Gendry, the Red Viper, Jorah, Anguy, and the others looked down at the Dothraki below.
The pounding of Dothraki hooves could shake the earth, but they could not break through solid fortifications. The trenches and earthen ramparts alone were enough to wear down their morale.
Gendry wore his black-scaled plate armor, his cloak bearing the Quartered Arms. Ser Jorah stood in silver armor, his cloak a deep green bearing House Mormont's colors. The Red Viper, by contrast, wore much lighter armor, the kind best suited to a Dornishman.
"This earthen fortress," Gendry said to the Red Viper, "I call it Myr Fort."
"Myr Fort? It may soon be Slaughter Fort instead," the Red Viper replied, studying the solid structure beneath his feet. Though called a fort, it was more like a vast ring of yellow earthen walls encircling Myr, forming a layered defensive system. Catapults and scorpion crossbows lined the ramparts, with ranks of longbowmen standing ready above. The moat was a deep trench, and between the earthworks stood heavy gates, all of them tightly shut.
The ramparts stood roughly level with Myr's own city walls. The construction was crude, but perfectly suited to counter the Dothraki, who were bent on taking Myr. The Dothraki did not dare cross water, leaving them no choice but to attack over land.
"Khal Drogo has brought everything he owns with him." Gendry raised his spyglass. The Dothraki Screamers spread across the land like a dark storm cloud.
The Screamers were bare-chested, wearing painted leather vests, horsehair leggings tied at their calves, and bronze belts at their waists. Behind them stood crude grass-built structures, sheltering the elderly, women, and children of the khalasar.
Each Dothraki Screamer was tall and powerfully built, with bronze skin, pale brown eyes, and black hair. By all logic, nomadic peoples of this era shouldn't have had such strong physiques from their diet alone. The Dothraki Sea must be incredibly rich in resources; at its height, even the Tall Men had numbered in the millions.
"Khal Drogo wants to become the Khal of Khals. Of course he'll avenge Khal Zekko," Ser Jorah said.
This was about a Khal's livelihood. Without fear and authority, how could he continue to extract tribute from the Free Cities?
"Those horses are enough to make anyone drool," Anguy remarked. The Dothraki herds were unmatched in the world. It was said Khal Drogo alone owned a thousand exceptional steeds.
"You brat, still thinking about horses."
"Archers love three things: fine horses, fine bows, and women," Anguy said with a grin. "Besides, my lord, you've cut off my income. If I were back in King's Landing, I could've won an archery tournament and lived comfortably for a month or two."
"You're that confident?" Jorah chuckled, amused.
"If it were anyone else, I wouldn't dare say it. But Ser Balon is from the Marches too. I've secretly watched his shooting. He's outstanding, but I'm better," Anguy said confidently. "Of course, if our Lord Commander competed, he'd be number one."
The Red Viper gave the freckled guard a few more looks. Gendry wasn't just a top-tier warrior himself; he was surrounded by hidden talents. It was said even the Fletcher served under him. His strength was not to be underestimated.
"Fine. If you can shoot Drogo dead, I'll give you his warhorse," Gendry said.
"Khal Drogo might be a bit much, but if I shoot down any other Dothraki raiders, I'll be happy just to keep their horses," Anguy replied, clenching his fist.
"Then I'll be watching your aim."
"Leave it to me." Anguy lifted his longbow. "Most Westerosi bows are used by foot archers. I'll need to wait for the right moment."
"I'm sorry. This time, I've only brought three hundred cavalry and two hundred spearmen willing to follow me," the Red Viper said, looking down at the dark mass of Dothraki below, a trace of apology in his voice. Five hundred men was not Dorne's limit, but a number he had chosen deliberately.
"The men of Dorne are as countless as sand, yet only one stands above them all. Your Highness is a renowned general whose name echoes across the Seven Kingdoms. A commander like you is rare, worth more than a thousand soldiers." Gendry looked at the Red Viper. It was enough that Oberyn had come to their aid at such a critical moment. After all, this battle would be the most brutal of them all.
"You give me too much credit. In a battle of over forty thousand men, one general alone is far from enough." The Red Viper shook his head, his eyes fixed eagerly on the Dothraki forces below.
