Dragonfire Breaks the Siege

The shadow of Giant's Lance had not yet fully receded when the grim outline of Moon Gate Keep emerged through the morning mist.

Across the moat, the Mountain Clans' tents clustered like rotting mushrooms. The dying embers of their campfires gave off a rank smell in the damp air, while crude banners painted with twisted wolves and bears flapped with tattered sounds in the mountain wind.

The instant Daemon reined in his dragon saddle, Glutton let out a roar that shook the valley.

As the Black Dragon spread its wings, its shadow nearly swallowed the entire vanguard. Its pitch-black eyes fixed upon the wildlings' main camp.

The formation of the Vale's allied army slowly unfolded beneath Glutton—

House Corbray's silver raven sigil gleamed in the morning light, and the scabbard of Lady Forlorn reflected a cold glint;

House Royce's bronze armor stretched in an unbroken line, runes faintly glimmering across the plates;

Longbow Hall's archers had already taken position on the high slope of the left flank, arrows nocked like a swarm of bees poised to strike.

"Remember the signal." Daemon's voice carried through his helmet, reaching the commanders of every unit with perfect clarity.

He looked toward Rhea Royce. Beneath her bronze armor, she was using a tool to adjust the string of her hunting bow. "The icicles on the western mountain path will help conceal your tracks."

Rhea drew her bow and loosed an arrow into the sky in response. Guncer patted her shoulder guard, the decorations on the giant's bronze helmet swaying faintly in the wind.

A horn blast suddenly tore through the morning mist. Count Corbray raised Lady Forlorn high and charged out ahead of the formation, throwing the far side of Moon Gate Keep's moat into instant chaos.

The wildlings stumbled out of their tents, hands gripping stone axes and bone clubs trembling in the sunlight. They had never seen such an orderly flood of iron armor, much less imagined that the dragon which had nearly wiped out the Stone Crows last year would truly appear above their heads again today.

"Loose!" Longbow Hall's commander roared, sweeping down his banner. Arrows poured down like a torrential rain, piercing the wildlings' leather armor and riddling their charging ranks.

Daemon patted Glutton's neck. The brand on his right shoulder burned hot, and the Black Dragon surged upward. Pitch-black dragonfire poured down like molten obsidian, instantly devouring three of the largest tents.

Piercing screams rose from the flames. The stench of scorched hair and leather mixed in the air, and even the mountain wind carried a searing heat.

Dreamfyre followed close behind, its pale-blue dragonfire flowing like a glacier as it swept across the wildlings' flank.

Gael's silver hair and red dress stood out sharply atop the dragon's back. The girl's gaze locked onto a wildling squad trying to scatter, and dragonfire precisely cut off their retreat.

"Now!" Daemon pointed Blackfyre toward Moon Gate Keep's drawbridge. A thunderous roar suddenly erupted from within the castle.

Yorbert Royce appeared at the forefront of a drawbridge, Lamentation slicing through the morning mist. The defenders poured from the gates like a tide, forming a pincer attack with the allied army outside.

Though the old count moved slowly, his sword strokes were steady as rock. Every swing carried the accumulated weight of years, hacking the wildlings in his path into bloody ruin.

"For the Vale!" William Royce's longsword pierced a wildling's throat. Blood splashed across his youthful face, but only made his eyes sharper.

Guncer Royce swung his greatsword like a windmill, smashing wildlings trying to climb over the shield wall to the ground;

Jarman Waters fired arrow after arrow, repeatedly striking the wildlings' vital points. His single eye did nothing to dull the deadly sharpness of his shots.

Mys Rivers's hammer precisely smashed in the skull of a clan chief, whose hand still clutched a silver necklace stolen from the villagers.

Daemon rode Glutton into a dive, Blackfyre carving a black arc through the air. Three wildlings who had leaped down from a distant slope, intending to trip Corlys Celtigar's warhorse with chains, were instantly cleaved in two.

Before the blood droplets on his blade could fall, Daemon flipped down from the dragon's back. Rayford and Lubert Crabb worked together to drive back the wildlings surrounding Corlys, whose warhorse had been startled, while Daemon kicked away a spear-wielding wildling and smashed the flat of his sword heavily into the man's wrist.

"Behind Moon Gate Keep's stone walls, the people of the Vale are still weeping!" Daemon's roar exploded amid the chaos. "Your wives and children are waiting for you to return home in victory and glory!"

The allied army's morale flared like ignited spirits, boiling over in an instant.

