The main Northern army moved out, leaving Earl Tai Tuo Si with a thousand cavalrymen and nearly three thousand captives to attack Lannisport. Their mission was simple yet brutal: continue to confuse and distract Davos Lannister while drawing the attention of the city's defenders.
Eddard had assigned this task to the Lord of Raventree Hall, not for any strategic glory, but because it involved expendable captives. The method was cruel but effective: arrows would force these prisoners to carry sandbags and fill the defensive ditches along the tunnels beneath Lannisport's walls. Any who refused were executed immediately, serving as a stark warning to the others. Yet even those who obeyed the orders faced certain death, as the defenders on the city walls would shoot mercilessly at anyone working below. In either case, survival was impossible.
Robb had protested this approach, arguing it was too cruel. Eddard, however, calmly reminded him that without using captives, Northern soldiers themselves would have to perform the grueling task. In the end, the young King of the North reluctantly agreed.
A week later, the army arrived near Golden Tooth along the River Road. As the sun began to set, painting the mountains with an orange-red glow, the fortress loomed ahead, silent yet imposing.
Suddenly, the valley echoed with thunderous battle cries. "Loose arrows!"
Eddard, clad in a polished greathelm over a chainmail and plate armor, held his battle-axe in one hand and a shield in the other. He stood behind a barricade of logs, orchestrating a rain of arrows against the defenders on the city walls. Originally, he had hoped to lead the cavalry from House Karstark in a daring night raid, but both Robb Stark and his adoptive father had refused. Now, his role was limited to directing the archers, with only his trusted spy, Doren, at his side.
Arrows descended like black rain. They pierced shields, struck armored soldiers, and embedded themselves in flesh. A defender struggling to string a massive crossbow let out a scream as the string snapped back violently, shattering the arm of a nearby soldier. Blood and screams mingled into a symphony of chaos, yet the defenders, trained and disciplined, executed their orders without hesitation.
On the wall, a giant crossbow fired with deadly precision. A bolt struck a Northern soldier attempting to scale the wall, pinning him to the ground without a sound. Others pushed past the fallen, holding shields riddled with arrows, carrying ladders and sandbags toward the wall. Despite their double layers of chainmail, hundreds of elite soldiers from Winterfell fell beneath the relentless hail of arrows and crossbow bolts. Black projectiles darkened the sky, striking shields and armor with a deafening clatter.
Finally, as the sun disappeared behind the mountains, the retreat horn sounded. Exhausted, the Northern soldiers abandoned their ladders, carried their wounded, and withdrew in orderly ranks. Eddard led his own archers back to the camp, satisfied that the first stage of their plan had been executed successfully.
Earlier that afternoon, Robb had commanded five thousand dismounted cavalry, clad in double armor and carrying scaling ladders, to feign repeated attacks on the city. Eddard directed several hundred archers to exchange fire with the defenders, creating pressure and diverting attention from the more crucial movements of the elite forces. Meanwhile, Earl Rickard of Karhold, Lady Maege of Bear Island, and Earl Galbart of Deepwood Motte had already guided their cavalry along secret mountain paths, returning to the Riverlands under cover of distraction.
Jon Umber and Owen Norrey had also selected the most skilled and fearless warriors from their families, hiding them in the surrounding cliffs to await the night signal for the critical assault.
As night fell, Aryssane Leyford, the temporary castellan of Golden Tooth and sister to Earl Leo Leyford, surveyed the battlefield from the city walls. Clad in an elegant green gown, her slender figure and dignified face belied the gravity of her task. She turned to Ser Wendelin Hill, a gray-armored knight and bastard son of House Crakehall, and asked, "Ser Wendelin, do the enemy intend to attack us without rest, day and night?"
Wendelin, calm and calculating, replied, "My lady, Lord Tywin is still three to five days away from Golden Tooth. I presume the attackers are aware of this, which is why they press on so relentlessly. But the city is strong, and we are prepared."
