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When news came that the Kingslayer was leading two thousand troops from the Westerlands in pursuit through the Maiden's Valley, the entire Western Army of the North exploded with excitement.
Up to this point, every judgment their commander had made regarding the enemy had proven entirely accurate. Under the leadership of the various noble lords, they had swiftly taken position in the high grounds of the Maiden's Valley, lying in wait as instructed.
Here, they would rest and conserve their strength for a day. Once the Lannister pursuers, exhausted from their relentless march, entered the trap, the Northern forces would charge from the heights and crush them beneath the hooves of Northern cavalry.
Clay had put immense thought into the deployment of forces throughout the Maiden's Valley.
In this battlefield of unique terrain, a well-considered arrangement of troops would allow their side to maximize its offensive power and bring the battle to a swift conclusion.
And a swift conclusion was essential. It would mean fewer casualties on his side. He commanded a little over five thousand cavalry, just short of six thousand. This force accounted for more than half of the North's available mounted troops. If they suffered heavy losses, it was uncertain when reinforcements could be gathered again.
He kept a few hundred soldiers in reserve, while Clay divided the remaining five thousand into four separate units.
Due to the narrow and winding terrain of the Maiden's Valley, the Lannister army would inevitably become stretched thin during their advance, with the vanguard far ahead and cut off from the rear.
But this raised a problem. If the front of the Lannister army nearly reached the exit while the rear had not yet entered the valley, then the trap Clay had meticulously set would be revealed too early and fail to close.
Thus, the most crucial aspect of this battle was not the fighting within the Maiden's Valley itself. Rather, it was how to ensure that all two thousand Lannister soldiers entered Clay's carefully prepared trap.
With this in mind, Clay prepared a two-part plan. First, they would delay engaging the enemy for as long as possible, waiting until the very moment when the Lannister troops were just about to emerge from the valley. At that moment, a massive force of cavalry would charge out, forcing them back inside.
As their swift march was suddenly interrupted and the troops in the rear continued to push forward, the Lannister formation would no longer remain a long, thin line. Instead, it would be squeezed into a swollen bottleneck.
That was when the second phase of Clay's plan would begin. One thousand cavalry, concealed outside the entrance of the valley, would launch a coordinated assault from all sides. Their objective was not to slaughter, but to drive the entire Lannister force into the Maiden's Valley.
With both the front and rear exits sealed, the two thousand Lannister troops would be packed tightly at the lowest point of the valley. That would be the moment to strike. It would be like shutting the gates to trap a dog—no, more accurately, shutting the gates to trap the lions.
A total of fifteen hundred men were assigned to the task of sealing the valley's entrances. The remaining thirty-five hundred were divided evenly and stationed on the high ground flanking the Maiden's Valley to the east and west.
Once the Northern troops responsible for closing off the valley completed their mission, the task of slaughtering the Lannisters would fall to those positioned above.
Clay's objective was to achieve a complete encirclement. This was not meant to be a simple rout. He could not risk leaving even a single path of retreat, even if doing so might have reduced the toll on his own side.
No matter what, he had to wipe out every last one of the Lannister cavalry in this engagement. If even one managed to escape and return to Riverrun, the consequences would be catastrophic.
Jaime Lannister had led two thousand soldiers to pursue them. That meant ten thousand men still remained camped outside Riverrun. If news of Clay's surprise attack reached the main Lannister camp, then as long as there was even one noble in the camp with a clear mind, they would immediately realize that infantry on the Riverlands' plains could never outrun cavalry.
As a result, the ten thousand Lannister troops would likely form ranks and prepare for a stand.
Once infantry formed defensive formations, combined with the superior equipment of the Lannister elite, the cost of a cavalry charge would skyrocket.
Clay could not place his hopes in the scattered remnants of the Riverlands' defeated army within the castle. He did not expect them to summon the courage for a counterattack at such a critical moment. And so, he prepared for the worst-case scenario. If those men merely stood atop the castle walls, watching in silence, then Clay's forces would be left to face the enemy alone.
To pit five thousand men against ten thousand who were already prepared and entrenched—Clay's intelligence would not allow him to entertain such folly.
"Lord Clay, everyone is in position. We're just waiting for Ser Brynden to lure the Lannister cavalry here."
Lord Glover, his longsword at his hip, climbed step by step up the slope to where Clay stood. This was the highest point in the Maiden's Valley and offered a commanding view of the entire battlefield.
In truth, Clay's sharp witcher's hearing had already alerted him to the lord's approach. Yet he waited until Lord Glover stood beside him before turning to greet the man entrusted with sealing the lions within their cage.
"My lord, thank you for your hard work. You've done well."
Clay smiled and nodded to show he had understood. In his heart, he was reviewing the entire plan over and over, thinking carefully about any possible point where something could go wrong.
