The mouth of the Blackwater Rush seemed like the earth itself had opened wide, the raging river pouring endlessly into the sea. Since Aegon founded the city, King's Landing had seen plenty of war, blood, and fire, but never before had it witnessed a battle on such a scale.
"Bwoooom! Bwoooom! Bwoooom!"
The Volantene war horns sounded, and the United Volantene Fleet, having crossed the long sea, appeared before everyone's eyes.
It was a grand coalition of slave city-states. The sails of the Volantene warships bore the symbols of Volantis: the elephant, the Long Bridge, the tiger, the Black Wall, and the chariot.
Behind the three hundred Volantene warships flew the Goddess of Lust banners of ninety Lyseni ships, along with the fleets sent by the great city-states of Slaver's Bay. Harpies danced upon their sails.
"How did they come so quickly? And the Storm's fortifications in the Stepstones failed to stop them, even after the Onion Knight was sent out ahead of time. Is all this coincidence, or is it a trap? Who will have the last laugh? Me, the bastard, or the Volantene?" Tyrion Lannister could see it all clearly from the city wall. Stannis Baratheon's fleet had not entered, Tyrell's army and his father Tywin's fleet had not arrived, but the great Volantene fleet had come uninvited. "Saviors or demons? Neither the Three Daughters nor Volantis are friends to Westeros. Years ago, the Three Daughters besieged the Gullet and killed a Targaryen Prince and his dragon."
Tyrion watched the Volantene fleet move. From its posture, the great fleet meant to block the entrance to Blackwater Bay. They had passed the Stepstones without attacking the Twin Cities, so the most likely answer was that they wanted to cut off the head in one strike.
No one believed the Volantene would help the Storm. In ancient days, Volantis had been the most infamous slave city-state of all. Now the slave traders and the Breaker were enemies beyond reconciliation, but Volantis's help would surely come laced with poison. An army that had marched so far would be hungry for blood and spoils, especially when they were not Westerosi, but men from the cruel city-states of the eastern continent. "The Volantene have quite an appetite. Not only do they want to destroy the Storm, they also want to loot King's Landing for themselves."
"Prepare the pitch pots. Prepare the wildfire pots," Tyrion said, forcing himself to focus. Let the two dogs tear each other apart. Every moment he could hold out was another moment gained. He had only prepared a table of food, but more guests had come than expected. "No matter whose fleet enters, they will have a taste of wildfire. The Volantene may attack the Storm, but they are not allowed into King's Landing."
In the battle between the stag and the elephant, whoever laughed last would still have to bleed himself dry. At that thought, Tyrion's mind suddenly cleared.
"Go give orders to my commanders. Seal the river," Tyrion said as his thoughts turned. Once the chain was raised, he would be able to watch the Volantene and the Storm slaughter each other.
"Retreat upstream. Avoid being drawn into battle with the enemy as much as possible." At the same moment, Great Lord Stannis Baratheon also gave his order. Stannis's rear scouts had observed the situation as well, and the wary Stannis had already arranged his formation.
The great Volantene fleet came by two routes, one south of Dragonstone and one north of it. They bypassed Dragonstone entirely, surging forward with menacing force.
The Volantene were not fixated on getting bogged down at Dragonstone or Driftmark, both prizes not worth the effort. Dragonstone was easy to defend and hard to attack, while Driftmark had long since declined. The Volantene had their eyes on the fattest meat of all, the Storm and King's Landing.
War drums began to thunder, and Stannis's oarmasters issued fresh commands. Through the surging white foam and the steady slap of oars, every warship began to turn.
The Dragonstone fleet withdrew into the open sea, directly facing the arriving Volantene fleet. Stannis's fleet spread out swiftly, like a fallen leaf opening across the water. But Stannis had prepared the retreat plan long ago, and with the most agile and convenient ships at his command, the fleet scattered like fish instead of attacking the Volantene fleet head-on. The Volantene warships were numerous, but they carried soldiers aboard, and for the moment they were not so nimble.
"What is going on?" The aged Malaquo held a Myrish lens and, from aboard the Volantene, saw Stannis's fleet scattering in apparent panic, breaking apart like loose sand and no longer continuing its siege of the Blackwater Rush.
"What should we do, Lord Governor?" Malaquo's deputy asked. "Do we go destroy Stannis Baratheon's fleet, or attack directly? The Storm himself is on the south bank of the Blackwater. If we kill him, this battle is over."
"That coward must have lost his nerve," said the Meereenese.
"Hmph." Malaquo spoke with contempt. "Forget it. I doubt we can catch him now. Stannis is a man of some weight, but he is not the key to this war. Did I bring the strength of so many city-states here only to help the lion win its war? I came to kill the man who dared free the slaves, the savior named by the Red Temple, the Breaker followed by the slaves."
Malaquo looked over the Blackwater Rush, over the vast battlefield, and felt that he too was a reckless gambler. Would this be his final battle? Honor. The honor he had loved most in this life.
