The Wizard of Fury Chapter 36 (Patreon)

The swarming knights upon the field seemed impossible to defeat. There were hundreds of them, outnumbering the Crownlands’ knights thanks to their greater numbers in population. There was no true equality in terms of their numbers—as King Robert believed in the natural order of things—but Harry still believed in his ability and those of his fellow men.

However, the Stormlands’ knights had just as much belief in themselves. They were strong, capable warriors, many of whom had fought in Robert’s Rebellion, the Greyjoy Rebellion, or both. The young men fighting alongside the veterans had all of the bravado and gallantry of youth but with the heritage and pedigree that came with being trained by some of the greatest knights in Westeros.

Men cried out all around Harry as powerful strikes knocked them to the ground. Harry held his ground alongside his fellows near him and battered back against those incoming knights who were eager for a swift victory. His blade was unnaturally swift as he clipped man after man, bringing them to their knees as they reluctantly surrendered to him.

And as sweat dripped down his face, more men charged his way.

“Stand firm!” Harry shouted at the top of his lungs, acting as a stalwart beacon of hope in the middle of all of this chaos.

The battle wasn’t fair, but how many were? The Crownlands had a far smaller population than any other kingdom barring the Iron Islands; whatever hope they had of victory was tempered by the knowledge that their opponents were bound to have greater numbers than them. But they knew this already, and the wise among them used it as fuel to try and prove themselves. If they could defeat a superior force, then who could deny their prowess in battle? The honour it would bring to them and their houses would be well worth the bruises they’d suffer today.

However, even such hope could not always be maintained when they came face to face with legendary fighters.

Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Balon Swann, Ser Ronnet Connington, and Ser Richard Hope were all swirling around the battlefield like ghosts, striking only when necessary and decimating opponents who’d scarcely noticed them before they suddenly appeared. They were well known figures at tourneys like these, often reaching the final bouts. For every one man that the Crownlands had reaching such a placement, there were three from the Stormlands.

These men led the coordinated push that had the crowd cheering with glee. From the very beginning, they stood upon the front lines and inspired their men to fight hard. Their mounted knights swiftly engaged the Crownlands’ mounted knights and routed them to the edges of the battlefield while their men steadily began to encircle the standing Crownlands’ knights.

Within minutes, Harry felt the press coming in from all sides as his fellow knights steadily fell.

“Fight!” He shouted, and yet his words were lost against the dim that filled the air. The crowd was celebrating every strike and tumble, leaving a lasting ring in everyone’s ears. The battering of steel upon steel created a discordant hymn over the battlefield that was simultaneously hypnotic and painfully distracting.

Had he not his wits about him, Harry knew that he would’ve gone down by now. The Stormlands’ knights seemed to be going after their strongest opponents first, and that put Harry as one of their prime targets.

His Uncle Renly gave Harry a cheery wave as he directed four knights his way. Harry replied with gritted teeth and a powerful thrust forward into one of the men still in front of him. The knight awkwardly tried to parry the thrust, but Harry didn’t follow through with it. Instead, he twisted his body and leaned in with his shoulder, colliding with the man and knocking him off balance. The knight stumbled backwards, and Harry smacked him upside the head with the flat of his blade to send him rattling to the floor.

“Well struck!” Renly called out, still holding back as he watched his four knights get close to Harry.

“Watch yourself,” Ser Osmund Kettleblack warned Harry as he stepped alongside him. His black helm obscured all but his dark eyes and a faint scruff of his black beard. “That one there on the left is a bastard from House Grandison. He has a thing about liking to take down fancy highborn lads like yourself at tourneys.”

“I’ll be glad to knock him on his ass then,” Harry grinned in reply.

Ser Osmund took a measured step backwards and Harry raised his blade; he knew better than to get in Harry’s way just before the first strike was to be delivered.

As clumped together as they were with the other Crownlands’ knights, the four Stormlands’ knights managed to slip through the gaps in their lines to try to surround Harry and Ser Osmund. They kept a careful distance as they began to spread out, but Harry wasn’t having it.

With a surprising burst of speed, Harry bulled forward at the bastard that Ser Osmund had pointed out. There was a brutal clanging sound as Harry’s sword connected with the man’s shield. Harry continued through with a weak slice through the air to the other knight standing just to the side of the bastard and clipped the man’s forearm. Even though the flat of the blade only struck chain mail, the blow was bound to still sting. It gave Harry the opportunity to swipe back at the bastard, who was just lowering his shield to try to get an eager hit in.

Had this been a proper battle, Harry would’ve skewered the man where he stood. He left himself too open and eager for a retaliatory strike, and Harry could’ve speared him right through the gap in between his ill-fighting shoulder pad and the neckline of his mail to deliver a killing blow. Instead, Harry whipped his blade quickly back to strike the man’s fingers that were wrapped around the hilt of his blade.

