The garrison had fixed city defense weapons on top of the walls, but no mobile siege equipment. In desperation, Slynt could only resort to the crude method of a fire attack. A dozen soldiers from the East Camp were ordered to carry wooden barrels of oil and jog toward the gate of the River Gate barracks, torches in hand.
"Shoot!" Ser Ironhand, standing atop the wall, waved his left arm without hesitation. Dozens of defenders emerged from behind the parapets, and with the crisp sound of bowstrings drawing, a rain of arrows descended outside the barracks. The shafts arced through the night and landed a few meters in front of the advancing attackers. Some struck the ground and quivered in place. Others bounced off brick and stone, scattering wildly. One arrow struck a barrel of oil held by a gold cloak. With a muffled thump, the man dropped the barrel in fright. It cracked open, and dark fuel spilled across the ground. Fortunately, it wasn't wildfire.
Gasps came from the surrounding gold cloaks and the citizens of King's Landing who peeked nervously through windows or watched from nearby streets. Everyone could see that Jacelyn Bywater was serious. The first wave of men attempting to burn the gate was instantly "repelled" and scattered. All the gold cloaks carrying torches backed away at once. Even the East Camp soldiers loyal to Slynt failed to muster more courage under the threat of death.
The area in front of the River Gate was small, so no matter how they retreated, they remained within bow range. Fortunately, the defenders had no intention of killing anyone. After one volley forced the attackers back, they ceased fire.
"Useless! Fire! Fight back!" Slynt, humiliated by this clear slap in the face, shrieked, "Shoot that traitor down!"
Orders from commanders had to be followed, so the besieging soldiers released a half-hearted volley. Arrows flew sparsely, hitting the barracks walls or sailing harmlessly into the darkness. No one was injured. The message was clear—they didn't want bloodshed either.
Bywater ducked, raising his iron hand to shield his head, and called out the final line of his speech. "No need to guess, Janos Slynt. The man I'm talking about is you! If you've nothing to hide, wait until dawn. I'll send the suspect you're after to the Hand of the King. Whether he's a criminal or a whistleblower wrongly persecuted, the truth will come out then!"
"You're dreaming!" Slynt roared. If things had ended with words, it might have been fine. But now that they had publicly clashed, it was all or nothing. "Bring the ladders! Attack from all sides! Capture that traitor!"
Was the battle about to begin? In the darkness, hundreds of gold-cloaked men holding torches let out excited shouts, but no one moved. They looked at one another, but no one acted. Ser Ironhand had done what no one else dared tonight. The crowd was watching and murmuring. No one was willing to shed blood for Slynt by fighting brothers dressed in the same gold.
…
"What are you doing? Are you refusing orders?" Slynt tried to use his authority to force the soldiers around him into action. "Battalion commanders, step forward and begin the assault!"
"Lord Slynt, we believe in you. Ser Bywater must have been misled by rumors," the captain of the Gate of the Gods garrison spoke first. "But we've completely surrounded the River Gate. Not even a rat could escape. The man you want won't get out. Why risk our brothers' lives? Dawn is almost here. Why not wait and see what the Hand decides?"
"Yes, Ser. If we wait a little longer, daylight will break. When the King's men arrive at the Red Keep, Ser Bywater will have no excuse to shield the criminal any longer!"
Hearing support from several garrison officers and seeing that his numerical advantage was slipping, Slynt realized the situation was falling apart. He looked out at the sea of gold cloaks that surrounded him but were no longer his to command. Gritting his teeth, he backed down. "Fine. Then seal off the front and rear gates. Do not let the prisoner escape!"
He spun around, cloak flaring, and returned to the East Camp formation. Once he was far from the others, he leaned in and whispered to his confidant, Yarral Dim. "Tell our men to prepare. When that Night's Watchman appears at dawn, shoot him dead. Don't mess it up this time."
"But Ser, what if the River Gate brothers are hit—"
"I'll take responsibility!"
…
"I'll take responsibility." The words sounded resolute, but the man who said them was already beginning to fear. For the first time in over a decade, Janos Slynt began to regret and reflect.
Maybe, from the start, he shouldn't have set his eyes on a woman from the Night's Watch Industry. But there's no shame in loving beauty. His real mistake was insisting after hitting a wall, he should have known that if they dared to protect her, they had the means to do so.
