From Westeros to Essos : The Crusader King

No one had expected to see their young lord ready for the siege and yet, Konrad had decided, despite Tyrek and Nyssa's pleads to oversee the siege. As soon as the pale falcon, his sworn brothers and Ser Tyrek reached the temporary camp of his forces, Gendel came towards them with a smile on his face carrying a small black bird in his hands.

Konrad and Tyrek dismounted their horses and followed Gendel to his tent. He was curious about the black bird that the Chieftain had caught. He knew it was it was rare to see a raven here but still the bird was quite a common messenger among the lords of Westeros. Truth be told it was strange to see one here out of all the places, but mayhaps the ex-triarch had some friends in Westeros who were more than happy to provide a few ravens to him. As for the message that it might contain… mayhaps it was a plea for mercy, or a threat of retaliation, or a maybe even a desperate cry for help from whatever allies then might still have. He hoped it was the latter, for he was eager to storm the walls and end the siege once and for all.

Once inside, Gendel gestured for both Konrad and Tyrek to sit down and offered them a cup of wine. Like always, both Konrad and his uncle by choice declined, preferring to keep their senses sharp, before glancing at the bird, still in Gendel's hands. "What is written on that?"

Gendel took the message that had been attached to the dead raven and handed it to Konrad. Thankfully, Gendel had, men trained to use hawks as well as good archers placed around the stronghold, ready to bring down any birds or riders that flew from the garrison.

"The ex-triarch awaits the orders and reinforcements from Astapor, my lord."

Konrad smiled. He sat down on a chair and look from where he was, several hundred paces from the gatehouse at the outer perimeter wall, both Gendel and Tyrek beside him. His strategy had thus far worked perfectly. He had every single road leading to this place guarded by tiger cloaks and so no one could sneak any kind of help to the ex-triarch and his people. Tyrek and Gendel had defeated and destroyed what was left of the loyalist inside the city with his knights and followers help and afterwards pushed on to cleanse the area of any kind of slavers.

It was true that he had talked with his future father-in-law and after explaining his plan, he had almost ten thousand men tied down in patrols around the area but there was no army in Volantis that could mount a relief operation. Soon, hopefully by the end of the next year, they would march against the Slaver's Bay itself and adopt the same strategy, and then the slave cities would fall one by one, and after them Astapor itself. And with it, he would bring an end to slavery once and for all.

Of course, a big reason why he does this was revenge for what happened to him, but at the same, no human being should ever become a slave.

"He will be waiting for a long time," remarked the ex-king's guard.

"We should launch an attack already," growled Gendel looking at the wooden walls, "instead of sitting here like old women."

Thus far the Konrad had retained the full complement of brothers away rather than seeing them allocated to siege operations, mostly because they were in a way his most trained troops and would rather not lose them pointlessly storming the walls. Despite their small numbers for now, Jaq and the other knights had managed to train the initiates to a decent level, making them at least better than most levies.

"What do you think, uncle? Do you think Nyessos Vhassar's walls can be breached?"

Tyrek stood silent for a few seconds looking at the wooden walls that kept the last of the slavers safe. In all honesty it should not be hard to bring those walls down, but something deep inside of him somehow made him skeptic of this.

"The Slaver is no fools, Konrad. Unlike his other friend, who surprisingly enough didn't want bloodshed and would rather become a merchant, Nyessoss had dealt with the Good Masters for decades if your goodfather's words are to be believed."

"They are cowardly women who hide behind their walls," boomed Gendel smashing his fist on the table.

Konrad held Tyrek worried gaze. "Perhaps you are right, Gendel. Perhaps my tactics are too cautious after all I'm but a wee lad. Perhaps it is time for the banner of the Red Hands tribe to fly from those walls."

Gendel gave a cheer of triumph and wheeled away to lead his men.

"My lord, it is folly to assault those walls without a proper plan."

"I know that uncle. But it will be a useful lesson for Gendel to learn that a bunch of muscle heads are not enough to take down a well-prepared enemy and I grow tired of his bluster."

"Why are you keeping him in your service then, Konrad? Don't you have your order to protect you? Why do you need those wildings to fight for you?"

Letting out a sigh, Konrad leaned back on the chair before looking up at his uncle. "I am to become the future lord paramount of the Vale and unlike my father, I plan to unite the Vale once and for all. Wildings or Mountain Men, whatever you want to call them, uncle, I will need every help I could get to unite the Vale. Long has the blood of the sons and daughters of the Vale been spilled by these wildlings of the Vale, who raid our lands, steal our sheep, and kidnap our women. But we are not innocent either, uncle. We have neglected them, oppressed them, and scorned them. We have treated them as less than human, and denied them their rights and dignity. Some will die, that much even I know, but if there's even a small chance of ending this never-ending conflict, I will take whatever I can get. Besides, Gendel is not like most Mountain Men, he acts like a noble from time to time."

