The morning light was crisp and cool as the Wolf Pack Company rode out from the Wolf's Den. Gendry and Qyburn followed their captain, the scarred man called Handsome, their grey wolf banners fluttering in the wind. They were headed south, deeper into the Disputed Lands, toward their first contract. The climate here was milder than King's Landing, the air heavy with the salt of the nearby sea.
Gendry watched the landscape roll by—plains and low hills, dotted with villages and small rivers where slaves toiled in the fields of wealthy Magisters. The company numbered about forty men. As they rode, they occasionally passed other sellsword bands. Greetings were exchanged, brief and wary, before each company continued on its way. Trust was a rare commodity in these lands.
Gendry was armed for war. He wore the black scale armor he had won from the pirate, and his horse was laden with his spiked warhammer, the yew longbow from Dick the Fletch, a Myrish crossbow, and several daggers. Qyburn, by contrast, rode at ease on a gentle old mare, his status as a physician affording him a measure of respect. Four outriders scouted ahead, their eyes constantly scanning the horizon.
The Disputed Lands were a cauldron of endless war, a swath of southwestern Essos that the Free Cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh had been fighting over for centuries. "This land is in two parts," Handsome explained, pointing with his riding crop. "Here, closer to the cities, you'll find the manors of the magisters and wealthy merchants. There is some order. We don't make trouble for our employers. The Myrish grow their firegrass here, the Tyroshi plant their pear trees, and the Lyseni cultivate their vineyards." He gestured south. "But in the middle ground, where the cities' claims overlap… that is a butcher's block, where sellswords and adventurers kill each other for scraps. If you want to live a long life, you stay out of that circle."
The Doom of Valyria had shattered an empire, Gendry mused, and left the world to barbarians. This fertile land had known nothing but conflict ever since. The Three Daughters tore at each other over the Disputed Lands and the Stepstones. Pentos and Braavos warred over trade routes. And worst of all were the Dothraki, who had swept in from the east four centuries ago, burning and sacking everything in their path. Only the Unsullied of Qohor had managed to halt their bloody advance, but the grasslands from the Forest of Qohor to the headwaters of the Sarne had been left as nothing but ruins.
"There," Handsome said, pointing to a large, Myrish-style manor built on the side of a large hill. "That is where we are bound. Firegrass Manor." As they drew closer, Gendry could see vast fields of lush, green plants growing half as tall as a man, their edges already turning a rustic iron-brown. "All of that is firegrass. Very valuable." The herb was used to make a potent healing paste and the famous, fiery Myrish wine.
"I have never seen so much in one place," Qyburn said, his maester's curiosity piqued.
The manor's owner, a wealthy Myrish magister, rarely visited. But this year's harvest was especially valuable. An insect blight in other regions had halved the yield, driving the price of firegrass sky-high. And where there was profit, there were predators. The magister had hired the Wolf Pack to protect his investment from the rogue sellswords and bandits that infested the region.
As the wolf banners came into view, a long, drawn-out horn blast sounded from the manor's watchtower. The steward of Firegrass Manor, a free Myrish man with an olive complexion named Luv, came out to greet them.
"My old friends!" he cried, rushing forward to embrace Handsome. "I have been waiting for you! This time of year always ties my stomach in knots."
"And you always worry for nothing, Luv," Handsome laughed, clapping the man on the back. "With the Wolf Pack on guard, your firegrass will be delivered safely to Myr, same as always." He waved his men forward, and the company rode into the manor's courtyard.
"How is the harvest?" Handsome asked as they walked toward the main hall.
"The yield is good, same as last year," Luv replied, his voice dropping. "But the blight means we can make a great profit this season. And that is why the Magister sent for you. When the price of firegrass soars, the bandits become even more frantic."
"Gold is the only true coin in the Disputed Lands," Handsome remarked.
"And firegrass and wine are a close second," Luv said with a grim smile. "That is what makes me uneasy. This crop is as good as gold."
The steward led them into the manor's great hall, where hot water and a warm meal were waiting. The horses were taken to the stables, and the men of the Wolf Pack, their first mission underway, settled in for the night.