Chapter 270 256: The Siege of Riverrun

The sluice gates of Riverrun had already been raised.

On the west side of the castle, the waters of the Red Fork surged into the man-made moat, merging with the rushing Tumblestone to the east.

In an instant, the entire castle became a massive island surrounded by the waters of two rivers, isolated amidst the surging waves.

Thick walls, towering keeps, and narrow gates, combined with this unique hydraulic defense, made Riverrun one of the most difficult fortresses to conquer in The Riverlands.

However, standing atop the highest tower of the keep, Edmure Tully felt not the slightest sense of security.

A chill seeped through the cold stone walls into his very marrow; more piercing than the damp river wind was the inextinguishable fear in his heart.

That silent, crimson, bloody heavy cavalry—as if from the seven levels of hell—had become his lingering nightmare.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the image of his uncle Brynden donning his ornate armor and turning to face that sea of blood; then, the crimson iron hooves in his dream would change direction and thunder toward him, jolting him awake from a cold-sweat-drenched suffocation.

He leaned against the battlement and looked toward the opposite bank.

Fortunately, the force besieging the city was not that nightmare cavalry.

What met his eyes was a continuous stretch of camps that nearly covered the southern and western horizons.

Thousands of Soldiers were busy on the other side of the river, felling trees, crafting siege engines, building floating bridges, and driving mules and horses to haul parts for siege towers and catapults.

Most of those Soldiers wore armor inlaid with gold trim, reflecting an unsettling golden light under the sky.

The Golden Company, the Mercenary company famous in Essos, had now sworn fealty to Aegon Targaryen.

This army might not possess the extreme piercing sharpness of the Bloodsworn or the outlaw-like ferocity of the Ash Company.

But they were well-equipped, highly disciplined, and possessed a full range of troop types; they were a legion capable of fighting hard, protracted battles, and the only force under Aegon Targaryen's command capable of independent, large-scale operations.

Now, this force, with its countless siege engines, had surrounded Riverrun as tight as an iron barrel.

Edmure watched the enemy busy as ants on the opposite bank, his hands and feet cold.

The morale of the defenders beside him was low; the Soldiers and minor Riverlands lords who had been summoned later had all been handed over to Robb and taken away. Now, the total number of defenders in Riverrun was barely over a thousand.

He had tried sending cavalry to break through and seek help; before the siege closed in, several teams of riders had charged out in different directions. Only the heavens knew how many would successfully bring the news to Robb.

He could only wait, could only pray to the Seven.

Though he was loath to admit it, and though it filled him with shame every time he thought about needing his nephew to clean up his messes,

at this moment, Robb Stark, his invincible nephew and The Young Wolf, was indeed the only hope for him and Riverrun—the last driftwood a drowning man could grasp.

...

"Riverrun is besieged! The Targaryen main force, at least ten thousand men! Lord Edmure ordered me to break through at all costs and beg Your Grace to send reinforcements immediately!!"

A blood-soaked rider of House Tully, with arrows still stuck in his armor, was helped into the abandoned mill where Robb was temporarily stationed.

He nearly collapsed to the ground, his voice hoarse as he roared out the news before fainting from blood loss and exhaustion.

He was one of the first riders to successfully break through; his horse had run itself to death, and he had found the Northern outriders by sheer force of will.

The mill was deathly silent, save for the faint sounds of neighing horses and the wind outside.

All the generals' eyes were focused on Robb.

He stood before a simple, spread-out map of The Riverlands, his finger pointing at Harrenhal's location. When he heard the news, his finger paused slightly.

A moment of silence.

"He saw through it."

Robb let out a slow breath, a sharp light flashing in the depths of his ice-blue eyes—not panic, but a grim realization of meeting a worthy opponent.

"Aegon Targaryen saw through my strategy of dividing forces for harassment. Instead of putting out those fires, he went straight for my foundation... He wants to force me into a decisive battle."

"Your Grace, then what should we..." a young Northern lord asked urgently, his face filled with anxiety. "Should we immediately turn back to reinforce Riverrun? Lord Edmure..."

