Ormund Hightower escaped before dawn.
He did not attempt to move the whole army this time. Hunger had reduced his host, surrender had hollowed out entire companies, and every road leading from the forest remained watched by men who knew another breakout would come eventually. A column large enough to carry his remaining thousands toward Oldtown could no longer move without warning reaching Honeyholt.
So Ormund sacrificed most of them.
The first sign came from the eastern edge of the forest, where Hightower soldiers attacked one of our smaller watch posts shortly after midnight. Nearly a thousand men emerged beneath darkness, striking hard enough to force the Reachmen stationed there to withdraw toward the prepared reserve. Horns sounded across the fields, followed by reports of movement along two other tracks.
It appeared that the entire Green host had finally chosen a desperate attack.
Black Rat moved three Unsullied companies east to stabilise the threatened post. Jasper formed the Dread Legion behind them, while Landrey placed cavalry between Honeyholt and the southern roads. I remained near Dravvaxx, unable to mount him while the torn wing still hung partially bound against his side.
The dragon sensed the fighting and tried to rise. I pressed a hand against his neck before he could force the wing open. "You cannot fly tonight, no matter how loudly the horns call. If the line breaks, we will answer from the ground."
Dravvaxx growled, his silver eye fixed upon the distant torchlight. He had never accepted helplessness well. Neither had I.
The eastern attack grew louder. Men shouted beneath the trees, shields struck together, and arrows passed through the darkness without clear targets. Several prisoners in the guarded fields began calling warnings to our sentries, insisting Ormund had gathered every man still capable of carrying a spear. That was what he wanted us to believe.
The truth emerged from the south-west an hour later.
A Legion scout reached Honeyholt with blood running from a cut above one eye. He had ridden hard enough to leave foam covering his horse’s mouth. The animal nearly fell beneath him when he dismounted.
"Lord Ormund is not with the eastern attack," he said. "His banner has been seen along the western timber track. Mounted men are cutting through the patrols there, and they have only a few hundred infantry with them."
Landrey stepped closer. "How many riders?"
"Five hundred, perhaps more. Ser Jon Roxton leads the front. They are moving quickly and carrying little baggage."
The attacks elsewhere were not breakout attempts. They were sacrifices.
Ormund had sent most of his remaining army against our outer lines, knowing the fighting would draw commanders and reserves away from the route he intended to use. While thousands made enough noise to suggest a final battle, he and Ser Jon Roxton had gathered the strongest horses, loyal knights, household retainers, and several hundred chosen infantry for a rapid march toward Oldtown. Everyone else had been left behind to occupy us.
Landrey looked toward the western fields. "I can gather eight hundred riders within the quarter hour. We may catch them before they reach the open road."
"You may catch their rear," I said. "Roxton will have placed his best mounted men behind Ormund. If you charge into darkness without knowing the ground, he will turn and cut through whatever reaches him first."
"If we allow them several more hours, they will be beyond us."
"I know."
The words tasted bitter.
Dravvaxx could have closed the road from the sky. One pass of fire against Ormund’s leading riders would have scattered the entire column before it crossed the farmland. Yet his wing remained too badly damaged to lift him. Forcing him into the air now would not merely risk another wound. It would bring him down.
For the first time since the campaign began, Ormund had chosen the exact night when the sky belonged to neither of us.
I ordered Landrey to pursue, though not blindly. He took the freshest Legion cavalry, supported by Reach riders who had obeyed the recall after the previous battle. Black Rat sent five hundred Unsullied along the nearest southern road to prevent Ormund from turning east after breaking the cordon. The rest remained in position around the forest.
We could not empty the encirclement to chase several hundred men while thousands still attacked from beneath the trees. That was the cruelty of Ormund’s decision. He had made his own soldiers valuable only because we could not afford to ignore them.
The eastern assault continued until the sky began paling. Hightower men pressed against the Unsullied in scattered waves, but their attack possessed none of the discipline shown during the battle outside Honeyholt.
Some fought fiercely. Others advanced because knights behind them left no safe direction for retreat. Many threw down their weapons as soon as they reached ground where our soldiers could see their empty hands.
Black Rat gradually pushed them away from the road.
Along the northern edge, another Hightower force emerged only to stop within arrow range and begin negotiating surrender without ever attacking. Their officers had vanished during the night. The common soldiers had been ordered to advance and discovered that the men giving the command were no longer among them.
