A Book of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones : Magic Network

The banners of House Wylde fluttered in the night breeze as Casper Wylde surveyed the stone-built walls with grim determination.

Tonight's battle would be the fiercest and most brutal his house had ever faced.

He knew he must remain calm, projecting confidence and resolve to inspire his soldiers to defend the castle with courage. Victory seemed nigh impossible, yet they might hold out long enough for some turning point to arrive.

Casper Wylde held firm faith in the defenses of his castle.

Thanks to his earlier summons, the city now boasted a thousand men-at-arms, including two hundred elite warriors—landed knights, sworn swords, and sellsword knights among them—with provisions enough to feed all for several years.

With such strength, holding Rain House City against a conventional siege would be no great challenge. The walls could not even accommodate another thousand defenders at once.

By the same token, the number of enemies who could assault the walls simultaneously was likewise limited.

After all, Rain House City was not built with the expectation of siege.

The seaward side of its walls stood protected by turbulent waves and steep cliffs. Even if the fleet approached at the closest point, they could not land men, and catapults a thousand paces distant posed little threat.

As for the other three landward sides, all approaches were winding paths through uneven mountains and craggy rocks, dense forests closing in from all sides.

Small units might navigate such terrain, but large armies could scarcely form proper battle lines in such places. They would be forced to disperse and advance toward the castle in waves, like a gentle tide lapping at the shore.

Casper Wylde knew that warriors raised by the sea held no fear of tides.

Hundreds or thousands of enemies might surge forward, but the guards of Rain House City would rely on their solid fortress to resist, repelling the human tide with swords, arrows, burning oil, and tumbling stones.

Wave after wave, the fortress would stand unbowed, until the tide lost its strength and receded into the darkness.

Of course, this particular tide seemed uncommonly fierce and arrogant, its power unnaturally strong. It would likely demand much time and blood before it finally ebbed.

Casper Wylde watched in silence as the fleet upon the sea slowly adjusted its position, moving toward the castle.

What purpose does this serve? he wondered.

What use was there in mere repositioning without sending men to shore?

Catapults could not possibly throw their missiles over such a distance.

None could answer his questions now, so he turned his attention to the activity within the city walls.

Here, at least, all proceeded as it should.

Several commanders he had personally appointed were relaying his orders, directing archers to their towers, sending messengers with battle plans, and overseeing soldiers and servants as they boiled oil, wound crossbows, and carried arrows and stones to the battlements.

Casper Wylde found himself well satisfied with their progress.

At this rate, by the time the enemy launched their assault, Rain House City would stand fully prepared to pour out the most violent counterattack upon them.

Perhaps this show of resolve might give King Joffrey pause, he thought.

From the proclamation delivered earlier, Casper Wylde had discerned one vital fact: King Joffrey himself sailed with the fleet, awaiting House Wylde's "welcome."

Unfortunately, between the two kings, House Wylde could stand only behind His Grace Renly.

"My lord!"

A scout ran toward him, breathless with exertion.

"Outside the city—there are enemies in great numbers—on the east, south, and west sides!"

Casper Wylde felt his hair stand on end.

He quickly turned to look once more at the fleet, blinking hard, yet the ships remained where they were, immobile upon the waves.

The brilliant lights at sea reminded him that the fleet had approached in silence; it seemed only natural they might have landed troops in advance.

Time grows short!

"Have they begun their attack?" Casper Wylde demanded.

"Not yet, my lord."

The scout continued his report: "We left the city on your orders, seeking intelligence. But the moment we passed beyond the walls, they emerged from the forest. Those brothers closest to them were cut down, while those of us at the rear could only flee back to the city."

The scout added, half in relief, half in confusion, "Yet strangely, they made no attempt to seize the gates. They did not even approach them."

Casper Wylde's bewilderment only deepened.

An encirclement on three sides offered perfect opportunity for attack, yet the enemy merely watched from the forest's edge?

The scout went on: "The commander leading the southern force names himself 'The Hound'—Sandor Clegane, of the Kingsguard. The east is led by Brienne of Tarth. And the west—"

The scout paused, his expression betraying deep shock, "—is commanded by Ser Garth Wylde."

"Garth Wylde?" Casper's voice cracked.

"Say that again!"

Casper Wylde would later swear that no moment that night had filled him with such shock and fury.

Garth Wylde was his own cousin!

The boy had been orphaned young and raised by their family since childhood. How could he turn traitor after but a single year in King's Landing?

The scout added one final detail: "Ser Garth Wylde, he... he wears white armor and a white cloak."

The Kingsguard!

Garth Wylde had actually been raised to the Kingsguard!

Casper Wylde was certain nothing could possibly shock him more than this.

Whoosh—

BANG!

The whistling through air, the impact of stone against stone, and human screams merged with flying rubble and the copper smell of blood.

Casper Wylde raised his arm instinctively, bending low to avoid danger. Once his wits returned, he straightened and turned toward the section of wall where chaos had erupted.

Hiss—

An iron ball the size of a man's head had embedded itself in the inner parapet, carrying with it half a soldier's body.

A great furrow had been plowed through the outer wall, and shattered stones lay scattered across the passage. Half a corpse and four or five men—some screaming, some silent in death—sprawled upon the ground.

More terrible sounds rose from all directions, screams mingling with the rumble of stone as the walls trembled beneath the assault.

Casper Wylde turned stiffly toward the sea.

Under the shroud of white light, clouds of white mist rose from the decks of the Royal Fleet at regular intervals, swift black shadows hurtling toward the castle, destroying all they touched.

Iron balls rained down upon the rocks, walls, battlements, and within the city itself.

"Gods..."

Casper Wylde murmured numbly. Why had the gods granted King Joffrey such terrible power? Why had they allowed the world to suffer such horrors?

His gaze fixed upon the largest warship in the fleet.

The white mist rising from this vessel was the most continuous of all, like the breath of dragons.

Does King Joffrey stand aboard that ship?

BOOM BOOM BOOM—

Hundreds of warships roared as one, white mist filling the sky.

Casper Wylde stared desperately ahead as countless small black dots grew larger in his vision before vanishing beyond his sight.

Immediately after, the ground shook violently. Sand and rock soared skyward, and the walls groaned in protest, seeming ready to collapse at any moment.

BOOM BOOM BOOM—

Steel cracked, air rippled with concussive force, and a humid, scalding gale swept across the battlements.

Fragile flesh and blood shattered beneath the onslaught, dancing like red rose petals caught in a tempest before falling to earth.

Casper Wylde closed his eyes in sorrowful resignation.

All sounds around him blended into chaotic discord—human cries cut short mid-utterance, the explosion of stone drowned by yet larger blasts, walls and ground vibrating as though the world itself would tear asunder.

After what seemed an eternity, the air grew somewhat calmer.

He opened his eyes to find white mist filling the air, visibility reduced to a mere dozen paces.

"Raise the white flag!" he suddenly remembered.

"Raise the white flag!"

He shouted desperately, uncertain even which direction to look.

Until a wave of scorching heat erupted beside him.