"Reinforce?" Robb looked up, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "Since Aegon set this trap to force my main strength back, how could he not have set an ambush on the road?"

"If we reinforce now, I fear that just after crossing the The Trident, we will run headlong into the Targaryen heavy troops waiting at their leisure."

"By then, it will be the battlefield of his choosing, the formation he has prepared. We would be returning in haste, our troops exhausted, playing right into his hands."

"Then what? Do we not save them?" another knight from The Riverlands, whose family lands were near Riverrun, asked with a trembling voice. "If Riverrun falls, The Riverlands will have no place left to stand. Our grain lines will be cut, and the army's morale will surely collapse, Your Grace!"

"Save them? Of course we must," Robb's voice was resolute. He leaned forward, hands braced on the edges of the map, as if trying to see through it. "But we cannot walk the path he has laid out."

"He wants a decisive battle, so we shall give him one, but not at the time or place of his choosing, nor in the manner he expects." A cold light sparkled in his eyes.

"Pass the order!" Robb's voice rose sharply, clear and fast, carrying an unquestionable decisiveness.

"First, order Lord Roose Bolton to take all his own men and immediately turn back, making a grand show of reinforcing Riverrun at full speed along the north bank of the Red Fork."

"I will lead the cavalry to join him, to meet the Targaryen army and lure the dragon out of its nest."

"Second, order Greatjon Umber and Wylis Manderly to each send out only a small number of troops, but to fly many banners and spread false reports to create the illusion that the main force is returning."

"But the two of them must personally lead their elite main forces to hide in place—in the forests, valleys, or abandoned villages. They are not to move rashly, and certainly not to take the initiative to attack and reveal their positions!"

He paused, his gaze like lightning as it swept through the generals in the tent.

"If Aegon wants to fight, we will fight him."

"But not by being led by the nose to crash against his iron wall."

"We will lure the tiger from the mountain. We'll use Roose Bolton's reinforcement and the feigned return of the Greatjon and the others to draw out the ambushers he has deployed, and perhaps even himself and his dragon, from Harrenhal or his intended battlefield!"

Robb's finger jabbed heavily at Harrenhal's position on the map, then swept toward Riverrun and across the vast area east of the Gods Eye.

"As soon as his main force is moved and a gap appears, Greatjon and Wylis, who are waiting in hiding, will strike immediately!"

"It will no longer be small-scale harassment, but a direct thrust into his heartland to attack Harrenhal, completely destroy his remaining supplies, and burn the grain depots in his rear. We will leave his frontline army with nothing to eat and shake his foundations!"

"Then we shall see if he still has the mind to besiege Riverrun!"

He looked up at the messenger officer and said word for word, "The orders are to be sent immediately."

"Select the most capable messengers and send them in different batches, along different routes, and at different times. You must ensure the orders reach the hands of Roose Bolton, Greatjon Umber, and Wylis Manderly."

"Tell them this is the key to victory; there must be no mistakes!"

"Yes, Your Grace!" The officer accepted the order solemnly, turned, and walked quickly out of the tent to make arrangements.

Soon, over a hundred of the most elite messengers, carrying the orders of the King in the North, sped off in all directions from that remote abandoned mill like arrows from a bow.

Under the cover of night, dense forests, and riverbanks, they would cross areas where Targaryen outriders might appear, delivering the King in the North's counter-strategy to the Northern legions scattered across The Riverlands.

Inside the mill, Robb slowly straightened up and looked once more at the mark representing Riverrun on the map.

The castle sat isolated in the water, surrounded by powerful enemies.

Grey Wind silently rubbed against his leg, letting out a low purr from his throat.

Robb's hand rested on the hilt of Ice; the blade was cold, yet it made his blood begin to boil.

Aegon Targaryen, you want to force me into your game?

Then let us see, in these hunting grounds of The Riverlands, who is truly the hunter and who is the cornered beast.

The direwolves of the North never run according to a hunter's design.

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