Dorne had not fought many wars of abundance. Aside from the time more than ten thousand Dornish warriors marched to support the Battle of the Trident, which left Dorne badly weakened, their campaigns had always been hard-fought.
"The Dothraki's tactics haven't changed much," Gendry said.
"Khal Drogo is a proud man, but his ambition will cost the Dothraki dearly. Instead of sweeping through the Disputed Lands to force us out, he's chosen to face us head-on in a decisive battle. That's a foolish decision," Ser Jorah said, watching the vast Dothraki host.
"Perhaps Khal Drogo has forgotten the fate of Sarnor," Gendry said with a smile. Back then, the Sarnori had been lured out by the Dothraki, only to fall into an ambush and be completely annihilated.
"It seems the Lord Commander is very confident," the Red Viper said, studying Gendry. The young warrior remained calm and composed even on the eve of such a battle. No wonder his men were willing to die for him. The more he observed, the harder it was to grasp Gendry's limits. In terms of sheer combat ability, the boy was just as formidable.
In war, everything came down to deployment and formation. The Dothraki fought with a straightforward approach. Their strength lay in light cavalry, their formations simple and direct, without any unnecessary complexity.
When a Dothraki khalasar moved, scouts always rode ahead of the main force, searching for prey and signs of enemies, while advance riders guarded the flanks. After a battle, the "Jaqqa rhan," wielding massive axes, would take countless heads from the dead and dying. Young girls followed behind, pulling arrows from corpses and placing them into baskets for reuse.
Gendry's arrangement was clear. Ser Jorah led part of the Second Sons as the defensive force. Behind the Myr Fort, the Free Company under Greywolf and the Wolf Pack under Steel Fist served as the main assault force. The cavalry and elite Guard were reserves held tightly in Gendry's hand, the decisive force that would determine victory or defeat. As for Prince Oberyn, he led the Norvosian slave soldiers and the light-armored Dornish warriors as cavalry.
As for maintaining order in the Twin Cities, the Handsome Man, the cunning Brown Ben, Maester Qyburn, and Little Silvertongue were tasked with strict control. In short, while the defenders held certain tactical advantages, maintaining order within the cities required a significant number of men.
"The Hammer and Anvil is my favorite tactic. Since Khal Drogo has such confidence in his cavalry, I have confidence as well," Gendry said, watching the advancing Dothraki.
"My Hammer and Anvil will surpass the Battle of the Redgrass Field," he thought. "The Hammer and the Anvil" was a tale well known across Westeros: the Hammer was Maekar, the Anvil was Baelor.
At the Battle of the Redgrass Field, Prince Maekar rallied the shattered vanguard and formed a shield wall to hold back the fierce assault of the Blackfyre rebels. Prince Baelor, the "Breakspear," led forces from the Stormlands and Dorne into the fight, striking the rebel main force from the rear. Caught between Maekar's shield wall and Baelor's army, the Blackfyre rebels were crushed from both sides and utterly destroyed.
"The hammer and the anvil. Since Myr Fort and the solid walls of Myr serve as the anvil, then I will be the Lord Commander's hammer," the Red Viper said after a moment's thought.
"That was exactly my intention, Prince. You will command the flanking force. Not only the Dornish knights, but also the Great Axe Holy Guard of Norvos will be under you," Gendry said to the Red Viper. The Red Viper was not only a formidable warrior but also highly experienced, far too valuable to leave unused. Besides, with his sister-in-law being a Norvos noblewoman, the Norvos slave soldiers were more willing to follow him.
The Hammer and Anvil tactic was, in essence, a method of fortifying defenses to blunt the enemy's momentum. An artificial stronghold would grind down the enemy's edge, then elite forces would strike to encircle and finish them. In this Battle of Myr, with ample preparation, Gendry intended to use the earthworks as his anvil.
"As you command." The Red Viper nodded.
"Prince, have you considered changing your armor? This set is a bit too light," Gendry said.
The Red Viper was lightly equipped. Aside from greaves, vambraces, a gorget, a cuirass, and a war skirt, he wore only soft leather. A layer of gleaming copper scales covered it, but even so, its protection was no more than half that of heavy armor. He also carried his round shield, bearing a sun-pierced-by-spear emblem forged from red gold, white gold, gold, and brass.
