GOT/ASOIAF: Ruler Beyond The Ice

Chapter 599 601: Blackwater River (Part 3)

Setting down the finely crafted and valuable Myrish lens in his hand, the current Lord of the Golden Company, "Homeless" Harry Strickland, sighed. His warm breath quickly turned into white mist in the cold air.

This sigh carried two emotions.

One was admiration.

He admired not only the imposing scale and high morale of the black-clad army assembled on the opposite bank, but also the command ability of the legendary Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

Strickland had always thought old Griffin, no, Jon Connington, or rather the Hand of the King, was a steady veteran. Who would have thought he would now encounter someone even more difficult. The army from the Gift had finished assembling by the Blackwater Rush more than an hour ago, and the pontoon bridge had long been built, yet they simply stood in the cold wind without launching the river crossing.

He knew what the enemy was waiting for. In the coalition camp behind him, the forces of the Reach lords were organizing provisions and supplies under bombardment, carrying out a hurried yet orderly large-scale retreat.

The commander on the opposite bank must know that if they crossed too early, they would likely face tens of thousands of Reach troops who had not yet withdrawn. If they encountered a counterattack, they could easily be defeated. Therefore, they had to wait until most of the coalition had withdrawn, leaving only the rearguard, which was his Golden Company, before calmly beginning the crossing to deal with him, isolated and without support.

The second emotion was extreme displeasure.

Thinking of this made Strickland furious. In his view, when facing that strange new weapon that roared like thunder, the coalition should have simply abandoned the camp and fully retreated. A fifty-thousand-strong army, well-formed and composed of all troop types, moving together in formation, even if Aegor West or the Dornish were given more courage, they would never dare pursue recklessly.

If they were unwilling to leave the supplies to the enemy, they could have burned everything.

Yet those greedy Riverlands nobles, even while fleeing, were reluctant to part with their possessions. They wanted to take everything with them, leaving nothing behind except the camp's watchtowers and walls, preferably not even a scrap of tent cloth.

Supplies slowed the retreat and required a large number of troops to escort them, affecting the army's formation and combat effectiveness. In such circumstances, if the commander of the Gift army on the opposite bank did not attempt to pursue, it would be unreasonable.

To avoid the worst-case scenario of being attacked from both front and rear and collapsing entirely, and to ensure the safe withdrawal of the main force along with the supplies, a rearguard had to be left behind.

Thus, young Griffin, no, King Aegon personally assigned this arduous and crucial task to the Golden Company.

Just like that, the once-dominant mercenary company of Essos, which had crossed the Narrow Sea after a long voyage, was reduced to covering the retreat of a group of foolish nobles.

Damn him, no, damn them all.

Despite his curses, Strickland understood that Aegon's decision was not out of hostility toward the Golden Company or an attempt to weaken them. It was simply because the retreat order had been issued by him. If he had ordered the Reach army to remain as the rearguard, it would not only arouse suspicion of preserving his own strength while sacrificing allies, but the Reach lords would inevitably argue over which houses' troops should stay behind.

To avoid internal disputes and wasting time on operational planning, King Aegon had no choice but to let his own men, the Golden Company, bear the loss.

...

Returning to the battlefield.

From the formation of the Gift army on the opposite bank alone, Strickland could tell they were elite. Even across the Blackwater Rush, he could almost feel the killing intent emanating from them.

If he had once doubted the rumors that the Night's Watch had repelled the White Walkers and saved the Seven Kingdoms, now, after witnessing the aura of this black-clad army firsthand, he was finally convinced.

It was entirely reasonable that such a formidable force, equipped with powerful weapons, could repel the army of the dead and fight its way from the North through the Riverlands to the Blackwater Rush.

If they met on an open plain, Strickland would normally avoid engaging such a terrifying army. Although the Golden Company outnumbered the Gift army and their soldiers were of good quality, they were mercenaries, and mercenaries did not fight without profit.

Clashing head-on with an equally powerful enemy, fighting until skulls were shattered and blood flowed, even if they narrowly won and gained a fine reputation, how many would survive to enjoy the fruits of victory.

To give an extreme example, if the Golden Company at full strength of ten thousand suffered over nine thousand casualties after a bloody battle, leaving only a few hundred survivors, would they dare, would they even be able, to demand compensation from their employer for the more than nine thousand who had died.

