The sky south of King's Landing was choked with smoke. War could never be separated from fire and blood. Black columns rose from the riverfront, fed by the buildings along the bank. Docks and warehouses, houses and brothels, everything outside the city walls had been put to the torch. Even the woods on the southern bank of King's Landing had fires burning, sending up pillars of smoke.
Along with the smell of fire came the ringing of hammers. Crowds of carpenters had gathered at the Mud Gate, still adding wooden planks to the battlements. With the Storm drawing closer, the gates had to be repaired and reinforced. The carpenters cursed as they worked, all thanks to the Halfman's generous gift. Like the blacksmiths, the carpenters had gained a great deal of extra work because of the war.
Hold a strong castle, and one man is worth ten. Tyrion remembered the saying from his father, Tywin, and now he was putting it into practice.
"Have they been cursing me?" Tyrion Lannister stood on the wall, looking at the burning flames as he asked about the people's reaction after the riverfront was burned. The smell of ash in the air made his eyes redden.
The black-haired sellsword grinned at him. Bronn looked at Tyrion and said, "What do you think? The owners are furious. The eating-house keepers, warehouse owners, shopkeepers, tavern owners, and cheap brothel owners are all cursing you. The ones cursing you the hardest are the begging brothers and the fishwives. You cleared out the places where the beggars slept and prayed, and the fishwives' business was booming. Fish is selling for more than ten times what it cost before the war. Your name in King's Landing is filth now."
"Let them. It gives them one more reason to curse the twisted little demon monkey," Tyrion said, mocking himself.
"You're not wrong. They do love cursing you most. The boy king and Queen Dowager Cersei never show their faces to them. You're the one managing everything," Bronn said, lowering his voice as he watched him. "The good news is that the war is nearly here. Otherwise, if this dragged on much longer, those hungry people would tear you to pieces. You haven't seen the poor children at the docks, the ones with swollen bellies fighting each other over scraps of rotten fish."
"All right. Have your men caused me any new trouble?" Tyrion asked.
"Not for now. You told them to tear down houses and burn things, not kill people. But they're sellswords, not septons. Now and then, just now and then, one of them gets it into his head to force himself on a woman," Bronn said.
"Keep them under control. I don't want those poor people turning into the Storm's inside men. Whether it's the displaced people, the sellswords working for me, or the craftsmen, pay them enough."
"Money alone won't do it. The problem is famine. These days, even a rat costs a pretty coin."
"Don't the people from the riverfront curse the Baratheons and the blacksmith?" Tyrion asked.
"Not much," Bronn said. "But you'd better watch those prophets. They're saying all these sins were brought about by you lot, and that the Blood-Weeping Star lights the Storm's path, not Joffrey's."
"All right." Tyrion nodded. There were uglier words Bronn had not said, but he could imagine them. "It seems my sister's way of taking tongues may not have been entirely wrong. Remember to send men to investigate and arrest the most inflammatory prophets and frauds. Varys is helping as well. I've also asked him to give me a list."
"As you command!" Bronn nodded.
"What worries me now is Shagga and the others. After the wildlings entered the Kingswood, the fires they caused were far smaller than I expected."
"Those pets of yours are slippery. They're first-rate at raiding and guerrilla work," Bronn said.
"But they've never faced the Storm," Tyrion said. "That man is strong and cunning."
Tyrion could only hope the gods would bless the wildlings with the ability to cause the Storm some trouble. They were savage and fierce, but in the end, they were more suited to flanking attacks and guerrilla fighting.
"Are you afraid?" Bronn asked. "Afraid of meeting Robert's bastard, or of meeting Stannis?"
"They make little difference to me. One is a bastard, the other a second son," Tyrion said mockingly. "If either of them enters King's Landing, this little head of mine won't stay on my shoulders."
"Has Lord Tywin left Harrenhal?" Bronn asked.
"Yes. My father has left Harrenhal, and the Storm left Storm's End long ago, though in the opposite direction," Tyrion said. Harrenhal. Of the great strongholds in their hands, it seemed only King's Landing remained.
Tyrion wished he could make the city walls twice as high and three times as thick. But what use would that be? High towers and thick walls had not saved Storm's End, nor had they saved Harrenhal.
"But we have friends too," Tyrion said to Bronn. "Balon's son has escaped, and that stinking King Balon has declared himself king again. His fleet is raiding the North once more. Lys and Volantis have joined forces to attack Myr and Tyrosh, where the Storm first rose."
Tyrion had only the vaguest memories of Theon Greyjoy from his brief stay in the North. He had been a green boy, fond of smiling and skilled with a bow. But faced with the most painful choice, he was still a child of the Kraken house.
Bronn curled his lip. "The salt fish can certainly give the wolf pups some trouble, but they're still too few. As for those bed-slaves of Lys and slave whelps from Volantis, from what I remember, Tyrosh and Myr won't be easy to take in a short while."
