The east bank of the Torrentine River bordered the Red Mountains, and the terrain was far more rugged and uneven than the west bank.
Arthur led his army from High Hermitage, picking up the garrison from Vulture's Roost along the way. It took over an hour to reach the vicinity of the wildling encampment.
The wildling camp was situated on high ground in the triangle formed by the stone bridge, Vulture's Roost, and the river. It was a wooden stockade, built in the rough, primitive style typical of the mountain clans.
Although the Vulture King had lost his aerial reconnaissance, he had intensified his ground scouting in recent days, especially around the stone bridge.
When Arthur led his army across the river, the Vulture King abandoned the siege of Vulture's Roost and retreated in an orderly fashion back to his camp.
By the time Arthur's forces arrived at the perimeter of the camp, the scouts from both sides had already skirmished several times.
The majority of the wildlings stood outside the camp, gathered near the gate. A contingent of archers manned the wooden watchtowers and the palisade battlements.
The main body of wildlings stood with their backs to the camp gate, flanked by sharpened wooden stakes serving as crude chevaux de frise.
However, they had no formation to speak of. They were clustered by tribe, standing in distinct groups, but due to their sheer numbers, they looked like a sprawling black mass.
"Ooh! Ah! Ah!"
The wildlings beat their shields and thumped their bare chests, letting out unintelligible roars to boost their morale or intimidate the enemy.
Compared to the wildlings, the army of Starfall appeared disciplined and orderly.
Starfall's forces were arrayed with spearmen on the flanks. In the center, shield-bearing household guards in leather armor were mixed with more spearmen. Behind them stood two ranks of foot archers, calmly checking their bowstrings, arrows rattling in the quivers at their hips.
Under the afternoon sun of Dorne, the polished spear tips and the bronze discs on their armor reflected a blinding light, making the army look like a giant steel hedgehog.
"They have no intention of attacking us. Are they planning to defend?"
Arthur, commanding the cavalry on the far right of Ser Williams' Right Wing, observed the high ground. The wildlings showed no sign of charging down.
Originally, he, Ser Clegg, and the other commanders had assumed the Vulture King would ambush them on the road, launch a surprise attack, or at least retreat into the Red Mountains.
Thus, their advance had been extremely slow and cautious, wary of ambushes.
But to everyone's surprise, the wildlings had chosen to hold their ground.
It was as if, faced with a yes-or-no question, the Vulture King had chosen "maybe." It caught Arthur and everyone else off guard.
"Not fighting, not running, but defending a broken wooden stockade. Why?"
"The Vulture King managed to unite the tribes of the Red Mountains to die for him; he shouldn't be brainless."
Arthur's mind raced. He thought of the role he had assigned to Vulture's Roost. Is the Vulture King trying to hold out for reinforcements, to pull a Hammer and Anvil on us?
But who are his reinforcements? Who is his hammer?
Arthur recalled the anomalies regarding House Blackmont mentioned in Lady Alerie's letter.
Connecting all the dots, Arthur felt even more certain that House Blackmont was up to something.
Realizing the critical point, Arthur did not order his army to charge uphill against the wildling camp. Instead, he waited for the entire army to deploy into a solid formation and make full preparations.
He waited until the archers had taken all their arrows from their quivers and planted them in the ground for rapid fire.
"My Lord, the archers are ready. Shall we commence the attack as planned?" A runner approached him.
Arthur nodded. "Commence the attack as planned."
The Captain of the Guard commanding the archers received the order and shouted, "Archers, nock!"
In the center of the formation, the two ranks of archers nocked their arrows.
"Light!"
Levies standing beside the archers lit torches. The archers dipped their arrows, already soaked in oil, into the flames.
"Loose!"
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
A rain of fire arrows arced toward the wooden stockade on the high ground. The camp, built entirely of timber, was perfect tinder.
"Quick! Get water! Put out the fire! The despicable Dornishmen!"
"Charge down with me! Fight them! We have no retreat!"
"Archers, return fire! Return fire!"
Watching the high ground descend into chaos after three volleys of fire arrows, Arthur saw that the tribal chieftains, already segregated, were making inconsistent decisions.
Some led their clansmen in a reckless charge straight at the Starfall lines. Some scrambled to fetch water to douse the flames. Others said nothing and quietly retreated.
"Pity your anvil isn't fireproof."
Arthur sighed inwardly, then shouted his command: "Left and Right Wings, hold formation and advance steadily! Cavalry, follow me!"
Arthur had Wick and Vic relay the orders, then spurred his horse to flank the high ground, intending to cut off the wildlings' retreat.
This was a rare opportunity. He wanted to settle the wildling problem of the Red Mountains once and for all in a single battle.
Woooo—
The Starfall trumpeters blew their horns, and the entire battle line pressed forward.
Simultaneously, several bands of wildlings, numbering in the hundreds, roared and charged down from the high ground under the leadership of their chieftains. Their momentum was formidable.
Under the cover of sporadic arrow fire from the camp, these wildlings struck the spear wall like a giant's fist.
The advance of the Starfall army halted instantly.
"For Starfall!" The armored household guards in the front rank braced their shields against the wildling charge, roaring as they hacked forward with their swords.
Behind them, the peasant levies turned pale at the sight of the ferocious wildlings. They merely followed the simplest commands of their officers: Forward! Thrust!
Some terrified levies even closed their eyes, gripping their spears with white-knuckled hands and thrusting blindly, pushed forward by the men behind them.
Once the army withstood the initial momentum of the downhill charge, the wildlings, relying only on bloodlust and fury, faltered. They were soon surrounded and broken by the disciplined ranks and superior armor of the Starfall soldiers.
However, this gave the Vulture King and the main body of wildlings on the high ground time to react.
Doooo-doooo-doooo—
The wildling war horn sounded.
Abandoning the burning camp, the Vulture King led the massed wildlings behind him in a tidal wave down the slope, charging straight at the Starfall lines below.
"He's going all in?" Arthur heard the horn and saw the wildlings pouring down the hill. His eyes grew grave, and he abandoned his plan to cut off their retreat.
If the main battle line collapsed, everything would be for naught.
He hadn't expected the Vulture King to have the courage for a desperate, do-or-die gamble.
Sure enough, anyone called a 'King' has some grit.
Arthur wheeled his horse around, preparing to lead the cavalry to strike the flank of the charging wildlings.
The sheer number of wildlings, boosted by the momentum of the downhill charge, hit hard. The Vulture King himself, wearing his crown, joined the charge.
Facing the ferocious onslaught of the wildlings, the Right Wing—composed mostly of vassal levies, fewer in number and lower in quality—began to buckle and retreat.
"Hold the line! For Starfall!" Ser Williams, commander of the Right Wing, roared.
He took a battle-axe blow on his shield from a wildling in front of him, then thrust his sword into the massive man's neck.
The wildling dropped his axe, clutching his throat as blood sprayed, and fell to his knees in agony.
Glancing at the endless tide of wildlings surging forward, Ser Williams raised his shield and swung his sword, shouting continuously to rally his men.
Despite Ser Williams' valiant efforts, the banner of the Right Wing was steadily being pushed back.
Especially when the Vulture King led all the wildling cavalry—about sixty riders—in a charge from the high ground directly into the Right Wing's formation. The Right Wing began to rout.