in Harry’s home world.

“There’s nothing to be done for him,” Harry said sombrely. “We’ll come back to bury him later. For now, we need to investigate the attack to the south.”

It was a shame to leave the horse behind, but Harry knew that they had to move in formation. Their horses were currently tied up at their encampment further north, and there was no time to run back to collect them.

With careful orders, Harry split his men under his and Ser Barristan’s command. Each took up one side of the winding road with explicit instructions to dive into the trees once they spotted the enemy in order to clear out any archers hiding about.

At a slow run, the men hurried down the roseroad. Harry’s hefty breastplate slowed him terribly. The other knights had similar troubles while the men-at-arms and sellswords had lighter, simpler sets of armour that gave them enough mobility to run for an extended period of time. It was making Harry regret not taking that poor man’s horse along, but that thought was quickly shattered when the telltale sign of an arrow whooshing past his head sounded off.

“Archer!” Harry cried out as he lunged to the side behind the cover of an old oak.

His men did the same, and Lomas came charging past Harry, crashing through the underbrush in between the trees with his falchion drawn as he made his way to the short slope up ahead. A flurry of arrows came soaring down his way, but several of them caught branches and trees instead of their intended target. Only one came close, but Lomas blocked it deftly with the heavy wooden shield in his other hand.

A couple other men followed Lomas in, and that was when Harry joined them.

Screams rang out amongst the trees as men began to be cut down. Harry drew his longsword and steadied his shield at his side as he ducked beneath a series of branches, only to crash into a scared-looking man on the other end. Harry raised his blade to cut him down, only to pull back his blow at the last moment when he spotted the red apple of House Fossoway on the man’s doublet. He looked to be nothing more than a terrified merchant.

“Stay down!” Harry ordered him as he manoeuvred through the underbrush towards the tree line again.

The sounds of battle from the roseroad became clear now. Harry could see a long train of wheelhouses and carts laden with supplies under attack by what seemed to be nearly a hundred men by his estimation. It was almost unbelievable at first glance. All of their reports had claimed that the outlaws travelled in groups of no more than a dozen, other than a couple outlying instances where they still numbered less than twenty. But as Harry quickly recounted, he knew that his math was not wrong. At least there were soldiers and knights already there defending the train.

Across the way, Ser Barristan was leading his men in his gleaming armour, carving through the few archers who dared remain in his paths. Most of them had dropped their bows in favour of long, thin blades, but they were no match against his longsword. Ser Barristan moved with a speed and grace that seemed to surprise even his own allies. The men who fought at his back could barely keep up with the pace set by the old knight.

As he surveyed the area, Harry quickly realised that the outlaws were congregating towards a single wheelhouse near the front of the train. It was shaped like a boat with four mighty wheels beneath it. Gilded carvings of roses decorated the sides of the wooden wheelhouse and surrounded the wide windows, which had their shutters drawn.

They were after highborns, Harry realised. Whether to ransom or to simply murder, Harry didn’t know yet, but their objective in this attack was clear. Whoever was aboard that wheelhouse needed to be protected.

Already, some of his men were chasing the retreating archers on their side as they fled down to the roseroad. But the archers were leading them astray, away from where they needed to be focusing their efforts. They goaded Harry’s men further down the train, hollering and taunting them as they went. The knights were too wary of a potential trick to follow too closely, but the men-at-arms and sellswords lacked that discipline. All except for Bronn.

“Hold back!” Harry shouted towards his men, but over the din of the battle, his words didn’t reach them.

“Blood will make any man lose his mind, one way or another,” Bronn said evenly.

Harry jumped in surprise. He hadn’t heard the sellsword creeping up next to him. Evidently, he knew how to disguise the sounds of his footsteps well, even in this forest environment. At least he didn’t stab Harry in the back.

“The outlaws are targeting that wheelhouse just there,” Harry said, gesturing to it with his blade. “We need to clear a path forward.”

Bronn glanced at the scene and frowned. There were a dozen men-at-arms fighting back against nearly twice as many outlaws, and their numbers were swiftly dwindling. “Just us two alone?” Bronn asked, clearly hoping the answer wasn’t yes.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “We need to clear a safe path for the occupants to escape from in case the outlaws manage to get through on the other side. Recall Lomas and the others if you can.”

Bronn scowled at the path he would have to take. The battle was getting messy now with Harry’s forces becoming engaged in one-on-one or one-on-two fights against the overwhelming enemy.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure that House Fossoway and any others who are a part of this train will be very grateful for your help,” Harry told Bronn.

“Unless that gratefulness comes in the form of gold, women, or ale, I don’t see much value in it,” Bronn retorted.

Ever the typical sellsword.

“If you make it through this, I’ll see to it that my father increases your promised pay,” Harry said quickly. “Now get to it.”

Bronn let out a quiet grumble as he burst through the tree line and down towards the fight. Harry knew that he couldn’t stay hidden back here either. He needed to join the fray and make any difference he could, starting with those attacking the wheelhouse.