"Do not worry, Lord Commander. Dressed like this, we can better show the lightness of Dornish fighters." The Red Viper tapped his chestplate. "I intend to stay alive. I want to see the Mountain and Tywin die before me."
"Ser Jorah, the defense of Myr Fort is yours," Gendry said.
"Rest assured, my lord. I will fight to the very last moment."
"Sound the horns," Gendry ordered. "I'll go meet the other envoys."
"Yes."
The horns wailed, sharp and mournful, tearing through the stillness of the sky. The catapults creaked into motion. Though the ones mounted on Myr Fort were not massive siege engines, the stones they hurled in succession still carried tremendous force.
"Cowards. Cowards hiding behind dirt walls and palisades." Khal Drogo heard the horns clearly. Facing the towering earthen ramparts, his jet-black braid stood above all others, marking him as the strongest among the Dothraki.
Khal Drogo feared neither beast nor man, but he feared the sea. To the Dothraki, any water a horse would not drink was unclean. The churning gray-green waves filled them with a deep, superstitious dread.
He raised his arakh, pointing it straight at the banners above the ramparts, the Quartered Arms and the green bear.
The wretched slaves and Lamb Men were driven to the front. The Lamb Men were short and stocky, with flat faces and closely cropped black hair. They herded sheep and tilled the land.
Their cries spread across the field as the catapults atop the ramparts groaned to life, hurling stones the size of heads without pause.
"Move!" the Dothraki warriors roared, their whips lashing across the slaves' faces and backs. The slaves had no choice but to press forward, using their own bodies to fill the trench. Some Lamb Men still clutched bundles of hay, which only made their task harder.
When the stones struck, chaos followed. The whistling boulders smashed the Lamb Men to pieces. A direct hit to the head burst it open like a melon, red and white spraying as fragments scattered. A strike elsewhere crushed bone and flesh alike into a mangled ruin.
Even those few who managed to stagger close to the trench were quickly cut down by arrows from above.
On Myr Fort, one-third of the archers wielded crossbows, another third used eastern double-curved horn-and-sinew bows, and the final third were elite longbowmen. Among them were yew longbows, along with a picked force of one hundred archers equipped with the finest goldenheart bows Black Billy had managed to gather. Among all great bows, only the dragonbone bow surpassed the goldenheart longbow.
Jorah raised his spyglass and watched the carnage below.
"My gods… forgive me."
There was no room for hesitation. This was war, cold and merciless.
"How does it look, envoys?" Gendry walked over with a smile. The envoys from Qohor, Norvos, and Pentos were all watching the bloody scene through their spyglasses.
"Cruel. Truly cruel. It would be better if one of those stones fell straight onto Drogo's head," said Ordello, Magister of Pentos, stroking his beard. Rings adorned every finger, set with tiger's eye, tourmaline, and other gems. His beard was oiled and forked, though his teeth were far better than Illyrio's.
"We wish you a great victory, my lord," the Magister of Qohor added.
"That may be so, but I've heard Khal Drogo received supplies and gifts from Pentos and Qohor before coming to Myr."
"Please forgive us. We are but a small city of Pentos," Magister Ordello said, his tone pleading. "Even if I have full confidence in your strength, you must understand that such a great city is not governed by one Magister alone. Many of my colleagues favor surrender."
The Norvos envoy remained silent and composed. As a priest, he carried himself with restraint. The battle had only just begun, and it was still unclear who held the advantage.
Gendry did not press the matter further. After all, once the Dothraki plague had passed, these city-states had been quick to act, sending intelligence and gifts of appropriate scale.
"Jorah says the Dothraki can shoot farther than Westerosi archers. From what I know, their bows are roughly on par with yew longbows, but nowhere near goldenheart or dragonbone bows." Gendry thought it over. That made sense. Not every lord could afford to equip archers with yew, let alone goldenheart or dragonbone. The Dothraki bows were certainly better than those of poorly equipped levies, but far from unmatched.
"Khal, at this rate, we'll run out of Lamb Men. These Milk Men are truly despicable," one of Drogo's Bloodriders said through gritted teeth. They did not value the lives of the Lamb Men, but wasting them like this still felt like a loss, especially with the trench yet to be filled.
"Attacking at night won't work either." Drogo considered it. During their advance, they had suffered repeated night raids. If they assaulted a fortified position in the dark, the losses would only be worse.