Following Clay's gaze, Lord Glover looked out across the battlefield his young commander had so carefully arranged.
As he stared at Clay's back, the lord's expression grew complicated.
This youth was truly remarkable—an astonishing figure. At merely sixteen or seventeen years old, he was experiencing war for the first time, yet had already taken command of five thousand troops. What was more, he had earned the respect and obedience of seasoned warriors like themselves.
This young man had entered the castle of the Twins alone, at a time when the rest of them had been at a loss before its walls. With no outside help, relying solely on his own strength, he had broken through the gates and struck down its defenders.
Thanks to his actions, that rich prize of the Twins had been handed to House Manderly with ease, and not a single Northern lord present had dared utter a word in protest.
Now, facing an enemy force of twelve thousand, with the odds clearly against him, this youth showed no trace of the impulsiveness that should have accompanied his age. He did not recklessly drag them all into a headlong clash with the Lannisters.
Instead, under the watchful eyes of veteran warriors, he had revealed the vast ambition in his heart. He intended to swallow the entire twelve-thousand-strong Lannister army whole with only five thousand men.
At first, none of them had believed it was possible. But now, with word from Ser Brynden returning, it was impossible not to believe.
"Lord Clay, why are you so certain that the Kingslayer will pursue us? What if he turns back halfway?"
Clay did not turn around. His eyes remained fixed on the position of the Maiden's Valley. He had already prepared an answer for Lord Glover's question.
"My lord, I was actually always worried that the Lannister cavalry would stay near Riverrun and never come out. If that happened, all our planning would be for nothing."
"You see, the one we're dealing with is Jaime Lannister, proud and vain. For a man like him, who lives basking in the world's admiration, there are only two choices. He would either dismiss us completely, or pursue us relentlessly, unwilling to rest until he had taken a head he deemed worthy of his name and stature."
"He is Jaime Lannister. The hair on his head gleams like burnished gold. When someone like that is provoked by what he sees as nothing more than the pitiful remnants of Riverland forces, what do you think he would do?"
Lord Glover understood now. He picked up the thread of Clay's words.
"For the sake of his own honor, and that of House Lannister, he will not let Ser Brynden and his men get away."
"Exactly," Clay said with a nod. "That is the part I have wagered everything on. Even if I were to tell him my name, at most it would make him a little more cautious. But even then, he would still choose to charge in and crush us. That would be his answer."
"A proud lion would never allow mere ants like us to tarnish his dignity."
Clay no longer wished to waste words on this matter. He finally turned from the view, a faint smile on his lips as he looked toward Lord Glover.
"Come. Let us go down. My lord, please return to your position. I shall take the vanguard in this most dangerous frontal assault. I will hold back the Lannister charge. As for closing the gates of the valley, that task must fall to you. Do not let even a single Lannister escape."
"Rest assured, Lord Clay!" Glover replied firmly.
…
Jaime Lannister felt a faint unease. They had been chasing this bothersome cavalry force for an entire day and night, yet the riders always remained just within sight.
Whenever the Lannister host stopped to rest, the Riverland horsemen stopped too. Whenever the host prepared to resume the chase, the enemy would mount up at once. All throughout, they maintained a distance of no more than one or two miles.
Some of the enemy's heavily wounded had already succumbed during the long retreat, falling from their saddles as their bodies gave out. But unfortunately, by the time Jaime and his riders reached them, none were left alive to speak.
Perhaps their injuries had simply been too grave. Combined with the fall from a galloping horse, by the time they were found, they had already breathed their last.
So the pursuit continued. On the evening of the second day, the mysterious Riverland cavalry entered a narrow mountain pass.
And it was at that moment Jaime Lannister sensed something even more troubling. The enemy's horses were clearly slowing down, their pace faltering despite the riders' attempts to keep them going.
The hooves were still moving, but it was obvious—the horses were at the end of their strength.
"You lads of the West, those damned Riverlanders are finished! Charge, tear them apart!" Jaime shouted, seizing the opportunity that seemed to have finally come.
With his long red cloak billowing behind him and clad in shining red and gold armor, he led the charge into the mouth of the valley, his personal guard surrounding him.
Behind him, two thousand Lannister soldiers roared in excitement.
Damn it—after two days of chasing, they had finally cornered those wretched Riverland fools.
The soldiers, their frustration simmering after hours of fruitless pursuit, now saw a chance to vent their fury. Some had already drawn the long swords at their waists and were charging into the narrow valley alongside their commanders.
Sure enough, just beyond the pass, the Riverland cavalry seemed too exhausted to flee any farther. Perhaps resigned to their fate, they had turned their horses to face the oncoming enemy, clearly prepared for a final stand.
