"Breaker!"
"Breaker!"
"Father!"
"Father!" The slaves roared for him as Gendry rode his black horse through the streets of Tyrosh. With the exception of the inner city, Tyrosh was now in the hands of the Wolf Pack and the Free Company.
Grey-and-white Wolf Pack banners and the Free Company's flags snapped in the wind, replacing Tyrosh's traditional banner of the Three-Headed God.
"No slaves! No killing!" Gendry raised a hand.
He saw the freed slaves' faces shining with excitement. They shouted his name, trying to press close to him, grinning with raw joy and relief. Shackles were crushed underfoot. Slave tags were flung up into the air like coins tossed to the sky.
The Onion Knight rode alongside him, and he had to admit it: this looked far more like the gift of House Baratheon, that disarming charm, that blunt honesty, that uncanny ability to turn enemies into allies. Honest on the surface, at least. In his heart, Ser Davos suspected the boy had plenty of cunning too. If anything, Stannis had always been the odd one in the House of the Stag.
Behind Gendry and the Onion Knight came the Wolf Pack knights in grey-and-white cloaks, the Long Lances who had sworn themselves to him, and a handful of knights from his own Free Company. The Unsullied marched with them as well, shields and spears in hand, the steel spikes on their helmets cold as knives as they watched every rooftop and alley.
Gendry rode to the greatest temple of the Three-Headed God. The god was said to dwell in a tower with three turrets: the first head devoured the dead, and the third breathed forth new life. A massive three-headed statue stood beside the temple doors, and a broad square opened before the hall.
There, the knights saw the slaves hanging in the square.
A heavy silence fell. A wordless grief.
They had died before dawn. Their bodies stood like a dark forest, executed by Tyrosh Magisters for revolt and resistance. Now Tyrosh had been overturned from root to crown, and the living would have somewhere better to go.
"They died for freedom," Gendry said.
The bodies were brought down and laid out at the edge of the square, and Gendry himself took the lead, draping each of them in a shroud.
"We'll remember them. Burn the chains. Wash and be cleansed."
"Yes," Greywolf said. In Tyrosh's temples there were women who performed rites for the dead as well, cleansing bodies and offering prayers. Noble or slave, it made no difference. They would see the dead on their final road. The fallen needed to be handled quickly, before the stink grew thick and sickness followed.
"Lord Commander, there's been some looting and rape in the city," Ser Jorah reported, arriving in haste with "Wildling" Raymun. "Most of it isn't our troops. It's freed slaves who've joined us."
"When the city fell, I declared order," Gendry said coldly. "The North has punishments for rabble and raiders."
Ser Jorah and Raymun both nodded.
Good men were hard to come by. Even with his forces steadying the streets and restoring order, Gendry needed capable hands to hold Tyrosh once the fighting moved on.
"Lord Commander, a raven from Maester Qyburn!"
Greywolf, the Unsullied commander, brought the black messenger raven forward. Gendry read the message, and saw the shape of trouble still to come.
"As you expected, Myr has erupted in revolt. The rebels are attacking Free Company soldiers and freed slaves.Brown Ben could have settled it with a single blow, but the horselords appear to have crossed the Rhoyne as well. They didn't ravage the Disputed Lands. They're riding straight for Myr. From their numbers, it doesn't seem to be the strongest Khal Drogo."
So this is the same road Daenerys will one day walk, Gendry thought. If you were a Breaker, if you tried to change the world, the old nobles and the slave masters would always answer with rebellion. The difference was that he was a man bred for war. He could smash problems like this with steel, and he had more men, better men.
And the hardship was simple: days of brutal fighting. He still had the siege of Tyrosh to finish, and now he would have to put down Myr, and face the Dothraki khalasars. Cunning Sellswords didn't sign on for wars like that. That was why you needed real soldiers.
Which Khal is it? Gendry wondered. By the size, it wasn't Drogo. But even a lesser Khal was deadly. On open ground, those screaming riders were anything but ordinary.
A rare chance. Even if the Dothraki come, if I win this battle, I won't just harden my reputation. I can push all the blame for Myr's "betrayal" onto the Tyroshi and the Magisters of Myr. Two gains at once.
"Summon every commander at once," Gendry ordered Greywolf.
"Yes, Lord Commander," Greywolf said, committing the order to memory.
The tents near the Fountain of the Drunken God were already packed. Unsullied guards stood in a tight circle with shields and spears, forming a wall of bronze and iron. Only their leader, Greywolf, stood close enough to Gendry to speak in a low voice.
"Gentlemen, a bloody battle is inevitable. We cannot waste our precious time on the Black Wall!" Gendry said. "The fugitive Magisters of Tyrosh and Myr have bribed the Dothraki to attack us!"
