GOT: The Great Khal — Chapter 134 - Three Cities Change Banners
The Reach was the granary of the Seven Kingdoms.
The Mander River and its tributaries had carved out this plain over centuries, leaving behind soil so rich it almost glowed, fed by steady rain and blanketed by wheat fields that ran to the horizon.
Every autumn, the harvest filled thousands of wagons. They rolled north up the Rose Road to King's Landing, west to Lannisport, south to the Dornish Marches. House Tyrell sat on all of it, and that was why Highgarden had its wealth and its confidence. Control the Reach, and you held Westeros by the stomach.
Drogo had seen that clearly from the start.
Jako took over ten thousand Dothraki riders down the Blueburn River, burning and killing as they went, cutting straight across both sides of the Rose Road. Grain convoys died on the road — men, horses, wagons, all of it.
The defenders never had time to react.
From every castle, the sentries saw only a band or two of riders sweeping past in the distance and assumed it was ordinary raiding. When they sent troops out to chase them down, the Dothraki would concentrate several columns and close the trap, swallowing the pursuit force whole.
Thick smoke rose from dozens of places at once and blotted out half the sky.
Jako never attacked castles. He never lingered. He burned and ran, then ran to the next place and burned again. Twenty columns of riders stayed in contact through scouts and messenger pigeons, east today, west tomorrow, retreating when the enemy pressed, advancing when the enemy pulled back.
The Tyrell commanders were spinning in circles.
One urgent dispatch would say the enemy had appeared on the upper Blueburn. The next would say they had already cut the northern stretch of the Rose Road. Scouting parties sent out either returned empty-handed or never came back at all.
Randyll Tarly wanted to pull the defense line in and hold the core of the Reach. Garlan Tyrell insisted on splitting forces to pursue. The lords bickered and got nowhere, and no one knew where the main Dothraki host actually was.
Then, in the middle of all that chaos, a single band of riders slashed through layer after layer of defenses and pressed to the outskirts of Highgarden itself.
By the time the sentries on the walls spotted the dust and firelight rising in the distance, the Dothraki had already raided three villages, seized dozens of fine horses from beneath the walls, and swept away howling into the dark. They left behind corpses on the ground and a panicked chorus of horns.
Word of Jako's string of successes reached Storm's End.
"The more havoc Jako raises, the fewer troops the Tyrells will send to King's Landing," Drogo said. "The knights of Highgarden have their own crops to protect. They have no time for King's Landing."
Wodefa stood beside the map and tapped three points. "House Fell of Fellwood, House Buckler of Bronzegate, House Errol of Haystack Hall. All three answer directly to King's Landing."
"There's also this." Wodefa swallowed. "Oberyn Martell has brought 5,000 Dornish vanguard troops to Massey's Hook. He's holding position for now — but if Crownlands forces march south from King's Landing and link up with him, Jako could find himself encircled in the Reach."
Drogo looked at the three black dots on the map. Three nails, driven into the road between Storm's End and King's Landing. They also blocked Jako's only retreat route if he needed to pull back and rest.
"We pull out all three." Drogo closed his fist.
"Will the Crownlands send troops?" Daenerys asked.
Drogo considered it. "Not yet. Tywin isn't in King's Landing — he's still at Rosby, locked in a standoff with Jorah. Joffrey is the one calling the shots in the capital right now, and his army is already tied down by Nimitz's fleet. They can't move."
He raised his head. "Our men have had their rest. Muster the troops. We march on Bronzegate."
Bronzegate sat north-northwest of Storm's End, right along the Kingsroad. House Buckler held it, and they had built the walls thick. The old lord was a hard man, during Robert's Rebellion, he had held off part of the royal army for Stannis Baratheon.
Drogo took 2 cavalry columns to cover the flanks of the siege force, guarding against a pincer from Fellwood and Haystack Hall while the assault was underway.
Then he mounted Drogon.
Rhaegal and Viserion rose on either side. The 3 dragons lifted off from the scorched ruins of the godswood north of Storm's End, climbing into the cold air above the blackened trees.
Wind drove through the gaps in his plate armor, icy and biting. Drogo pressed low, both hands locked on the dragon saddle, knees clamped against the armored ridges along Drogon's flanks.
The ground forces were still miles behind. Drogo took the 3 dragons ahead.
He saw Bronzegate as they crossed the Kingsroad.
Gray walls sprawled across the green fields like an ugly scar.
Horns sounded faintly through the wind. The sentries on the battlements had spotted the black specks on the horizon.
Drogon folded his wings and dove. Drogo's stomach lurched upward. The wind screamed. The walls swelled fast in his vision. He gripped the saddle hard, and the moment Drogon opened his jaws, Drogo leaned aside to dodge the wave of heat that blasted back across his face.
Black dragonfire erupted from deep in Drogon's throat and poured across the gatehouse. Thick smoke rolled upward, heavy with the stench of char.
As Drogon skimmed the battlements, Drogo caught a glimpse to his right: Rhaegal's emerald flames were licking the eastern arrow tower. The defenders on top had no time to scream. They curled into black shapes and were still.
Viserion was cleaner about it. One dive, one breath, and the gate burned straight through. The iron sheeting melted. The wooden core crackled and snapped.
Drogo patted Drogon's neck. The dragon banked, glided through a half-circle, and settled beside the scorched battlements.
He dropped off the dragon's back, glaive in hand. His boot soles crunched on slag like shattered glass.
Old Lord Buckler stood a dozen paces away.
His helmet was askew. His face was covered in ash. He had a longsword raised and was screaming something at his routing soldiers, his voice already cracking.
He saw Drogo. His mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to force out the words: House Buckler never surrenders.
Then he saw his son's body.
The boy had been caught by dragonfire. Half his body was charcoal. His hand still gripped his sword, but the blade had melted through at the middle.
The old lord's sword dropped. His mouth stayed open. Nothing came out.
Behind him, the banners of the ground forces had appeared at the far end of the Kingsroad.
Dothraki riders poured through the gate Viserion had burned open. The freedmen companies followed close behind, and the streets turned into a brawl with House Buckler's household guard.
The defenders lasted less than half an hour before they broke.
News of Bronzegate's fall spread fast across the northern Stormlands.
House Fell of Fellwood sent a letter, respectfully worded, expressing their willingness to swear fealty. House Errol of Haystack Hall skipped the letter entirely and sent their son as a hostage, a boy of seventeen or eighteen, face pale, spine straight.
Drogo didn't bother going to receive either castle himself. He sent a hundred Dothraki riders and 200 freedmen to garrison Fellwood and Haystack Hall, and before they rode out, he gave them one instruction.
"Raise the black banner with the three-headed red dragon on their walls."
When those banners climbed the towers of Fellwood and Haystack Hall, the northern Stormlands had changed hands completely.
From Shipbreaker Bay to the Wendwater, from Storm's End to Bronzegate, every castle flew the black-and-red dragon. Drogo's territory sat like a slab of iron wedged across the land south of King's Landing.
Jako's 10,000 Dothraki no longer had to worry about their rear being cut. Even if Highgarden sent a great host after them, they could pull back into Storm's End at any time, horses reshod, riders drinking hot soup, eating their fill, resting up, and then riding out to burn again.
More importantly, the Dornish army on Massey's Hook was now trapped.
To the east, the sea. Warships from Dragonstone and Driftmark had sealed every sea lane.
To the west, Bronzegate and Storm's End. Drogo's.
Oberyn Martell's 5,000 men sat bottled up on that peninsula with nowhere to go forward and no way back.
➤ Next: Death of the Red Viper