The walls of Ashemark were high and thick, like the shell of an armored tortoise. Lord Leo of Golden Tooth was the warhammer that the Mountain had brought along to smash through that shell.
Even if Lord Leo had sensed something midway and refused to cooperate with the Mountain, it wouldn't have mattered.
That's right, The Mountain would make him open the gates of Ashemark.
They had rested at the source of the river precisely so they could arrive here under cover of darkness. Only in the shadows of night could the Mountain hide his enormous frame. Even if Lord Leo hadn't suggested resting in Ashemark or meeting with Lord Damon, the Mountain would have forced him to do so anyway!
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Lord Leo stood stunned as he watched the Mountain charge straight at Lord Damon, greatsword raised.
By the time he snapped out of it, Clegane's twenty-two riders had already stormed across the drawbridge like a gust of wind sweeping away fallen leaves, surging into Ashemark.
Only twenty-two riders, but under the Mountain's lead, they surged with the momentum of two hundred, two thousand, twenty thousand.
Their momentum was overwhelming.
The Mountain thundered in like a charging warhorse. Lord Damon was so terrified that he nearly fell off his horse.
His guards, completely unprepared, paled the moment the Mountain appeared. His voice boomed like thunder, startling men and horses alike. Several mounts reared and bolted, throwing the formation into chaos.
As the Mountain charged forward like a monstrous beast, Lord Damon and his steed spun in place, frozen in fear.
The chaos had the perfect effect.
Several guards, though knowing full well they were no match, still rushed forward in a desperate attempt to stop him.
One drew his sword and charged, but before he could reach the Mountain, a small black arrow whistled through the air and struck his throat. He tumbled from his horse, dead before he hit the ground. The Mountain's sword came down a moment later, cleaving through a panicked horse in a single swing.
Arrows whistled again and again. Three more knights cried out and crashed to the ground, lifeless.
Julie Clegane's compact crossbow was a terrifyingly effective weapon for night raids and close combat.
Lord Damon's heart shattered with fear.
He finally turned his horse around. In reality, it had only been a few seconds, but to him, it felt like an eternity. His guards, regaining some measure of composure, rallied with grim resolve to stand between their lord and the monster that had surged out of some ancient hell, The Mountain.
The Mountain swept his greatsword in wide, brutal arcs. The reach of the blade, combined with his arm length, gave him more than three meters of killing range. In his hands, the two-handed greatsword swung like a toy knife, moving effortlessly and without mercy. In an instant, he cut down five men.
Two terrified horses galloped toward the drawbridge. The Mountain punched one and kicked the other, sending them tumbling into the moat below with a massive splash.
Dozens of city guards stood frozen atop the walls, staring in shock as if paralyzed by dark sorcery.
The attack had come too suddenly. Most of the wall guards had just been roused from sleep, completely disoriented by the abrupt chaos.
After all, there hadn't been a war in sixteen years. Who still took guard duty seriously? None of the soldiers at Ashemark's gates had the mindset, or the training, for wartime defense.
The Mountain killed with terrifying efficiency, one man, two men with each swing, hacking and slashing without pause. Lord Damon, trembling all over, abandoned all thoughts of resistance. He kicked his horse into a full gallop.
Then came a crushing pain in his back, as if struck by a giant hammer. Darkness swallowed his vision. He felt a great force lift him off the saddle. As his body rose, weightless and spinning, icy night wind filled his nose and mouth.
Death had never felt so close, so real.
Is he really going to kill me?
How could he dare?
If I'd known the Mountain would truly kill for real, I'd never have taken those lands from the Westerlings...
But the world has no medicine for regret.
Lord Damon passed out in midair before he ever hit the ground, fainting from sheer terror.
Medical science says the body has a self-preservation response when overwhelmed by fear: unconsciousness.
It's a form of false death.
Boom!
He crashed onto the street with a heavy thud.
Luckily, because he had fainted before impact, he felt nothing at all. At least the pain was spared.
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Lord Leo stood at the drawbridge, frozen in the night.
The scene played over and over in his mind.
Like a pack of hungry wolves, the Clegane riders had charged across the bridge. Swords, axes, bows, and crossbows slashed and pierced through the guards like a scythe through grass. Some soldiers hadn't even drawn their weapons before being shot in the throat. Others, half-dressed and unarmored, were butchered on the spot by Dunsen, Polliver, and Chiswick, who hacked and slashed their way into the city. Blood sprayed. Limbs flew. Screams mingled with the rush of the river.
It was a massacre, too brutal to watch.
The sound of blades slicing through bone echoed again and again. That sickening crunch churned Lord Leo's stomach and sent chills down his spine.
These men were ruthless, every strike carried the fury of vengeance.
When it seemed Lord Damon would escape, the Mountain seized Chiswick mid-swing and, with a roar, hurled him like a spring-loaded bolt. Chiswick flew straight into the fleeing lord, slamming him off his horse.
The Mountain was as brutal to his own men as he was to his enemies.
This wasn't a military raid, this was a slaughter, a sacking, a storm by bandits with no regard for mercy.
Could the Mountain truly intend to kill Lord Damon?
Lord Damon was the blood cousin of Lord Tywin himself. Half of Tywin's noble blood came from Damon's family.
Lord Leo could hardly believe it. His eyes ached from staring, unable to blink, as if cursed by dark magic.
Wooooooo!
A horn blared from the city walls, an enemy attack!
Moments later, horns echoed from the north, west, and east sides of the city as well.
Throughout Ashemark, dogs howled. Shouts rang out. Chaos exploded into motion.
The city's normal garrison was over a thousand strong. When the alert horn sounded, they could quickly rally three thousand men.
Lord Leo heard the chaos swelling within the city, the jumble of confused shouts and rushing footsteps. He felt utterly paralyzed, frozen to his core.
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Chiswick rolled to his feet, blood-spattered but grinning ear to ear.
The Mountain strode up to him. "Are you hurt?"
"Nope!" Chiswick barked a laugh, his face and armor soaked in gore, looking like a demon out of hell.
The Mountain swept past like a vengeful god and grabbed Lord Damon's unconscious body with one hand.
"Anyone injured?" he barked.
No one answered.
Maybe some were, but none spoke up.
Only harsh, panting breaths filled the blood-soaked air.
Twenty-two bloodied men stood tall, their eyes glowing like wild beasts, their faces twisted in battle frenzy.
"Good." The Mountain nodded. Then he took a deep breath and roared:
"Addam Marbrand! I'm the Mountain! Get your ass out here!"
His voice thundered across Ashemark, echoing down the streets, reverberating in the dark:
Addam Marbrand! Get out here! Here! Out! Out...!
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