Firmhold lay on the eastern side of the Red Lake Forest. It had once been the territory of House Osgrey, but with the family's decline and the final Osgrey heir dying of illness, the land had fallen into the hands of House Rowan.
However, this place was quite far from Goldengrove, House Rowan's seat, so its care was entrusted to House Webber of Coldmoat.
Unfortunately, House Webber was far more interested in managing their own Coldmoat and paid little attention to Firmhold. Over time, the castle fell into neglect, and only a handful of refugees came to live there.
Though Firmhold was abandoned, that did not mean it was worthless. In fact, to smugglers, Firmhold's location was exceptionally advantageous. It sat right at the tail end of the Westerlands mountain range, where a secret mountain path could bypass the Reach's border patrols and lead straight to the outskirts of Cornfield in the Westerlands.
Only veteran smugglers knew of this hidden route. To ensure it remained undiscovered and unobstructed, they even sent people to disguise themselves as refugees and occupy Firmhold.
But now, those smugglers posing as refugees had all been hanged from wooden stakes within the castle. A force of three hundred soldiers had crammed this not-so-large stronghold to the brim.
From their equipment alone, it was easy to tell that this three-hundred-man force consisted of one hundred regular troops and two hundred irregulars.
The regular soldiers were more uniformly equipped. Each wore leather armor and carried various weapons, and they had a dedicated logistics unit providing food and supplies.
The irregulars, on the other hand, wore all manner of clothing. Some had thickened their garments to increase protection, while others had simply strung wooden planks together as makeshift armor. Their weapons were just as varied—mostly wooden-shaft spears, with a few pitchforks and sickles mixed in. Aside from a handful of squad leaders, almost no one carried a sword. Clearly, they were ordinary farmers hastily conscripted.
Although this force had deliberately put away its banners, the conspicuous sigils worn by some of the knights made it obvious they hailed from House Crane of Red Lake.
At this moment, several people emerged from the castle's only well-preserved hall. All of them were knights, clad in exquisite plate armor. Most of them walked with chins held high, looking like a flock of aggressive roosters.
Among them, two figures stood out in particular. One was the tallest of the group, surrounded by the others at the center—clearly the commander of this force. The other followed slightly behind. He was the only one not wearing armor, and his height was second only to the tallest man. But those details were secondary. What truly drew the eye were the three beast-claw scars slashing across his face, from his forehead, through his brow ridge, down to his cheek. Those scars gave his otherwise handsome features a distinctly fierce edge.
This force was none other than the army organized by House Crane to suppress the bandits of the Red Lake Forest, and the man leading them was the renowned Ser Jorl Flowers of House Crane.
Originally, this force should have been working together with House Rowan of Goldengrove and House Oakheart of Old Oak to encircle and eliminate the bandits hiding in the Red Lake Forest. Instead, they had come to the forest's edge and taken up residence in Firmhold—a move that left many baffled.
Not only outsiders were confused. Even the knights and squires at Ser Jorl's side were puzzled. During the march, their trust in Jorl had kept them from asking questions. But after settling here, two full days had passed, and at last someone could no longer suppress their doubts.
"My lord, how long are we going to stay here?" a knight's squire asked with concern. "Shouldn't we be inside the Red Lake Forest right now, hunting down those Dragon remnants?"
Hearing this, Linde, who was walking at the back of the group, cast a meaningful glance at the squire. Clearly, the squire's choice to call the bandits who had fled here "Dragon remnants" was deliberate. Compared to suppressing bandits, hunting down Dragon remnants was far more likely to earn the attention and favor of the new king, Robert Baratheon—and the merits gained in the process would naturally stand out far more.
The squire's little scheme did not escape Jorl's eyes. Yet he had no particular objection to it. In fact, from the moment he heard that the Red Lake Forest bandits had claimed to be Dragon remnants themselves, he sensed something was off. There was no doubt that, before a powerful new king, they needed to do something—to please him, to demonstrate their stance, and at the same time ensure the king would have no excuse to come after them.
"Our purpose here is to suppress bandits," Ser Jorl said, glancing at his squire and giving a simple reply.
Still, those around him failed to see the connection between staying at Firmhold and suppressing bandits. One by one, they remained utterly bewildered.
Seeing this, Jorl couldn't help but sigh. With patience, he explained, "If you were surrounded by enemies, and suddenly discovered a gap in the encirclement, what would you do?"
The squires exchanged looks. One of them tried to answer, "I would send people to check whether that gap is dangerous. If it isn't, I'd lead the men to break out through it. My lord, is that correct?"
Jorl didn't answer directly. He merely nodded slightly and continued, "Now imagine you break out, only to find that all other routes are extremely dangerous. There is only one path that is relatively safe—one that completely avoids the enemy's blockade, allows you to move quickly to safety, and is extremely hidden, known by very few people. What would you do then?"
"Of course we would—" someone immediately blurted out, but stopped halfway, suddenly realizing something. He changed his tone and said, "You mean those Dragon remnants will break out through Firmhold?"
Jorl nodded, no longer holding back. "Near Firmhold is a hidden smuggling mountain path. It runs through the Westerlands mountains, neatly bypassing the areas around Red Lake, and leads straight into the hills outside Cornfield. Among those bandits, there should be quite a few smugglers. They definitely know about this route, and they will certainly use it to escape the encirclement."
