Eagle of the Valley of Ice and Fire.

Chapter 337: Battle of Storm's End (2)

Inside Storm's End, in the lord's main hall, Gilbert Farling wanted to hold a banquet to welcome the Golden Company's mercenaries with wine and meat, but was rejected by the Golden Company's leader, Harry Strickland.

The latter, with his personal guards, looked tired. He entered the room arranged by the servants to rest, and the door was never opened again.

Gilbert Farling walked to the edge of the city wall and looked at the shadow cast by the edge of the hills in the distance. It looked very much like the confusing black flag above Lord Farling's head, faintly covering Gilbert Farling's forehead.

That was the flag of the Golden Group. The original crowned stag flag had been replaced by the black battle flag of the Golden Group. The flag was pitch black, with only the golden skull shining on it.

Last night, the mercenaries couldn't wait to plant their battle flags all over the city walls of Storm's End, forming a half-moon shape. The golden skulls were painted with special pigments, which looked particularly dazzling in the sunlight. Hanging them on the city walls could even be mistaken for the real thing, which was extremely terrifying.

Gilbert Fallin had a solemn expression on his face. He stared straight into the distance, feeling mixed emotions.

The garrison was still responsible for the defense of Storm's End as usual, and their acting lord looked dazed when they passed by. The walls of Storm's End were surrounded by the flags of the Golden Corps. Their depressed mood surged like the tide at dusk, engulfing their bodies. Their faces were tense, their lips were tightly closed, and they were silent.

The acting city lord knew clearly what the soldiers were thinking. He was not an incompetent person who did not even understand the changes in the morale of his subordinates.

They whispered to each other, and Gilbert could imagine what the soldiers of the Storm's End garrison were mumbling to each other during each shift. No knight or squire with any sense of honor could accept the fact that the city had been surrendered without even a single battle.

Lomas Eshmon might not be able to accept this matter either. He only temporarily convinced the king's relatives.

"I will make the wreck of the Golden Company a beacon for Queen Shireen. Trust me, Eshmon."

These words were still lingering in his ears. Gilbert gripped his sword tightly, and his black leather gloves were twisted into ripples like water. But after the Golden Group really entered the city, his heart, which he thought was firm, began to ripple again.

Gilbert Fallin looked up at the flag of the Golden Group and stared at the golden skull on top for a moment. A cold wind blew past, as if whispering beside him. The flag rolled up into a ball, then suddenly expanded, tightened, curled, and expanded again, being ravaged by the wind.

The cold wind blew across his face, a chill seeped into the wrinkles on his forehead, a drop of cold sweat suddenly flowed out, and Gilbert suddenly felt a numbness at the back of his head.

He seemed to have overlooked one thing.
If the banner was replaced with a Targaryen dragon, what would his old Baratheon followers, the garrison at Storm's End, and the Baratheon confidants who had protected Stannis against the Mad King's army think?
He turned around abruptly. There were many more sentry posts on the city wall than usual. The Golden Company and the garrison were mixed together. I'm afraid that after last night, the identities of these people as Targaryens counterattacking the continent have been known to the entire army.

Then he himself
Gilbert was in a daze when he happened to meet the eyes of a Storm's End soldier who was patrolling the city wall. The latter did not flinch, but stared at him straight.

Like a question.

He gripped his sword tightly, sweat gathering in his palms.

Barristan stood at the front of the team, his horse lowered its head to eat the fresh grass fed by the squire. The soldiers saw him in a white robe, white helmet and white beard, and everyone would think of the protagonist in a knight's story. Perhaps they all had their own knight stories in their minds, eavesdropped in the tavern, heard from the minstrel's piano music, learned from the nurse and the elders.
In countless stories, there is a vague image of a knight in a white robe and a white helmet.

Barristan's back made these vague images more concrete. He was a legendary knight and a member of the strongest generation of the Kingsguard.

Those who had previously complained about Barristan's military decisions felt a sense of honor and courage in their hearts when they saw this legendary knight standing in front of them. The morale of the army was actually stabilized a lot after they saw this tall figure.

The dust raised by the scout cavalry was faintly visible in the distance, following the sound of horse hooves that was getting closer and closer.

"Sir," the scout reported, "there is a forest to the southwest. There is no path leading there. The mountains are just behind the forest."

Mountains. Those are the Hills, I suppose, the end of the Red Mountains, Barristan thought.

The scout continued to report: "Storm's End has changed its flag from the Baratheon crown and stag flag to a golden spear. The scouts found no obstacles ahead, so they are probably not prepared to send scouts."

That may not be the case, Barristan thought. Perhaps their scouts will appear over our heads at the right time.

Barristan nodded, and the scout responded and turned to leave. Soon, several riders rushed out from the army behind him, and several more scouts set out to investigate.

Harold Hatton was riding on a horse, holding a scabbard in his hand, knocking on the wheels of a donkey cart. He had just helped the soldiers rescue a donkey cart loaded with food and fodder from a slope. The hooves of his horse and the legs of his blue robe and trousers were covered with thick yellow dirt.

He carried his horse to where Barristan was standing and asked, "We are close enough to Storm's End. I will lead a team to Storm's End. My lord, please lead the team to the place near the hills." Barristan nodded and pointed to the road ahead. "Divide the troops in the flat area ahead. Scouts have found that there are woods in the southwest. I will lead the army there to rest and equip siege vehicles and catapults. You choose a suitable place to camp, not too far away."

Harold Hatton nodded, his face solemn, turned his horse, shouted, and ran to the team.

Barristan watched the caravan slowly move forward, knocked on the servant's helmet, and said, "Let's go." Then he mounted his horse and followed the caravan.