By dawn, the shape of Ormund’s gamble was clear.
He and Ser Jon Roxton had escaped with perhaps twelve hundred men, most of them mounted. Several hundred additional soldiers followed on foot as long as they could, though many fell behind during the first miles. Ormund had taken the household guard, the most loyal Hightower knights, surviving Roxton cavalry, and whatever horses remained fit for a hard journey.
The forest still held nearly two-thirds of the force that had remained under his command the previous day. He had abandoned them without food, a path of retreat, or even officers senior enough to bargain for them.
Landrey returned near midday.
His pursuit had caught the slowest part of Ormund’s column beyond the western track. Nearly two hundred Hightower soldiers had been killed or captured, while several dozen riders were brought down trying to protect the infantry.
Landrey had pressed farther until Ser Jon Roxton turned with three hundred mounted men and formed across a narrow road bordered by hedges and low stone walls. Landrey did not accept the challenge.
Had he charged, Roxton’s knights might have held him long enough for Ormund to widen the distance. Worse, the confined road would have denied our greater number of riders any advantage.
"I could have broken them," Landrey told me after dismounting in Honeyholt’s yard. Dust covered his armour, and exhaustion had reddened both eyes. "It would have cost men, but Roxton did not have enough riders to hold the road forever."
"You would have broken his rear guard while Ormund continued toward Oldtown. By the time you forced the crossing, your horses would have been spent and the main column beyond reach."
Landrey removed one glove and wiped dirt from his mouth. "That was my judgement as well, which is why I stopped. I do not enjoy hearing it repeated as though the decision pleased me."
"It was the correct decision. Those rarely please anyone."
He looked back toward the gate. "Ormund will reach Oldtown unless another force intercepts him."
"Yes."
"How many men reached the road with him?"
"Reports differ. Perhaps eight hundred remain close enough to his banner to arrive together. Others are trailing behind in small groups."
"That is not enough to garrison the whole city."
"No, but it is enough to place experienced men around its gates and restore some order after Aegon’s death. Ormund himself matters more than the number. Oldtown will understand the war still has a commander when he returns."
Landrey’s expression darkened. "He purchased that return with the men he left in the forest."
"He did."
"I have followed hard men before, but I have never admired a lord who preserved his honour by spending everyone else’s life."
"Ormund would call it duty."
"Then duty has become a remarkably convenient word."
By afternoon, the forest began emptying.
The first groups arrived beneath white cloths tied to spears. Some still carried armour, though their weapons had been placed in carts or laid upon the road before approaching. Others emerged in torn shirts and boots held together by strips of cloth. Hunger had narrowed their faces, and the night’s betrayal had stripped away whatever belief remained in Ormund’s command.
They surrendered by the hundred.
Black Rat formed receiving lines along the southern and eastern roads. Each group was ordered to place weapons in a marked field, remove belts and helmets, and pass through pairs of Unsullied who searched for concealed knives. Officers were separated. Wounded men were sent toward the healers after being recorded.
No Hightower banner accompanied them. Ormund had taken his standards south.
By sunset, more than three thousand men had yielded. Others remained beneath the trees, uncertain whether our promises of food and mercy could be trusted. We sent surrendered soldiers back to the forest edge under guard, allowing them to call to former companions and show that they had not been executed.
That persuaded more than threats would have. The remaining groups emerged through the night.
Lord Bulwer came the following morning. He rode beneath a white banner with perhaps forty knights around him and close to a thousand men following in loose order. His armour had lost its polish, his cloak was stained by weeks beneath the canopy, and anger had settled into his face more firmly than exhaustion.
He surrendered his sword to Black Rat before asking to speak with me.
We met outside Honeyholt rather than bringing him immediately within the walls. Dravvaxx rested on the rise behind our line, visible enough to remind every prisoner that the dragon still lived even if he could not presently fly.
Lord Bulwer bowed with rigid formality. "Prince Othorion, I surrender myself and the men who remain beneath my command. We ask the queen’s mercy under the terms you offered Lord Ormund."
"The terms remain," I said. "Common soldiers who lay down arms will be fed and held for review. Men willing to swear not to bear arms against Queen Rhaenyra may eventually be released, unless they are accused of crimes beyond service in the host. Knights and lords will remain confined until their conduct and loyalties are judged."
