Lord Stark flung himself out of the saddle while the horse still tossed. Cassel, Dustin and Ryswell dropped with him. Glover and Wull pulled back to cut mounts free from the wire. Howland kicked his marsh pony behind a felled tree and slid down, frog spear in hand.
The Northmen went forward at a jog, water up to knees, swords high. A handful of Dornish spears tried to bar the way but Ned removed their speartips with Ice and the group cut the men down next. Once they were through, Lord Stark led his companions to position themselves between Ser Arthur and Robert's distant figure.
Trying to pursue Robert, Dayne sidestepped Ryswell's first swing and clipped his temple with the flat. Ryswell fell as if the river had yanked him down by the ankles. Dawn turned and met Dustin. Dustin's parry held for a breath, then the northman gave ground with teeth bared.
Ser Arthur, switching to diplomacy before the wall of men, gave Mark Ryswell a moment to recover. Ryswell took the right, Dustin the left, Ned in front with Ice. Theo Wull, Martyn Cassel, and Ethan Glover kept Starfall spears away from their backs. Howland slid away and ducked low in the water, watching for an opening. He knew what he was against. He had watched this man spar at Harrenhal and had seen men ashamed to hold a sword afterward.
"Stark," Dayne said, and saluted with the pale blade. It gleamed with a light of its own. "I do not wish to be your enemy."
"Yet you are. The men you swore to serve killed my brother and father, and kidnapped my sister. Winter is here." Ned ended the conversation abruptly with an overhead slash.
The first exchange rattled Howland's teeth though it never touched him. Dawn rang off Valyrian steel. Sparks flew, as if they dueled not with blades but torches. Ryswell stabbed for the ribs. Dayne slipped the point by turning on his heel and answered with a flat cut that would have taken a lesser man's head. Ryswell leaned back, avoided the edge by a hair, and got his sword in the way of the return. Dustin tried the hamstrings. Dayne stepped inside his swing and knocked the blade aside with the pommel. He did it all without looking hurried.
Howland crawled prone through the stream, only his eyes above the waterline as maneuvered to the side.
"Damn, Ned." Willam called between blows, "it feels like we're children here, training against Ser Rodrick."
"Focus on the fight, goodbrother." Ryswell answered. "This isn't the training yard."
Dayne feinted high at Ned, forced a bad parry, then turned his wrist and thrust for Willam instead. Caught by surprise, Dustin was forced to trust his armor and it failed him. Dawn's starmetal tip sliced through chain links like they were leather, cutting him across the thigh. Blood ran swiftly, but William swore and kept his feet.
Howland carefully moved closer to Dayne's rear, taking advantage of dialogue and steel to mask his sound. As blood soaked his hair, Howland became near indistinguishable from the surrounding gore.
Ryswell and Stark pressed at the same time. Ned controlled space with large slashes while Mark probed for weakness. Ser Arthur seemed on the back foot for a moment, forced to evade and parry simultaneously.
It all fell apart when Ryswell overextended on a lunge. Dayne knocked his sword aside and stepped through. A quick thrust took Ryswell in the throat where the gorget met the beard. Blood came hot and dark. Ryswell dropped to his knees clawing at air.
Dayne did not spare the glance to watch him die. He bent, took Ryswell's fallen blade in his off hand, and moved back into guard.
Ser Arthur took up a dual wielding stance Howland had never seen before. Dawn in the right hand. Common steel in the left. With Ryswell's blade for parries, Arthur navigated the two-on-one with a newfound ease. The Sword of the Morning blocked two strikes at once, then followed with a double attack of his own.
Ned barely ducked back in time, leaving a faint line on his cheek. Dustin's boot slipped as he parried Dawn, and he hopped to keep his balance. Dayne opened him again on the landing and took the calf muscle. Willam grunted, staggered, and still tried to jab for the groin, stubborn to the last.
"Enough," Dayne said, and he spun. Dawn drew a white curve. With the last of his strength fading, William Dustin was unable to stop the longsword as it sliced through his chainmail and left his ribcage.
Ned roared and came on with a strike channeling all his might. Ice and Dawn met again, and Arthur was forced to drop his spare blade to match Lord Eddard's strength. Ned's arms shook, but he held the bind and shoved. Dayne let it go, let the push carry Ice wide, and stepped in to finish it.
Finally, Howland moved.
The life of a crannogman was one easily forgotten by the outside world. Yet Howland's people had learned to make the most of this. He was short and a poor duelist, but Howland Reed had trained in stealth combat from an early age. Having finally reached Arthur's blind spot, Howland rose from the icy water and thrust his spear.
"For Lyanna," Howland said, steady.
With two spear prongs emerging from his neck, Dayne went stiff. Dawn's point dipped, then fell. He did not drop like a sack. He folded, almost graceful even in his death.
Ned stared at Howland with shock and thankfulness warring on his face. He reached for the white sword and then stopped, as if afraid it would burn him.
Howland pulled the blade free and laid Dayne back down in the water. He took Dawn with both hands. It was lighter than it looked. The handle was still warm in the cold air.
"Honor," Ned said, breathless. "Howland—"
"The Old Gods taught me the difference between Andal chivalry and true honor. I have no regrets," Howland said. He pointed with the pale sword. "Listen."
Robert's voice rolled over the din like thunder. It came from downstream, where the ford shallowed and widened. The sound of steel on steel rose with it, a hammer on a shield, a hammer on a man.
"We need to go," Howland said. He threw a leg over the nearest living horse and jerked the reins. Ned shook himself and followed, Ice in hand.
They pushed through men who didn't know yet that they were dead, through men who screamed and men who prayed. The river grew shallow, from the depth of knees to ankles. The crowd thinned. Then a ring of bodies appeared where men had backed away from something bigger than their own fight.
In the center, two figures moved. One black and bright with rubies, nimble and sharp. One broad and dark, hammer lifting, breath loud as a bellows. They collided and parted, collided again, each strike throwing spray.
"Robert," Ned said, and put his spurs in.
Howland lowered Dawn and went with him. His service was not yet done.