Battle cries rang out all around the battlefield. Without the Mountain, a vital fighting force, the Crackclawmen swept through like a raging storm, dividing and surrounding the soldiers of the Westerlands. Red blood stained the bloody water as slaughter engulfed Mummer's Ford.
Red-cloaked soldiers fell into the water one after another. Though the Mountain's soldiers were vicious, some were miscellaneous levies, while the Crackclawmen were just as fierce and had the advantage in numbers and equipment.
The Red Viper had gone into battle lightly armored. Apart from his neck guard, vambraces, gorget, coat of armor, and armored skirt, he wore only soft leather clothing and smooth silk underclothes. A layer of gleaming copper scales covered his mail, but it offered less than a quarter of the protection of the Mountain's full heavy armor. Still, he had finally listened to advice. His helmet was exceptionally well made, with a face guard, yet lighter than an ordinary helm.
"Before you die, you need to know my name. Oberyn Martell, prince of Dorne," the Red Viper shouted hoarsely, watching the hulking figure before him. "Princess Elia was my sister."
"You talk too much," The Mountain roared, then slashed at the Red Viper with his longsword. The Red Viper nimbly dodged, his spear sweeping across the Mountain's chest and leaving a long, bright scratch on the steel plate. "Princess Elia, the princess of Dorne."
"You killed her, you raped her, you harmed her children!" the Red Viper bellowed, watching the path of the descending sword and taking care to avoid it.
With his spear and speed, the Red Viper attacked repeatedly. His spear could stab at the Mountain's belly, but the armor was truly thick. The Mountain's helmet was cumbersome enough to restrict his vision. He relied on speed and strength to strike swiftly,