Almost as if he were defeated by what he had heard, Tyrek closed his eyes and nodded slowly at his young lord, accepting his reasoning.

"Believe me, my lord, I don't hate or even dislike Gendel, but his … burning desire to shed blood in your name might become a problem in the future."

Numbering nearly four hundred men, these well-equipped wildlings were members of his new tribe and the few warriors he would trust on the battlefield. Four men, almost as tall as he was, attired in black helmets and blood red hands on their shields, mail shirts and all armed with axes and swords, they grouped around him as he led them on foot towards the enemy gatehouse. His commanders organized their men into formations a hundred strong and while most of the warriors were not as well armored as he and his commanders were, most had a shield and helmet but almost none wore mail armor over their tunics and none had swords. They carried spears and axes but a great number also had to shoulder scaling ladders to climb the log walls, though no one had given any thought to the ditch lined with stakes.

The great Red Hands banner hardly stirred in the gentle breeze as Gendel stood in the front rank of his men and marched towards the gatehouse. The ground was level and open all around the castle, which made an approach very easy. But at the same time, it also gave crossbowmen on the walls an excellent field of view, which became very apparent when the first of the Chieftain men began to fall after being hit by a dozen bolts. He ignored the high-pitched screams and headed nonchalantly towards the thick wooden gates, his men carrying a battering ram fashioned from a tree trunk they had cut down yesterday. Thus far this would the first battle that would take place in this God forsaken place.

Gendel and his men closed to within two hundred meters of the walls before breaking into a charge, the warriors splitting ranks and racing towards the ramparts. Nearly four hundred men set to sweep over the timber walls like a great wave only to crash head first into the ditch. To their horror, the first ones to reach the ditch, stopped in their tracks when they reached the top of the ditch and saw the sharpened stakes and spears below them, only to be shoved forward as those behind continued their charge. There was a cacophony of screams as dozens of men were thrown into the ditch, to be pierced and impaled on the stakes, most still alive. And as the ditch filled with writhing wildlings, above them the slavers' crossbowmen continued to shoot their weapons killing as many men as they could.

Yet despite the heavy loses, Gendel pushed forward as a few bolts large as a horse flew above them hitting the enemy crossbowmen. Unbeknownst to Gendel his men had started to break.

He did not see dozens of his warriors fleeing back to the safety of their allies' lines, did not see the dozens of their corpses littering the ground or observe the wounded dragging themselves away from the hell he led them into, to get out of range of the accursed crossbows. All he was interested in was smashing in the gates and leading his men into the castle so he could butcher the defenders and fly his and his lord banner from the highest point. He did not even hear the screams of the men around him whose flesh was pierced by crossbow bolts, or if he did, Gendel did not care. But when he did… the tall chieftain realized just how big of a fool he had been.

The enemy knew that the main focus of an enemy assault would always be against the gatehouse, not least because there was a small makeshift bridge over the ditch that gave access to the gates. After all, all that was required was for the gates to be smashed in and whoever was inside would be slaughter to the last man. And so Gendel Red Hands led four hundred and of his warriors straight at them, and straight into a missile storm and he had to watch his own people, the ones he bleed to save from slavery died for his bloody pride.

Rage took over and before he knew he joined the men who were carrying the battering ram. Gendel helped to ram the tree trunk into the gates, which were not budging no matter how hard they hit it. The chieftain screamed his frustration as his men were hit by bolts and collapsed, others screaming in pain as quarrels went through shields into their arms. Even he realized that they were being slaughtered to no effect and there was nothing he could here. He was beaten without doing anything other than wasting a few of the enemy bolts on able warriors… warriors that could have been alive if he were not so stubborn.

Just as he was about to scream the retreat, one of the men slumped over the battering ram behind him, falling down with a bolt emblemed in his skull. Gritting his teeth, Gendel turned to lift him off the ram so that it could be hauled back and then thrust forward again, only for a second bolt to hit him the back.

Gendel felt a sharp pain in his back, followed by a warm sensation of blood flowing down his spine. He gasped and stumbled forward, dropping the battering ram. And when he wanted to turn around, his vision went blurry and his head start spinning. What followed next was a mix of screams and shouts, but they sounded distant and muffled. Before the chieftain could even comprehend what was happening to him, he felt someone grab his arm and pull him away from the gatehouse, but no matter what he tried, he could not tell who it was.

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