Red Viper watched the imposing warships slowly approach, his expression a mix of envy, fear, and awe.
On the open sea, these ships would be like floating fortresses, invincible. Unfortunately, like the North, Dorne had no navy.
Ever since Nymeria burned the fleet, Dorne had virtually no naval power, save for the Orphans of the Greenblood, who relied on rafts for transport and livelihood along the river. Those small craft, however, were entirely unsuited for naval combat.
The most spectacular ships before him were part of the Twin Cities fleet: the 400-oared flagship Wolf Pack, the 200-oared frigates, and the 100-oared Myrish warships. Smaller, faster vessels belonged to the Narrow Sea fleet.
"How many warships do you have?" Red Viper asked Gendry. The naval power of the Three Daughters had always been formidable; they had once fought the Sea Snake to a standstill.
"The Twin Cities Fleet has four hundred warships, and the Narrow Sea Fleet has about three hundred, but those are suited only for battles around the Stepstones—they are smaller and more agile," Gendry replied.
Red Viper roughly estimated that the Twin Cities Alliance's fleet was not inferior to Westeros's, perhaps even far surpassing the Royal Fleet. Westeros's naval forces were scattered, while the Twin Cities fleet was concentrated.
"Prince, Lord Commander, it's a pity that my splendid warships aren't the main players in this war." After the Wolf Pack docked, the Myrman Morosh stepped ashore and sighed to the assembled crowd.
"The fleet will have its chance to see action," Gendry said.
"Lord Commander, that would be most welcome. Though I'd much rather fight the Lyseni and the Volantenes than face my old friend Davos," Morosh said.
"I imagine the Onion Knight feels the same," Gendry smiled.
"Prince, your task is daunting as well," Gendry said formally to Red Viper. "Khal Drogo is now bogged down, the time is ripe. I will divide my forces into three columns to utterly annihilate the Dothraki."
"Your orders, Lord Commander. I shall fulfill my duty," Red Viper promised. Having joined this war, he naturally sought victory and honor.
"First line: the Twin Cities fleet will transport most of the cavalry to the battlefront. I will lead the cavalry in a northern assault on Khal Drogo's center.
Second line: Lord Gylo will lead the reserve forces out of Myr Fortress to launch a frontal assault, pressing forward alongside the Unsullied cavalry.
The third column will be led by you, Prince. The fast ships of the Narrow Sea Fleet will row from the ocean to the Myr River. You will proceed upriver and strike Drogo's khalasar from the south. The Dothraki's elderly and infirm, along with most of their accumulated wealth, are within the khalasar. Once it is attacked, the Dothraki will collapse even more rapidly."
Gendry had already considered the terrain. The Disputed Lands were flat, making amphibious operations difficult. Using the fleet to transport soldiers for a three-pronged attack, he would completely crush Khal Drogo.
Gendry had also considered having his Dothraki cavalry join Red Viper in burning Drogo's khalasar, but since the Dothraki feared the sea, he left that task to Jorah.
"Leave it to me," Red Viper replied confidently. He, too, was familiar with the terrain of the Disputed Lands.
The Disputed Lands were traversed by two rivers, both flowing into the sea. One was near Myr, called the Myr River. The other was near Lys, called the Lys River. Though they could not compare to the Rhoyne, their flow was substantial enough for the Narrow Sea Fleet's small, long warships to maneuver.
"This tactic is indeed ruthless—it aims to annihilate the Dothraki to the greatest extent," Red Viper thought. This was an enhanced version of the hammer-and-anvil tactic. The more strength Khal Drogo expended against the Unsullied cavalry's turtle formation, the more devastating his defeat would be. Especially now, after days of losses, first at the walls of Myr and now before the Unsullied shield wall, the Dothraki's fighting spirit was broken.
"I'm also assigning you a thousand heavy cavalry and a thousand light cavalry. Plus the reinforcements from Pentos, Norvos, and the Tall Men—it's time to deploy them as well."