After three hundred years, the Tiger Party had finally waited for this moment when fate might turn. And not only the Tiger Party. The slave system itself was collapsing, and Volantis had long since run out of room to retreat. Malaquo understood Volantis's decay and decline. If they continued to wait, the Storm's power would only grow stronger, while the Red Temple never stopped stirring the people. All of Volantis had fallen into a fever of internal troubles, outside threats, and fanaticism. Malaquo could only support sending three hundred warships to war.
"Pass on my orders," Malaquo commanded. "Have the escort ships guard against Stannis, but do not pursue him too closely. As for me, I require the Meereenese, the Yunkaii, the New Ghiscari, the Astapori, the Tolosi, and the Elyrians to land with me on the south bank of the Blackwater, for the justice and righteousness of the world."
"My lord, there is also the matter of raiding for slaves. With Tyrosh and Myr gone, we are all short of slaves now. Besides, I hear Westerosi slaves are of especially high quality," said an envoy from one of the slave city-states.
"Are you truly in such a hurry?" Malaquo looked at the Yunkaii.
"We have paid too much. We must recover some of the cost. This is also what the soldiers are demanding."
"Choose your own men. Send the greediest warships to the mouth of the Blackwater. I will let part of my fleet join the Slaver's Bay ships and charge into the Blackwater Rush. This is the greatest concession I can make," Malaquo said helplessly. The people of King's Landing ought to welcome the arrival of their savior. He would not work for them for nothing, but the matter could wait a little longer.
"Thank you, Lord Governor. The children have traveled so far. They are truly exhausted," the Yunkaii envoy cried in delight. The Yunkaii delegation surged forward like a wave of laughter, volunteering to take a group of men to "help" defend King's Landing.
Malaquo had little fondness for these useless soldiers anyway. They would not affect the battle.
"Magister Rhaen, are you willing to command the Yunkaii?" Malaquo asked the Lysene Magister, meaning that he should keep Yunkai's worthless slave soldiers in order.
"I am willing, my lord," the Lyseni said. He was willing to stay on the river. Their warships were more numerous and more powerful. Even after landing their troops, they would be enough to frighten King's Landing.
Malaquo looked at his reinforcements: Volantis's Tiger Cloaks, the hired sellsword Companies, Astapor's Unsullied, Meereenese gladiators, Tolosi slingers, Elyrian crossbowmen, and more.
"My lord, what if the Lannisters refuse to open the gates?" the aide asked in surprise. "Their warships look as though they're trying to lure the enemy in, and this river mouth can only hold twenty ships at most."
"I came here to save them, and they dare refuse to open the gates?" Malaquo said angrily. King's Landing was at its most tense now, but that changed nothing. "My army is still hungry, not to mention those slave whelps. The Lannisters looted King's Landing as their prize. Why can't I? I am only borrowing King's Landing for a time. I'll give it back to them."
"Moqorro, can you see where the Storm is up ahead, in the flames?"
Moqorro shook his head. "My lord, something here seems to be interfering with me. I cannot receive the will of the Lord of Light."
"Useless," Malaquo cursed.
The royal warships rowed upstream, while the Volantene fleet advanced the other way. The fleet commander brought with him soldiers from across the Known World: Volantenes, Lyseni, Meereenese, and more.
"Lord Governor."
Malaquo changed into a magnificent suit of armor, gleaming gold, and draped a tiger-skin cloak over his shoulders.
"What is that boy doing? He isn't hiding in the woods. He means to face us head-on," Malaquo thought. The Stormlands army on the south bank looked like dense black specks, arrayed in tight formation, but the fleet Volantis had brought was so vast that they still managed to find a place to land.
Across the Blackwater Rush, the bloody battle began, on the south bank, the north bank, and in the river itself.
...
On the south bank of the Blackwater Rush, Gendry saw the richest and most varied army in the Known World appear before him.
The Volantene deployment was well ordered. The foolish Yunkaii troops were sent forward first to take the initial blow, while the main force consisted of Volantene citizen soldiers, the Tiger Cloaks, Astapor's Unsullied, and the mercenary Companies they had hired, the Windblown, the Stormcrows, and others. As for the gladiators sent by Meereen, they could only be counted as an unexpected striking force.
The Tiger Cloaks wore tiger-headed helms and iron claw gauntlets, carrying spears and dressed in silver armor. The noble citizen soldiers of the Black Wall were equipped much the same, though their gear was even more extravagant.
"The core of their army is made up of the citizen soldiers of the Black Wall of Volantis, the Tiger Cloaks, the citizen soldiers of New Ghis, and the Unsullied of Astapor," the red priestess said in a very soft voice. Her accent carried a trace of Asshai, for she did come from across the Narrow Sea.
Gendry's formation had already taken its classic shape. Just as he had expected, the Volantene were staking everything on this throw. For Volantis, this was also an act of desperation. Slavery was their lifeblood, and they would never allow themselves to retreat.
