The city was burning…
Smoke crawled along the streets and rose toward the indifferent heavens, like black, twisted candles. Tongues of flame gnawed at the houses one after another, and roof tiles burst apart with a hollow crack.
A light rain drizzled down from the low clouds. Gusts of wind carried ash and soot through the air, spreading the monstrous stench of burned flesh, pain, and terror. People ran in panic, not knowing where to flee, whom to save, or what to do.
And from the sky came the frenzied snarling and roaring of two enraged dragons. A third thrashed somewhere below, near the River Gate, setting everything ablaze and slaughtering indiscriminately.
*
The dragons had come at night, when the stars had only just begun to fade, when dawn was still approaching, and the guards' sleep was deep and sweet. Some people called this part of the night the "wolf hour"—the time just before sunrise.
The fire-breathing beasts had appeared out of nowhere, descended upon the Red Keep, and begun burning everything in sight.
From the way they attacked, and from how they chose their targets, we later realized that the Martells clearly had spies—spies who had pointed out where the most influential and important people might be found.
The main blow fell upon Maegor's Holdfast, where the royal chambers were located, upon the Hand's Tower, the barracks of the Gold Cloaks, and the White Tower—the residence of the Kingsguard.
We had suspected earlier that the dragons might attack the castle directly. We moved the paintings and ornaments to the cellars—fine tableware, clothes, statues, gold, silver, and all that was most valuable. We ourselves had shifted closer to the lower levels as well. Kevan Lannister took up residence on the lower level of the tower, and the guards no longer slept in their chambers.
And yet, you can't foresee everything. Panic broke out—useless, chaotic panic. Many lost their composure and, instead of pulling themselves together and taking shelter in the cellars, began shouting and running about.
The dragons burned the Red Keep like three enormous flamethrowers.
Shaking off their first fright and shock, our men came to their senses. One horn rang out, clear and sharp—another answered it—and the castle awakened. People rushed about, warriors scrambled to their posts, and the first bolts were fired from the newly installed crossbows and scorpions.
For the past month, we had drilled the crews day and night. They did not fail us.
Especially since the dragons had managed to ignite numerous wooden structural elements—the roofs of towers where tiles were missing, an internal passage between two walls, several banners, one of the trebuchets, and buildings in the courtyard.
They flared up, partially dispersing the night's darkness. And people could see where to shoot—and whom to defend against.
Almost immediately, a bolt with a metal cable attached to it struck one of the dragons in the wing. The beast roared, beat its wings sharply, and tried to pull away while climbing higher. The cable snapped taut, and the ballista nearly tore free of its mount. In the next moment, the barbed bolt scraped down along the wing with a dry crack,, slicing through the membrane as easily as a thread cuts paper.
With a hoarse, ragged wail, the dragon began to fall, sweeping with one whole wing and flailing with the torn one.It spun about its own axis and veered off to the side. With a furious roar, it unleashed a great tongue of flame and, with a horrifying crash, slammed into an alley between the houses not far from the River Gate
"Finish the beast!" Jaime shouted at the top of his lungs, leading men into a sortie into the city. The gates crashed open, and several hundred soldiers rushed toward the fallen dragon.
By that time, the walls were already lined with warriors, and all the surviving ballistae were ready for battle. Under a rain of arrows and bolts, the dragons fell back from the castle and began to wheel overhead.
And yet Daenerys's dragons could not burn stone. Not yet… I had seen the melted walls and towers of Harrenhal and could well imagine the power that had wrought such destruction. And I had also seen the skull of Balerion the Black Dread—the first and greatest of the Targaryen dragons—kept in one of the Red Keep's cellars. It was plain to see that even the largest of Daenerys's dragons was far smaller than its legendary forebear.
That was our salvation—our chance. Had Daenerys attacked a year or a year and a half later, when her beasts had grown, things would have been far, far worse.
Once I was certain Margaery and the twins were safe, I helped them down into the lower cellars. Then, keeping low and taking care not to expose myself, I made my way up onto the wall and looked about, trying to make sense of what was happening.
The Red Keep smoldered. Here and there tongues of flame licked at it, but it had not suffered so greatly—though in many rooms and halls something still smoldered and burned.
The people had fared far worse. Servants, squires, and knights ran about, tending to the wounded.
And then hell began! It unfolded in the city.
The fallen dragon writhed among the houses like a beetle trapped in an anthill. It snapped with fire and tried to escape the labyrinth, but it was plainly disoriented. And it could not take to the air.
Warriors approached it and began pelting it with spears and arrows. The two remaining dragons in the sky understood the danger threatening their fallen kin, descended, and began burning our soldiers. All were caught in it—houses and townsfolk, women and children, soldiers.
Several large fires broke out there. Driven by the wind, the flames began to spread toward the harbor, consuming everything in their path.
(End of Chapter)
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