As expected, they turned against him. They contacted allies and plotted against him. Common interests make strong allies, and the Night's Watch Industry was determined to bring him down… Even then, he still had a way out. If he had reported Cersei's plan for rebellion to Robert and helped suppress the Lannisters, his past offenses might have been balanced by future merit.
But yesterday, he got greedy. He decided to eliminate his enemies. He entrusted the task to the wrong people. One blunder after another had brought him to this deadlock. He couldn't touch the Night's Watchmen hiding in the River Gate barracks. He couldn't back down either. He was stuck in limbo.
If only he had more loyalty among the gold cloaks, or better control over the garrison. If only he had real influence. Then he might have resolved it all with one final, brutal move, storm the barracks, kill the Night's Watchman and Ironhand Bywater, then claim they were part of the Lannister rebellion…
But now? Now, it was too late. He had hesitated, given Bywater time to speak, and his credibility had crumbled. Bywater had exposed his past publicly. Now, as commander, he couldn't even order the garrison to fight. Step by step, he had walked himself into the worst possible outcome.
He knew he couldn't accuse a living Ironhand of treason. That damned Night's Watchman had allies, resources. If he didn't kill him tonight, the Night's Watch Industry would hunt him forever. There was no escape. His only chance was to kill Aegor and hope the storm that would soon erupt in the Red Keep would be big enough to cover up this fiasco.
The man he sent to inform Robert had returned with word: the King's secret command was for Slynt to bring two hundred of his most trusted gold cloaks to the Red Keep by noon to await orders. It was clearly a signal. There was no more time to waste. Once dawn broke and the Night's Watchman emerged, he must be killed at any cost. Then, Slynt would march straight to the Red Keep and await the King's will.
This time, he told himself, no more improvising.
---
Inside the River Gate barracks, Aegor watched the show unfold through the window.
He couldn't see Slynt's men outside the wall, but judging by the relaxed manner of the River Gate guards, Ser Bywater had been right. He was safe, at least for tonight.
The thought eased him, but the pain in his shoulder spiked. He sucked in a breath. "Hiss—"
"I'm sorry, Ser!" Nina immediately stopped. "Did I hurt you?"
After being wounded, he'd fled through the city without a moment's rest. The untreated wound had continued to bleed, soaking into his black clothes. The dried blood stiffened the fabric around his shoulder and arm. They had to cut it away. Watching the chaos that her pursuers had brought upon her hero, seeing Aegor nearly die because of her, Nina was devastated. She had done nothing herself, yet things had spiraled far beyond her control. After she cleaned and dressed the wound, the basin of bloody water nearly made her break down.
"It's nothing," Aegor said through gritted teeth. "You didn't hurt me. It'd be strange if it didn't hurt. Keep going."
The steel-tipped crossbow bolt had sliced open his shoulder, leaving a ten-centimeter gash, nearly to the bone. It wasn't life-threatening, but it severely restricted his movement. As a right-handed man, it was impressive he'd fought his way out of the ambush. If Jaqen hadn't kicked him aside at that critical moment, the bolt would've pierced his chest or lungs. He'd be dead now.
He was scared, no question, but seeing Nina so full of guilt, tears, and confusion, he forced himself to stay composed. "Don't overthink it. I've told you a dozen times, this isn't your fault. Apply the salve and stitch it up."
"Stitch it… like sewing cloth?"
"Yes. If you can't, have Ser Bywater find someone who can."
She came from a family of weavers. Sewing wasn't difficult. After trembling through the stitching, the girl stood helplessly, awaiting further instruction.
"There's nothing more you can do. Find a place in the next room and get some rest."
"I… can't sleep."
"Then lie down and close your eyes. Don't just stand here like a statue. Go."
"My Lord, what will you do in the morning?"
"What else? Wait here. Slynt probably still wants me dead. It's too risky to show myself before someone from the King or the Hand arrives."
After running for his life all night, after watching this absurd drama play out among the garrison, Aegor found he couldn't sleep. Outside the window, the sky had reached its darkest hour before dawn. This was the brutal world of the Game of Thrones. Chase death and you'll die. But avoiding it doesn't mean you'll live. The long night was finally coming to an end. It felt good to still be breathing, but as the sun rose… what would come next?
(To be continued.)
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