Rocks tore through the pitch-black sky and fell like rain onto the streets of Fire Herb Manor.
Despite their size, the Myrish had not managed to hurl all of those dreadful gifts into the manor itself. Most of the stones smashed into the walls, while others struck the gatehouse, battlements, and defensive towers.
Around the Three Daughters of Myr, however, Bloodbeard had built a solid siege position, launching relentless assaults day and night.
The darkness was Gendry's ally. The runaway slaves of the Free Company, familiar with the terrain, harried the Myrish host again and again under cover of night.
Now it was the hour of the wolf, the longest and darkest stretch before dawn. For many of those Gendry had gathered at the east gate, it would be the last night of their lives.
Gendry led four hundred Wolf Pack cavalry, followed by two thousand warriors: four hundred Wolf Pack infantry and sixteen hundred Free Company fighters. Steel Fist commanded the Wolf Pack infantry, while Greywolf led the Free Company troops behind them. The men had trained under the Wolf Pack, the Unsullied, and Gendry himself. At last, they bore the look of seasoned soldiers.
Greywolf stood at the head of the Free Company infantry with fifteen Unsullied. Each Unsullied carried three spears, a short sword, and a shield. Firelight flickered along the long spikes of their bronze helmets, washing over their smooth, expressionless faces.
The remaining fighters guarded the various gates. The southern gate faced the greatest pressure; the northern, the least. Once the battle began, longbowmen hiding in the outskirts would lend support from the west, loosing arrows at the sound of the horn.
Holding fast might have been safer, but the expanded town around the manor was no impregnable fortress. And with the slave masters burning for revenge, it was better to strike first.
"Follow me! Follow Steel Fist! Follow the Unsullied and train as they do! You are the finest warriors!"
"Freedom! Freedom!" the Free Company roared. For the slaves, defeat meant death. Slave masters had never shown mercy to runaways.
"The plan is thorough," Gendry said. "I'll lead the cavalry charge. The moment the gates open, we ride at full speed—straight for the sellsword rabble and the catapults in the rear. When their army forms up, we hit their flanks and rear. Do not charge the pikes head-on."
"Remember our targets," Longspear added. "The catapults first, then the rabble behind them. The Three Whores of Myr—we're unlikely to take them intact. Better to tear them down or burn them."
Steel Fist nodded. "Kill as many sellsword captains, Myrish nobles, and slave overseers as you can. Burn their tents—especially the largest ones, the ones that stand out."
"Don't seize slaves! Slaves are our friends!" Greywolf called out.
"You are warriors who inspire fear," Gendry told Steel Fist and his men. "Shout, roar—shake them. When our cavalry shatters their formation and opens a gap, follow them in. Kill as many as you can. If you're able, spare the slaves. Aim for the sellsword captains, nobles, and officers. Withdraw before they can encircle you."
Steel Fist's four hundred plate-armored infantry were the elite among the foot.
The Unsullied formations were rigid and precise, but assembling them took time. The cavalry's charge would buy the Unsullied and the Free Company the time they needed to form proper spear and shield lines.
"Listen for my horn," Gendry added. "Cavalry against cavalry, infantry against infantry. We strike by surprise. If Bloodbeard isn't a fool, he'll attack before the Unsullied can fully deploy. I'll do everything I can to delay him. The spear thrusts of Greywolf's Unsullied will break Bloodbeard's formation. His elite—Myr's best—number only about a thousand."
"We will obey your command, Lord Commander! Great Breaker," Grey Wolf said. "At the attack signal, we charge. At the withdrawal signal, we fall back. Our manor still stands. The enemy won't dare approach within crossbow range."
Avoid their sharp edge. Exhaust their momentum. Strike when they falter.
Gendry turned the tactic over in his mind. It was the method he trusted most, and the one he handled best.
The Disputed Lands were mostly flat and open. A full-scale frontal clash would only bleed them dry. The most effective tactic was the Dornish way of blunting the edge—evade the strike, then counter. Unfortunately, the Disputed Lands were fertile enough that cutting off supply lines was hardly an option.
To the east, the light of dawn tore through the darkness. The lives of thousands would be decided in today's battle. The time had come.
Gendry secured his wolf-headed helmet, fastened his gorget, and settled his Myr brocade cloak over his shoulders. His black spiked warhammer glinted with a cold sheen. He lifted his shield and slid his arm through the leather straps.
He trusted no gods, yet he still found himself hoping the Seven across the sea in Westeros might grant him strength. May the Warrior lend him power like a raging storm. May the Crone grant him just enough wisdom to lead his men to victory.
"I might die in a woman's arms, or on a frozen battlefield! But not today!" Longspear raised his weapon and roared.
A torrent of steel surged forward.
Knights tightened their helmets, tested the weight of their blades, and reached for swords and axes.
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Kill!" Gendry raised his warhammer. Around him rose a storm of sound—the wind snapping banners, steel ringing against steel, horseshoes pounding the earth.
The iron tide struck first, like a crushing blow.
Bloodbeard faltered for only a heartbeat before regaining his composure. Savage by nature, but seasoned by countless battles, he barked orders for the free Sellswords under his command to charge. At the same time, he ordered the Company of the Cat to form up with long spears to counter the cavalry. The Company of the Cat's three hundred knights were his elite. He could not afford to squander them now.
"Where are the Long Lances? Eight hundred knights strong! Bring them here at once!" Bloodbeard shouted.
"Captain, the Long Lances are under plunging fire! The enemy's longbowmen are lying in ambush outside the Castle. Some of those bows can shoot three hundred yards!"
"Useless! A pack of fools!" Bloodbeard roared. "We had scouts! How did they miss this?"
"They hid themselves well in the woods. In this kind of terrain, we don't have the advantage."
"Enough!" Bloodbeard forced himself to stop dwelling on the stalled Long Lances. Perhaps it was a feint. The real pressure lay on the center and the flank held by the Second Sons. He had to stand firm, unshaken.
"Charge the Second Sons!" Gendry commanded.
The disgraced and ill-famed Second Sons were no longer what they once had been. Their weapons were battered and worn, some barely fit for use.
The assault crashed down like a tidal wave, tearing straight through the Second Sons' formation. They fought back desperately, but it changed little.
Many of their riders were thrown from their saddles and cut down. The Titan's bastard was frantic, hastily sounding the horn for reinforcements while rallying men on the other flank to mount a desperate resistance.
"Kill!"
A powerful warhorse thundered toward the Second Sons as Gendry swung his spiked warhammer. He would break the Second Sons first, then set the catapults ablaze and sweep around their flank. He meant to butcher as many of their fighting men as he could.
His warhammer gleamed with a deathly chill. One blow caved in the face of a Second Sons warrior clad in ragged mail. Each swing carried crushing force, shattering jaws and smashing skulls.