Derrin and the his party rode out from Stonehelm at noon, blazing sun directly above their heads. The banners of House Swann dwindled behind them and soon the sea lost to horizon. Ahed lay the wild hinterlands, half woodlands, and half grasslands which gave away to grassland of steppe when they reached the Bolling territory.
"Mind the trail after the fork." Herbert warned the group.
They followed the old stone road that wound inland along Slayne's tributary. The river's glitter dimmed as the day wore on, replaced by vast grassland plains.
As evening approached they reached the first village, which nestled in between two rocky hills with exclusively timber houses. "There is a reatainer's house in this village. We'll spend the night in their house." Herbert pointed to the biggest house on the village.
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At the gate of the timber house, Crodell, retainer of Bollings, welcomed them. Crodell had full head of white hair but of a robust build. He must have been in the army of Bollings either as a knight or as a man-at-arms. He was most likely to be given this small village to manage as a reward for his loyalty.
As the men gathered in the dining hall to eat, inevitably the talk turned to recent events. Crodell informed with worry, "I have heard there was an attack on two villages two days ago. The robbers looted every grain from all silos; there is even a rumour that now the bandits are also kidnapping girls, I fear."
Herbert sighed in response. "Didn't the knights always responded quickly? Didn't Alfred used to scout using his Gyrfaclon? How did it happen?"
"Ten bandits lured knights to a far away village when these villages were struck. What's more worrying is each village reported that at least 10 bandits attacked each of them. Do you think we can bring these brigands to heal?"
"I'll get to Bolling's keep first, then with the help of these fellow Stormlanders, I shall bring them low." Herbert pointed to Dramon. "I presume you've heard of them? He single-handedly defeated most of the participants in the melee. If only for the fact that he is not a knight yet, he would also give tough competition to Swann's heir in jousting."
"You praise me too much, Ser Herbert. I had help in the melee." Dramon lightly protested.
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It took four days after they left the vally village to reach the Bolling keep. For the first two days, sky couldn't seem to decide between rain and sun. Then came a trek through rolling slopes of clay and dry grass that bled their colour onto boots and hooves. The wind carried the tang of iron from distant rocks and faint clatter of stones dislodged by unseen feet.
At dusk on the second night they made camp by a ruined watchtower, its stones covered with moss.
"These lands border dornish marches." Herbert said, pointing to the map, where bandits had their stronghold. "Old battlegrounds from the Aegon's conquest and subsequent dornish wars. There were mines once - iron and copper. All of them were abandoned after they ran dry."
Most likely primitive methods of ire finding and mining of Westeros meant there was a high chance of still some metal in the mines, just nit profitable to mine. But some bandits care about profits?
"Then why do the bandits hole up there?" Asked Greg.
"Because the tunnels still go deep." Herbert answered, broodingly. "Deep places keep secrets .... and men who fear the light."
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The gates of the Bolling hall creaked open under a pale sun.
It was no lordly fortress like Stonehelm, nor timber keeps of Rainwood, but a stout square hall of red and brown stone built upon a small stony hill.
The keep crouched like a tired old bull, weathered by wind and rain. Around it sprawled a hamlet of thatched roof and small forges, where smoke crawled weakly into gray sky.
The clang of hammers echoed through courtyard - smiths repairing dented mail perhaps from the skirmish with bandits.
Dramon's party rode through the gatehouse under wary eyes. Guards in orange and blue half-cloaks stood straight, with patched armors. One raised his hand in salute. "Greetings to Ser Herbert!"
As the booming voice of Bolling soldier died down a tall knight descended the steps from the keep. He wore a surcoat of faded blue bordered with silver threads. His beard was well-kept but streaked with gray.
"Welcome, brother." he said warmly. "I hope you bring good news in this ill tide."
"Indeed, Wystan." Herbert held his chin. "I have recruited some men from the tourey at Stonehelm. Also, I was able to list the help of runner-up of the melee and his retainers. Don't see their age as hindrance; people who did have only eaten dirt."
Ser Wystan led the group inside the hall. It smelled of oak smoke and boiled barly. Heraldric shields hung upon the walls, many cracked yet brightly painted, relics from battles long past.
As Dramon mesmerized by the hall, Ser Wystan tapped his shoulder. "These shields are either from knights or their retinue, who showed immense courage against impossible odds. They didn't cower in the face of the adversity - no, they fought it and defeted it. I hope, your arrival, brings forth that spirit once again."
"I too hope that we are able to root out the bandits plaguing your lands, Ser Wystan." Dramon replied humbly.
Wystan sat at the far end of the table, beside him stood the maester, Aemon Rivers, a lean man with long iron-gray hair and the thin, restless fingers of a scholar. His chain glimmered faintly in the blaze of the fireplace, and his gaze was as sharp as dagger's edge.
Herbert motioned to everyone. "Sit, all of you."
Servants brought pints of dark ale and bowls of hot stew. Dramon waited until his host taken the first sip before speaking. "Ser Herbert, you've mentioned about the bandits. Would you please tell me what we face."
Wystan leaned forward, his knuckles lightly tapping against the table. "What we face are vermins. Thieves and cutthroats that crawl from the Red mountains like worms from the grave. They've bled us for months – raided caravans, villages, burned storehouses, even took our people hostage–especially women." His voice cracking with anger. "We've hung a dozen, but more appear. Always more."
*Ahem* Aemon Rivers coughed softly. "The numbers are... higher than one might expect of mere brigands. The attacks show coordination. They strike our patrols, if they don't have any knights, in ambush, then vanish into hills very quickly even for the traind men to follow. We've tracked them to an area of abandoned mines called Widow's Maw."
Lanner knitted his brows together. "How many men do you believe they have?"
"Between sixty or eighty." Herbert said gravely. "Too many for garrison alone. I'm still not sure we can end them all for they have endless escape paths. It was our scouts greatest achievement they were even able to get general area of the bandit stronghold." He continued his eyes downcast. "This was only possible because of dozens of sacrifices from our scouts."
Dramon's eyes lingered on the map spread across the table. The paths of the Red mountains were narrow and meandering like a river. These should not be the only path that exists, Dramon thought.
"May I make a suggestion?" Dramon asked the table.
"I'm all ears," said Wystan.
"I think, what we should do is not to chase them but slowly restrict them." There were some confused faces around the table. "I propose we approach the problem in the same way hunter approaches their prey. We should identify all villages close to their stronghold which haven't been raided in the last six months. Then we should place scouts in each of them. They will follow the bandits quietly back to their bases, after one of these villages gets attacked."
"HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST WE LET OUR PEOPLE DIE IN THE HANDS OF BANDITS? For what a MERE CHANCE to pinpoint their location? We already HAVE their location. I say, we march there and END them once and for all." Ser Wystan boomed.
"Let's all calm down." Ser Herbert interjected. "Dramon's suggestion is made with good intention."
"It is a good recommendation, but how will you decide where to place scouts? And how many? We only have around 250 men-at-arms. They won't be enough to be stationed in every possible village that can be attacked by the bandits." Maester Aemon concluded.
"Give me the authority to requisition and command local hunters, shepherds, and foragers. I'll locate them." Dramon confidently said.