Chapter 115: The Fall of the Vale
Are the Mountain Clans difficult to deal with?
Not really. With their backward equipment, malnutrition, and total lack of training, fighting them is no different from fighting the wildlings beyond the Wall. So why did the rulers of the Vale never attempt to wipe them out?
The answer to that is much the same as why the Night's Watch doesn't just kill all the wildlings: True, a few thousand well-trained soldiers—not even elite, just at Egger's level—would be enough to slaughter the hundred thousand wildlings beyond the Wall and drive the survivors into the Lands of Always Winter. The problem is, where do those thousands of soldiers come from? How long would it take to hunt them all down? Who pays for the grain and wages during the campaign? What about the pensions for the inevitable casualties once the wildlings organize a resistance? And once the wildlings are gone, is the Wall just supposed to be a retirement home for the realm's scum and political prisoners?
The Mountain Clans are far fewer in number than the wildlings, but they dwell deep in the peaks without permanent villages, specializing in guerrilla warfare, which makes clearing them out even harder.
Ultimately, the logic is simple: the effort required to pacify the clans far outweighs any potential benefit. Rather than agonizing over it, it's easier to just bring a small escort when traveling the high roads—it fends off both bandits and clansmen. Generally, if a party has more than ten armed men, they are rarely attacked.
At its core, it remains a problem of productivity. These words limit human imagination and grand desires; they are an ancient, impassable pass that forces people to keep their feet on the ground and scrape by in this cold, dark world.
...
On the day the Other-Slayer offered his strategy to the King, the war council ran exceptionally long. By the time the lords and generals emerged from the royal pavilion to return to their camps, the allied host was in motion once more. An hour or two later, units ranging from dozens to hundreds of men began leaving the camp, marching away from the Bloody Gate. From a distance, it looked like internal strife had caused the army to break up and head home to farm—but once they were out of sight of the Gate's defenders, they took a long detour back, disappearing into the Moon Mountains to hunt for signs of the Mountain Clans.
The poor Mountain Clans... after seeing Robert's massive host march into the Vale, they had obediently retreated into the mountains, hungry and quiet for over a month without causing a single stir. Who could have guessed that such submissiveness wouldn't save them? The King and his lords hadn't given them a second thought, but at the suggestion of a traveler from another world, hundreds of scouts and elite soldiers specialized in woodland and mountain warfare had come knocking on their doors!
Egger had intended to return to King's Landing immediately after giving his advice, but he learned from Lord Buckwell that Robert had set a final deadline: the small units infiltrating the mountains were to coordinate a pincer attack on the Bloody Gate. If victory wasn't achieved within a fortnight, he would negotiate a settlement with the Bronze Alliance.
With such a glimmer of hope on the horizon, Egger decided to stay a while longer. If his plan brought victory to Robert, he might even receive a reward.
Donning the black but advising the Iron Throne was already pushing the boundaries of neutrality; as for personally participating in the action... he wouldn't dare. Staying within the camp, Egger had no idea how his brilliant plan was progressing. The units sent into the mountains couldn't maintain constant contact with the main camp. For him, the entire theater of war had become a black box; he could only wait for the results.
The day-to-day sieging at the front continued, but the entire camp had quietly shifted to a state of high alert. While only one army went to the Gate each day to shout challenges and put on a show, the forces of the other five kingdoms remained armored and ready to deploy at a moment's notice. As Lord Buckwell put it: "The moment the signal appears, the host will swarm forward and take the Gate."
As for what form that signal would take or when it might appear, even the old Earl couldn't say.
The days ticked by, and Egger's confidence in his plan began to wane. He suddenly realized he was highly susceptible to armchair generalship. The Mountain Clans existed, and they might truly know the paths, but could the elites Robert sent catch these guerrilla experts? Were the paths even passable? Was there a rebel force guarding the other end?
He truly knew nothing; he had simply placed a bold bet on historical records, staking his hopes on the idea that these tactical precedents were real and could be replicated in the Vale of this other world.
This anxiety lasted until the sixth day after he offered the strategy.
That afternoon, Egger was sharing a drink with Lord Buckwell, listening to the old man complain about military expenses and the impact of the war on his harvest. Suddenly, a long, low horn blast drifted from outside the tent, followed by the sound of running feet, the neighing of warhorses... and the heavy, rhythmic thrum of hooves vibrating through the earth.
"What's happening?" The Earl and Egger ducked out of the tent and shouted at a passing soldier.
"My lord! Signals from the center! General assault! Bring the ladders!"
There was no need for further questions. The roar of battle rising from the direction of the Bloody Gate explained everything. The daily siege for the army on duty should have ended, and there wasn't a single allied soldier in the small space before the Gate—so where was the shouting coming from? The units that took the side paths had reached the Gate from behind!
"Dammit... Egger, you stay in camp. I have to go. Robert will surely lead the charge himself; this is the time to grab some glory!" The Earl finished his sentence and, without pausing, turned to face the chaotic mass of Antlers' troops. "Don't panic! Find your officers! Don't lose your weapons! Formation! Formation!"
"His Majesty has already charged with the cavalry!"
"Seven Hells! Never mind, keep pace! Let's move, everyone follow! Don't lose your swords or armor!"
What does a charge of ten thousand men look like? Egger soon saw. Yoren was also drawn out by the noise. As men of the Night's Watch, they were the only ones in camp who could watch the show with a clear heart, having no need for glory. they climbed a hillock near the Antlers' camp and watched the battlefield from afar.
The Crownlands cavalry led by Robert himself was at the very front; no one dared to race the King for first place. The white cloaks of the Kingsguard protecting him were dazzling in the sunlight. They struck toward the Bloody Gate like a sharp knife. The rain of arrows and falling stones that usually greeted attackers from the battlements was nowhere to be seen—the defenders were currently fighting for their lives against the divine soldiers who had dropped from the sky behind them.
Following the cavalry was a vast, dark sea of infantry, spreading across the hills and almost entirely losing formation. Since many elites and officers had gone into the mountains to find the paths, the levies—already poorly trained—were a mess. On any other day, such a disorganized attack would be useless but for giving up heads—but today, as long as they ran fast enough to scale the walls before the strike teams were driven off the battlements, the war would be over!
"My gods..." Egger felt himself grow tense. The King charging at the front might be romantic in this era, but in the eyes of a traveler, it was a terrible habit and a desperate move necessitated by poor training. "I hope that fellow Robert doesn't get himself killed."
"Don't you worry. I haven't fought many wars, but I've seen enough to know. The moment the rebels let someone sneak up their backsides without noticing, the win was decided."
The cavalry thundered across the nearly-filled trenches and reached the base of the Gate. Robert, the Kingsguard... and more Crownlands knights dismounted. Though they reached the finish line first, they couldn't scale the Gate with their bare hands before the infantry arrived with ladders. However, a solution appeared: ladders abandoned during previous failed attempts were still lying at the base of the wall. They were picked up, the blood and mud shaken off, and put to use immediately!
Under the distant gaze of the two Watchmen and the squire Casey, a white cloak—identity unclear—was the first to climb a ladder and reach the battlements. Once he held the top, Robert's burly silhouette was the second to start the climb... By the time he reached the top, and more ladders were leaned against the wall with no one left to push them back, the battle had lost all suspense.
The roar of battle gradually died down. After all, there was no deep-seated hatred between the defenders and Robert's host; some might have even fought side-by-side during the Usurper's War. Seeing that all was lost, surrender became the only choice. Less than half an hour later, the banners of the Bronze Alliance fell one by one from the battlements, and the crowned stag of House Baratheon rose to take their place.
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