Chapter 601

For most of the year, the swift currents of the Blackwater made it impossible to build pontoon bridges. But in the depths of winter, with the upper tributaries frozen over, the river’s water level and speed had dropped significantly, making an otherwise infeasible operation entirely possible.

Three medium-sized vessels first stretched thick ropes across the Blackwater, forming the foundation of the structure. From there, numerous hastily assembled boats, rafts with inflated bladders strapped to their sides, and wooden planks were fastened together, linked in a chain to form a narrow passage no wider than a man or two. The entire structure was then secured by an anchor thrown into the river’s depths with the help of a free-floating ship, keeping the bridge steady against the current.

Three such pontoon bridges, spaced some thirty yards apart, formed a crossing no wider than a hundred yards.

It was evident that the Gifted Army had planned this well; the construction progressed in an orderly fashion. The Golden Company had attempted to interfere, yet the engineers were always protected by nearby boats bristling with archers. Any sellsword who dared show himself on the riverbank was instantly met with a hail of arrows.

The Golden Company had archers of their own, but Strickland did not dare send them forward for a duel. The fate of the Reach’s siege camp was warning enough—he had no doubt that if he sent men onto the shore, they would immediately be bombarded by those damnable iron spheres.

After some consideration, he abandoned the idea of wasting men on a futile effort and allowed the enemy to complete their crossings.

Rather than stop them mid-river, it was better to let them get halfway across before launching an all-out charge, driving them back into the water. That would not only shatter their attempt at pursuit but might even be spun as a decisive victory when reported up the chain of command.

Strickland was no warrior—he was a paymaster by trade. But he had led a mercenary company for years, and even he understood the basic principle of "striking an enemy mid-crossing."
----


The blaring horns that had signaled the crossing faded into the cold air, and at the same time, the relentless thunder of explosions ceased. Strickland wasn’t naive enough to believe the enemy had simply run out of powder and shot at that exact moment. No, they were merely reloading, aiming their strange weapons at his side of the river, waiting to unleash hell the moment his forces emerged from behind the embankment.

Those weapons had range, but they were only a real threat to tight formations. Strickland had a plan: dispersion, staggered assaults.

The men would advance in separate hundred-man teams, spaced apart, striking the crossing vanguard from multiple angles. As long as they could charge through with minimal losses, the moment battle turned into a melee, the enemy wouldn’t dare use those iron spheres for fear of hitting their own men.

Under the watchful eyes peering over the riverbank, the black-clad soldiers—who had stood rigid in formation for over an hour—finally moved. At the orders of their commanders, they divided into three columns and jogged steadily onto the pontoon bridges.

Even as the prelude to battle played out, the Gifted Army’s discipline could be summed up in one word: steady.

To prevent excessive weight from destabilizing the fragile bridges, they abandoned the idea of crossing in double file and instead sent men across in a single column. This reduced congestion and minimized the risk of men shoving each other off into the icy waters below. However, this also sacrificed speed, giving the defenders more time to react and more opportunities to strike.

Perfect, Strickland thought to himself. He lifted his spyglass again, studying the enemy as they crossed, hoping to glean insight into their composition and armament.

Through the refracted glass, the scene two hundred yards away was brought into focus. The first three lines of soldiers crossing the river were all tall, broad-shouldered men, each carrying an enormous shield—door-sized, nearly man-high, large enough to completely cover the body.

It made sense for shield-bearers to be the first to land. The vanguard would take the brunt of the defenders’ attacks and needed to hold their ground long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

But as Strickland adjusted his spyglass slightly, a peculiar detail caught his eye: none of the shield-bearers appeared to be carrying weapons.

Large shields were typically paired with spears, sometimes swords, depending on the commander’s tactics. Yet as he scanned soldier after soldier, he saw no sign of any long polearms, nor even shorter blades. Instead, each man had two large, spherical iron balls slung over his shoulders, swaying conspicuously as they moved.

If those were solid iron, two of them together would weigh as much as half a man. Were these some kind of new flail? Or…?

A question flickered through his mind, but there was no time to ponder. He shifted his focus to the soldiers waiting on the riverbank behind them—and what he saw unsettled him further.

The second wave of troops also carried the same iron balls. But unlike the first wave, these men bore long spears on their backs. And every two or three men carried a torch.

A torch. In broad daylight.

What madness was this?

A creeping unease settled over Strickland, but the battle was already in motion. The enemy was setting foot on his side of the river, and there was no time to hesitate.

“Bring the elephants!” he barked. “Send them in with the first wave!”

"Aye!"

Tower-shield troops were tough to break—no doubt the enemy intended to use their defensive strength to establish a foothold on the shore, buying time for the rest of their forces to cross. If this dragged on, and more of the Gifted Army reached land, Strickland knew the Golden Company would be in deep trouble, especially with artillery on one side and dragons above.

Manpower alone would never break a proper shield wall. And most of the siege weaponry had already been lost when the Reachmen fled.

Fortunately, the Golden Company still had war elephants.

These were the rarest but most devastating beasts in their arsenal. Against them, neither the Unsullied nor the endless hordes of Dothraki could hold. If not for their immense food demands, poor endurance for long marches, and relatively slow speed, Strickland would have replaced all cavalry with war elephants long ago.

At its peak, the Golden Company had nearly thirty war elephants. But sea crossings, disease, and battle losses had reduced their numbers to less than ten.

Still, even a single war elephant was a weapon of mass destruction against a shield wall.

As the great, armored beast was led forward, its golden drapery catching the sunlight, nearly a hundred enemy soldiers had already landed, forming a semicircular defensive line around the bridge’s exit. It wasn’t yet time for the "mid-crossing strike" Strickland had envisioned, but any further delay risked losing momentum.

He could wait no longer.

The Golden Company’s fallen banner was raised once more. At his command, ten hundred-man units rose from their resting positions, vaulted over the embankment, and charged.

One thousand mercenaries. Seven war elephants.

Drums pounded. Men roared.

And the Golden Company thundered toward the riverbank to crush the Gifted Army before they could plant their foothold.