He gestured toward the west wall, slightly lower than the east but fortified with solid defenses. "Even if they bring five or ten thousand men, without siege towers or trebuchets, they cannot breach us. We can hold at least half a month. By then, Lord Tywin's army will arrive—twenty thousand men should be enough to force their retreat."
Aryssane nodded, reassured. She would manage the inner keep and ensure supplies were prepared for the defenders. The battlefield, however, remained in the hands of the soldiers.
Meanwhile, Owen Norrey, dressed in light black civilian attire, approached the edge of the cliff overlooking the city wall. "Fager, Mata," he whispered to his companions, "hold the rope steady. Slowly lower me down. Once I'm on the ground, lower the rope ladder carefully. Don't rush, understand?"
The two young men nodded solemnly. Owen leapt lightly from the cliff, his body descending gracefully. The soft soles of his shoes brushed the rock silently, the first step in the night assault completed. Below, the city wall seemed both massive and vulnerable, guarded by fewer than a hundred defenders.
Years in the mountains had honed Owen's climbing skills. He navigated the cliff face with precision, landing at the base of the wall in mere minutes. Not a single pebble fell, preserving the element of surprise.
"Think Wendelin can hold them off?" one companion whispered. "With five thousand of them, it's going to get messy. By the way, any wine? My mouth's so dry I could spit out birds."
Owen handed over a small flask. "Save it. You'll have time after the battle."
Carefully, he ascended to place the rope ladder, securing it against the wall. One by one, agile warriors of House Norrey descended silently, taking strategic positions at key points, ready for the ambush. At the tower entrance, two men crouched in the darkness, prepared to strike at the first sign of enemy activity.
Jon Umber followed, gripping two battle-axes as he descended with seventy of his finest warriors. Their movement was slower due to armor and equipment, and loose rocks tumbled down, alerting nearby defenders. Shouts rang out as thirty armored soldiers rushed to investigate the disturbance, leaving the gate and nearby structures momentarily vulnerable.
"Don't delay," Greatjon growled to Owen. "The longer we hesitate, the more defenders will gather."
Owen, gripping his dagger, nodded. "Stay with my men. Those without armor, follow the situation as it unfolds."
The cliffside echoed with the sound of ropes swaying and armor clinking. Northern warriors spread across the wall, readying their positions for the decisive strike. The tension was palpable. Any misstep would alert the enemy, but the meticulously crafted plan of Eddard Karstark was beginning to bear fruit.
As the night deepened, torches flickered across the city walls, illuminating both attackers and defenders. From above, Northern siege horns broke the night air, accompanied by the fog that had rolled into the valley. The enemy could no longer remain confident; the North was preparing to claim Golden Tooth, and no defender could predict the horrors that awaited them.
Owen Norrey, Fager, and Mata exchanged tense glances. The climb had been grueling, the stakes immense. Yet the Northern warriors, trained for both mountain and forest warfare, adapted seamlessly. As more soldiers descended, the number of elite assailants grew, encircling key defensive points with lethal precision.
"Move quietly," Owen whispered. "Strike fast. Overwhelm them before they can respond."
Jon Umber tightened his straps, gripping his axes as a deadly grin spread across his face. This was what the North did best: fearless, cunning, and unstoppable when driven by strategy.
The first stage of the night assault had begun. Beyond the walls, chaos stirred among Golden Tooth's defenders, unaware that their carefully maintained defenses were about to be compromised. Arrows continued to rain from Eddard's archers, yet the true threat now approached silently from above, descending like shadows into the valley of death below.
Every movement had been calculated, every position considered. By the time the first alarm would sound in the city, the Northern elite would already be in the midst of the walls, striking decisively and efficiently. The combined forces of House Norrey, House Umber, and other Northern warriors would exploit the chaos, ensuring that Golden Tooth fell swiftly once the gates were breached.
The city was about to witness the relentless precision of Northern strategy—the perfect blend of cunning, bravery, and sheer determination. Eddard Karstark's plan was in motion, and the Battle of Golden Tooth was only beginning.
Füll bōøk àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)