A couple hundred yards isn't much when you're on a warhorse moving at a full gallop. It's a heartbeat, maybe two.
Following the path my dad's heavy cavalry had already carved into the Lannister lines, the six of us slammed into the center of the formation before most of them even knew what hit them. We were a surgical strike heading straight for the big banner.
Abel's spear was a blur, punching through a Lannister soldier's chest before the guy could even raise his shield. Lando and Marm were right on my heels, their swords swinging in wide arcs, keeping the infantry from swarming my flanks. Dita Calandre was still in the saddle, pulling and releasing her bow with terrifying rhythm, pinning down anyone who tried to organize a defense near Prester.
Ser Forley Prester looked like he was lagging in a high-ping game. He was a "cautious" guy, sure, but the sheer chaos of the night raid had clearly fried his brain. He was standing there, watching his formation dissolve, completely paralyzed.
Still, he'd been trained since he could walk. When Dita's arrows started whistling past his head, he instinctively snapped his shield up. He was decked out in full plate and chainmail the good stuff. Normal arrows weren't going to do much more than scratch the paint.
"Stop them!" he screamed, finally finding his voice.
Six guards in high-end scale armor lunged at me, their spears leveled. In any other life, I'd be dead. But the fifty-percent "Lord-Vassal Unity" bonus was a hell of a drug. It wasn't just strength; it was like the world had slowed down. My eyesight was sharper, my reactions were twitchy-fast. I parried three spears with my shield and swerved past the rest in a matter of seconds.
"Get out of the way, you losers!" Lando roared, slamming his horse into the guards.
Lando and Marm went down hard as their horses were gutted by spears, but they rolled up and kept swinging, clearing a path. I didn't stop. I leveled my lance, the steel tip catching the moonlight. I felt the impact all the way up my arm as the lance punched through Prester's silver-white breastplate, through the chainmail, and straight through the man himself.
Behind me, Abel took out the standard-bearer. The Lannister banner the pride of the Presters hit the bloody mud.
"Avenge the Commander!" some guy named Ser Celin yelled, charging me with a longsword.
I didn't even have a weapon ready, so I did the only thing I could think of: I hocked my shield at his face like a frisbee. The heavy wood and steel caught him right in the forehead with a sickening crunch. He flew off his horse, dead before he hit the ground.
I reached down, grabbed Prester's limp, impaled body with both hands, and hoisted him up for everyone to see. "Drop your weapons!" I screamed, my voice cracking with the effort. "Give up and you live!"
My horse let out a pained whinny, struggling under the extra weight, but the message was sent. Seeing their leader turned into a human kebab, the Lannister soldiers lost whatever heart they had left. They dropped their swords, fell to their knees, and put their hands over their heads.
My dad's cavalry, what was left of them, thundered past us for a second pass, but the fight was already over.
"Rally to me!" Lord Rickard was shouting, looking like a god of war. When he saw me holding the enemy commander's body, his jaw actually dropped. He looked terrified for a second, then proud, then went right back to barking orders.
To the west, the "mystery" cavalry unit finally decided to show up. They'd been hanging back, watching us do the heavy lifting, and now that the enemy was broken, they were sweeping in to pick up the easy kills.
Typical.
The sun was starting to peek over the horizon by the time the cleanup started.
I dismounted, my legs feeling like jelly now that the adrenaline was fading. I started looking for my guys in the piles of bodies. Abel was already on it.
Lando was in bad shape. His left arm was messed up from the fall, and someone had put a spear through his thigh. He'd tied a bloody rag around it, sitting in the dirt with a weak, trembling smile.
"Abel, get some guys and a stretcher," I snapped. "Get him to the Maester. Now!"
Marm was further away. He wasn't breathing. He had a hole in his neck and was still clutching his sword like he was afraid someone would steal it. He was so young ready to conquer the world just a few hours ago. Now he was just another body.
Karas Snow limped over and closed Marm's eyes. He didn't say anything, but I could see the grief in his face. He picked up the kid's body and draped it over a horse.
"House Karstark! Now that was a hell of a show!"
A voice I already hated cut through the quiet. Theon Greyjoy rode over, that permanent, punchable smirk on his face. He was leading the unit that had been "waiting" in the west.
"Robb's win was bigger, sure, but this? People are gonna be talking about this one," Theon chuckled.
I looked at him, my hands tightening on my axe. This prick had sat back and watched us nearly get slaughtered so he could play it safe.
"Yeah. Great," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You see that move I made?" Theon kept going, oblivious to the fact that I wanted to headbutt him. "I only had a hundred guys! The rest were just extra horses to make us look like a thousand. Scared 'em right into your dad's lap. You're welcome, by the way."
He laughed, clearly thinking he was the smartest guy in the room. I just stared at him. He was Robb's "brother," so I couldn't exactly kill him here, but man, I was putting him on the list.
"Whatever you say, Theon," I muttered.
He snorted, realizing I wasn't going to blow smoke up his ass, and rode off to find my dad, probably to try and claim half the credit for the win.
The morning brought the news that changed everything.
Ned Stark was dead. Beheaded in King's Landing.
The camp went from victory cheers to a funeral march in an hour. Every Northman I saw looked like they'd been punched in the gut. Ned was the guy. He was honor, he was the North, and now he was gone.
Most of the big lords were already heading to Riverrun by boat to meet with Robb and Catelyn. They were going to mourn, and then they were going to figure out what was next. I knew what was next: they were going to crown a fifteen-year-old kid.
I wasn't invited to the "big kids' table" meeting yet. Even though I'd bagged a commander and helped win the battle, I was still just a second son. Robb did grant our house the right to build a dam on the Last River as a reward, which was a huge financial win for my dad, but it didn't do much for me personally.
I was back in my tent when Dacey Mormont showed up again. No Catelyn to save her this time.
Thud.
I side-stepped her lunge and watched her hit the grass for the third time.
"You know," I said, looking down at her, "if all the women on Bear Island are this stubborn, maybe Jorah was the smart one for leaving."
Dacey scrambled up, her face red with fury and grass stains. She was fast, I'll give her that, but with my buffs, she was moving in slow motion. I tripped her again, pinned her to the ground, and put my axe to her throat.
"Enough," I said, my voice turning cold. "Too many people died yesterday. My brother, Ned Stark, Marm... I'm done with the games."
I leaned in closer. "You want your mom and sisters to cry over your body too? Or are we done here?"
Dacey went still. She could see it in my eyes I wasn't joking. Dying in a duel over a hurt ego was one thing; getting executed in the mud by a Karstark who was clearly out of her league was another.
She went quiet. I stood up, offered her her sword back, and watched her storm off without a word.
"So rude," I muttered, watching her go.
I was feeling stronger than ever. The system was working. But as I watched the silver moonlight fade, a thought crossed my mind.
If a dragon pledged loyalty to me... would I get a percentage of its power?
I shook my head. I'm no Targaryen. Maybe I'll just stick to training bears.