Post by The Smith on Apr 2, 2008 23:05:51 GMT -5
The wind whistled through the trees, cruelly cold. Ser Daven Hersey tried to ignore it, but lover of creature comforts he was, it was not easy for him. He sat his courser, and looked down on the road that was nestled below. This road ran from here east, to Harrenhal. Daven and his men had been in the field for a month. They'd done their share of raiding, but winter seemed to have put a stranglehold on commerce to an extent. As if to punctuate that thought, a flurry of snow added a sting to the blowing wind. It would appear those fucking Starks were right about something. Though, I suppose, winter is no longer coming. It's here. Daven reached down into a saddle bag and took a pull from his canteen. The whiskey flowed warmly into his extremeties and he felt more at ease.
Though commerce was slow, it would not be this day. For the last ten hours, a handful of Daven's scouts had been tracking a lightly guarded caravan that was crawling east. Presumably it was bound for Harrenhal, and Daven and his raiders lie in wait. Daven's men in the trees, numbering forty-- all hardened men he knew well-- were trying to stay concealed. Daven knew that the sounds were not like to carry far, nor be a real concern, but every whicker of a horse, or clank of metal caused him to tense. "Daven," said a voice to his right. He looked to Ser Greg of Big Wenborough. The man pointed to the west, and Daven saw their quarry. A line of seven wains inching along the cold road, twenty mounted men-at-arms riding along side. Daven took another drink and smiled grimly.
"Pass the word down the line. Time to do our duty." Daven watched the caravan, wondering what the loot would be. The caravan eventually passed in front of the stand of trees that kept Daven and company secret, and the secret was well kept as they were not detected. The wains, unfortunately for them, reached the point at which the trap was to be spring.
Daven turned his eyes farther east, and saw Mick the Archer and two of his arching brothers, doing their collective best to look hungry bandits, step out of a stand of trees south of the road. Mick drew and loosed. Daven watched the arc of his arrow and heard a horse scream as the longbow's shaft lodged itself deep into the horses's chest. The soldier on it's back was dumped unceremoniously as the horse fell dying. Another arrow hit a wain, lodging itself in some crate, while a third had no appreciable effect. The men-at-arms looked around, stunned for a moment, before starting to act-- just as the third flight came in, this time an arrow finding the neck of one of the caravan guards.
The guards all jerked their swords free, and twelve of them charged towards the archers, who broke for the treeline, as if in rout. "Damn!" Daven cursed under his breath. I'd hoped they'd draw more away. That was the last Daven really though of those twelve, he knew what awaited them in the trees. It was a great deal more than just Mick and his two friends, and he thought it unlikely that he'd ever see any of those men-at-arms again. He waited until the guards pursuit took them into the trees, and then raised his own sword and shouted, "For the KING!" and spurred his horse forward. To his right or left the rest of the men with him also broke from the stand of trees. A few seconds later contact was made with those few guards who'd tried to remain, one passing directly to Daven's right. Daven shlashed down at his horse's neck, but ended up cutting mostly into his side and hip. The man screamed awfully as Daven's sword rended meat and bone.
*****
Minutes later it was over. Most of the guards, and for that matter most of the smallfolk, in the caravan lay dead or dying. The engagement's first casualty, had lived, though his dying horse had rolled over his legs, leaving one broken. He identified himself as some Ser Burt of House Vance, so he was spared for ransom. One of his surviving cohorts was also nobly born was also kept for ransom. The other two guards who were lived were common, and therefore put to death. Those smallfolk who had not resisted were sent back along the road west, alive but frightened. Daven offered them no provisions, and didn't care what may happen to them.
It turned out the caravan carried a few bottles of alcohol, but mostly food and wood. Daven didn't care about food and wood, so most of the wains were burned. What useful loot he found, along with whatever arms, and the two fresh hostages were loaded into a remaining wain and sent east under a modest guard of eight men. Daven kept a bottle for himself. He was remounting his horse when a warning shout identified riders coming from the east. Daven's men formed up about them, now recombined numbering near a hundred, and Hersey looked sharp at the five men that approached. As they neared Daven clearly picked out the bronze banner of House Royce, but he stayed weary until they arrived. They told him that the Blackwoods had capitulated, and that the King's Regent had declared a peace. Daven and his scouts and raiders were to return to the Vale and cease all offensive operations in the Riverlands.