Bulwer looked toward the southern road. "Ormund took every sound horse he could find. He ordered my men to attack your eastern line and claimed the whole host would follow once the road opened. By the time we learned the truth, he was miles away."
"Did you expect him to remain?"
"I expected the lord commanding us to share the danger he demanded we face. Perhaps that expectation was foolish."
His bitterness was not feigned. Ormund had not merely abandoned Bulwer’s men. He had used them as noise and blood to hide his escape.
"You marched beneath Aegon’s banner," I said. "You supported Ormund’s attack upon Honeyholt, and your soldiers fought against the queen’s army. His betrayal does not erase those choices."
"No, but Aegon is dead, Daeron has sworn to his sister, and Ormund has shown what loyalty to his cause earns." Bulwer paused, glancing toward the men behind him before continuing. "House Bulwer will swear to Queen Rhaenyra if she accepts our allegiance. My soldiers will take the same oath, and those fit to fight will serve beneath her banners."
The offer carried value. Bulwer lands lay close enough to Oldtown that his defection would wound Hightower authority more deeply than the surrender of common soldiers. His men knew the roads, lesser keeps, and villages south of Honeyholt. They could guide us if the campaign moved toward the city.
They could also turn again if Ormund regained strength.
"An oath made while hungry is easily regretted after a full meal," I said. "I will not accept words offered only because the alternative is imprisonment."
Bulwer did not look away. "Then test them. Feed my men, place them under guard, and allow them three days to decide. Those who wish only to surrender may remain prisoners. Those willing to swear may do so before your officers and the gods they honour. I will take the oath now."
"You understand that swearing to Rhaenyra makes Ormund your enemy."
"He made himself my enemy when he ordered my house to die so he could return to Oldtown."
"That is anger speaking."
"It is also judgement. I followed Lord Ormund because I believed he defended the rightful king. That king lies dead beside Honeyholt, and the man who commanded us abandoned two-thirds of his surviving army without warning. I will not pretend loyalty remains virtuous after its object has rotted."
His words were harsh, but they carried the conviction of a man whose understanding of duty had broken in the forest. I accepted his sword into my custody rather than returning it immediately.
"Your allegiance will be reported to Queen Rhaenyra. Until she confirms your pardon, you remain under honourable guard. Your men will be given the choice you described. Those who swear will not be placed in the front rank against their former companions until their loyalty has been proven."
Bulwer bowed. "That is more consideration than Ormund gave us."
His oath was taken before sunset. He knelt beneath Rhaenyra’s banner in Honeyholt’s outer yard and swore allegiance before his knights, Black Rat, Dick, Jasper, and several Reach lords. More than half his men followed during the next two days. Others chose imprisonment rather than fight against Oldtown, and I did not force them.
The Redwyne soldiers received no similar freedom.
Their commanders had remained closely tied to Ormund throughout the siege and battle, and several captured officers were accused of enforcing the forest cordon through executions.
More importantly, House Redwyne still controlled a powerful fleet and remained aligned with Aegon’s cause through Oldtown. Releasing trained Redwyne men on oaths alone would allow them to return to the Arbor and strengthen a navy already threatening Rhaenyra’s control of the western seas. They were disarmed, recorded, and placed under guard.
Common soldiers were treated properly, but none were released or allowed to join our formations. Their officers were confined separately inside Honeyholt, where Dick placed enough guards to discourage messages passing between them.
"The Bulwers swear and receive a path back into the war," one Redwyne knight complained when I inspected the prisoners. "We surrender under the same terms and are treated as captives."
"You are captives," I told him. "Lord Bulwer has changed allegiance and offered his men to the queen. House Redwyne remains in open rebellion, and your fleet could carry you back into service before the month ends. You will be fed, sheltered, and protected from abuse. You will not be released merely because imprisonment offends you."
"The Arbor will answer this."
"The Arbor already answered when its banners marched against Honeyholt."
He had no useful reply.
By the third day after Ormund’s escape, the forest belonged to us.
Dread Legion companies entered cautiously through the principal tracks, finding abandoned camps, broken wagons, dead horses, shallow graves, and stores emptied down to scattered handfuls of grain. The trees where deserters had been hanged remained near the central camp, the bodies left as warnings long after the men meant to see them had surrendered.
Baela’s corpse was found beneath a canvas within Ormund’s former command area. He had abandoned her too. The body had deteriorated further despite the cloth and shade, but she was recognisable. I ordered her placed in a sealed coffin lined with salt and wrapped in the banners of House Targaryen and Velaryon. A raven was sent immediately to Driftmark for Rhaenys.
