260 AC
Varg
It was bitterly windy. Varg crouched behind a tree, his eyes narrowed as he watched over fifty Crowl warriors pick their way through the rocky terrain.
Axes and spears rattled at their sides, and they walked with the smug swagger of men who thought the Stanes were finished. Fools. His captain Torv had spotted them a mile south not an hour ago when they had finished off their scouts and the only cavalry they had. Now left only with their infantry, they had walked right into his trap.
They had grown arrogant and overconfident, testing him now that the old bastard was dead. They were probably the same ones who had raided a village near Driftwood Hall.
With his father gone, they figured the Stanes were easy meat. Varg's lip curled into a sneer. Let's prove them wrong, hah, he thought.
He gripped the reins of his unicorn, an ugly goat-like beast with a horn that was common here. Beside him stood his ten-man retinue, mounted on their own unicorns. Torv, his scarred captain, flashed his usual grin as he hefted his axe in hand. The others mirrored him, eyes glinting with the same hunger Varg felt in his gut.
Then there were his fifty men at arms crouched among the rocks and trees below with their patched gambesons. Some even wore chainmail!
In Westeros, men-at-arms, not to be confused with peasant levies, were so-called common professional warriors. But in Skagos, they were probably more poorly equipped than even the smallfolk levies under the Lannisters.
He raised a hand, signaling Torv. The captain nodded, then took the green banner with a weirwood tree and called out to the infantry.
"Attack," Torv snarled and spurred his unicorn forward toward the left. Varg's blood started pumping, that old thrill of battle surging.
His men-at-arms roared as they charged, axes rising and falling as they swarmed the Crowls' center. The fifty men's screams surprised the Crowls as they scrambled into a shield wall. A Crowl man at arms went down, a spear through his gut, entrails spilling.
Another staggered, an axe buried in his spine. The battle on both sides turned into a butcher's yard with blood slicking the stones and the air thick with grunts, screams, and the wet thud of iron on flesh. It became a slow battle of attrition.
Then it was Varg's turn, along with his retinue's cavalry. Ten beasts rode and lunged at the sides of the Crowl shield wall, flanking them completely. Their hooves thundered down the rocky slope as Varg and his ten riders charged the Crowl line. Varg's cloak snapped in the wind as he leveled his spear at one unfortunate victim. The Crowl infantry below jerked their heads up, shouts breaking the air, but it was too late. Twenty yards. Ten. Then impact.
Varg's unicorn smashed into one, two, no, three warriors. Moreover, Varg's unicorn's horn tore through the chainmail and belly, hurling the man back in a spray of blood and guts. Varg's spear stabbed deep through a second warrior's neck, blood fountaining as the body dropped.
Around him, his retinue hit like a storm. Torv's axe cleaved a helm and skull, brains splattering the stones. Another unicorn gored a poor fool, sending him crashing in a tangle of snapping bones and shrieks.
Before long, the Crowls broke, their last surviving warriors scattering, but Varg's men cut them down or dragged them back, boots stomping skulls into the dirt.
It ended fast. Varg reined in his unicorn, its flanks heaving, blood dripping from its horn. He scanned the carnage.
More than a dozen of the Crowls lay dead, their bodies torn, some kneeling in the dirt, beaten and dazed. Fortunately, his own losses were light. Only two men at arms were dead. One had a spear in his chest, another had his face split by an axe.
Ten more were wounded with various cuts, broken arms, or shallow stabs. They would probably live. His unicorn riders stood unscathed, their beasts snorting and pawing the ground. Varg's lips twitched into a grim smile. The charge had shattered the enemy.
"Chain the bastards," he ordered, nodding at the survivors. Torv barked, and his men clapped iron collars on the three Crowls, their heads bowed.
"Thralls now," Varg said, wiping his spear on a dead man's furs.
"Not slaves though, heh. Essosi trade men like cattle. We are more civilized. Thralls are laborers."
Torv smirked, then shoved a thrall forward. "Aye, m'lord, we are civilized folk."
Then Varg heard a sharp, ragged cry, a woman's voice raw with fear. Varg turned, striding toward his men near a boulder. They parted, revealing Erin curled against the rock.
Her dark hair hung in tangles, her plain puglike face was streaked with dirt and tears, and her dark blue eyes were wide with terror. Her dress was torn but intact. No sign she had been raped, just shaken to her core. Lucky for her, he supposed.
Fuck her too, Varg thought, his sneer inward. Erin was not some sweet little sister from an anime. She was a bitch, a mix of Cersei Lannister's venom and Rhaenyra Targaryen's entitlement minus their beauty. Just a plain arrogant wretch who had sneered at him his whole life, the thrall-born whelp. Now, she was nothing, and he was everything.
She flinched as he loomed over her, then froze, recognition dawning.
"Varg?" Her voice was small, trembling, a far cry from the venom she had once spat. With their father and brothers dead, she was not stupid. She knew he was Lord Stane now.
He crouched, meeting her gaze with cold eyes.
"You're safe," he said, his voice flat but steady.
"The raiders are dead. You're coming back to Driftwood Hall."
Erin's hands shook as she clutched her knees.
"Thank you," she whispered, barely audible, eyes dropping.
"I thought…" She trailed off, shuddering, all traces of her old haughtiness gone, just a scared girl now, bowing to the bastard she had mocked.
Varg stood, offering a hand. She took it hesitantly, and he yanked her up.
"Torv, get her on a unicorn," he said, turning away. "We ride home."
The captain nodded, and Varg cast a final look over the scene, the corpses, chained thralls, and his sister saved, whether he liked it or not. The first test of his rule, and he had smashed it. The Crowls had come for weakness and found blood. This was just the start.