*****
Results
Daven Hersey reaches apprentice in ambushing and noteworthy in swords.
Daven's men return to the Vale.
Though commerce was slow, it would not be this day. For the last ten hours, a handful of Daven's scouts had been tracking a lightly guarded caravan that was crawling east. Presumably it was bound for Harrenhal, and Daven and his raiders lie in wait. Daven's men in the trees, numbering forty-- all hardened men he knew well-- were trying to stay concealed. Daven knew that the sounds were not like to carry far, nor be a real concern, but every whicker of a horse, or clank of metal caused him to tense. "Daven," said a voice to his right. He looked to Ser Greg of Big Wenborough. The man pointed to the west, and Daven saw their quarry. A line of seven wains inching along the cold road, twenty mounted men-at-arms riding along side. Daven took another drink and smiled grimly.
"Pass the word down the line. Time to do our duty." Daven watched the caravan, wondering what the loot would be. The caravan eventually passed in front of the stand of trees that kept Daven and company secret, and the secret was well kept as they were not detected. The wains, unfortunately for them, reached the point at which the trap was to be spring.
Daven turned his eyes farther east, and saw Mick the Archer and two of his arching brothers, doing their collective best to look hungry bandits, step out of a stand of trees south of the road. Mick drew and loosed. Daven watched the arc of his arrow and heard a horse scream as the longbow's shaft lodged itself deep into the horses's chest. The soldier on it's back was dumped unceremoniously as the horse fell dying. Another arrow hit a wain, lodging itself in some crate, while a third had no appreciable effect. The men-at-arms looked around, stunned for a moment, before starting to act-- just as the third flight came in, this time an arrow finding the neck of one of the caravan guards.
The guards all jerked their swords free, and twelve of them charged towards the archers, who broke for the treeline, as if in rout. "Damn!" Daven cursed under his breath. I'd hoped they'd draw more away. That was the last Daven really though of those twelve, he knew what awaited them in the trees. It was a great deal more than just Mick and his two friends, and he thought it unlikely that he'd ever see any of those men-at-arms again. He waited until the guards pursuit took them into the trees, and then raised his own sword and shouted, "For the KING!" and spurred his horse forward. To his right or left the rest of the men with him also broke from the stand of trees. A few seconds later contact was made with those few guards who'd tried to remain, one passing directly to Daven's right. Daven shlashed down at his horse's neck, but ended up cutting mostly into his side and hip. The man screamed awfully as Daven's sword rended meat and bone.
*****
Minutes later it was over. Most of the guards, and for that matter most of the smallfolk, in the caravan lay dead or dying. The engagement's first casualty, had lived, though his dying horse had rolled over his legs, leaving one broken. He identified himself as some Ser Burt of House Vance, so he was spared for ransom. One of his surviving cohorts was also nobly born was also kept for ransom. The other two guards who were lived were common, and therefore put to death. Those smallfolk who had not resisted were sent back along the road west, alive but frightened. Daven offered them no provisions, and didn't care what may happen to them.
It turned out the caravan carried a few bottles of alcohol, but mostly food and wood. Daven didn't care about food and wood, so most of the wains were burned. What useful loot he found, along with whatever arms, and the two fresh hostages were loaded into a remaining wain and sent east under a modest guard of eight men. Daven kept a bottle for himself. He was remounting his horse when a warning shout identified riders coming from the east. Daven's men formed up about them, now recombined numbering near a hundred, and Hersey looked sharp at the five men that approached. As they neared Daven clearly picked out the bronze banner of House Royce, but he stayed weary until they arrived. They told him that the Blackwoods had capitulated, and that the King's Regent had declared a peace. Daven and his scouts and raiders were to return to the Vale and cease all offensive operations in the Riverlands.
*****
Results
Daven Hersey reaches apprentice in ambushing and noteworthy in swords.
Daven's men return to the Vale.