Chapter 35: The Ironborn Strike
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Jon panted heavily, his breath short and his lungs burning demanding oxygen after the battle he has just thought. His body felt heavy and the various wounds he had suffered ached, but none of that mattered as he looked up at the sky through the canopy the trees formed.
Suddenly he was thrust back into reality when he felt a hand clasp onto his shoulder and looked to see Owen Norrey beside him. "It's a victory." Jon nodded his head quietly, looking back around over the battlefield, hundreds of bodies lay dead, the men of the North moving round and stabbing swords and spears into the still alive Ironborn.
Just like had been planned, the northern army had moved south through the Wolfswood in order to intercept a force of fifteen hundred Ironborn moving north to retake the Deepwood Motte.
However, Jon had set a trap with the help of his commanders and ambushed the unsuspecting Ironborn led by Aeron Greyjoy, he having expected Jon and his army to still be at Deepwood Motte. The sudden strike caught them completely by surprise and despite having more men, the Ironborn were quickly finished off. The terrain giving an advantage to the warriors of the Mountain Clans.
Even so, the losses on both sides were heavy.
Jon had lost around five hundred men, leaving him with only half of the men he had marched down into the Wolfswood with. Still, the Ironborn had only escaped with at most, two to three hundred men.
"We should probably return back to Deepwood Motte, we don't have the men necessary to stop them in a land battle." Jon noted and Owen nodded.
"Probably, but I don't think we should just yet. The Wolfswood is a good place to set ambush points. The North with Mormont Keep now secure is already preparing their defences for another potential Ironborn strike. If we keep the Wolfswood secure and ambush any Ironborn army that comes in here then we could very well win this much sooner." Owen pointed out.
"We have just over five hundred men, a third of which are injured and in need of aid." Jon argued.
"Send them back then, have Deepwood Motte send enough troops, fresh troops to replace those who go back. It'll take at least a week sure, but the Ironborn won't be able to stage another strike for another few days. Most of their forces are being kept occupied in the south at Moat Cailin and Goldgrass."
As Jon thought on what Owen said, he eventually relented. As much as he would like to return to Deepwood Motte and prepare for a siege, securing the Wolfswood could be the correct move to make.
And like Owen also pointed out, the Ironborn wouldn't have the troops to spare in order to march north into the Wolfswood again for a while. Plenty of time for them to get replace the injured with fresh men and set up a proper camp.
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Rodrik Cassel kept his gaze vigilant as he walked along the walls of Torrhen's Square. Over a week had passed since he had secured the seat of House Tallhart and since then things had been quiet. Outriders would follow along the river leading down to the Saltspear. He knew that Victarion was besieging the seat of House Stout which valiantly held on.
But Rodrik knew that he couldn't just think that everything would be okay forever. There was a high possibility that Goldgrass would fall soon and when it did Victarion could either sail his ships west and break the siege of Moat Cailin or sail north and take Torrhen's Square.
Even so, he would not allow Torrhen's Square to fall because once it did, Winterfell would be exposed. That was not something Rodrik would allow to happen, even if it cost him his life.
That's when he picked up sight of a number of riders rushing towards the gate at great speeds. He didn't even need to know what news they brought as he saw at least forty ships sailing up the river in single file. All of them baring the flag of the golden kraken of House Greyjoy.
"Sound the alarm." Rodrik ordered to one of the men by his side, but none had to move, someone had already rung the bells. "Move archers to the keep walls, I want spearman positioned on the docks. The Ironborn won't take this city from us!" His cry was met with a resounding cheer from the men around him before they all rushed into positions.
Rodrik himself turning to look at the ships, each packed to the brim with men and a frown came onto his face.
He knew that this would not be easy.
Putting that out of his mind, Rodrik rushed down with the rest of his men and moved to the public docks where lines of spearmen had formed. Each of them watching as the ships got closer and as they spilled into the lake, they no longer having to move in single file, instead spreading out in a swarm.
Anxiously, the men waited, watching as the longships rapidly got closer, almost gliding through the water.
And as they did, without him ever needing to order, hundreds of arrows, each on fire flew through the air and struck the ships. Many missed, but some struck true, but other than the sails being burned, the wood of the ships remained fine. Again, another volley rained down and again nothing happened to the ships and Rodrik found himself worrying.
It was on the fourth volley that one ship finally caught fire and the sight was met by a cheer from the Northmen.
But it was only a single ship.
And the others were still closing in on them quickly.
"Get ready!" Rodrik ordered, drawing his sword in preparation as the spear men marched forwards a few meters.
As the ships drew into the port, Ironborn jumped off the boats with a battle cry. However, the soldiers positioned there thrust their spears forward killing many. Some spears were thrown like javelins from the back row and upon impaling men launched them backwards.
But for every Ironborn killed, two more would take his place.
Even with arrows continuing to rain down on them from above, the horde of Ironborn never seemed to end as they jumped off the front ships and rushed at the ranks of the defenders. Then the port was filled with sound of battle, of clashing steel and cries of men dying.
While at first the defensive lines held, Rodrik could see his men being pushed back by the sheer number of Ironborn coming off the ships.
"Hold the lines!" He cried.
But it seemed that despite their best efforts, despite giving everything they had, the northern defenders were being pushed back inch by bloody inch.
Gritting his teeth, Rodrik considered whether to send in his reserve forces. Yet that decision was made for him when he saw Ironborn break through the centre in droves. With a quick order, the reserves rushed forwards to meet the Ironborn.
The fighting was long and bloody, Rodrik remaining behind and surveying the battlefield.
"Milord! Milord." A soldier cried as he rushed towards Ser Rodrik.
"What is it man?"
"The Ironborn, they've broken through the House Docks and our lines are breaking, the path to the keep is being cut off." Clenching his fists, Rodrik studied the battle here, they had managed to halt the Ironborn, the reserves serving to plug up the gaps and help in pushing the Ironborn back. But it seemed that the defence on the east side of the city was failing.
"Fall back to the Market Square." He ordered quietly, then rose his voice. "Fall back to the Market Square."
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