Hearing this, the knights grew excited. Clearly, this was the best opportunity for them to earn merit. Still, one knight voiced his concern, "I remember those bandits numbered several hundred. Even if they lost some while fleeing, they would still outnumber us. And among them are many defeated soldiers from the Dragon's side—men with real combat experience. With just our numbers, can we really stop them?"
At these words, the excitement on the knights' faces gradually faded, replaced by solemn expressions. They all wanted to make a name for themselves—but only if they could survive the battlefield.
After thinking for a moment, someone suggested, "Coldmoat of House Webber isn't far from here. Shouldn't we ask House Webber for reinforcements?"
This proposal was quickly met with approval. The knights all turned to Jorl in unison, waiting for his order.
Yet Jorl said nothing. He merely gestured for them to follow and continued inspecting the various units within the castle, as if he hadn't heard the suggestion at all.
Jorl's reaction left the knights confused, but none of them dared to question him further. They could only follow in silence.
Before long, the group finished inspecting all the units. Jorl issued his orders, and before they returned to the hall, he instructed his squires to each take a detachment and survey the surrounding terrain, looking for suitable locations to intercept fleeing bandits.
However, just before dismissing them, Jorl called out to Linde—who was also about to leave. When only the two of them remained in the castle hall, Jorl asked, "What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Linde froze for a moment, not immediately understanding.
"About asking House Webber for reinforcements," Jorl added.
Linde hesitated briefly. "Is that really something you should be asking me?"
"I want to hear your opinion," Jorl said, not letting him off.
Linde didn't mince words. "I think we don't need to ask for reinforcements. House Webber will take the initiative to send support. The timing should be later today."
Hearing this, Jorl, who had been slumped in his chair, straightened up, his interest clearly piqued. "Explain. Why would House Webber take the initiative?"
"It's simple—to wash away suspicion," Linde gave a blunt answer, then elaborated. "After those bandits robbed a merchant caravan belonging to House Rowan, they passed straight through House Webber's lands, yet House Webber made no attempt to intercept them, allowing them to enter the Red Lake Forest. Anyone could sense something was wrong there. That's why, even though House Webber is so close to the Red Lake Forest, none of their men were included in the force House Rowan assembled this time. Clearly, House Rowan of Goldengrove no longer trusts this vassal family. If House Webber doesn't want House Rowan to settle accounts afterward, they have no choice but to be proactive in this bandit suppression—to be more active, more enthusiastic, even to the point of sparing no manpower or resources to wipe out the bandits completely, leaving no excuse for others to attack them later."
Jorl was genuinely surprised by how detailed Linde's answer was, though he concealed his emotions well and continued to ask, "Is that all?"
Linde fell silent for a moment, then continued, "The reason you chose to station us at Firmhold, aside from it being the bandits' only escape route, is also to create an illusion for House Webber—that you were sent by House Rowan to monitor them. That way, they'll work even harder to assist us in suppressing the bandits."
At this moment, Jorl could no longer hide his astonishment. He looked at Linde with an odd expression, as if staring at a monster rather than a young man of fifteen or sixteen.
Without question, Linde's performance far exceeded what was normal. Let alone a hunter who had never left a small village like White Village—even a maester trained at the Citadel or an experienced old knight might not possess such vision and analytical ability.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Jorl asked again, "Do you think House Webber has ties to those bandits?"
Linde shook his head. "Whether there are ties or not doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that House Webber must prove there are none."
"But I want to know whether there are," Jorl said.
Linde pondered briefly, then replied, "Personally, I think those bandits were secretly supported by House Webber. They just didn't expect the bandits to be so bold as to rob a caravan of House Rowan—and even kill an important member of the family. I suspect that when the bandits passed through House Webber's lands as they usually did, they kept some things hidden, deliberately not telling House Webber the truth, trying to drag them down together. By the time House Webber got the news and realized something was wrong, it was already too late."
"Who taught you all this?" Jorl stared at Linde. "This isn't knowledge a hunter should have."
"That's thanks to Old Dad," Linde said calmly. Of course, he wasn't about to tell Jorl that he came from another world overflowing with information and knowledge, nor was he going to spout things like blessings from the Warrior among the Seven. Saying such things to someone like Jorl Flowers would only breed suspicion. So he attributed everything to Old Dad Bain—something he and Bain had already agreed upon.
Jorl seemed to accept the explanation. "It seems he truly values you. Not only did he find you an excellent swordmaster, he even hired scholars to teach you. Looks like he placed all the dreams he failed to realize in his youth onto you."
"Dreams?" Linde asked curiously. "My lord, could you tell me about Old Dad Bain?"
"He never told you?" Jorl asked in return.
Linde shook his head.
"I don't know much myself—just some rumors," Jorl said, leaning back in his chair as he recalled. "Back then, Old Bain and I both took part in the campaign where the Mad King's Kingsguard crushed the Kingswood Brotherhood. I served at Ser Barristan's side and never had direct contact with him. But on the battlefield, I saw him lead his spear unit straight through the Brotherhood's defensive line, forcing them to retreat and ultimately causing their entire front to collapse. In the eyes of others, the stars of that battle were the famous knights—the ones who truly decided its outcome. But in my view, the key force that influenced that battle was Old Bain's spear unit."
"So Old Dad really had such a glorious record?" Linde was genuinely surprised. During this time together, Bain hadn't seemed particularly ordinary, but he hadn't struck Linde as legendary either. Now, it seemed he had underestimated Bain's past. Just participating in the campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood was already a legendary experience—let alone earning merit in the battle.
...
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"Game of Thrones: Dragon Prince"
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(End Chapter)