The wolf banner still flew high above the manor walls as the gate creaked open. Ten armored men of the Wolf Pack charged out, a wave of steel and fury. Their longswords rattled in their scabbards, playing a deadly song as they spurred their horses into the chaos.
From his position behind the main line of attackers, Purple Beard watched the dead and dying slaves piled at the foot of the walls. "It seems the legends are true," he grunted, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "The Wolf Pack is a tough nut to crack."
"Boss," his treasurer whispered, "we have no siege equipment. Taking this manor by storm will be costly."
"What are you afraid of?" Purple Beard sneered. He turned to a tall, thin man standing beside him, a man with hair the color of rust and cold, dead eyes. "Lord Rust, what say you? We cannot retreat after our first assault." The man called Rust merely nodded, his hand resting on the curved hilt of a Dothraki arakh.
"Kill them!" Purple Beard roared, and the two forces crashed together. The battle was a maelstrom of screaming men and horses. The bandits were more numerous, but the Wolf Pack was better equipped and fought with the ferocity of cornered animals. One of their brothers was impaled on a spear, but at the same moment, Longspear's horse kicked out, shattering an enemy's spine.
A bandit knight charged Gendry, his sword raised high. Gendry met him with a swing of his warhammer. The spiked head punched through leather and mail, through muscle and bone, shattering the man's chest. He stared for a moment at the blood steaming in the cool night air before pulling his weapon free and charging back into the fight.
A spear jabbed toward him, but he parried it with the shaft of his hammer. Before the man could recover, Morningstar's horse trampled him underfoot. Another spear flew from the darkness, embedding itself in Gendry's shield with a heavy *thud*. He spurred his horse after the attacker, raining down blows from his hammer like a summer storm. The man's oak shield splintered, and the final blow smashed half his face into a ruin of blood and bone.
"Watch out!" Gendry screamed, seeing Morningstar suddenly unhorsed, his steed collapsing from a spear thrust. The old warrior was on his feet in an instant, his spiked morning star a whirlwind of death in the center of the fray. "Watch and learn, boy!" he laughed, but his smile faded as a crossbow bolt slammed into his side.
From behind him, the rust-haired man emerged, his curved arakh a blur. Morningstar, wounded and slowed, struggled to parry the lightning-fast strikes. The man with the rust-colored hair was a whirlwind of death. He found an opening, and his dagger plunged into the gap between Morningstar's breastplate and armguard, deep under the armpit. Blood poured out. "I'm very sorry," Morningstar gasped, a tragic smile on his face, before he collapsed to the ground and his eyes went vacant.
"No!" Gendry roared, but he was trapped in his own bitter struggle, unable to reach his friend. Seeing Morningstar fall, something inside Gendry broke. A cold rage, fierce as a hurricane, flooded through him. He became the storm. He swung his warhammer in a great arc, the raw power of his bloodline surging through his body. Two bandits were thrown from their saddles, their armor crumpling like paper. He charged toward the rust-haired killer.
"And now you come to die, boy?" the man asked, wiping Morningstar's blood from his dagger with a piece of white silk.
Gendry dismounted, his face a mask of cold fury. He said nothing, simply raised his hammer. Morningstar had been his teammate, his instructor. His brother.
"I do not mind cutting out another heart," the Rust Knight said, raising his curved blade. "You have the right to know the name of the man who kills you. I am Kalaz of Meereen. Undefeated in the pits."
The dance of death began. The pleasing sound of steel on steel rang through the night. Kalaz was impossibly fast, his arakh a whistling blur aimed at Gendry's unprotected throat and head. Gendry, shielded by his heavy armor and bull-horned helm, calmly blocked each strike. He felt a limitless strength flowing through him, a rage that gave him the power of a tempest.
"Bandits are still bandits," Kalaz spat, seeing his own men begin to falter against the Wolf Pack's desperate charge. "Cowards!" He felt the tide turning, felt the impossible, wild strength in his opponent's blows. His arakh struck Gendry's black scale armor with a loud clang. The force of it sent a jolt through Gendry's body, but the steel held.
Gendry's counter-attack was instant. The pick of his hammer caught Kalaz on the cheek, tearing a bloody hole. "Coward!" Kalaz shrieked, stumbling back. "Hiding in your armor!"
The gladiator attacked again, his scimitar a flurry of motion, trying to create an opening to flee. But Gendry ignored the blows that glanced harmlessly off his arms. This was not Valyrian steel. He waited for his moment. He roared, and the storm god seemed to answer. His warhammer struck Kalaz square in the chest with the force of a battering ram, crushing bone and flesh. The gladiator of Meereen fell to the ground, his body a broken ruin, and did not move again.