"Someone is supplying them," Gendry said lightly. He had already understood who it was. Generous, open-handed Pentos.
The two giant trebuchets in the position began to thunder, no longer targeting King's Landing, but the newly arrived soldiers of the slaveholding city-states.
The Stormlands formation was set. A golden rose with steel thorns bloomed beneath the morning sun.
"Longbowmen!"
Anguy had arranged the longbowmen south of the riverbank, where they stood atop hastily raised earthworks. Besides ordinary archers, there were also the finest Purpleheart-bowmen, Goldenheart-bowmen, and others. Good Morrigen still commanded the flank scouts, watching the movements of the Rose and the Lion.
"Shield wall!"
Lord Caron took command, and the solid shield wall began to lock together, like layer after layer of hard tortoise shells. Gendry stood before the two armies, sunlight spilling over his great forked helm.
The most powerful force of knights was already in Gendry's hands. The thousand Gold Cloak guard knights hidden elsewhere, together with five thousand Stormlands knights, were the fist within the fist. Gendry believed they would become an iron fist.
The warriors of the Stormlands blew deep, mournful war horns, while the Volantene horns answered with strange, piercing shrieks.
"Kill!"
Malaquo, dressed in splendid armor and wrapped in his tiger cloak, swung the weapon in his hand, and the great army roared forward. "The Storm has not fled. This is my chance."
The surging army came on, filled with hunger for slaughter, only to find that the ground before the Stormlands lines was wet with grass and soft with mud. But the gathered troops did not think much of it. They had prepared far too long for this battle.
"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"
The longbowmen stationed atop the earthworks shot down warhorses in swathes. More and more blood began to flow, along with that of men who wore no armor.
"Breaker! Coward! Fight me!" Oznak zo Pahl roared as he charged from Malaquo's main camp.
He was one of Meereen's nobles and commanders. Oznak had shaped his long hair into two horns and wore scale armor of brass and black jade. He rode a white warhorse, its barding striped pink and white to match the silk cloak on his shoulders. He rode faster than anyone, eager to show off his own strength and defy the most evil tyrant in the world.
"What is he doing?" Malaquo was both furious and enraged. He had failed to keep an eye on this young Meereenese.
The hero of Meereen charged forward, and the Meereenese cheered for him. His oiled hair had been combed into two huge curving ram's horns, and he carried a fourteen-foot pink-and-white long spear that looked utterly gaudy. Days at sea had made him restless, and he could not wait to display his heroism.
Gendry lifted the Longbow of the Dragon, following the movement of the wind, the sunlight, and the air.
"Whoosh!"
The bowstring was drawn full, and then the arrow flew as naturally as silk sliding through the hand. It pierced the hero's chest without mercy. The Meereenese commander Oznak died at once, his body sliding from the horse before it was trampled under the hooves of the cavalry behind him.
"The first," Gendry said calmly, lowering the longbow.
The Stormlands lines erupted in cheers, the soldiers beating their shields.
"Idiot!" The allied army could only curse in helpless anger.
"Tell the gladiators not to advance any farther. They will be useful later," Malaquo said.
The Stormlands' rain of arrows covered the earth like falling drops of rain.
The Stormlands army said nothing. They only loosed their arrows without mercy and waited for the allied soldiers to struggle through the mud.
"Have the armies of the Vale and Crackclaw Point moved?" Robar Royce asked anxiously.
"No. Not yet."
...
In the Blackwater Rush, the Volantene fleet had already turned from guest to master and surged into the river channel. They had planned from the start to force their way into King's Landing. Everyone had agreed on it. Once they broke into King's Landing, there would be plenty of slaves to divide.
Some warships began rushing into the river. The royal warships could not avoid them in time, and two vessels collided with a great tearing crash, followed by the shriek of splintering timber. Some ships tried to retreat, only to be met by a fresh volley of arrows.
When the warships crashed together, men fought across the decks with axes and longswords. These reinforcements had not come out of kindness. Like the Storm, they too wanted to enter King's Landing and plunder it.
Swaying orange-red birds spread their wings and dived from the castle, perhaps twenty or thirty of them. They were burning pitch pots, trailing long tails of flame as they arced downward. The river swallowed most of the birds, while only a few landed on the decks and burst apart. Then came arrows, fired by archers from the stone towers.
King's Landing had made its stance clear. These warships could remain outside the coast, but they were absolutely not allowed to enter King's Landing.
As the pots burst across the decks, sailors hurried to put out the flames. Then yard-long bolts fell, sinking deep into the planks and quivering there.
On the north bank of the Blackwater Rush, the arms of the giant trebuchets rose, one, two, three, one after another. Hundreds of stones climbed into the yellow sky, each as large as a man's head. They came crashing down, some throwing up huge splashes, others punching through oak decks and smashing men alive into broken bones, minced flesh, and liver paste.
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