Chapter 17: Battle of Duskhollow Cove - Part 2
POV: Corwyn Darke
The mining office became a field hospital.
Maester Harlan worked with steady hands, stitching wounds and setting bones while assistants carried water and bandages. Our wounded came first—twelve men, ranging from shallow cuts to a broken arm to one gut wound that would likely prove fatal despite Harlan's best efforts.
I knelt beside Tommas, a farmer who'd joined our shield wall six weeks ago. His stomach wound seeped through the bandages, his face gray with blood loss.
"My lord..." His voice was barely a whisper. "Did we... did we hold?"
"You held, Tommas. You all held." I gripped his hand, feeling the fading strength in his fingers. "Because of you, we won."
He tried to smile. "Tell my wife... tell her I didn't run."
"I'll tell her you were a hero."
He died three hours later, surrounded by the men he'd fought beside. I stayed until the end.
[ CASUALTY UPDATE ]
[ FRIENDLY DEAD: 8 → 9 ]
[ CRITICAL WOUNDED: 2 ]
[ STABLE WOUNDED: 10 ]
Edric found me as I emerged from the hospital, his young face tight with controlled emotion. He'd wanted to fight—I'd forbidden it—and now he carried medical supplies like it was a sacred duty.
"The prisoners are secured, my lord. Thirty-one total, including their captain."
"Good. Have them fed and watered. We're not savages."
"Some of our men want... they want revenge. For our dead."
"Then remind them that prisoners are worth more alive than dead." I put a hand on his shoulder. "We fought with discipline today. We won with discipline. We don't lose it now."
He nodded, relief visible in his eyes. Whatever darkness he'd imagined, he was glad it wasn't coming.
"One more thing, Edric. The sellsword captain's belongings—his papers, anything written. Bring them to me personally."
POV: Maester Harlan
The documents were damning.
Harlan spread them across the table in the mining office, organizing them by type while Lord Corwyn read each one carefully. Outside, soldiers celebrated their victory with ale and song. Inside, the real battle was being planned.
"Three separate contracts," Harlan said, pointing to the relevant pages. "All signed by Lord Darklyn's steward, all specifying 'complete destruction of mining operations' and 'elimination of hostile personnel.' That means our workers."
"Murder disguised as banditry."
"Exactly. And here—" Harlan lifted another document "—payment receipts from Darklyn's treasury. The amounts match the contract values precisely."
[ EVIDENCE ACQUIRED ]
[ DARKLYN CONTRACTS: 3 ]
[ PAYMENT RECORDS: 7 ]
[ WITNESS TESTIMONY: AVAILABLE ]
[ CASE STRENGTH: OVERWHELMING ]
Lord Corwyn studied the papers with the focused intensity Harlan had come to recognize—the look of a man calculating many moves ahead.
"This is enough for a Crown petition," the lord said finally. "Darklyn hired mercenaries to attack a sworn vassal of the King. That's not just assault—it's treason."
"The Crown may not see it that way. Darklyn has connections at court."
"Then we make sure the evidence speaks louder than his connections." Lord Corwyn gathered the documents carefully, placing them in a leather satchel. "We leave for King's Landing in three days. After we bury our dead."
POV: Corwyn Darke
The graves stood in a row on the hillside overlooking the valley.
Nine fresh mounds, marked with simple wooden crosses until proper stones could be carved. Nine men who'd followed me into battle and wouldn't follow me anywhere else.
I spoke their names aloud as the sun set. Tommas the farmer. Willam the miner's son. Breck the guardsman who'd served my father. Each name a weight I'd carry forever.
"They held," Ser Gareth said quietly, standing beside me. "You taught them to hold, and they did."
"I taught them to die."
"You taught them to fight. The dying..." Gareth's voice roughened. "The dying happens. To soldiers. To lords. To everyone, eventually. What matters is whether it meant something."
I stared at the graves, trying to find meaning in the fresh-turned earth. These men had died defending their homes, their families, the future I'd promised them. Was that enough?
"It has to be enough. Because if it isn't, then all of this is pointless."
"Ser Gareth. When we go to King's Landing, I want you commanding here. Keep training the men, maintain the defenses. Darklyn won't try another direct assault—not after this—but he might try something subtler."
"You're not taking me?"
"I need someone I trust holding what we've built." I turned to face him. "You've earned that trust. Today, and every day since we met."
His weathered face showed something that might have been emotion before he controlled it. "As you command, my lord."
We stood together as darkness fell, watching torchlight flicker in the valley below where our people celebrated survival. The battle was won. The war continued.
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