"Long live the Storm!"
"For the Storm!"
Across the battlefield, countless voices erupted in cheers, roaring like thunder. The elephant and tiger banners of Volantis and the Harpy banner of the descendants of the Old Empire of Ghis had all been thrown to the ground.
Gendry stood proudly amid the battlefield, clad in a gold cloak and black armor. Sunlight fell over him, and every eye turned toward him, as though he were a horned god. The sword, too, was a form of truth. At least everyone who had witnessed this battle was convinced.
"Ser Lothor! Jon!" Gendry called.
The two men came at once. Lothor looked rather comical in Gendry's spare armor, while Jon seemed slender by comparison, but he was plainly excited, his face flushed from victory.
Gendry gave them their orders. "Take my warhammer. Go restore order on the battlefield and calm the soldiers. Anyone who kills innocents or disobeys orders will be dealt with under military law."
Gendry handed the spiked warhammer to Lothor Brune, who accepted the blood-soaked weapon respectfully.
"How did it feel, Jon?" Gendry asked.
"It was incredible. The grandest battlefield in the known world, and we were the victors. Before our strength, the Volantis army collapsed," Jon Snow said excitedly. He had never seen a battle on this scale in The North.
"Power is power, Jon. Get to work." Gendry smiled. The two men accepted the order and left.
As high as honor, as high as power. Stronger, and more cunning.
Gendry looked at Malaquo's head. Though it had lost its teeth, it was still a tiger. Against his will, Malaquo had left Gendry an inheritance. First, the Unsullied who had served as Malaquo's personal guards spread out and knelt on one knee.
"A Valyrian steel sword, and a Valyrian steel ring." Gendry immediately spotted the treasures Malaquo had carried with him. Victory really was satisfying. Every time, there was gear to loot. As the old Triarch of the wealthy and ancient city-state of Volantis, Malaquo's house had both the strength and heritage to possess such things.
"We'd better loot all these rich lords and see what gear they have."
"What's the sword called?" Gendry asked.
He drew the sword from beside Malaquo's folding campaign chair. Its pommel was shaped like a roaring tiger. The blade was wider than a man's palm, and when held upright, it stood taller than Jon Snow. It was a true greatsword.
The blade had been forged from Valyrian steel and enhanced by sorcery. Its rippling patterns shone with a golden luster, as though bright yellow waves were leaping across the steel.
The Unsullied guard answered respectfully, "Tiger's Roar, Lord Breaker."
"It's beautiful. A golden legend." Gendry was extremely pleased. He studied the sword. It was too tall for most people, but just right for him. Gendry was tall and long-limbed, and when he swung the greatsword, it moved like a cutting machine.
Could it be a reforged version of the Lannister greatsword Brightroar? But after thinking it over, Gendry decided that was impossible. The Lannister Golden Fleet had vanished in the ruins of the Smoking Sea, and no one dared go there.
"This ring is a treasure too." Gendry removed the ring from Malaquo's hand. Malaquo had worn no other ornaments, so the ring had clearly been something precious to him. It was made of Valyrian steel, dark in color, with flame-like patterns and a red gemstone set into it. Gendry accepted it without hesitation.
"Stay here and guard Malaquo's body. I'm going to meet the commander of Meereen."
"Yes, Lord."
Gendry, Ser Barristan, and the others rushed to the other side of the main camp. The Meereenese Gladiators were still protecting their masters, whose luck was not bad. They had not been killed immediately.
"They're here."
A group of Gladiators stood guard beside the Meereenese nobles. They wore no armor and did not know how to fight armored men, because Gladiators had no such habit.
No one wore armor in the arena. The audience came to enjoy blood, death, dismemberment, and the agonized screams of the dying. That was the music of the Red Sand. Gladiators were suited to thrusting attacks and creating chaos. Malaquo had originally intended to have them push the catapults, but they had never been used.
The Meereenese Hizdahr looked at the Goldknights surrounding them. The knights had twelve-foot Longspears and crossbows at the ready.
"Surrender now!" Gendry rode over. "Malaquo is dead."
