The sun blazed mercilessly overhead.
After regrouping with Steward Rossell and the others, Gawen's company rode southwest from Rose Avenue, traveling for nearly two hours.
He pulled gently on the reins, halting his horse. "That's the village ahead?"
A Crabb retainer responded, "Yes, my lord. The Sleepless Bandits have been holed up there for several days now."
The Sleepless Bandits were a notorious gang active near the borders of the Crownlands, Riverlands, and the Reach. Since they attacked only by night, they were also called the Midnight Marauders.
Gawen fixed his gaze on the distant hamlet, then turned to Anguy. "Is now the best time to strike?"
Anguy bowed. "Yes, my lord. They only return at dawn. Right now, they'll be at their weakest."
Bandits were nothing if not wary. Gawen knew that any closer approach would risk detection by their sentries.
Even night-loving killers didn't forget to post lookouts by day.
Gawen paused, then said, "The ground around the village is too open. We'll be spotted the moment we move in."
Mondon and Anguy exchanged a look. Mondon gave a subtle nod—your turn.
Anguy inclined his head slightly and stepped forward. "My lord, if I go alone, they won't see me coming."
Gawen arched a brow and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Then the raid is yours to lead. Mondon will support you."
A swell of pride and gratitude filled Anguy's chest. He nodded, eyes firm.
As Anguy and Mondon departed with the bulk of the Crabb troops, Gawen's newly appointed squire, Martel, fidgeted beside him, clearly eager to be included.
Noticing the intensity of his gaze, Gawen frowned. "Martel, do not forget a squire's duty."
Mondon and Anguy were his sworn guards—battle-tested men.
Martel bit back his frustration. He dared not protest aloud.
He was the son of a Crabb household knight, and tradition had kept him penned up at home—his main duty had been siring heirs. He had never seen real battle.
Still, Gawen trusted in the boy's training. Martel had been groomed from youth, and the lad had potential.
As a vassal's son, he deserved some protection. Gawen wouldn't send him into the fray until he wore a full suit of steel.
Right now, though, Martel was like a colt fresh from the stable—wild and overeager.
Gawen had his own ways of cooling such fire. The boy's spirit needed tempering.
Anguy and Mondon finalized their plan quickly. Without delay, Anguy crept alone toward the village.
For most men, sneaking through open ground in broad daylight would be folly. But for Anguy—a natural-born bowman—it was child's play.
The bandit gang, fifty men at most, had posted only a few sentries.
Anguy watched patiently, noting two guards along their flank—one hidden, one exposed. One crouched under a tree, the other up in its branches. A clever pair.
Thwip. Thwip.
Two arrows flew as one.
They pierced both throats cleanly. The bodies hit the earth with a pair of muffled thuds.
From his hidden post, Mondon saw the signal—Anguy's flag fluttering in the breeze.
He lowered his visor and made a quick sign.
Through the slits of his helm, he surged forward, leading the charge. His hulking frame moved with startling speed, his girth doing little to hinder him.
The men following behind exchanged glances, unable to help admiring the twin slabs of meat bouncing ahead of them.
Meanwhile, Gawen had led a dozen men to the banks of a nearby river.
He instructed Martel to water the horses and sat down beneath a tree to rest.
Thanks to the royal hunt, most bandit crews had scattered. No one was foolish enough to trouble the Queen's own escort.
Most of Gawen's men had learned to ride—but they were still infantry at heart. Mounted footmen, really.
Part of the patrol expansion had been for training—field riding drills disguised as scouting.
Wider sweeps meant more encounters. Bandit trails had become common.
Gawen had ordered Anguy to track one group in particular. That decision had borne fruit. Now, they had precise information on several bands lurking in the region.
At times, Gawen wondered if he'd "opened the map" too early.
He had a bad feeling about Highgarden. It would not be an easy ride.
Especially not after their courier arrived at the royal hunt—unbidden and too soon. His gut told him something was off.
Perhaps he'd been too eager. Too fast.
With all this fresh intelligence on bandits, it made sense to slow his pace. Cull a few of these raiders. Protect the people. Seize a few good horses.
According to Anguy, the bandits had some fine ones.
Highgarden was a rose reaching for the Queen's crown.
And Gawen was riding there as Queen Cersei's chief envoy. A peaceful welcome would have been the real surprise.
No—this unease, this resistance, this friction… this was the norm.
And that, strangely, gave him peace.
He smiled.
Beginnings are always hard.
Ahem… so are middles. And ends. But you get used to it.
CRACK.
Mondon's massive frame crashed through the wooden door, splintering it in a single blow.
The sheer force of it stunned the others for a moment.
Even Anguy was impressed.
There's a reason he eats all that meat, he thought.
The squad's spirits, already high, soared even higher.
.
.
.
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