High atop the tower of Fire Herb Manor, Gendry, Handsome Man, Steel Fist, Longspear, Black Billy, Fletcher Dick, Qyburn, and the rest gathered in a tight knot. War clouds hung over the estate, and Magister Joeyr's retaliation was closing in fast.
"Magister Joeyr is serious this time," Qyburn said. "According to our contacts in Myr, he's hired the Brave Companions, and he's recruiting adventurers and wandering Sellswords all over the city. It's a sizeable force. They're moving so openly that everyone in Myr knows it."
"That's exactly what we want." Gendry gave a small laugh. "What I fear most isn't an attack. It's the Myrish throwing up an iron blockade. If they come to us instead, we won't have to wear our horses out on a long march."
A blockade was far worse than a straight assault. If the Myrish sealed the coastline and also bribed the Crown Town's bandit Sellswords to side with them, it would be almost impossible to break. But Myr's fatal weakness was its divided councils and competing voices, and that division was the Wolf Pack's opening.
"The Brave Companions…" Handsome Man knew the name at once. "A pack of criminals, rapists, pedophiles, and exiles."
Gendry knew them too. They were the Sellsword Company that would one day take an axe to the Kingslayer's hand. But they would not live long enough to cross the sea to Westeros.
"The Brave Companions. Jesters and criminals," Fletcher Dick said with a crooked grin. "If we're talking about infamous Companies, only the Second Sons are in the same league."
"Infamy is still a kind of name," someone muttered. "They're jesters and criminals, sure, but they can fight. A bastard's army is still an army."
The Brave Companions had survived this long for a reason. Their discipline was rotten, but their blades were not.
"Then we crush the clowns," Steel Fist growled. "Roving knights and adventurers don't hold ranks. Break the Brave Companions, and the rest will fall apart."
"We swallow the whole lot," Gendry said, his hand tightening into a fist. "Every Sellsword in the Brave Companions dies. Those criminals and pedophiles have lived long enough. The Wolf Pack has principles, and we're not wasting time sheltering filth. As for the other bandit Sellswords and adventurers, they can come or go as they please."
Holding Fire Herb Manor and meeting the Myrish head-on would be the safer option, but the better one was to fight outside their own lands: ambushes, movement, and constant pressure. Win clean, limit damage at home, and let victory draw more supporters to their banner.
"Do we blunt them and bleed them, or do we take them straight on?" Gendry had weighed both.
Westeros loved a decisive clash, a clean battle line and a hard finish. The Dornish, by contrast, preferred to sap and strike, avoiding large frontal engagements, using light troops and swift horses, and letting harsh land and heat grind enemies down. Dorne's sun and scarce water made it a graveyard for big armies.
"Ambushes and mobile fighting suit us better," Gendry said. He didn't have Dorne's terrain to hide behind. The Disputed Lands were fertile and rich, and his manor and the freed slaves of the Free Company were newly brought under his rule. He couldn't afford to let war trample his base.
"The coastline's rough," Handsome Man said, leaning over the map. With only one usable arm, he still managed to sketch quick marks and circles with a pencil. "The Myr fleet won't have an easy time forcing its way inland, and they can't truly seal us off. Odds are these Sellswords will take the main roads and march overland."
Gendry nodded, eyes fixed on the map as if he meant to carve every ridge and road into memory. "Here's what we do. First, scouts and rangers. We lock down intelligence along the eastern coast and the southern Crown Town routes. Hunt their messengers. I don't want us facing pressure from three directions at once."
War was a tangle of information, supply, and organization. A real campaign didn't just test steel. It tested the commander.
"Then we set ambushes on the outer approaches and hit them hard as they push north. Handsome Man holds the rear. Steel Fist, Black Billy, and Fletcher Dick take the longbowmen and shieldbearers and lay the trap. You'll be in charge of the Free Company. Longspear and I will lead the Wolf Pack in the удар when the moment comes."
"I support the Lord Commander," someone said at once.
"Then we do it," another agreed.
The commanders fell in with the plan. The nastiest part, the spearhead charge, would be Gendry's responsibility, and that was exactly how he fought: first in, last out.
"Two hundred archers," Black Billy said, baring his teeth. "That'll teach these bastards a lesson."
He had twenty archers of the Wolf Pack under him, most of them freed slaves selected from the Free Company. Their ranged weapons were a mixed lot: plenty of Myr crossbows, then Eastern double-curved bows made of beast horn and beast sinew. Good purpleheart bows were easier to come by; the finest golden-heart wood bows were rare and expensive, the kind you couldn't simply buy in quantity. Myrish crossbows, though, were cheap and quick to train with, needing far less time than true longbow work.
"Infantry and shield-bearers hold the line," Gendry said firmly. "The cavalry stays in reserve as our hammer. I need you to buy us time—whatever time you can."
"Don't worry," Steel Fist promised. "As long as there's a man left in my line, we'll stand and die before we run."
...
The Myrish expeditionary force marched out of Myr. There were roughly a thousand men in total: the Brave Companions at the core, bolstered by a motley collection of Sellswords and adventurers scraped together from across the city.
The commander of the Brave Companions led his own Company, while the larger body of troops answered to Magister Joeyr's nephew, Joppo. An officer in Myr's garrison, Joppo had at least some real experience in command.
Can a rabble like this truly stand against the Wolf Pack? he wondered.
Under the banner of the Bloodhorned Black Goat rode the Brave Companions.
At their head was a tall, reed-thin man—Vargo Hoat, their commander. His thick black beard ran nearly from chin to waist, making his long, gaunt face seem even more drawn. He rode a peculiar black-and-white piebald horse. From his saddle hung a black iron helmet shaped like a goat's head. Around his neck clinked a chain strung with coins of every size and metal, trophies from the lands where he had fought.
Behind him came the rest of that grotesque parade: riders with bells braided into their hair and bronze skin gleaming in the sun; lancers astride piebald mounts; archers with painted faces; squat, hairy men bearing shaggy shields; dark-skinned warriors wrapped in cloaks woven of bird feathers; a slender fool in green-and-pink motley; swordsmen sporting forked mustaches dyed green, purple, and silver; pikemen whose faces were covered in bright tattoos; a lanky man in a septon's robe; and a sickly figure in a leather cloak trimmed with long strands of golden hair.
Joppo spurred his horse forward until he rode alongside Vargo, forcing down his distaste.
"Lord Vargo, should we wait outside Fire Herb Manor? It would be wiser to hold until the fleet lands along the coast and our forces join together."
Magister Joeyr had sought help from his allied captains, but they were dragging their feet. The fleet's landing was far slower than the Sellswords' march. Even so, Joppo hoped to delay until they could unite.
"Afraid? Afraid of what?" Vargo said carelessly. "I took your coin. I'll settle, settle these wolf cubs for you."
He seemed to be chewing something at all times. His words came out thick and wet, spittle clinging to his beard.
"My lord, the Wolf Pack is not to be underestimated. They may be small, but the ferocity of the North is known everywhere. And their leader… he's said to be a vicious knight."
"Fear? What fear!" Vargo shook the chain of coins around his neck. "Every coin marks a place I've fought. I'll hack off the wolf cubs' hands and feet."
He was fond of maiming prisoners, severing limbs for sport. It had earned him a reputation as a lover of mutilation.
"And your septon," Joppo said tightly, "I would prefer he stop harassing the boys in my ranks. They're soldiers, not children from a pleasure garden."
"Utt has his tastes," Vargo replied with a shrug. "I'll curse him for it. But the ones who offer themselves? I can't… I can't stop that."
Joppo's heart sank.
He had no real authority over these Sellswords, and they thought far too highly of themselves to take orders lightly.