"As you command, Lord Commander," Red Viper said, nodding. He also had the five hundred Dornishmen he had brought, and with this force, a surprise attack on Drogo's khalasar would not be overly taxing.
"I'll return with news of victory, Lord Commander."
"Aboard the ship." Gendry waved. The wind was favorable today, and the destination was near; they only needed to place the knights behind the Dothraki.
Gendry and Red Viper parted ways. Red Viper would lead the surprise force to land from the Myr River, while Gendry's cavalry would strike from the flank.
...
The massive warship silently delivered Gendry and his cavalry to a nearby landing point. The riders dismounted and led their horses onto an unremarkable stretch of flat terrain. Without scouts in sight, the dense ranks of knights spurred their horses across the shore.
Khal Drogo could not have foreseen that Gendry would flout conventional honor, but in the brutal calculus of war, only one man could claim victory and glory.
"Forward." Gendry's gaze swept over his forces. Anguy and the Longspear men flanked him—the finest of his cavalry: five thousand heavy cavalry and two thousand light cavalry, forming a massive iron fist.
These troops had cost Gendry immense effort and gold, and he prided himself that they were no less formidable than any legendary army. Yet in battle, he knew honor would only come through sacrifice and slaughter.
The cavalry surged southward, the muddy shore requiring caution. Soon the terrain opened into vast, flat plains, with hardly a hill in sight. Western Essos was naturally suited for cavalry charges. Gendry ordered his men to advance calmly across the land and strike the Dothraki with equal composure. Though difficult, the soldiers performed admirably.
Opportunities are fleeting, and Gendry felt that the moment to strike had arrived. Khal Drogo, fearsome as he was, would meet his downfall today.
"Woo-woo-woo." The mournful bugle sounded, rapid and urgent. Each note struck deep into Gendry's heart. It was the signal he had agreed upon with Greywolf and Steel Fist: once the shield wall had withstood nine or more assaults, the cavalry would be called to charge.
"Accelerate!" Gendry roared. The standard-bearer unfurled the quartered banner behind him, and the cavalry surged toward the Myrish shield wall.
"Now!" Gendry's heightened senses detected the Dothraki charging the wall. The ground beneath had turned blood-red; spears thrust from behind shields impaled some Dothraki, while others were cut down by successive volleys of arrows. Yet the soldiers did not falter.
Khal Drogo led the cavalry relentlessly, hooves pounding the earth as he launched wave after wave of charges. Some Unsullied fell, but the formation remained solid, now coalesced into a square.
Gendry had planned to withstand nine charges, but Greywolf and Steel Fist held the line against more than twelve before sounding the horn for reinforcements. The Unsullied, strengthened by the wine of courage, tolerated pain beyond ordinary soldiers, yet even they could not endure endless assaults. Fortunately, the elite heavy infantry held the center.
As the bugle calls from the shield wall grew clearer, Gendry ordered his cavalry to sound their horns in response—the reinforcements had arrived.
Most of the cavalry wore black scale mail and black-backed quartered cloaks, yet their weapons varied—battleaxes, greatswords, and spears. They could not scale the city walls, but in the open plains, they were unmatched.
"Soldiers, five hundred years of history watch over us from the heavens. A history of humiliation since the Century of Blood—the Dothraki have made us kneel, but I demand that you stand!" Gendry raised his warhammer and charged into the enemy ranks, leading ten thousand men under his banners.
Soldiers from the Wolf Pack Legion and the Free Company joined the raucous chorus as steel clashed against steel. They shouted battle cries. "Long live the warhammer!" "Long live the warhammer!"
A torrent of black armor surged toward the charging Screamer warriors, leaving Khal Drogo stunned. "Cowards! This bunch of timid Lamb Men, cowards who hide in stone!"
After a moment, Khal Drogo realized the cavalry's origin. They had not emerged from Myr Fortress but had been transported by ship to his rear. What cunning cowards.
Yet there was no time to think. From the north, the enemy galloped toward them, launching a decisive charge against the exhausted Dothraki.