"I surrender." The aged Grand Marshal of Yunkai was also there, and he was the first to lower his head.
"Drop your weapons! Drop them!" the Meereenese noble shouted, then knelt on the ground. The Gladiators threw down their weapons one after another.
"I am the Lord's Warden. I cannot lay down my weapon so easily," Khrazz said stubbornly, still unwilling to lower his head or bend his knee. Khrazz was a highly skilled and exceptionally swift Gladiator, and a proud one as well.
"Drop the blade, Khrazz!" the Meereenese man shouted anxiously at his guard.
"Pick up your weapon," Gendry said. "Then you don't need to stay standing either."
Gendry swung his newly acquired greatsword, Tiger's Roar. Khrazz held a long, curved Dothraki scimitar.
Khrazz froze at first, then burst into laughter. "Boy, I'm going to eat your heart. You may be the Breaker, but I am Khrazz the Unconquered."
"Only cowards hide inside iron armor."
The Gladiator was fast, astonishingly fast. He was the quickest opponent Gendry had ever seen, perhaps on the same level as Drogo or the Red Viper. His Arakh curved sword flashed in a dizzying blur, weaving a Storm of steel that swept in toward Gendry from three sides with a shrieking wind.
"No!" the Meereenese shouted.
Gendry raised the greatsword and struck back with savage force. He was faster and stronger. He was not defending at all, only meeting attack with attack. Speed could not be broken, except by greater speed. A golden arc like a crescent moon flashed through the air, and Khrazz's entire upper body, sword and all, was cut diagonally apart. The slash ran from his left shoulder down to the right side of his waist. Blood, organs, and bone stained the ground red. The Gladiator's body fell in two pieces.
"Thud!"
The Meereenese trembled all over, and the Grand Marshal of Yunkai fainted outright. The Gladiators fell utterly silent, quiet as quails. This heart-eating devil had been the strongest among them. They longed for death in the arena, but not a death like this, where there was no chance to strike back.
"Prince." Gendry saw that the old prince, the Lord of the Windblown, had also arrived.
The captain of the Windblown knelt respectfully on one knee. "To your great victory."
"Do you still remember the gift you asked of me?" Gendry asked him.
"I do not," the Beggar Prince said, shaking his head. "I am only your loyal servant. The Windblown Companies are yours to command. Beyond them, there are also the Iron Shields and the Maiden's Men."
"There will be a chance for revenge. It was Pentos that supplied provisions to the Volantis fleet, wasn't it?"
"Yes," the Beggar Prince said with a nod.
"It seems our friends in Pentos are truly warm-hearted." Gendry tightened his grip on Tiger's Roar. He had to make use of a guide. No one knew Pentos better than the Beggar Prince.
The Green Knights carrying the Golden Rose banners also poured into Malaquo's main camp. All that remained was the aftermath. Malaquo was dead. Blood and fire filled the battlefield, along with the great victory of the Storm.
When Garlan Tyrell arrived at the main camp, he saw the bloody scene for himself. Gendry had cleaved through a man with a single stroke, leaving the Meereenese and Yunkai trembling in fear. Valyrian steel might be indestructible, but the user's strength was what truly mattered. A greatsword over six feet long would be difficult for most men to wield, yet Gendry handled it with ease.
"Prince, congratulations on your great victory," Garlan said, kneeling on one knee with his head bowed. The Reach had dragged its feet, and now the battle was already decided.
"You've come at the right time, Ser Garlan. King's Landing has not fallen yet." Gendry put away Tiger's Roar. The fearsome greatsword gleamed brilliantly before Garlan.
"Yes, Prince," Garlan said with a nod. "The armies of The Reach will do everything in their power to breach the city. In addition, we will transport grain and supplies to your army and to King's Landing."
"Go make the preparations. King's Landing has almost no wildfire left."
"Yes." Garlan's heart bled. These had been terms meant for negotiation, but now they had no other choice.
...
"Bwoooom!"
The warhorn sounded again, joined by the beat of war drums.
Tyrion crouched on the battlements, motionless as a gargoyle.
The firelight blocked his view, leaving him unable to see the fighting along the southern bank. And if he could not see it, the Lyseni climbing the walls likely could not see it either.