Count Corbray's Lady Forlorn and Yorbert's Lamentation met in the tumult, the crisp ring of Valyrian steel swords striking weapons sounding clear as a bell;

Rhea's arrows flashed like blades leaving their sheaths. Every draw struck a wildling cleanly in the throat, and the runes on her bronze armor were stained red with blood, as if they had come alive.

Most terrifying of all was the dragons' rampage. Glutton, soaring alone, plowed blackened trenches through the wildlings' position with pitch-black dragonfire, while Dreamfyre swept low, its pale-blue flames driving the fleeing wildlings toward the cliffs.

The roars of the two dragons mingled with the allied army's battle cries, utterly shattering the Mountain Clans' courage—they could endure hunger and cold, and fight bears and wolves in the mountains, but they could not stand against fire and steel falling from the sky.

"The chief has fled!" someone shouted.

Daemon looked up and saw a tall figure in a bearskin cloak fleeing along the cliff's edge, followed by more than a dozen close retainers.

The black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder faintly burned. Daemon had barely formed a thought when Glutton understood at once, beating its wings and giving chase. By the time the Black Dragon's shadow covered the group, Daemon had arrived atop a captured wild horse, Blackfyre pointed straight at the chief's back.

"You should have died of old age in the mountains," Daemon said coldly. "Instead, you came to lay claim to land that was never yours."

When the chief turned around, his face was still smeared with his companions' brains.

He raised his stone axe, only to freeze as Glutton breathed pitch-black dragonfire—the flames did not touch him, but melted a pool of ink-black marks into the rock at his feet.

When Daemon's soft command, "Kneel," drifted past the chief's ear,

his knees had already crashed heavily to the ground, and his stone axe slipped from his grasp and rolled over the cliff.

When the last resisting wildling was cut down by Guncer's bronze greatsword, every drawbridge of Moon Gate Keep was finally lowered.

Yorbert Royce rushed out carrying Jennie Arryn. The four-year-old Duchess of the Vale clutched a silver falcon badge tightly in her small hand. There were no tear tracks on her face, only a calmness far beyond her years.

"Prince Daemon." Yorbert's voice choked with emotion. Three feathered arrows were lodged in the old count's armor, yet he seemed utterly unaware of them. "You saved us all."

Jennie broke free of the count's embrace and ran to Daemon. Standing on tiptoe, she tried to touch Blackfyre at his waist. "You're better than that Daemon," she said softly, her eyes bright as two stars. "And you're better-looking too."

Daemon smiled and bent down to lift her into his arms. Then he looked toward the remaining wildlings scattering in the distance. "We'll discuss that after we've dealt with this trouble for good."

Over the next seven days, the Vale's allied army became a sharp blade, sweeping through the folds of the Mountains of the Moon to hunt down the remaining wildlings.

Daemon split the allied army into smaller forces. Rhea and Guncer pursued the clans in the western valleys, Count Corbray cleared out fugitives along the coast, while William led light cavalry to protect fleeing villagers.

At every place they reached, Glutton's pitch-black dragonfire and Dreamfyre's pale-blue flames drove away resistance ahead of them, leaving behind only awe and submission.

At dusk on the seventh day, Daemon stood atop Moon Gate Keep's square tower, watching the setting sun gild Giant's Lance in gold.

The battle report Rayford had brought showed that every Mountain Clan had retreated deep into the mountains and would not dare cross the line again for at least three years.

Yorbert was holding a feast in the castle to celebrate this hard-won victory. Songs and laughter drifted up on the wind, mixed with the scent of pine from the hearths, bringing a rare warmth.

Gael came to stand beside him. Dreamfyre's pale-blue scales glimmered faintly in the twilight. "They say you're the Conqueror reborn."

Daemon smiled and brushed snowflakes from her hair. "Aegon had three dragons. You and I only have two."

"But you have me." Gael's fingers brushed across the armor on his chest, where the bloodstains had dried into dark red. "You have Rayford, Lubert, and the others, and all those people willing to charge into battle with you."

From the distant valley came Glutton's roar. Daemon knew this victory was not the end of his campaign, but its beginning.

As he turned and descended the tower, Blackfyre hummed softly within its scabbard, as though answering Moon Gate Keep's rebirth—and calling him toward a farther journey.

The castle lights came on one by one, like stars scattered among the mountains. Upon this land guarded by dragonfire and steel, a new story had only just begun to be written.