"The North, the fighting and slaughter across the Narrow Sea. None of that concerns us for now. The key is how long we can hold out. The eagle chicks and the wild stags are no easy foes." Tyrion shrugged, then looked again at the Three Whores of King's Landing standing behind the Mud Gate. Three giant trebuchets, like three huge birds on their feet, peering out beyond the battlements.
Tyrion had Bronn accompany him quickly down from the wall. He still needed to return to the Tower of the Hand.
Tyrion sat at his desk. A defensive map of King's Landing lay across it, marked with all his arrangements.
"First, the winch towers." Tyrion looked at the winch towers at the entrance to King's Landing. They were his proudest work. Once the river chain was raised, Stannis's fleet would be trapped in the river. But Tyrion still had his worries. Stannis was an old, experienced commander.
"Next is wildfire." Tyrion's gaze shifted back. Wildfire was Tyrion's killer copper. What remained of the King's Landing fleet could never stand against the Royal Fleet. But once the jars of wildfire floating on the river were ignited, everything would change. Even the strongest fleet would be no match for wildfire, especially wildfire as terrible as this.
"But the wildfire can only be divided so far for now." Tyrion thought it over. Some had to be left in the north, waiting for the Crackclaws and the Vale cavalry, while the greater share had to be saved for the Storm and Stannis's fleet. Tyrion could only hope Roose moved a little more slowly. Otherwise, the enemy simply had too many men.
"Still, Gendry dared to send the Onion Knight with a few warships through the Stepstones to attack the Westerlands. That means he's grown somewhat arrogant. Yes, he's still young, and young men are always too confident, too blind. Let the Storm be proud. This is my best chance," Tyrion thought.
"And then there are the arrangements inside King's Landing."
"First, the High Septon." Tyrion tapped his quill against the location of the Great Sept of Baelor. After the fat man died, the High Septon had become a little man. The newcomer was a shrewd little fellow, with a gaunt face and a sparse white beard.
Tyrion had already advised the thin High Septon to be clever. "Tell the decent men and women of King's Landing that Gendry and Stannis have both fallen under the spell of the red priestess. Once they enter the city, they will burn the godswood and the Great Sept of Baelor. The usurpers have not only betrayed the crown, they have turned their backs on the righteous Seven." It was not true, but at least it would be useful.
"Next are Cersei and Joffrey." Tyrion's gaze moved to the Red Keep. Protecting the only two left was just as important. With the Gold Cloaks in Ser Jacelyn's hands, Tyrion felt somewhat at ease. The Gold Cloaks might be useless, but at least some of them could still be used.
"What a pity there aren't enough White Cloaks." Tyrion rubbed his head. "Ser Boros escorted Tommen to the Westerlands camp, Jaime is in the Westerlands, and another white knight went to escort Myrcella. In all of King's Landing, there are only four white knights left. And lately Cersei has been using Osmund Kettleblack. That man is dangerous too."
"Lord Tyrion, the Queen Dowager invites you to a feast," Tyrion's squire reported.
"That is rare indeed." Tyrion was surprised. He removed the chain of office from his neck. His sister Cersei disliked being reminded of that.
Tyrion did not like Cersei, but he still had to go and see her. He suddenly thought of Shae. She was somewhat vain, but Tyrion still loved her. When Shae went to Lady Daedae, she had wanted to bring silks, brocade, furs, a silver-flowered belt, and a gold collar, but Tyrion had stopped her. In a sense, Cersei was even vainer than Shae.
...
Looking south from King's Landing, the people of the city could see the vanguard of the Stormlands army arrive. They had known the Storm's army was coming, but they had not expected it so soon. It seemed to have appeared beneath King's Landing all at once.
All of King's Landing could see the tents and banners of the Stormlands. The spiral banner of House Massey, the sea-fish banner of Sharp Point, the sea-turtle banner of House Estermont, and Ser Guyard Morrigen's banner, a raven spreading its black wings against a storm-green sky. Most numerous of all were the golden banners, especially the golden quartered banner standing high on the highest point of the Blackwater Rush's southern bank, facing Joffrey's banner above the Red Keep.
The Blackwater Rush churned without rest. Now the river was empty, with only King Joffrey's warships upon it, flying banners where lion and stag faced each other. They shuttled back and forth, holding to the deep water in the middle of the river, exchanging arrows with the archers of Gendry's vanguard on the southern bank.
"Loose!" Anguy gathered all his best archers, and they drew their longbows.
"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"
Arrows fell like rain, greeting one another over the great river.
"Thud!"
Small catapults in the woods hurled stones and severed heads toward the royal warships.
Those heads sent a message to the ships. The Imp's pets had been wiped out.
"Tyrion's main focus is around the Mud Gate." Gendry saw the three towering catapults. After the riverfront was burned, landing with scaling ladders would be even harder.
"There are only Joffrey's small warships on the river." Through his Myrish spyglass, Gendry saw Joffrey's warships. There truly were not many of them.
"Why has no bridge ever been built over the Blackwater Rush?" Jon Snow asked curiously.