"Is the Old Gate fixed?" Tyrion asked.
"They're repairing it as fast as they can, Lord," the guard replied. "The wildfire caused a massive explosion. It killed those howling Antler Men, but the gate is gone."
"No choice, then. Hurry the repairs," Tyrion ordered.
I ought to thank Varys. He did advise me to be on guard. But the fool never got me a proper list of the Antler Men. In the end, the Storm army was simply too fast.
Tyrion looked back toward the river. Beyond the Mud Gate, past the ruins that had once been the fish market and docks, the river burned. Half the fleet the Lyseni had brought was in flames, and most of King Joffrey's ships were burning as well.
Downstream, captains of high birth and low alike could only watch as rafts, barges, and derelict ships laden with deadly green fruit drifted toward them along the Blackwater Rush.
Inside the castle, most of the red-cloaked guards were cheering, convinced they had won a crucial victory.
What kind of victory is this? Tyrion thought bitterly. Still, their cheers would at least help morale.
My schemes, my plans, only for someone else to turn them against me. Tyrion's heart sank. The ones burning were fools from Lys and the slave masters. They were not good men, but they were enemies of the Storm. Stannis's fleet, however, was untouched. Worse still, they could still make landfall. As for the fighting on the southern bank, Tyrion could only pray the scales of victory did not tip toward the Storm. Best if both sides mauled each other to pieces.
Out on the river, some ships exploded from the wildfire, blasting fountains dozens of feet high into the air. Flames danced over the water, crackling and hissing, drowning out every scream. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, thrashed in the river, some drowning, some burning, some both.
Even with the wildfire trap and a show of weakness, the Storm did not take the bait, Tyrion thought. He almost wished his enemy had been Stannis instead. Great Lord Stannis lacked his brother Robert's hunger for battle, but he had the bearing of Lord Tywin Lannister, a man used to holding the rear and commanding his reserves. The Storm, Robert's son, was a fierce battle commander who valued the front line and scouts, and on a battlefield he was in his element.
"My ship!" King Joffrey shouted hoarsely from the wall-walk, packed behind the battlements with his guards. A golden circlet marked his helmet as the king's. "My King's Landing is burning! And the Queen Cersei, and the Loyal Servant. Look, the Sea Flower is burning too, over there!" Joffrey stabbed his new sword toward it. Green flames licked along the Sea Flower's golden hull and crawled up her oars. The captain desperately turned upriver to evade it, but there was no escaping wildfire once it had caught.
Once wildfire was released, no human hand could control it. Worse, some of the stores had been kept for decades, and their quality was dangerously unstable.
"There's nothing to be done," Tyrion told his nephew. "One way or another, our fleet was always going to be finished."
Stop worrying about your ships and start worrying about your head, Tyrion thought as he looked at Joffrey, though he could not say it aloud. Bronn had just been driving the oxen, and the chain now stretched across the river.
The current was unpredictable, and the wildfire had not spread as evenly as Tyrion had hoped. He had not expected that, but it would have to be enough. The substance burned so hot that flesh melted like grease. Tyrion knew the attackers would fear it, but wildfire could only be used once.
Since the wildfire had not spread evenly, the enemies who had come begging for death at King's Landing were still getting ashore. The slave masters of the Three Daughters, Yunkai's slave soldiers, their hedge knights. They had come to King's Landing to burn, kill, and loot.
We have to strike again, Tyrion thought. He watched the brutal scene on the river. Most of the fleet had been destroyed. Some ships had fled to the southern bank, their fate uncertain. Others, those at the very front, had reached the upper river before the wildfire exploded. A few stranded ships had even managed to land soldiers at the docks. Troops were weakest when stumbling ashore. He could not give the enemy time to gather on the northern bank.
Tyrion climbed down from the battlements. "Tell Lord Jacelyn there are enemies by the river. Also, hurry the repairs on our northern gate. It seems the Storm has concentrated his main force to the south, but the northerners still haven't appeared," he told one of the messengers sent by Bywater. Then he turned to another. "Give Ser Aned my regards, and tell him to turn the Three Whores of King's Landing thirty degrees west. I don't care whose ships they are. Smash them for me. It may not be enough to seal the river, but at least they can throw farther."
