The Lower Rhoyne was the first line of defense arranged by Oswell.
He estimated that he could hold here for at least five days.
Of course, he could last longer if necessary, but the enemy held a clear numerical advantage, and the Lower Rhoyne was not an unbroken barrier.
Trying to defend every stretch would only mean that every stretch would fail, riddled with gaps.
The true battle would begin only after they withdrew behind the Walls of Vhagar.
Counting the river defenses together, Oswell believed he could hold for fifteen days at most.
He had never commanded an army larger than a single host before.
Fortunately, the officers under him, along with the new men elevated by Viserys, were in good spirits. They now possessed lands of their own here.
When men fought for their own soil, they did not retreat easily.
Before dawn, a series of deep, piercing horn calls tore through the darkness.
The sound carried far, as if even the Goose-Down Hills to the north were answering the call.
The allied forces of Braavos and Pentos had begun their assault.
Under Oswell's command, the Targaryen army rushed to fortify the riverbank and prepare for battle.
The Pentoshi and Braavosi forces had constructed a great number of wooden rafts. Soldiers mounted them and began crossing the river.
As far as the eye could see, hundreds of rafts were released along a front stretching dozens of miles.
Each raft looked like a dark shadow gliding forward, slowly approaching under the pale light of dawn.
"Stone-throwers, ready!"
The catapults were commanded by the Crab Claw Peninsula guards Viserys had left behind.
To make catapults effective required a certain level of calculation. Fortunately, these young guards possessed the necessary skill.
Dozens of catapults were concentrated near a shallow stretch of the river. It was clearly a focal point for the enemy's crossing.
The rafts there were far more densely packed.
The guards operating the engines calculated distances while their hearts rose and fell with the waves.
"Fire!"
Yet fewer than a hundred catapults were insignificant against a crossing of this scale.
After several volleys, only a dozen or so rafts were overturned.
Most of the stones splashed harmlessly into the river, leaving only brief bursts of white foam before sinking away.
The river, less than two hundred meters wide, did not delay the allied army for long.
In barely a quarter of an hour, a brutal landing battle erupted.
The once-quiet Lower Rhoyne was drowned in the sounds of slaughter.
Blood and death were everywhere.
Oswell kept a reserve force of two thousand men at his side, rushing from place to place all day to plug gaps in the line.
To preserve their strength, they rode in animal-drawn carts when moving to reinforce positions.
The fighting lasted until the sun dipped low in the sky. Only then did the allied forces halt their first day's assault.
As Oswell inspected the defenses, he listened to Faelor's casualty report.
"Fallen soldiers: four hundred and forty-two. Severely wounded: three hundred and eighteen. Stone ammunition expended—"
During his rounds, Oswell saw soldiers eating, resting, or sitting together in quiet conversation.
Thanks to thorough preparation, losses remained within an acceptable range, and morale was generally steady.
But this was only the first day. There was nothing to celebrate.
Their weapon reserves and food stores were both precarious.
At that moment, Lyanna approached Oswell and reported quietly, "Ser, some men attempted to assault female soldiers. They have been captured."
A flicker of cold passed through Oswell's calm eyes.
"Execute them."
"Yes."
The female soldiers along the Lower Rhoyne were those personally trained by Elder Tina, along with some newly conscripted Rhoynar and Andal women, no more than five or six hundred in total.
They were spread across the defensive positions. Most tended the wounded, while a smaller number who could draw a bow fought alongside the men.
This had been Viserys's suggestion.
Men tended to display a certain protective instinct, and this could be used to bolster morale.
Judging by the day's performance, it had worked.
Oswell had entrusted these women to Lyanna, and he would not allow them to become objects of lust for anyone.
"Wait. I will carry out the execution myself."
Soon, the three men who had attempted the assault were dragged forward, bound.
Oswell gave them no chance to speak. He smashed out their teeth and stuffed rags into their mouths.
Facing the gathered officers and soldiers, he shouted, "These women are your comrades. They carried you to safety when you were wounded.
You are not mercenaries who cannot fight without women and coin.
You are defending your home, and so are they. If this happens again, I will hang the offender from the walls and let him freeze to death!"
Oswell raised his steel sword and stepped toward the three men.
They were all local Andals from Gohor. Whether driven by old grudges or something else did not matter.
With swift strikes, blood sprayed across the ground. As commander, he upheld discipline without hesitation.
By now, the war had entered its third day.
In the allied camp, abundance showed itself everywhere, the calm born of ample supplies and manpower.
Carpets were spread outside the tents, and incense scented the air within.
Though the army numbered only seventy to eighty thousand, several thousand more people crowded the camp.
Vendors sold snacks, and prostitutes laughed as they counted their earnings.
In some places, there were even dwarf troupes performing crude circus acts.
They could not build proper stages, so they spread large pieces of burlap on the ground as makeshift platforms.
One dwarf, wearing a white wig, strapped a bottomless prop boat to himself and shouted at the soldiers:
"I am Viserys! My father lost the throne, so now I must flee to find a place to survive!"
He took a few short steps, hopped, and moved to the other side. "Oh! Is this Gohor? Not bad at all. I should find a way to bring my mother here too."
Suddenly, two more dwarfs rushed in from the side. Their costumes were far more elaborate.
One wore a brown wig, the other a yellow one.
"I am Prince Audro!"
"I am Sea Lord Freygo!"
The two beat the dwarf playing Viserys with kicks and blows until "Viserys" collapsed.
One dwarf planted a foot on him and shouted, "Get out of Gohor, and while you're at it, send your mother to me. I'll be your new father!"
The dwarf on the ground groaned, "Yes, Your Majesty—no, I mean, Father."
The crude performance sent the mercenaries into roaring laughter.
Copper coins rained down, clattering against the ground.
Whenever a coin struck them on the head, the dwarfs would dramatically pretend to faint, drawing even more laughter.
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