"What? You're going to abandon us?" the wildling Raymun asked anxiously. As the commander of the Tyrosh slave uprising, he had the most to fear from any Tyroshi counterattack.
"Not abandon, Raymun," Gendry said firmly. "The Dothraki have crossed the great river. They mean to destroy Myr. I must defeat them first."
"Gentlemen, to save Myr and Tyrosh, to save everything in the Disputed Lands, I must take up arms against these wicked Dothraki. I will lead part of our forces back to Myr."
The commanders offered little objection. Fighting on multiple fronts was the most dangerous course of all, and Myr was one of their key rear bases. Given the current situation, they had to stabilize Myr and drive off the Dothraki before they could properly secure Tyrosh.
"Give the order!"
"Yes, give the order, Lord Commander!"
"First, the siege of Tyrosh," Gendry said. "Handsome Man will continue surrounding the Black Wall. Ser Jorah, the Free Company and the Wolf Pack remaining here will follow your command. The wildling Raymun will answer to you as well. Do not launch a full assault before I return. Hallis will take charge of incorporating the Tyrosh fleet. Morosh will transport the soldiers and me."
The Black Wall of Tyrosh was difficult to breach, but there was no need to storm such a stubborn fortress head-on. Once Myr was fully pacified, the Black Wall would fall in due time.
"Yes!"
"Yes!" Handsome Man nodded. Though he no longer possessed the feel of a swordmaster with a blade in hand, his mind had grown sharper and more attuned to the bigger picture.
Handsome Man was both brave and shrewd, and utterly loyal. If not for the necessity of fighting on two fronts, Gendry would never have risked using such a valuable piece. He assigned additional Unsullied and Wolf Pack cavalry to guard him specifically.
"Yes, Lord Commander," Ser Jorah replied in a low voice. He would have preferred to ride out with Gendry and face the Dothraki head-on, to fight without restraint. But Tyrosh, too, needed defenders.
"And Ser Davos," Gendry added, turning to him, "Myr will be a dangerous battlefield. Your task is nearly complete. You should remain in Tyrosh and assist my treasurer."
His tone left no room for argument. It was not only because Davos was not formally his soldier, but also because Gendry did not want certain people seeing Davos at his side.
At dusk, Morosh guided a swift ship across the water, quietly ferrying a detachment of soldiers to the coast opposite Tyrosh. The entire operation was kept strictly secret.
On the far shore, Gendry saw the Red Viper. Prince Oberyn stood with a group of his retainers—around a hundred Dornish light cavalry.
"The Dornish light cavalry truly lives up to its name." In the glow of the torches, the copper fittings on their armor shimmered.
Dornish warriors favored metal round shields, paired with longspear, javelins, or double-curved bows. The Dornish army was famed for its light cavalry and its mastery of the double-curved bow from horseback. Owing to the scorching climate, Dornish soldiers wore lighter scale armor than most of the Seven Kingdoms. The scales were often stitched onto leather, sometimes reinforced with copper plates. They were accustomed to wrapping headscarves around their helmets.
"A beautiful victory, Lord Commander!" the Red Viper said to Gendry. The round shield bearing the sigil of Sunspear still gleamed in the firelight.
He had witnessed part of the battle at sea: fleets colliding violently upon the waves, splintered wood, floating corpses, fire spreading across the water, and the roar of men. After that came the flames rising within Tyrosh itself. Like Myr, Tyrosh was bound to fall.
"You didn't come all this way just to watch the Tyroshi suffer," Gendry said, studying him.
The two men urged their horses forward. Though the Red Viper still admired him, the truth had unsettled him somewhat. The mercenary king he had hoped to win over turned out to be a man of House Baratheon as well. Still, Gendry—protector of the last Targaryen orphaned daughter—shared his desire to avenge House Lannister and overturn the current order. On that, they stood together.
"Not for spectacle," the Red Viper replied. "I came to fight at the Lord Commander's side."
"Your chance has come, Lord Commander," he continued. "I've heard the rumors too. Strange ones. The Dothraki are about to strike, and Myr is already in revolt."
"Tyrosh is an opportunity as well. Why won't the Prince help me attack Tyrosh?" Gendry asked.
"I will not help you attack Tyrosh," Oberyn said flatly. "The Tyroshi are our closest neighbors. The Archons have generally maintained good relations with Dorne. Many of them spent their childhoods in the Water Gardens."
"You're not afraid the Iron Throne will hold you accountable?" Gendry asked.
"It is Oberyn who has come, not Dorne. This has nothing to do with my homeland. My brothers and I haven't set foot in King's Landing for years," the Red Viper said lightly. "Besides, Dornishmen and Myrmen look much the same. Who can say where these knights are from? Oberyn has always done as he pleases. What harm is there in claiming a little glory on the battlefield now and then?"