As Harry ran forward with his sword raised, the first outlaw had no idea that he was coming. Locked in a fight with a man wearing the crest of House Crane on his shield, the outlaw didn’t realise Harry’s presence until he looked down to see Harry’s gleaming blade stuck cleanly through his chest.

It felt all too easy to kill a man, Harry grimly noted as he pulled his blade back. This nameless man that Harry hadn’t even seen the face of was the first to die directly by his hands. Professor Quirrel and whatever Tom Riddle had been had both died in part due to Harry’s actions, but it didn’t feel the same as stabbing a man through the back.

There was no time to ruminate on the thought though because just as the outlaw collapsed onto the ground, an ally of his howled in fury and turned on Harry. Harry raised his blade just in time to catch the outlaw’s bastard sword with his own, deflecting the powerful blow off to the side before snapping his shield forward and catching the man on the jaw with its blunt edge. With only a half helm to protect himself with, the shield shattered the outlaw’s front teeth into his mouth. The shock of swallowing his own teeth gave Harry the chance to recover faster. His sword cut through the outlaw’s belly, and the man collapsed to the ground, desperately trying to keep his innards inside of himself. A second cut came into the man’s neck, and soon he was dead.

With the blood of another outlaw on the ground, a few of the others finally took notice of Harry’s presence. Three broke away from their current engagements to come at him hard and fast.

Gritting his teeth, Harry raised his shield to parry the first incoming blow. The scrape of a poorly-aimed cut rang out loudly against his shield, but Harry didn’t have the opportunity to follow through with a counterattack because of the two others coming his way.

Relying on his training, Harry parried the next strike smoothly and carefully stepped back out of reach of the following one. When fighting multiple opponents at once, the worst thing that he could do was allow himself to be surrounded. As soon as an enemy was outside of his cone of vision, that gave them a tremendous advantage. So, Harry stayed on the back foot and kept the enemies in front of him.

These men weren’t trained well, Harry noticed very quickly. The three of them were all uncoordinated, and from their poor frames, it was clear that none of them had proper nutrition. Their limbs were skinnier than they ought to be if they’d trained for years. Either these men were new to being outlaws or they were the absolute dregs available.

When another weak thrust was sent his way, Harry allowed the blow to strike his armour directly. The blow against his chest stung, but the outlaw’s blade didn’t penetrate anything. The same could not be said for what Harry’s longsword did to the man’s armour. The boiled leather armour he had on was too thin to be as effective as it needed to be to stop castle-forged steel. Harry’s blade sliced cleanly through it, drawing a fat red line across the man’s chest. Blood quickly began spilling out as the outlaw staggered backwards, but Harry had already turned his attention back to the other two.

Seeing their comrade go down brought about a look of fear in their eyes. Harry could see it plainly, but neither of them backed down from his challenge. He lunged forward aggressively, but his movement was a feint. The two outlaws made to block a blow at their heads that never came. Instead, their vulnerable legs tasted Harry’s steel.

One of the outlaws howled as Harry’s blade cut through to the bone. The other suffered little more than a scratch and tried to retaliate, but Harry’s shield stopped the blow dead in its tracks. He shoved forward with the shield, knocking the outlaw off balance while he finished off the more injured one with a stab into his belly.

While his blade was still in the outlaw, the final one made a desperate attempt to kill Harry. Shouting at the top of his lungs, the man charged and tried to rip Harry’s shield away from him. Harry was forced to let go of the hilt of his blade in order to twist in time with the outlaw so that his shield wasn’t pulled away from him.

The sharp blade in the outlaw’s hands licked at the edges of Harry’s shield, searching for a way past. Had the man been fighting an unarmoured opponent, the tactic would have surely been more threatening, but Harry knew that the outlaw wouldn’t be able to reach the few gaps in his armour with such a limited range of mobility. So, Harry threw himself against the outlaw, allowing the blade to graze his armour, and punched the man painfully in the throat with his gauntlet-covered fist.

Gasping, the outlaw staggered back into one of his fellow men, who was currently in battle with a man-at-arms. This caused the two of them to stumble right into the waiting thrust of the man-at-arms, piercing through both of their bellies with ease.

Harry yanked his blade out of the belly of the outlaw he’d killed just as he spotted Bronn returning with most of Harry’s knights, men-at-arms, and sellswords. Lomas was at the back, and his armour was covered in blood. Some of it was his, Harry noted as he spotted blood dripping down from Lomas’ nose.

Suddenly, the outlaws around the wheelhouse were outnumbered. Harry joined the fighting again, easily cutting through the outlaws with little difficulty now that he and his men outnumbered them so much. The defenders of the train took notice and rallied around Harry and his men, battling back with renewed vigour.

By the time the outlaws began retreating, Harry had cut through nine men. Over a hundred lay dead upon the roseroad.

“That’s right! Run, you cowards!” Lomas roared.

“Stop, Lomas,” Harry ordered sternly. The outlaws were fleeing, and that was enough for now. Their numbers were unknown, but given that this was such a large force, Harry figured that they must have taken quite a blow here. It was a rare thing for groups of outlaws to number more than a few dozen at most.