The bastard screamed as his fingers cracked under the weight of Harry’s strike. A couple may have broken from the blow, but it was necessary to force the man to drop his blade. When he was outnumbered two to one like this, Harry wouldn’t take any chances.

As the bastard went down clutching his hand, Ser Osmund let out a cry and smashed hard into Harry’s back. The man had been knocked backwards, and as he flailed his arms to keep his balance, his shield struck the side of Harry’s head.

“Fuck!” Harry spat as his head rang. His vision went blurry for a moment, and he caught a glimpse of something shiny and silver coming his way.

Acting on pure instinct, Harry swung his sword up to intercept the strike. He interlocked blades with the man and stepped forward, shoving the man back. But as he did so, another blow caught his side.

Harry stumbled, turning to see that Ser Barristan Selmy had joined the fight. With his gleaming white Kingsguard plate armour, he stood out sharply among the rest of the knights of the battlefield. Despite his advanced age, he didn’t show any of it as he readily slashed down at Harry’s legs.

Sidestepping the swipe, Harry twisted around the bastard on the ground and took another probing poke at the man he’d been fighting. His eyes were continually flickering back and forth between him and Ser Barristan, looking for any opening.

But Ser Barristan showed none. He appeared as sturdy as a tower and as nimble as a fox as he manoeuvred closer to Harry with practised ease.

Knowing that it was only a matter of time before Ser Barristan found the angle he liked and moved in for the attack, Harry decided that he had to make a move before it was too late. Any sane man would deal with the weaker foe first, and so Harry kept testing the poor man’s defensive skills as he shifted his stance until he was ready.

With one last strike, Harry feinted towards the man. He took several steps back and tried to parry the strike that never came. That was because Harry wasn’t going to act like a sane man in this fight. He was going to be as bold as the man he instead lunged towards.

As impossible as it might have seemed, Ser Barristan predicted Harry’s sudden lunge in his direction. He caught the blow on his shield and knocked Harry wide open before trying to slash Harry across his chest. The strike just barely grazed his armour as he leapt backwards, but before Harry could recover his footing, Ser Barristan was pressing him once more.

For the first time since his battle against Voldemort in the graveyard, Harry felt sheer terror at facing an opponent who seemed impossibly stronger than him. No matter what trick Harry tried or how powerfully he thrust with his blade, Ser Barristan seemed to know what he was going to do before he did it. And in turn, Harry knew the result before it happened.

Ser Barristan knocked Harry into dirt with a strong blow against his hip and a brutal smash of his shield. The tip of his blunted blade found Harry’s chin, and he was forced to release his blade.

“Better luck next time, nephew!” Renly called out.

As quickly as it’d begun, the fighting was at an end. A few holdouts tried to continue the fight, but they were outnumbered ten to one by now, and it was only a matter of time before they were forcibly defeated.

Harry rolled onto his back, feeling pain arching all throughout his body from the effort of fighting two battles in one day. If only he hadn’t been outnumbered on an open battlefield against legendary opponents…

“You fought well,” Ser Barristan said as he helped Harry to his feet. “The numbers weren’t with you today.”

Harry accepted the help and removed his helm, cringing as his body protested the movement. “Nor will they ever be with the small population in the Crownlands. Still, the battle was well fought.”

“I imagine I’ll see you again in the single-combat melee,” Ser Barristan noted. “With your talents, you’ll be sure to make it to the finals.”

“One can hope,” Harry replied. “It would be a poor showing if I didn’t make it to the finals at my first-ever tourney.”

Ser Barristan chuckled at his obvious joke. “Your father should be proud of your performance for his house today. Speaking of, how has his health been?”

“Well enough given the circumstances,” Harry replied. “He occasionally limps but does his best to hide it from everyone. I expect it’ll clear up in time. How has the investigation into the attackers gone?”

Ser Barristan was quiet for a moment. “Perhaps we could speak of this elsewhere.”

Harry nodded immediately and did his best to not act suspicious as he gestured for Ser Barristan to follow him off of the slowly-emptying battlefield. Healers were already on the grass, aiding the men who’d suffer more painful injuries. The bastard Harry had struck was having his fingers tended to, and Ser Osmund was on the ground next to him, clutching his midsection.

“Just a moment, if you would,” Harry said to Ser Barristan before heading over to Ser Osmund.

Given the fact that the man had saved Harry in the match earlier today, he felt that he had a duty to visit with him now.

“What happened?” Harry asked as he knelt beside the man, who was grimacing in pain.

“Nasty blow that knocked me into you,” Ser Osmund replied. He held up his mailed hand and showed the crimson blood staining it. “Think it broke a few of the links of my chain mail and buried them in my belly.”

