Martyn Lannister had lived his entire life in silk and sunlight. He was Kevan Lannister's kid, royalty in everything but name. Back home, if anyone so much as looked at him wrong, they had to worry about a "Rains of Castamere" situation happening to their whole family.
But right now, his fancy boots were gone. He was sprinting through the mud on raw, bleeding feet, stepping on gravel and wood chips without even feeling the sting. Every few seconds, he'd glance over his shoulder, his face a mask of pure, shaking terror. He looked like a rabbit with a pack of wolves on its heels.
The kid didn't get it. How did the Northmen get past the Golden Tooth? It was supposed to be impossible. But there were Northern riders everywhere, turning the camp into a slaughterhouse.
Martyn had managed to grab some clothes and a knight's sword before bolting into the dark. He figured if he could just find a ditch or a thick patch of woods, he could hide until morning. He knew this land; he knew where to crawl.
Then, a massive shadow stepped out from behind a tent.
Martyn froze. His face went through a whole cycle of emotions fear, cowardice, and finally, a desperate kind of "cornered rat" courage. He gripped his sword and let out a shaky roar: "HEAR ME ROAR!"
He lunged. In his head, he probably thought his name would save him. He figured the Northman would want a ransom, so he could afford to go down swinging. A "captured after a heroic struggle" story looked a lot better than "I gave up immediately."
I didn't move. I didn't even flinch. I just stood there in my black-painted plate armor and watched his blade come down.
Thud.
His sword hit my shoulder, but it felt like it struck a wall of solid air before sliding off the steel without leaving a scratch. My Magic Armor was working perfectly.
I didn't give him a second chance. I swung my battle-axe in a heavy, overhead arc.
CRACK.
The blade buried itself in his skull. Martyn didn't even make a sound. His body just crumpled into the mud, blood and grey matter leaking out into the dirt. His eyes were wide, frozen in a look of total disbelief.
"You Karstarks trying to win a trophy for 'Most Lannisters Murdered'?"
I looked up. Greatjon Umber was standing there, looking at the body with a mix of annoyance and regret.
"Look at that, kid," the Greatjon grumbled. "That Lannister right there was worth at least a thousand warhorses in trade. Now he's just a pile of worthless meat. You and your dad need to learn how to keep a 'living' gold mine when you find one."
Most Northern lords were poor enough that they saw Lannisters as literal winning lottery tickets. They weren't fast enough to get to the "VIPs" before the Karstarks did, and they were feeling the sting in their wallets.
I used my axe to finish the job, taking the kid's head in a few clean strokes. Then I picked up his gold-hilted sword and looked at the Greatjon. "Winning the war comes first, Lord Umber. If we lose, those 'warhorses' won't do us any good when we're all swinging from gallows."
"Instead of dreaming about ransom, you should be out there looting," I added. "This is Lannister country. Don't be shy."
"You little brat..." The Greatjon started, but Maege Mormont rode up before he could finish.
"Drop it, Jon," she snapped. "The kid was armed and resisting. Eddard did his job. If you want to get paid, go hunt down the recruits before they reach the hills."
The Greatjon snorted, but he didn't argue. He turned his horse and rode back into the chaos. Maege gave the corpse a pitying look, then looked at me. Ever since our talk at the tavern, she'd been a lot more supportive. She knew I'd saved her family's pride, and she'd already apologized to my dad. The rift was gone.
"Go round up the warhorses," Maege told her men. "Leave the recruits for the Umbers. We need the mounts."
Bear Island was broke. They needed the gear more than the prisoners. I gave her a nod and swung back into my saddle, ready to fill my "Soul Pool" with a few more kills.
The sun was up by the time the screaming stopped.
Stafford Lannister's ten thousand recruits had been decimated. Four thousand dead, several hundred trampled, and another two thousand captured by Lord Tytos Blackwood, who'd been waiting for the runners. Only a lucky few hundred had managed to vanish into the woods.
The North had lost less than a hundred guys. Most of those were just accidents guys falling off horses in the dark. Even Ser Stevron Frey had taken a tumble, but the old man was tough; he was already up and walking, trying to kiss Robb's ass over the victory.
Once the camp was cleared, the lords turned their eyes toward the nearby town: Oxcross.
We weren't as "burn everything" as the Mountain, but we weren't there for a friendly visit either. Robb gave the order: don't hurt the women or kids, and no rapes. Anything else? Fair game.
I wasn't interested in raiding chicken coops. I wanted the big prize. I led my squad, now a full ten-man unit straight to the local lord's manor. It was the only place in town with a wall worth mentioning.
I grabbed a tin megaphone from Doren and stood back at a safe distance from the three-meter-high wall.
"LISTEN UP IN THERE!" I yelled. "This town belongs to King Robb Stark now! If you walk out and drop your weapons, I'll personally guarantee your safety. You'll get the right to buy your freedom!"
While I was talking, my guys were getting ready. They were armored to the teeth double chainmail, leather under-layers, and full-face helmets.
Abel and Lando had officially hit [Northern Soldier] rank. They were noticeably bigger, stronger, and faster than a week ago. The other five were all [Descendants of the First Men] now. They looked like a professional hit squad.
They grabbed a heavy log and a set of kite shields and sprinted for the gate like a team of linebackers.
"Stafford Lannister is dead!" I kept shouting. "Martyn Lannister is dead! Your army is gone! You have no chance! Give it up!"
THUD.
The log slammed into the iron-studded wood.
The guards inside were panicking. They'd barely had time to get to the walls, let alone prep the boiling oil or the stones. The Northern cavalry had hit them way too fast.
"Fire!" I roared to my archers as heads popped up over the wall.
A rain of arrows hissed into the courtyard. I heard screams and the sound of heavy stones being dropped on the wrong side of the gate.
"Last chance!" I yelled through the megaphone. "If we have to break this door down, I'm letting my men have their way! There won't be anyone left to bury you!"
The ram team led by Abel went for a second charge. They were breathing like steam engines, their shields bristling with Lannister arrows.
Just as they were about to hit the wood again, the gate creaked open. A terrified old man stumbled out, holding a sword by the blade as he knelt in the mud.
"Mercy, Lord! We surrender!"
Abel and the guys tried to stop, but the momentum was too much. They tumbled over each other in a heap of steel and wood. Lando took a nasty hit to the shin, but he just gritted his teeth and stood up.
Oxcross was ours. And now, the real looting could begin.