The large man pouted but did as Harry bade.

“My mother!” A voice shouted. “And my sister and grandmother! Are they safe!”

It took Harry a moment to recognise the man who suddenly charged into view, but the golden rose upon his gilded armour gave him away.

“The wheelhouse hasn’t been breached,” Harry said to Ser Loras Tyrell.

Ser Loras had grown greatly since Harry had seen him last at the Arbor. His handsomeness had only continued to bloom with age, as has his ability to glower at Harry.

“Baratheon.” He said the name like it was a curse. Whatever petty hostilities that’d been between them when Harry visited the Arbor all those years ago had clearly morphed into something deeper. Perhaps he intended to maintain the hostility that his father’s had shown Harry’s during Robert’s Rebellion.

The door to the wheelhouse cracked open.

“Is it safe to come out?” A voice called out from within.

“It is,” Harry answered before Ser Loras had the chance.

The doors swung open to reveal Willas Tyrell wielding a dagger in one hand in his cane in the other. Next to him sat Alerie, Olenna, and Margaery Tyrell.

All at once, a shock of magic filled his body once more, and Margaery let out a surprised gasp. Before he could stop himself, he raced to the edge of the wheelhouse and held out his hand for Margaery to take so that he could help her down. When her fingers touched his, a wave of magical energy washed between the two of them and then promptly settled back down.

“My lady,” Harry said kindly as he helped Margaery out of the carriage. “Please avert your gaze from the carnage around us.”

He hadn’t needed to say that though. Margaery’s large brown eyes hadn’t left his green ones for even an instant. It took several moments before she spoke.

“It’s been months since your last letter. You promised to write to me.”

Harry chuckled in amusement. Though her tone was one of annoyance, he could see the happiness in her eyes that she was here with him now. “I apologise, my lady. Adapting to the capital has been challenging, and there’s been much responsibility forced upon me as of late.”

“I can only forgive you if you promise me a full recounting once we reach King’s Landing,” Margaery told him.

“I promise,” Harry said.

“You had better keep this one,” she warned him playfully.

“Lord Baratheon,” Willas interjected as he stepped down from the wheelhouse. He leaned heavily on his cane as he stepped onto the road. “Allow me to be first to offer you my family’s thanks for assisting us against these outlaws. We owe you a tremendous debt.”

Ser Loras scowled at that, but Harry politely ignored him.

“The Crown owes you a tremendous debt for allowing this attack to take place at all, my lord,” Harry said as he dipped his head. At least not all of the men in the Tyrell family seemed to be against him. “Please rest assured that we are working tirelessly to rid the threat from our lands.”

“Who are these men who attacked us?” Willas asked curiously.

Harry frowned. “A group of outlaws. Their name is unknown at the moment.”

Willas frowned as well. He seemed learned enough to recognise just how much of an oddity that was. Even the smallest band of outlaws liked to have a name, if only to have people remember them. The fact that this group had yet to put forth such a thing was rare indeed.

“Lord Baratheon!”

Harry turned to see Willas, Loras, and Margaery’s father, Mace Tyrell, strutting forward with Ser Barristan at his side. He’d grown fatter than the last time that Harry had seen him, and he walked with an awkward gait in his heavy plate armour.

“Lord Tyrell,” Harry said in acknowledgement.

“You fought bravely to help us out of this mess,” Mace laughed jovially.

Harry didn’t return the laugh. He didn’t feel the need to laugh at a ‘mess’ that ended with over a hundred men dead.

“Indeed,” Ser Barristan said with approval as he looked at Harry. “I caught sight of you in the thick of it with three men bearing down on you at once. You’re a fine fighter just as your uncle was.”

Was.

Harry wouldn’t allow his talents to squander like the King’s had.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “Though, I fear I’m less skilled with a warhammer as I am with a blade.”

“Your lord father would be very proud to see how much you’ve been able to accomplish,” Ser Barristan continued. “I’m certain that upon our return to the capital, he’ll celebrate your victory.”

“It is all of our victory, ser,” Harry replied.

A look of pride crossed Ser Barristan’s face. “Kneel.”

Harry cocked his head to the side in confusion, but once he saw Ser Barristan draw his blade, Harry understood what was happening. He took a step to the side away from Margaery and knelt down on one knee.

“Harry Baratheon,” Ser Barristan began as he placed the flat of his blade against Harry’s right shoulder. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent.”

With each passing sentence, Ser Barristan moved the sword back and forth between his shoulders. Harry kept his head bowed low as Ser Barristan recited the typical knight’s oath for those who followed the Faith of the Seven.

“In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women. In the name of the Crone, I charge you to respect the laws of gods and men. In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be diligent against all threats. In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to serve as a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms until your end of days.”

Harry raised his head then to look upon the pinnacle of knighthood. Ser Barristan rested his blade against Harry’s left shoulder.

“Do you, Harry Baratheon, swear to obey the words of your liege lord and your king?”

“I do,” Harry said resolutely.

“Do you swear to protect the innocent and the weak?”

“I do.”

“Then rise, Ser Harry Baratheon, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”