"King of the Narrow Sea?"
Gendry rolled the title over in his mind. It might tempt others. But he intended to be the one true king of the Narrow Sea, the Stepstones, the Disputed Lands, and the Three-City Alliance.
"King of the Narrow Sea is hardly a new title," Maester Qyburn said. "History has seen more than one King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones."
"That crown won't come easily. Only after taking the Three Daughters would it truly fit."
A rare opportunity, Gendry thought. Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh were fracturing. The Ironborn and the Dornish were still licking their wounds from war, with no strength to look east. This was the window. If he swallowed the Stepstones whole, he would choke off Myr and Tyrosh's sea routes entirely.
He looked at the pirates on the black ships. Once they had been Westerosi, Lyseni, Tyroshi, Myrish. Now they were simply pirates. They knelt on the deck, begging for mercy like lambs awaiting the knife. Yet their past of raiding villages and selling captives into slavery made forgiveness a rare thing indeed.
"Tell Hallis. Tell the fleet," Gendry ordered. "Split into two forces. One continues to patrol the Narrow Sea, sealing off Bloodstone and Grey Gallows Islands. Keep an eye out for support from the Lys fleet. The other sails at once for Myr's harbor. I've given the Myrish more than enough chances."
The catapults could reduce Myr to rubble. But that would serve little purpose. Too much bloodshed would unite the Myrish and the Magisters of other cities against him. And he wanted Myr intact—a living city of craftsmen, not ashes.
"Yes!"
"Yes!"
"And you," Gendry said, turning to the surrendered pirates. "Your chance to prove your loyalty has come. My fleet will strike Myr from the sea. You'll lead the assault. You've made your living on these waters. Don't disappoint me. There will be spoils for you as well."
To waste them would be a pity. Better to wring some use from them in the attack on Myr.
"We are willing to join the Wolf Pack fleet!"
"We will serve the Lord Commander!"
They stared into Gendry's deep blue eyes, but none dared resist. The most defiant among them had already been killed by the Fire Herb King and his Unsullied guards.
The promise of survival felt like a rope tossed to drowning men. Even if it led into deeper peril, it was better than the noose or the sea. They were willing to gamble.
...
Myr, the city of craftsmen built and adorned with white marble, was in turmoil.
"Myr is about to fall!" many Magisters wailed.
The Magisters, slave owners, and noble families had largely retreated into the inner city. They no longer trusted the common Myrish of the outer districts, nor the slaves, whose uprisings had grown increasingly fierce. The city watch was all but powerless.
Most Magisters relied on their own citizen levies and hired sellswords. A few more farsighted ones had already fled with their families and wealth to Pentos or Lys.
"Bloodbeard is dead! The Titan's bastard is dead!"
"The Company of the Cat is destroyed! The Long Lances have defected! The Windblown Company refuses contracts, and the Golden Company won't take the field!"
It was one piece of bad news after another. Ever since the bodies of Bloodbeard, the Titan's bastard, and the dead Magister had been sent back to Myr, the Magisters had lived in fear and near despair. They feared meeting the same fate. They feared having no force strong enough to oppose the Wolf Pack.
The Myrish were willing to spend gold. But the only force capable of turning the tide—the Golden Company—had chosen to play dead, as if it had quietly entangled itself with the Wolf Pack Company.
From atop the city walls, the people of Myr could clearly see the towering silhouettes of the "Wolf Pack Three Whores" to the east. The three massive catapults had originally been meant to strike the Wolf Pack. Now they stood aimed back at Myr itself. A stretch of Valyrian road ran out from the city, and the catapults had been planted squarely upon it.
Around the "Wolf Pack Three Whores" lay the orderly camp of the Free Company. Trenches encircled it, lined with sharpened stakes. Rows of tents stood in neat formation, wide lanes left between them. Tall poles bore the banners of the Free Company, snapping in the wind. Armored soldiers armed with longspears and crossbows patrolled the perimeter. More Free Company troops circled the city's other two sides, tightening the noose around Myr.
"Myr is surrounded on three sides!"
Everyone in the city understood that much. The Wolf Pack and the Free Company had taken the Disputed Lands, along with every vassal town and estate that once answered to Myr. Fewer and fewer ships were making it through by sea. The siege was tightening, and with it came the specter of hunger.
The slave owners prayed for help from Tyrosh, Lys, Pentos, even Volantis. No help came.
"The sea!"
"There's a fleet at sea!"
"Our reinforcements have arrived!"
Lookouts spotted dark shapes on the horizon. The outlines of ships slowly emerged—warships of varying sizes, smaller than most standard battle galleys.
The Myrish wept with relief. At last, they thought, their desperate pleas had borne fruit. They had sent envoys everywhere—Tyrosh, Lys, Volantis, Pentos—anywhere that might listen.
At first, cheers rang from the walls. Then the slave owners began to tremble, as if they had seen the Others themselves walking into Myr.
The banners were wrong.
Not the three-headed god of Tyrosh. Not the goddess of love from Lys. Not the tiger of Volantis.
Gray-white wolves snapped in the wind—the banner of the Wolf Pack, the standard of the Free Company that had shattered its chains.
"What are the Tyroshi doing?"
"The Wolf Pack fleet slipped past Tyrosh's patrols. They must have taken the Stepstones… or Tyrosh has already yielded."
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Horns blared again from the Free Company's great camp outside the city. The catapults hurled stones at Myr's defenses only occasionally. More often, they launched leaflets into the city.
"Long live the Free Company!"
"Long live the Free Company!"
The roar from outside rose like crashing waves. Under the command of Steel Fist and Greywolf, the Free Company soldiers poured from their tents. The catapults began firing in earnest, as if delivering judgment upon Myr's fate.
The Wolf Pack Company attacked from both land and sea.
Gendry's flagship glided into the harbor. In the calm waters of Myr Bay, few Myrish warships dared leave the docks. Those that tried were quickly overwhelmed. Many of Myr's ships were crewed by slaves, and in the chaos, their loyalty could no longer be trusted.
Aside from a handful that fled under the excuse of seeking reinforcements, the rest of the Myrish fleet was captured by Gendry's Wolf Pack fleet.
"Fine ships," Gendry said, surveying the vessels now secured at the docks. "My grand fleet is finally taking shape."
In terms of quality and craftsmanship, the Myrish warships far surpassed his former patchwork flotilla. But now they were his.
Within the city, Myr seemed to boil. Amid the turmoil, slaves overturned the old order and ignited an even greater uprising. Some seized weapons and stormed the Myrish garrison, seeking revenge on the masters who had bled them dry.
With the slaves' help, certain city gates were thrown open from within.
"The inner city has fallen!"
"The inner city has fallen! The Second Sons have opened the gates!"
Then came an even more shocking report.
The Second Sons had switched sides yet again. This time, they had thrown open the gates of Myr's inner city for the Wolf Pack Company.