Chapter 29. The Kingslayer.
Jaime Lannister reacted faster than Arthur expected. Ambushed, surrounded, and half-blinded by trees, most commanders would have tried to flee or gather a defensive knot. Jaime did neither. He saw the banners, understood where Robb Stark's command likely stood, and drove straight toward it. Cut off the head and the body staggers. It was brutal, reckless, and not stupid.
A hundred heavy Lannister cavalry gathered around him and charged toward the weak point between the Mallister right and Robb's main body. That placed them directly before Arthur's line. Hooves thundered through the forest road, armor flashed between trunks, and lances lowered like a moving wall of sharpened wood and iron. Arthur felt the ground tremble beneath his boots and understood, with perfect clarity, why peasants ran when cavalry came.
"Clan Warriors! Shields up!" Kator roared from the front. "Form line!"
Thirty Clan Warriors and Chosen Warriors moved forward, shields locking together, spears braced through the gaps. They did not have the perfect armor of southern knights, but they had discipline, numbers, and ground that hated horses. Behind them, the Raiders prepared javelins. Farther back, Horgos led the Old Wolf Warriors and Young Wolf Warriors into firing positions among the trees.
"Archers!" Horgos shouted. "High angle. Loose!"
Arrows rose above the shield wall and fell into the charging cavalry. Most glanced off plate or shields, but horses were easier to wound than knights and less proud about falling. Two went down in the front ranks, tangling legs and riders, forcing the line to bend around them.
"Raiders!" Arthur called. "Throw!"
Twenty heavy javelins flew from behind the shield wall. They struck with a force arrows could not match. Shields split. Riders reeled. One man was knocked clean from his saddle, the javelin lodged deep in his chest. Another horse screamed, stumbled, and rolled sideways into the charge. The Lannister momentum faltered, but the remaining cavalry still hit the wall.
The crash swallowed all other sound. Shields cracked. Spears bent. Horses screamed as spearheads drove into bellies and chests. Lances slammed into the Battanian line, punching through wood and leather, throwing men backward. Several Clan Warriors fell in the first impact, pinned or crushed beneath men and animals. But the line did not break.
"Hold!" Kator shouted, blood on his face. "Push them back!"
The Battanians gritted their teeth and drove forward. Spears stabbed into fallen horses and dismounted riders. Axes chopped at knees, wrists, and armor gaps. Once the cavalry lost speed, they became men in heavy steel trapped among trees, shields, bodies, and anger. That was still dangerous, but it was no longer a charge.
"Drop spears! Swords and axes!" Kator ordered.
The front line changed weapons. Raiders joined the close fight, their javelins gone, blades in hand. Old Wolf Warriors put away bows and slipped toward the sides, attacking exposed riders, wounded horses, and men trying to climb free from the crush. The fight became ugly, close, and hard to follow. Good armor kept Lannister men alive longer than it should have, but it did not make them immune to being dragged down by three men working together.
Arthur stayed near the center, sword in one hand, shield in the other, shouting orders when he could. A Lannister knight swung at him with a heavy blade. Arthur caught the strike on his shield, felt his arm go numb, and stepped inside before the man could recover. His sword drove under the rim of the breastplate and into the softer space beneath. The knight gasped and fell against him, heavy and warm. Arthur shoved the body aside and looked toward the center of the battlefield.
Jaime Lannister was cutting his way forward.
Ser Daryn Hornwood tried to stop him and went down. Torren Karstark and Eddard Karstark fought him together, but Jaime's sword moved like bright water. Eddard Karstark died with steel in his chest. Robb's guards closed ranks, but Jaime was now less than twenty paces from the Stark banner.
Arthur felt cold spread through his chest. If Robb died here, everything changed. He grabbed the archer nearest him by the shoulder.
"Horgos! Shoot him. Slow him."
Horgos did not hesitate. He drew, aimed at Jaime's back, and released. The arrow flew clean, fast, and true. Jaime cut it in half without turning, because apparently the world had decided one blond murderer needed the reflexes of a song.
"Kator! Beland! Noli! Tevet! With me. Stop him!"
They broke from the right flank and rushed toward Robb's position. Kator reached Jaime first, lifting his shield just as the Kingslayer's sword descended. Jaime struck once, twice, three times, each blow sending splinters from the shield and forcing Kator back step by step. Horgos abandoned his bow, drew axe and shield, and joined from the side. Noli and Tevet circled, searching for openings and finding none that did not look like bait.
Then Greatjon Umber arrived with a roar and a massive axe. Lord Jason Mallister came moments later with several knights. Even Jaime Lannister could not cut through all of them at once. He parried Lord Jason, twisted away from the Greatjon, nearly opened Noli's throat, and drove Kator back again. But numbers pressed him. Shields closed. Blades forced his feet where he did not want them.
Kator found the moment. He slammed his shield into Jaime's side with all his strength, and Jaime stumbled half a step. It was not much, but it was enough. Arthur lunged from the flank, not at the throat, not at the chest, but at the wrist. He struck with the flat of his blade, and Jaime's sword flew from his hand. Several weapons touched his throat before he could recover.
"Take him!" Robb shouted.
Northern soldiers surged forward and bound Jaime Lannister with ropes. The Kingslayer struggled once, then stopped. His face still held that familiar sneer, but there was frustration under it now. Perhaps disbelief too. Men like Jaime did not expect the world to place them on their knees.
With their commander captured, the Lannister cavalry collapsed. Some tried to fight on. Others surrendered. A few were cut down while fleeing through trees already filled with enemies. By afternoon, the battle was over, and the Whispering Woods belonged to the wolves and trout, at least for the moment. The trees had been paid well in blood for the honor.