"It would be a vast undertaking, and no king has had the will to do it," Ser Barristan Selmy replied.
Gendry watched the surging river. Though the current was fierce, it certainly could not compare to the rivers of Volantis. If Volantis could build long arched bridges, then King's Landing could as well.
As he was studying the walls of King's Landing, Lothor Brune and Ser Justin Massey brought two guests before him.
"The Vale is at your command," Yohn Royce said. Vale cavalry were being transported from Duskendale into the Kingswood in successive groups.
"Crackclaw Point is at your command," Ser Boggs of the Vale said as well, half-kneeling.
"You could not have come at a better time, Lord Yohn, Ser Boggs." Gendry gladly had the two men rise. More soldiers were arriving. He had placed his most elite troops on the southern bank of the Blackwater Rush. With support from the Vale and Crackclaw Point, the depth of his battle line would reach a proper scale. Whether Tywin turned back or the Tyrells arrived, at least the allied army would not be the side with the fewest men.
"News of the Vale and Crackclaw Point must be kept strictly secret," Gendry told them. "Victory in this battle depends on this moment." Even if the total size of the armies could not be perfectly controlled, he had to secure a manpower advantage on at least one part of the battlefield.
"As you command!"
"As you command!"
"We've already had a little dessert, but the main course was waiting for you two," Gendry told them.
"What is this?" Lord Yohn saw Shagga's huge head.
"The head of Shagga of the Stone Crows," Gendry said. "Tyrion's men. We wiped out the Stone Crows, and the other three clans surrendered after more than half of them were killed or wounded."
"Mm." Lord Yohn nodded. "A fine victory. The warriors of the Vale are eager for a satisfying victory of their own."
"But why did you not kill them all, Prince?" Lord Yohn asked quietly.
"The Long Night is coming. We need everyone," Gendry said solemnly to Lord Yohn.
Lord Yohn nodded and did not argue further.
"I trust you have also heard the news from the North. Balon's fleet has begun raiding again. There is also the matter of Lys and Volantis. Lys and Volantis have openly made themselves my enemies. Come to my tent. We need to discuss the deployment for this battle."
...
On the Roseroad, standard-bearers carried banners with green fields, golden roses blooming across them.
At the vanguard were the two sons of Great Lord Mace, Garlan and Loras. Garlan wore silver armor, and his green surcoat bore the mark of two golden roses. The more slender and handsome Ser Loras looked a little more melancholy. His wounds and Renly's departure weighed on him, and his green surcoat bore three golden roses.
"What do you think of King's Landing's terms?" Mace Tyrell asked in a low voice. "They have prepared the position of Hand of the King, and King Joffrey has not yet taken a wife."
Great Lord Mace Tyrell was sturdy and ruddy, with curly brown hair and a shovel-shaped beard streaked with white. Though he looked imposing, he was somewhat bloated.
The Lord of the Arbor and the Lord of Goldengrove were also with the army. Lord Redwyne of the Arbor had slumped shoulders, a thin frame, and only a few tufts of orange hair left on his bald head. Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove was clean-shaven and powerfully built.
"That depends on Joffrey's head still being on his shoulders. We do not negotiate with losers. Whoever the Tyrells follow will win. Besides, Grandmother warned us." Ser Garlan looked at Mace. "Father, while the army is on the march, it is better to be cautious. Do not discuss this in front of the commander."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Great Lord Mace said unhappily. "I've been fighting wars for more than twenty years."
Ser Garlan did not know whether to laugh or cry. The honors Great Lord Mace had gained in twenty years of war could not compare to the dazzling glory the Storm had won in a single year.
Mace's only victory had been defeating Robert Baratheon's rebellion at Ashford more than ten years ago, and that had mainly been thanks to Lord Tarly, who commanded the vanguard. By the time the Great Lord arrived with the main force, the battle was already all but over. As for the Siege of Storm's End, personally commanded by Mace, it dragged on for a year without any result. Once the decisive battle at the Trident had settled the outcome, the Great Lord of Highgarden could only lower his banner and submit to Ned Stark.
"The young lord is right. Our speed has already been very fast. We may arrive just in time to see the end of the Battle of King's Landing. Whoever wins, we will win with them," Lord Randyll Tarly said. "King Robert's son against the Lannisters. This battle is bound to be a fine spectacle."
"The Vale, the North, Crackclaw Point, and the Stormlands all support the Storm and the Targaryens. We will not make a second choice," Lord Mathis said.
"I think the Storm will win," Ser Loras said gloomily.
"Why?" Great Lord Mace looked at his youngest son in curiosity. By rights, he should have hated the Storm most of all.
"I don't like him, but that doesn't change the fact that he is an excellent commander and warrior. If the Kingslayer was no match for him, I doubt the Imp will be either."
"Tell the army to advance at full speed. I don't want to miss this show."
"Yes."
The Green Rose set out in a mighty tide. Mace had gathered an army of more than fifty thousand men.
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