An hour from Seagard, with the sun not yet fully risen, the dark mass of Frey cavalry was already faintly visible ahead.
"Form ranks!" Tyrion shouted.
"Form ranks!" Brienne repeated, her voice booming like a bull.
They stood on open plains, with woods on both sides. The knight studied the terrain. "This is bad for us," she said. "On an open plain with no cover, you want the men to meet a cavalry charge head-on?"
"The Freys are light cavalry. Fewer than a tenth of them are heavily armored knights," Tyrion said. "And with woods on both flanks, they can't outmaneuver us."
I hope you're not just comforting yourself, Brienne thought.
"Form ranks!" Tyrion rode past the soldiers. "Lay the spears flat on the ground at your feet, points forward! First rank, raise shields!"
"Lower spears! Prepare shields!" the herald called out.
Lower the spears? Brienne felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Lust Demon, what are you planning?
"Crossbowmen in the rear ranks, prepare!"
As the troops scrambled into position, a lone rider broke from the Frey formation, carrying a seven-pointed star banner, and approached the Lannister line.
"Lord Tyrion Lannister? Lord Walder Frey requests a parley."
Tyrion spurred his horse toward the open ground between the armies, Brienne following at a distance.
"Lord Tyrion." Black Walder's teeth were as black as his name. "Marching all the way from Riverrun to Seagard with an army—you should've sent word in advance."
"Send word for what? To enjoy the hospitality you offer?" Tyrion said. "I'm here as Warden of the Riverlands to order you to release the Mallisters, withdraw from Seagard, and bring your forces back to Riverrun."
"Gladly, my lord," Black Walder said. "I hear you reached certain terms with my brother Edwyn. I, too, have a few small conditions I hope you can grant."
"Go on."
"The besieging forces—I want overall command."
"And Edwyn?"
"He'll listen to me," Black Walder said with a grin. "He's afraid of me."
"Walder Rivers won't necessarily fear you."
"He may not fear me, but he will obey me."
Tyrion nodded. That explained enough. "And that's it? Just that simple?"
"I hear you've taken Sansa Stark as your bride," Black Walder went on. "And I've heard Roose Bolton intends for his bastard to marry Arya Stark. I want you to hand the girl over to me."
"You want to play matchmaker for Roose Bolton?" Tyrion asked. "You refused marriage yourself—do you prefer men? No, that can't be it. You've probably had affairs with every woman in House Frey."
"You provoking me?" Black Walder's voice rose. "How I handle the Stark girl has nothing to do with you. I haven't forgotten the humiliation in King's Landing."
"I'm not interested," Tyrion said. "Dismount, lay your sword at my feet, swear loyalty, and I'll give you the judgment you deserve. Including, but not limited to, violating guest right, disobeying orders, harming fellow vassals, adultery… and the rest."
"Lust Demon…" Black Walder hissed through clenched teeth. "You're playing with fire. Think I won't lay a hand on you? Accidents happen in war. And I wouldn't mind marrying a widow."
"You think you have a choice?" Tyrion said. "Dismount and surrender. That's your only path. I'll even spare you the right to wear the black cloak. Refuse, and I'll hang you before the Twins and drag out every weasel woman who ever shared your bed."
Black Walder spat, wheeled his horse around, and rode off. Trading words with the Lust Demon was nothing but trouble.
"Negotiations failed?" Brienne asked as Tyrion returned.
"Isn't it obvious?" Tyrion laughed at her simplicity. "When did I ever intend to negotiate? Haven't I been telling you all along—I'm going to kill him."
As they rejoined the ranks, he added, "If I wanted to negotiate, there's no deal I couldn't make."
From the Frey side came the low moan of war horns. Tyrion looked east. The sun would rise in just a few minutes.
"I suggest you stay toward the rear," the knight whispered. "You may have made all sorts of plans, but the enemy has far too many, and we have far too few."
"No one wants to look like a coward in front of his comrades. When the battle starts, with trumpets blaring and banners flying, they'll fight bravely. But the moment things turn against them, they'll break and run. One man drops his spear, and a thousand copy him." Tyrion dismissed her concern. "I'm not leaving. And your duty is to protect me."
"I will guard your life with my own," Brienne said. "I swore it to Lady Sansa."
"How touching, my fair lady," Tyrion replied. "Thank you for reminding me that someone out there still cares whether I live. Sound the horn!"
"Sound the horn!" the officers repeated.
"When the fighting starts, shout whatever I shout," Tyrion said as he lowered his visor. "My voice won't carry. Pod, hand me my sword."
"At once, my lord."
Black Walder's cavalry moved out, their hooves pounding like the flood on the Blackwater Rush that day—only now he was Stannis, watching the tide roll toward him.
"They aren't knights," Brienne said. "The horses are barely armored. What is he thinking, sending light cavalry to charge like this?"
"You said it yourself. They have the numbers. Why bother with tactics?" Tyrion answered. "Besides, a charge like this only makes it easier for me to die in the chaos."
"Reckless."
"More than that." Tyrion squinted. "He didn't even blindfold the horses." Maybe the ground was too tight, and the mounts would crash into one another.
The cavalry barreled toward Tyrion's line, a cloud of dust rising behind them. The earth shook. Soldiers trembled.
"Do not fear!" Tyrion roared. "Lannisters never forgive deserters!" Brienne shouted the order as well, though she knew that if the charge slammed into them unchecked, their infantry would break before contact.
"Ready!" Tyrion shouted.
The soldiers from the second row back raised their crossbows. Six hundred paces—he gauged the distance. Five hundred. Four hundred fifty. Damn it, they were closing fast. The sun...
Finally, when they were only four hundred paces away, the morning sun rose behind him over the horizon.
"Fire!"
"Fire!" Brienne bellowed.
At the command, arrows streaked forward with the sunlight, burying themselves in the eyes, chests, and mounts of the Frey cavalry.
Black Walder should have blindfolded the horses, Tyrion thought. Now their eyes were gone, and the horses' eyes as well… oh, the poor beasts.
Of course, both men and horses were finished.