With a generous employer, the survivors might receive some compensation. With a ruthless one, it would not be impossible for them to quietly dispose of those who came to collect payment and then default entirely. Such things had happened before in the dark and chaotic history of the Free Cities.

They could accept defeat and suffer losses, but they must never fight to the point of losing the ability to collect their payment. This was Harry Strickland's logic and philosophy in commanding the Golden Company.

When facing a strong enemy, he would often put up a fierce struggle for a while before withdrawing. If they encountered another mercenary company with no blood feud, it was even simpler. Both sides would sit down, drink wine, compare their strength, and once they knew who was superior, stage a bloody battle for show before the weaker side deliberately retreated.

The task was completed, and the company's lifeblood preserved. Why not.

Smaller mercenary companies could not afford such tactics, as their reputation would quickly be ruined and they would lose business. But the Golden Company could. As a top-tier mercenary force, only large Dothraki khalasars or organized Unsullied legions could compel them to retreat. In most cases, the side that voluntarily withdrew was their opponent.

Did employers not hire mercenaries for victories. Who would be mad enough to demand a fixed number of victories or insist that the enemy be slaughtered to the last man.

Strickland had encountered such unreasonable demands before. The solution was simple. Add more gold. As long as the payment was sufficient, everything could be negotiated.

Indeed, under his leadership, he had been privately mocked as the most cowardly Lord in the Golden Company's history. The company's reputation over the past decade had slightly declined compared to its peak, yet it still stood at the top and continued to prosper. Was that not an achievement in itself.

---

Ordinarily, Strickland would never accept such a dangerous and thankless task as serving as rearguard, especially against a powerful force across the river that possessed dragons and cannons. Yet today, despite his many complaints, he personally came to the front line, secretly observing the battlefield from beyond the enemy artillery's line of sight and directing operations down to each hundred-man company.

He was diligent, not out of loyalty, but because there was no turning back.

The Golden Company had already invested too much.

More than ten thousand elite warriors had crossed the Narrow Sea to Westeros during the stormy autumn, losing over two thousand to storms and scattering along the way. In the subsequent protracted and chaotic fighting in the Stormlands, they suffered around three thousand more casualties. Although they later recruited capable locals to replenish their ranks, only a little over six thousand remained.

Half his stake in this gamble was already gone. If he broke with King Aegon over a single order, all previous investments would be wasted.

The reason he had taken such a bold stance, completely unlike his usual cautious nature, was that the potential rewards of this war far exceeded any mercenary contract of the past.

Strickland's nickname, Homeless, did not mean he lacked a residence. In fact, he possessed considerable personal wealth and property in several Free Cities. It referred to his ancestry. His forebears had once been nobles of Westeros, only to lose their titles and lands and be exiled after backing the Blackfyre Rebellion.

Though he often boasted cheerfully that his family had been loyal to the Golden Company for four generations, it was merely a way of finding comfort in misfortune.

What was there to be proud of in being a mercenary.

Mercenaries earned well, lived freely, and enjoyed a certain romance. Yet they rarely met good ends.

Strickland had once believed that after his death, his skull would be boiled clean, plated in gold, and mounted atop a spear by later generations as a battle standard. But over two years ago, Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos offered a different path, to support the restoration of Aegon Targaryen.

If successful, the Strickland family would regain their fief, and he would transform from a wandering mercenary into a true Westerosi noble, shedding the title of Homeless and becoming a man with a home, Earl Harry Strickland.

As a mercenary who won a battle, at most he would gain a sack of gold. But to help a dragon reclaim a kingdom, if victorious, he could become a hereditary lord.

He could spend the rest of his life in comfort within his own castle, attended by servants, breathing his last in a warm lord's chamber before a roaring hearth, lying upon a velvet-covered bed. After death, he would be buried in the family cemetery behind the manor, receiving the prayers and reverence of his descendants.

For a man weary of constant travel, of living by the sword's edge, always fighting or marching to fight, such prospects were more tempting than any lucrative contract.

A long, mournful horn call pulled Strickland from his beautiful visions of the future. Without even lifting the lens again, he knew the army of the Gift had begun crossing the river.

(To be continued.)

◇◇◇

◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 200 Power Stones.

◇ You can read the ahead chapter on Pat if you're interested: p-atreon.c-om/Blownleaves (Just remove the hyphen to access normally.)