Harry made a pained sound of sympathy. “Hopefully it’ll heal quickly. Should you require further treatment, I can have a maester sent for you.”

“That would be very kind, Lord Harry,” Ser Osmund replied. He leaned back as the healer came over to him now. “Are you off elsewhere now? Or would you be in the mood for a drink after this?”

“I have business with Ser Barristan and then my father,” Harry told him. “I’ll share a drink with you another day.”

“It’d better be more than one,” Ser Osmund said.

“No more talking,” the healer spoke softly as she came over. “I need a good look at your belly.”

With a parting pat on the shoulder, Harry stood up and saw Ser Barristan standing by the edge of the field. Harry hurried over towards him and then guided the man through the camp towards Harry’s tent. In the relative privacy that it offered, Ser Barristan removed his helm and took an offered seat.

“This business with your father has me far more troubled than I’d care to be,” Ser Barristan began seriously. “I’ve had men searching the tunnels beneath the Red Keep for weeks now, and they seem utterly endless. The ones leading up to your father’s chambers in the Maidenvault appear to have been secretly installed sometime after the building’s construction. The passageway was well hidden, so I’m uncertain how a pair of cutthroats could have learnt about it.”

“Unless they were told about it by someone else,” Harry pointed out.

“Yes,” Ser Barristan grimaced. “I’ve come to the same conclusion. The only question is who could have known of it. In our searching, we’ve noticed signs of people passing through. Burnt-out torches and the occasional damp footprint linger in the tunnels, but we’ve yet to catch anyone actually roaming within it.”

“Is there a chance that any of the smallfolk know of it? Do the tunnels exit somewhere they could go?” Harry asked.

“A chance? Yes, albeit a minuscule one,” Ser Barristan admitted. “We’ve found an exit onto the cliffs above the sea. Old, weathered handholds had been cut into the rock to let one down onto the ground beside the Blackwater Rush. Another exit leads into the sewers by the old Dragonpit. If any of the smallfolk know how to get into these tunnels, they must be small in number and keep the secret close to their chests.”

And so came the reality that Harry had already believed to be the most likely scenario. “So it’s more likely that someone within the Red Keep knows about the tunnels, correct?”

“Yes, my lord,” Ser Barristan admitted. “We have found over a dozen exits into the Red Keep itself. It seems likely that someone within the Red Keep contracted these men and guided them through the tunnels to reach the Maidenvault so that they could attack your father.”

An unknown enemy within could be far more dangerous than a known one staring you in the face. At the very least, the timing of the attack occurred when the king and queen were gone, along with many of their men. There were few unknown visitors to the Red Keep as well. That narrowed the suspects greatly, but it wasn’t as though Harry hadn’t already done his best to compile such a list.

“There was one other thing though,” Ser Barristan said, piquing Harry’s interest. He seemed gravely reluctant to say anything more, but honour pushed him onward. “Amid the tunnels, we happened to find a copy of the king’s formal seal.”

“Was it taken from his own chambers?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No, my lord, I made sure of that myself,” Ser Barristan answered. “All copies of King Robert’s seal are kept under careful watch. The king has two—one on his person at all times and a second one in a chest inside of his chambers—the Hand of the King has one—and I have personally confirmed that Lord Stark has his—and the last two are held in the small council’s chambers so that they may be used at times when King Robert is away.”

“So, one’s missing from the small council chambers?” Harry asked.

Ser Barristan shook his head. “No. Both are in their rightful place.”

“Then how is there a sixth seal?”

“Because someone created a copy of it,” Ser Barristan replied.

And that meant…

“Only someone with access to the king’s or the small council’s chambers could have created a copy of the seal.”

Ser Barristan nodded grimly. “Both chambers are under watch day and night. The only people who could have accessed these seals are members of King Robert’s Kingsguard, his small council, or the queen and their children.”

One of them had tried to kill his father.

“Thank you for the information, Ser Barristan,” Harry told the man as his heart began to race in his chest.

“Please do nothing drastic with this information,” Ser Barristan asked of him. “My investigation is still undergoing—”

“As is my family’s,” Harry told him. “This information will be of great use to us.”

“You should leave this in my hands,” Ser Barristan insisted. “I am an impartial member of the court designed to protect the king. By stealing his royal seal, the culprit behind this has acted against the king. I promise that they will be caught and brought to justice.”

“When?” Harry asked him simply. “It has been many weeks since the attack, and while your information is useful, it is not enough. Out of courtesy for all that you have done for me and my family, I promise that we will approach you with any of our findings before we act.”

“I suppose that is all I can ask for then,” Ser Barristan agreed reluctantly. He hesitated as he stood up. “Do be careful with this. King’s Landing is a dangerous place, and these underhanded manoeuvrings are doubly so.”

“I will,” Harry promised the man.

Now, it was time to inform his father and everyone else of what he had learnt.