Donkey carts carrying food and fodder were at the front of the team, with food bags prominently placed on the carts. The chariots pulled by several war horses had a deep track on them, dragging far ahead on the march. The valley cavalry left the team on a flat surface and went to different places from the convoy.

By the time the so-called Captain Harry Strickland walked out of the room sleepily, nearly half of the sand in the large hourglass used for timing in the main hall of Storm's End had flowed away.

Gilbert Farling stared at "Fat" Harry who was running straight into the main hall, looking at him holding a steel fork in his hand, with the sauce of the hunting sausage lingering on his lips, and he must have been thinking about the delicious food.

"My lords, sorry to have kept you waiting." Harry yawned, his mouth full of apologies. He bowed slightly to Gilbert. The scabbard of the Dothraki scimitar on his waist was very beautiful, inlaid with three rubies. Compared with his sloppy cloth robe image, the scabbard was particularly eye-catching.

He took off his scimitar and placed it on the table. His servant, let's just say he was a servant, placed a thick book in front of him.

What book? Ser Farin narrowed his eyes.

"The Golden Company chose me as its leader, but I am only good at managing finances," Harry Strickland touched the book cover, which was beautifully embroidered with gold threads. It must have been woven by the best embroiderer in Essos, who could actually weave the thin threads into the thin book cover. He coughed and looked at himself with his big eyes. "Lord Farin, my lord, please tell me what you need from the Golden Company. As long as it is for the Dragon King, we are all brothers."

His Common Language had a strange accent, and Gilbert Farling could not tell where it came from. He stood up, but was stopped by Harry, so he had to sit down, asked the servant to spread the map on the table, and pointed to a certain place on the map with a wooden stick.

"Here," Gilbert Farling said, raising his voice deliberately to prevent the captain from being hard of hearing. "It's Hayhall, very close to us. It is said that Barristan fell ill while walking in the Kingsguard, and the army stopped here. I arranged scouts before, three died and two were injured, and seven came back alive. Barristan did set up many checkpoints from Hayhall to Storm's End, and even forbade villagers to pass through. The news is probably true. Ser Barristan is a respectable knight, but he is also old and weak, so it is reasonable that he is a little cowardly."

Harry flipped through the account book and shook his head. "In my case, we must always be cautious when doing accounting and using money. The enemy is always scheming and thinking ahead."

Ser Farin frowned, but he did not say much. Instead, he continued, "But it is worth noting that the people of the Vale are obviously more aggressive. A group of cavalry is approaching Storm's End quickly. They are not equipped with any siege equipment. They are probably a bunch of fools who are wasting their breath to challenge each other."

Harry shook his head, put some saliva on his thumb with the tip of his tongue, and turned the pages while mumbling something.

"Sir?" Sir Farling asked Captain Harry.

Captain Harry smiled and said, "I'm sorry, but there is a slight discrepancy between what my scout reported and what you reported."

"Does the Golden Group have any new military intelligence?"

Harry Strickland put down the thick account book and pointed at the map with his annoying finger. "We have intelligence that the enemy split into two groups shortly after leaving the city. One group is heading towards the hills, and the other is heading towards Storm's End."

Gilbert Farling did not pursue Harry's rudeness. He just frowned, stared at the map, and suddenly stood up. The chair moved behind him as if he had kicked it.

"It is those who are marching toward the hills," Sir Farling looked at the captain hesitantly. This Harry Strickland was the kind of person who fell asleep in bed as soon as he arrived at Storm's End. This made him unwilling to believe that Harry had the time to deploy scouts in advance.

"Barristan's large army has nearly a hundred donkey carts. In my opinion, it must be a team transporting grain," said Harry Strickland, with pride in his eyes. "The country people on the borderland have slipped into the hills. My scouts can't get any news at all, but they must be exchanging information with the reinforcement team and keeping in touch. If we find their grain team and catch them all in one fell swoop, we can cut off the connection between the main force and the enemy on the border. The hills are full of gullies and yellow earth, and they can't get any food replenishment. They will retreat naturally soon. When they retreat to the borderland, we will..." Harry Strickland looked in the direction of Dorne, his eyes narrowed into slits.

A Dornishman? Gilbert Falling wondered to himself, maybe.
"No matter what," Harry Strickland interrupted his thoughts and said bluntly, "Without the threat of those country bumpkins on the border, with this big castle, sufficient food and soldiers, if Barristan doesn't have any wings, once our city gates are closed, he will have no choice but to lead his army to retreat. By then, we will have recovered our strength and will be able to defeat the enemy in one fell swoop."

Gilbert thought for a moment and nodded slightly, "That makes sense. As long as we can find out where this grain team is, we can send it."

Harry Strickland chuckled and interrupted Gilbert Falling again: "Lord Falling is overthinking. The Golden Group has anticipated these things. I have made arrangements in advance." He stretched out his hand and moved the scabbard to the edge of the hills. "I have an elite cavalry, all of whom are fearless soldiers."

"Where are the enemies?" Gilbert blurted out, and then regret spread across his chest like a tide. He stammered, his lips opening and closing. He was familiar with the environment outside Storm's End. If he wanted to set up camp and besiege the city, he would have to camp near the woods on the edge of the hills. Barristan's cavalry had already set up camp within the visible range of Storm's End, and the food team behind him, who was being protected, had to stay safely.
Gilbert Farling pointed to a place on the edge of the hills, measured with his finger, and marked the approximate range. He looked at Captain Harry with a more speculative look in his eyes.

Captain Harry said proudly, "Sir Farin is indeed a man who understands military affairs. However, my cavalry has sneaked over at night and they are probably fighting now. They must have won a great victory without any effort!"

(End of this chapter)