I had refused Ormund’s exchange and promised Baela would return home. At last, part of that promise could be kept.
The report from the Riverlands arrived before Rhaenys’s answer.
A raven came from the east bearing a hurried message written by one of Daemon’s captains. The seal had been damaged in transit, and the parchment showed signs of being rewritten from an earlier dispatch after the first bird failed to reach its destination.
I read it in Honeyholt’s hall with Dick and Black Rat nearby. Vhagar had been sighted over Harrenhal. Aemond had taken the castle.
Daemon, Jace, the Winter Wolves, and the principal river forces had moved west to strike Jason Lannister’s army. Their victory had left Harrenhal defended by Lord Simon Strong, a modest garrison, and men too old, young, or wounded to join the march.
Aemond had understood the opening. He descended upon Harrenhal with Vhagar before warning reached the castle. There had been no battle worth naming. No garrison could defend ruined towers and scorched walls against the largest living dragon without another dragon present to challenge her.
Lord Simon Strong was dead. The report did not describe whether Aemond killed him personally or ordered the execution after surrender. It stated only that Simon’s body had been displayed within the outer ward and the remaining Strong household forced to recognise Aegon’s claim.
A claim whose king now lay dead beneath a black cloth at Honeyholt. Aemond may not have known that yet. More troubling than the castle itself was its position.
Harrenhal stood over the roads and crossings connecting Daemon’s western campaign to the Crownlands. With Aemond and Vhagar occupying it, messages, reinforcements, and supplies could no longer travel safely through the central route.
Any army attempting to pass beneath Harrenhal’s shadow risked dragonfire. Daemon and Jace had won against Jason Lannister only to find their return east threatened by the brother they had left behind. They were cut off from the Crownlands.
Dick read the report slowly before placing it on the table. "Aemond waited until Daemon committed west."
"Yes."
"He may have known Jason would lose."
"He may not have cared. Jason’s march drew the river host away from Harrenhal whether it ended in victory or defeat."
Black Rat studied the map and spoke in High Valyrian. "The one-eyed prince chose the castle, not the army. He now controls the road and forces Daemon to approach him if he wishes to return."
"Caraxes and Vermax cannot fight Vhagar safely in a direct contest."
"Two dragons may threaten one from different directions."
"Vermax is young, and Jace has fought only once. Vhagar needs only one clean attack to kill him."
The thought tightened around my chest. Jace had performed well in the Fishfeed. He had obeyed Daemon, used Vermax carefully, and survived the first true test of battle. Now Aemond sat between him and King’s Landing with a dragon large enough to tear Vermax apart before skill could matter.
Dick looked toward the windows, beyond which surrendered Hightower soldiers filled the guarded fields. "Can we send warning?"
"Daemon will already know Harrenhal has fallen. The report came from his own men. What he needs is another route east, not a warning that the obvious road is deadly."
"The Vale?"
"Too far north for the whole army unless he intends to abandon the central Riverlands. The southern crossings may be possible, but Aemond can move faster than any host."
Black Rat tapped the Reach on the map. "Ormund escaped toward Oldtown. Your dragon cannot fly. The army is reduced, and prisoners now outnumber some of your surviving formations. You cannot leave immediately."
"No."
That was the trap across the realm.
Every victory exposed another place we could not defend. Jason Lannister was dead, but his march had drawn Daemon west. Ormund’s army had surrendered, but Ormund himself reached for Oldtown. Aegon was dead, yet Aemond remained with Vhagar and now held the castle that divided the Riverlands from the Crownlands.
The Green cause had lost its king. It had gained room to become more dangerous.
I returned to the map after the others left. Harrenhal stood marked near the centre, a black piece placed across the road home. Somewhere west of it, Jace and Daemon marched among riverlords and northern soldiers after defeating the Westerlanders. Somewhere within the ruined castle, Aemond waited beneath Vhagar’s shadow, holding ground that Daemon could not ignore and could not approach without risk.
At Honeyholt, Ormund had escaped by abandoning most of his army. At Harrenhal, Aemond had taken advantage of another army’s absence. Both men had chosen position over loyalty to those fighting elsewhere.
The difference was that Ormund had only hundreds left beside him. Aemond had Vhagar.