...
"Follow me." Khal Drogo ordered his cavalry to halt their advance on the shield wall and instead turn to engage the suddenly appearing mass of cavalry.
"Charge!" Gendry's distinctive quartered banners fluttered in the wind atop their poles. The images on the flags seemed almost alive: warhammers, three-headed Dragons, slaves breaking chains, and the running Wolf Pack.
Khal Drogo's Dothraki began drawing their bows, while Gendry's cavalry accelerated, shouting as they ran. They formed a wedge-shaped assault, sharp and unstoppable.
Dothraki arrows rained down like a storm, but the Unsullied shield wall had already sapped much of their strength and ammunition, so this wave of attacks was manageable. Still, some unlucky knights fell—struck in vital points by arrows or thrown by panicked horses.
"Long live the warhammer!" The bloodiest close combat began. Gendry swung his warhammer, the spiked side like a bird's beak, the other a heavy iron block. It shattered armor with ease, let alone the lightly armored Dothraki.
"Kill!" Gendry shouted as a massive Dothraki warrior charged him.
The Arakh curved sword roared. Gendry dodged nimbly and brought his hammer down on the warrior's head. Blood—red and white—sprayed as a hole appeared in the giant's skull, and he collapsed.
Gendry cut through the battlefield, the ground around him turning into a sea of blood. Longspear struck like a venomous snake, taking Dothraki lives. His main concern was Anguy, but the lad rode well and had yet to be hurt.
"Die!" Another Dothraki charged. Gendry dodged the swing of the Arakh; it only scratched his scale armor.
His counterattack was lethal. The hammer crashed into the warrior's chest and heart, shattering bones and crushing the heart. The Dothraki cried out and fell.
After the fray, Gendry faced Khal Drogo. Drogo was unmistakable—towering, with a golden belt, bells in his braids, and gold rings in his beard.
Drogo recognized Gendry too—the young, burly warhammer warrior, equally tall. Drogo saw not his face, only those dark, sea-like eyes.
"Milk Men, clad in armor, vile Milk Men, vile cowards." Khal Drogo, atop his red warhorse, collided with Gendry.
Flames of battle erupted around them. One was a Dothraki Khal, the other a Triarch and Lord Commander of the Twin Cities Alliance.
"Die!" Khal Drogo swung his Arakh. Towering yet agile, experienced and precise, he was a formidable opponent.
The Arakh whirled like a gale, the fastest opponent Gendry had ever faced.
Gendry's hammer clashed with Drogo's blade. Drogo could not break his defense—the black scale armor held, and the scimitar was not a Dothraki weapon.
They rode in circles, striking. Drogo aimed at head and shoulders, but the armor protected Gendry, whose strength and speed were exceptional.
Drogo grew increasingly alarmed—not from his own fault, but because Gendry's cunning had worn down his men first with the shield wall. Only then did the decisive battle begin.
"Clang!" "Clang!" "Clang!"
Drogo heard his warriors' cries, their horses falling, soldiers thrown from mounts. More Dothraki fell; his fury ignited, he unleashed his fastest, fiercest attacks.
He swung at Gendry's head, targeting a vulnerable joint near the neck—their only opening.
Gendry defended calmly, parrying each blow with his hammer, their weapons clashing continuously.
"Boom!" Behind Drogo, flames erupted. The reality struck him: his khalasar was under attack.
Drogo's strike shifted low, but Gendry stepped to meet it, spinning to invite the attack. The blow struck only his armguard; the counter from Gendry's hammer hit Drogo's left shoulder, blood flowing bright and red.
"Coward!" Drogo cursed, withdrawing his hand, the pain unmistakable.
Gendry allowed him to continue. The injury, the shifting battle, and exhaustion from earlier charges took their toll. Drogo's attacks were slower, less fierce; Gendry blocked critical strikes while his hammer roared with renewed fury.
Drogo's blade struck armor to no effect, but Gendry's warhammer unleashed ever stronger, more devastating blows.