On the open field by the west bank of the Upper Rhoyne, the remaining Greenvine cavalry and servants, though still guarding the wagons and supplies, were dazed, not yet recovered from the recent storm of events.
Clop! Clop! Clop!
The sound of galloping hooves grew louder. The approaching banners bore the seven-pointed star of the Faith, but alongside them flew the three-headed deity banner of Tyrosh.
The burly Yohn Greenvine arrived at the camp with his two hundred household cavalry and the three hundred Tyroshi mercenaries he had hired.
Yohn was a strong warrior who had always managed the family guard. Unlike his timid older brother Jack, he had been very supportive of Amman's plan.
"What? My father and brother were both captured by that silver-haired brat? How is that possible?" Dismounting to inspect the scene, Yohn Greenvine roared, grabbing a servant by the collar, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
The expected scenario hadn't played out. Yohn's force was supposed to be the reserve, supporting Patriarch Amman's move.
Unexpectedly, in the blink of an eye, the Greenvine family's carefully laid plans had turned into a chaotic mess.
"Yes, young master. There was a slight mishap when the move was made. Viserys overpowered Lord Amman and pinned his hand with a dagger. The pit fighter failed to control Viserys and was killed by Viserys's guard instead," the servant said, cowering.
"And the Unsullied?" Yohn gasped for breath.
"The Unsullied only listen to Lord Amman's orders, and Lord Amman told them to stop..."
"Why are there so few of our family cavalry left?"
"Some were unhappy with Lord Amman's blasphemous act and left with them," the servant whispered.
"Seven Hells, this is a disaster..." Yohn Greenvine lowered his whip, contemplating the catastrophic failure of the plan. The Greenvine family was the sole victim.
Especially with this kidnapping violating guest right, the Greenvine family's reputation would be ruined.
Once Viserys returned to his fort and rallied the Andals to execute them, the Greenvine family's fate would be hanging by a thread.
"How long have they been gone?"
"Only a short while. They haven't gone far."
"Young master, you don't know how insidious that Viserys is, and that tower of a man, Argos, next to him—he cut off the pit fighter's head with one swing. Maybe we should go back, pay some ransom, and buy Lord Amman and Master Jack back," the servant suggested.
"Damn it." Yohn gripped his whip tightly, thoughts racing through his mind.
The bad news was his father and brother were captured. The good news was, if they died in the chaos of battle, he would be the undisputed heir.
"Are we doing this or not?" The purple-haired Tyroshi mercenary captain urged impatiently. "We took your money, but only for this operation. If we go back, we keep the money regardless."
Yohn gritted his teeth. The only option now was brute force. If they wiped out all of Viserys's men, the news wouldn't leak.
"But the enemy has a fortress. What if we run into an ambush charging like this?" Yohn protested weakly.
"Afraid of what?" The Tyroshi stroked his beard disdainfully. "Andals are just a bunch of bandits. The men I brought this time are top-notch Tyroshi fighters. I don't believe they have the guts. Are you chasing or not?"
Yohn steeled his heart. All the military power was in his hands now. If he attacked with full force, not only would he kill Viserys, but his father and brother might accidentally die in the melee.
Then he would be the Greenvine family—no, the undisputed King of the Andals.
"Many things depend not on whether they can be done, but whether one dares to do them."
The Tyroshi's words ignited Yohn's greed. With these foreign reinforcements, success was highly probable.
War was about risk, and he had to seize this opportunity.
"All forces, charge! Intercept that brat Viserys before he gets back to the castle and rescue my father and brother!" Yohn raised his whip. Speed was paramount now.
"Yes, sir!" The cavalry unit, like the pounding heart of a beast, began to ford the river, heading toward an unpredictable future.
Yohn Greenvine felt like a raging wind; he could almost see the dawn of victory.
The brat Viserys and the brute Argos beheaded by him; his father and brother conveniently dead in the chaos.
Only he, Lord Yohn, would complete the revenge, sell the Targaryen orphan girl for a good price, and become the supreme King of the Andals.
Thinking of this, Yohn spurred his horse faster.
"Lord Yohn, enemy cavalry movement spotted ahead! They are right in front of us."
"Excellent." Yohn was very satisfied. Just one chase.
Yohn could already see the enemy's black-and-red royal banner. With superiority in numbers and combat power, he was certain of victory.
The Greenvine army roared as they chased the enemy ahead, hooves thundering on the muddy mountain path characteristic of the Andalos hills.
But as the enemy cavalry drew closer, Yohn felt a growing unease. They seemed to have run into a defile between two unnamed hills.
Despite Yohn's clear numerical advantage, the enemy cavalry ahead wasn't panicking at all. Instead, they acted like hounds herding rabbits.
On the ridge, Viserys watched the approaching troops. The perfect opportunity was moments away.
"Didn't you say Andals couldn't defeat Tyroshi?" Viserys looked at the bound Amman and Jack, answering with a smile. "Then today, I will accomplish it."
Amman's face showed terror. He realized this handsome young man was no angel; on the contrary, he was a demon on the battlefield and in the game of power.
Amman regretted it more and more. He had been fine; why provoke this madman?
"Money! Money! We have money!" Amman rasped, his voice catching.
Viserys was dismissive. After killing them, the money would be his anyway.
Four hundred yards!
Three hundred yards!
Two hundred and fifty!
The longbowmen on the hill were eager. They could already see the Tyroshi's signature purple, red, and blue hair.
"Draw!" Sharpshooter Hugo raised his hand. All longbowmen readied themselves, bodies tense like coiled springs.
"Loose!"
The Andal longbowmen roared with their bowstrings, and arrows rained down.
Skilled longbowmen ensured speed and power. At this timing and distance, lethality was maximized.
Arrows flooded the defile, striking the Greenvine cavalry and Tyroshi mercenaries.
In an instant, the Stranger began reaping lives on a grand scale.
"Retreat!"
"Retreat quickly!" Yohn Greenvine shouted. This wasn't an opportunity for glory. On the contrary, it was a death trap prepared by the enemy.
Horses screamed amidst the arrow rain, falling one by one, throwing their riders to the ground.
"Faster!" Yohn was still trying to command the army until he saw an arrow flying straight at his face, pinning him through the chest and abdomen.
Pain. Yohn Greenvine fell from his horse amidst increasing agony.