That was what Jaime's guards believed, at least. But Jaime, as the commander, was more perceptive than that.
Though still galloping forward on horseback, his keen eyes had already taken note of the narrow exit at the far end of the valley, beyond the enemy cavalry.
Why would they choose to make their last stand here, of all places?
This terrain, this narrow path, offered them no advantage for a retreat. Unless… unless they never intended to flee in the first place.
The thoughts in his mind suddenly connected like lightning arcing through the clouds. All at once, the vague sense of wrongness that had haunted him became clear.
This place was a narrow valley, with tight entrances at both ends. That could mean only one thing—if enemy soldiers lay in ambush atop the cliffs, then this place would become the grave of his two thousand knights.
His instincts screamed that something was wrong, but before he could even give the order to retreat, the vanguard of his host had already collided with the opposing cavalry in a brutal clash.
And in the next moment, the deep, thunderous sound of war horns echoed from every direction. Jaime stared in horror as a cavalry force, one he had never seen before, poured in through the far end of the valley.
Though he did not recognize the men, he knew the banner they bore—
A grey direwolf, mid-roar, flying against the wind.
In that instant, every hair on Jaime Lannister's body stood on end.
Northern cavalry? This was an ambush.
But he had no time to think or even to shout orders. The leading edge of the Northern charge was already less than twenty paces away.
There was no room to escape. No time to flee. He would have to fight—to survive, he would need to kill.
"My lord! It's a trap! Let us get you out of here!"
His guards, their faces drenched with sweat, were already pulling at the reins of his horse, trying to turn him around and lead him to safety.
"Fools!"
Jaime Lannister roared, shoving aside the overzealous guard. He pointed back toward the narrow mouth of the valley, shouting furiously,
"Our riders are packed in behind us. Do you think we can charge against our own men and force our way out?"
The guard fell silent, clearly realizing the truth in his lord's words. But after a moment of grim hesitation, he asked,
"Then what shall we do, my lord?"
Jaime gave no verbal reply. Instead, he drew the fine, masterfully crafted longsword at his waist, the one adorned with the snarling lion's head upon its hilt.
There was no longer any option.
If they were to survive, it would be through blood and steel, carving a path out with their own hands.
…
"Hurry! Sound the horns! Begin the attack!"
Standing atop the southern ridge of the Maiden's Vale, Lord Glover stood watch, listening intently. When he heard the deep, harsh sound of horns rising from within the valley, he knew the battle had begun.
From his vantage point, he could see clearly that the Lannister army, two thousand strong, was still pushing its way into the narrow pass. At the tail end, a group of about three hundred soldiers lagged behind, their formation resembling the tip of a lion's tail exposed outside the valley.
Recalling the strategy that Clay had assigned to him, Lord Glover could not help but admire the man's seasoned grasp of warfare. Though "seasoned" hardly seemed a fitting word for someone of Clay Manderly's youthful age, his commands showed experience and foresight beyond his years.
There was no more time to hesitate. With one thousand cavalrymen gathered and ready under his command, Lord Glover knew his duty. Now was the moment to fulfill Clay's orders—to close the final gap in the encirclement, sealing the fate of the enemy.
Outside the valley, the Lannister soldiers were still unaware of what had transpired ahead. They continued to push forward, squeezed tightly into the narrow mouth of Maiden's Vale, their golden armor gleaming faintly under the morning light.
Then, without warning, the same heavy, hoarse horn call sounded again—this time from behind them.
A moment later, a thunderous rumble of hooves erupted from the dense woods on both sides. From the tree line, a massive wedge of cavalry burst forth in a sweeping arc, charging straight at the Lannister rear.
"Cavalry! We are under attack!"
One of the Lannister officers, maintaining his composure, managed to shout the warning. But the trouble was that cavalry units were entirely different from infantry. Once clustered together, it was nearly impossible for them to turn swiftly and face a sudden threat.
What followed was a scene almost bordering on the comical. Mounted knights flailed atop their steeds, desperately trying to rein in their warhorses and twist them around. But by the time the northern riders came thundering close, most of the Lannister horses were still facing the wrong way—offering nothing to the enemy but their hindquarters.
Though the Lannister cavalry were known for their fine armor and discipline, in that moment, caught off guard, robbed of momentum, and turned in the wrong direction, they stood no chance against the savage onslaught of the northern horsemen.
Within moments, the small patch of gold and crimson guarding the valley's entrance was engulfed by the storming tide of grey. It looked like a lone island being swallowed by the sea. When the last banner bearing the golden lion on a red field fell into the dust, Lord Glover burst into laughter.
He laughed not just from triumph, but from certainty—for he knew:
This battle, was already won.
..
..
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[Chapter End's]
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