XIII: Across the Red Mountains
Aerys had gathered a host of a few thousands from his own banners, the marcher lords, and his other neighbours. But there were also a few surprises. Lord Tarly had sent a few hundred men led by his second son, and while Leo Longthorn staid put in his castle, there were several dozen hedge knights of dubious origin that sought to join him in this feud. The Old Man in the Hightower had written his excuses, claiming that at his advanced age, just trying to descend all the stairs in his tower would surely mean his death. He lamented better days but sent forth men of his own – all who could claim themselves uncles of Aelinor by marriage.
The Wyls, as expected, contested the Boneway, trying ambushes along the mountain pass that killed some of his men. But it was Wyl alone, for his neighbours had sent letters to Aerys proclaiming no involvement in the quarrel – and thus provided no aid and were to be left in peace.
It seemed that Wyl had earned no goodwill from his fellow Dornishmen, and now, when Dorne was at last subject to the Iron Throne, the death of the one they called invader and tyrant did not loom in their minds – and what they once called a great service, even perfidiously done, was naught but a stain upon their reputations, which had served no purpose in the end – the Seven Kingdoms were now whole, and Wyl of Wyl was a relic of times best left behind.
The ambushes had thinned his host some, but the host did make it out of the mountain pass and into the Wyl lands. While the Stony Dornishmen knew the Red Mountains well, so did the marchers – their knowledge of forest and vale and mountain pass equal to their enemies – for there the hardiest of them dwelt, not in towns or cities. They fought, or used to, with no end in sight with the Dornishmen – paying back their raids with forays within their lands, taking goods and cattle. They knew were to find the hidden places of the Dornishmen waiting to strike, ambushing in their turn the ambushers and knew their way through hidden paths.
The Marcher men with their full beards were clad in loose coats, with breeches made of hides, wearing iron helmets and mail shirts. They wielded javelins and a short spear and sword and dagger and knew their way in rough ground, with great speed. They knew hardship better than the knights clad in plate and could live off the land and sleep in the open. When they did not war, they were shepherding their flocks in the mountain pastures, and worked whatever lands could yield a harvest.
They had not crossed the border for raids in years, not since Daeron had become king – for even if there was peace in Aegon's reign, that king turned a blind eye to such small conflicts across the borders. They welcomed the plunder – sheep, cattle, and grain as the knights welcomed whatever fame they could gather by joining Aerys, and whatever vengeance they could fulfil.
Wyl's castle was south of the River Wyl, at its mouth, as were half of his lands. Wyl's men had melted and disappeared once Aerys' army was out of the Boneway, crossing the river and only guarding the bridges and fords.
This meant half of Wyl's lands were open for plunder, defended only by landed knights holed up in their keeps. And they knew that such a war meant no sieges, so they remained hidden, with enough provisions, leaving the smallfolk prey to the Stormlanders depredation. The minor lordlings and landed knights stood impassively beneath their walls, knowing that by ancient custom they could not be touched, but unknowingly earning the undying ire of their smallfolk – for they forsake their duty to defend them and their households.
The army of the Princes of Summerhall stole cattle and sheep, driving them into the Marches. What harvests were gathered made their way in carts into the granaries of the Marcher lords, the harvest of the orchards and vineyards was taken too – but the trees and vines were left alone, according to the ancient custom.
Whatever fields of barley or wheat left unharvested or uneaten by their mounts were burned in their wake. In face of such destruction the smallfolk fled, trying to cross the River Wyl, bereft of possessions, proving another hardship on Wyl's coffers – lest they revolted from famine and proved a greater nuisance.
Once the devastation of the lands on this side of the river was nearing its completion, Aerys took the decision of forcing a crossing on the river. Not because he wished to devastate all of Wyl's lands, though he was not avert to that, but because he knew the Wyls could not afford to allow his army to cross, and a confrontation would be forced, perhaps with their old lord in command.
It was at a particular ford that Aerys' thousands made to cross, only for a measly host between one or two thousands to show up, trying to deny them the victory. They were lesser in number, that was true, but they had the advantage, and many Stormlanders perished in the waters of the River Wyl. Aerys' riders waded into the river, while Brynden's archers tried their best to fell as many Dornishmen with arrows as they could across the river.
Yet at last, their charge in the river found the defence breaking, and Wyl's men began to falter. In black armour and a shield bearing the black adder biting a heel on yellow, a knight advanced upon his horse, and Aerys forced his own to charge at him. The Wyl's lance splintered upon his shield, but both were unhorsed, thrown into the water.
Aerys quickly got up to his feet – the gods smiling upon him, for he had not been crushed beneath his horse - standing with some difficulty into the flowing water of the river. He drew forth his blade and charged at his enemy, who was more unsteady upon his feet. In the sounds of clashing blades, they advanced to the southern shore and fought on steadier ground. But as Aerys' blows grew stronger from despair and the fear of dying, it seems that his foes became weaker. At last, he disarmed him, and with a blow of his shield, the Wyl fell to the ground.
A foot upon his chest, a blade at his throat. "Your name, ser, so I might know if I should slay you or take you for ransom."
The fallen knight struggled heavily under the foot, and though unarmed, he lifted his visor and made to bite at Aerys heel, in mummery of his own banner. Aerys bent down for a moment, forcefully removing the helmet from the fallen man's head.
It was Wyl of Wyl, the old and cunning lord – now withered. Old age had not been as kind on him as it had been on old Erich Penrose, who could still fight half a dozen men with the odds in his favour. No, old Wyl was frail, and this duel was not one for the songs, unless the singer embellished much. Aerys stomped his face with his feet, enjoying the wheezing breath of the old man. With a quick stroke of his blade, the perfidious black adder was dead, slashed across the throat. With a dagger and a borrowed axe, the Wyl's head was cut off, put on a spear, and shown as a morbid banner. Aerys smiled a grime smiles and yelled out loud: "My ancestors are smiling upon me, Dornishmen! Can you say the same?!"
That did its part, as Wyl's men began to waver and flee the battleground, pursued on horse by the Marchers. They day was won.
The Wyl of Wyl was not the only one that fell that day. Erich Penrose had taken with him five out of the six sons of Wyl, and half a dozen of his grandsons, but alas, now lay dead upon the field, though Aerys was witness to his last words, as the man was glad that he was recovered his worth and honour, which he thought lost for surviving that fateful day when the Young Dragon did not.
They camped near the river for the day, burying their own dead. The Dornishmen and their mounts were thrown in the river, to pollute it and harm the Wyls once more. Though Aerys kept the cleaned skulls of the Wyls for himself – once at Summerhall, they were to be gilded and added to his collection of trophies, joining the Vulture King. In the morning, riders crossed the river, carrying messages from Summerhall. Aerys was a father now, to a young and healthy boy, though Aelinor would not name it before Aerys was home. And the second one was more dire, and another reason for Aerys to return in haste to Summerhall – the Citadel had sent its white ravens – winter was near, and they had to cross the Boneway back into the Marches while the weather permitted.
A feud, by usual norms, was to be settled once there was no more greviance to be had. But Aerys knew that whatever Wyls survived would wish to pay blood with blood, and he did not trust them to ask for the usual means of reconcilation – sharing a meal. There were wars yet to come, once winter was over, and the new crops were harvested, and hopefully, the Wyls' need for vengeance would push them in the right direction, giving Aerys the opportunity to end that House, once and for all.