"Mother agreed to let me command the Three Whores of King's Landing," King Joffrey said. Tyrion was irritated to see the king had lifted his visor again. The boy was no doubt stifling inside that heavy steel armor, but the last thing Tyrion wanted to see was a stray arrow taking his nephew through the eye.
"Yes, Your Grace!" Tyrion pulled Joffrey's visor back down and explained, "Do not lift it, Your Grace. Your safety is precious to us all. We must end this quickly. We'll need the catapults soon enough, and the wildfire will burn out eventually."
Joffrey hurried away in high spirits.
I do still love my family, you bastard, Cersei. Do you?
Besides his two guards, twelve veteran Gold Cloaks waited at the foot of the stairs to escort Joffrey.
After coaxing the little monster away, Tyrion received still worse news.
Not long after the king left, a messenger came panting up the steps. "Lord, quickly!" He dropped to one knee. "Hundreds of Sellswords from Lys and Tyrosh have landed at the tourney grounds! They're carrying battering rams toward The King's Gate!"
Tyrion had no choice but to ride straight for The King's Gate. He had to deal with what was in front of him first. Once mounted, he said nothing, but galloped down the riverside road, with Pod and the Kingsguard knight Ser Mandon Moore struggling to keep up. Every door was shut tight, and the houses were covered in green shadows. There were no people or horses in the street. Tyrion had ordered the roads cleared long ago so the defenders could move swiftly between the gates.
Tyrion heard the booming crash of wood striking wood. A battering ram. The square before The King's Gate was crowded with wounded men, but several rows of horses stood ready, many unhurt. The surviving Sellswords and Gold Cloaks were enough to form a strong force.
"Form ranks!" Tyrion shouted as he jumped down from his horse. The gate shook under another blow. "Who's in command here? Get the fuck out there and charge!"
"No."
The Hound emerged from the shadows. The huge man in smoke-gray armor tore off his helmet with both hands and flung it to the ground. The savage dogshead helmet was charred and warped, its right ear sliced away. Blood streamed from above one of the Hound's eyes, running over his old burn scars and covering half his face.
"We have to go!" Tyrion stared straight at him.
Clegane's breathing was rough. "Fuck that."
...
At the Old Gate, a huge crater had been blasted open by the wave of wildfire. Fortunately, sandbags had been prepared in advance, and there had not been much wildfire, so the flames had been put out.
The Antler Men had been wiped out by the wildfire blast, their flesh and fat melted together, but they had left the gate wide open behind them.
Carpenters and soldiers were slowly building a temporary barrier of timber and sandbags to block the Old Gate, while watching the northern horizon. From the south, distant battle cries and shouts filled the sky.
"How long is this going to go on?" a carpenter asked quietly.
"No idea..."
"They were loyal enough," someone said, mourning the fate of the Antler Men. "If the late king were still alive. Ah, what a sin."
"Watch your mouth..." his companion cut him off at once, glancing at the Gold Cloaks overseeing the work.
Just then, the sound of hooves came thundering down The Kingsroad from the north. It grew louder and louder, first like a small wave, then like a great tide.
The Gold Cloaks stared ahead and finally confirmed it. Northern soldiers.
"The enemy is here!" a soldier shouted as he blew his horn.
The gray-white Running Wolf banner, the pink Skinner banner, the Giant with a waving pine tree, and House Mooton's trout banner all appeared together.
Fur-clad Northerners came into view, along with the half-wildlings of Crackclaw Point. They cheered and roared, gripping warhammers, blunt axes, maces, and flails.
"It's the Stark banner!"
"It's the House Crabb banner!"
"It's the House Bolton banner!" the soldiers cried in terror. They dropped their weapons and no longer cared about repairing the gate.
"King's Landing has fallen!"
Panic began spreading in every direction.
"That was close. We haven't missed it yet." Roose Bolton glanced at the gates of King's Landing as the great army charged across the field.
***
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