Along the winding coastline of the Disputed Lands, four sleek, long black ships crewed by escaped slaves put in to shore. Gray-white wolf banners snapped in the wind, and beside them flew the Free Company's flag, marked with a shattered shackle.
After fleeing Volantis, these runaways had turned to piracy at sea, or become river raiders on the Rhoyne, specializing in ambushing Volantis slave ships. They kept at it until word reached them that a Fire Herb King had risen in the Disputed Lands, a man who freed slaves.
"We will serve you, because you shattered the chains. You are a liberator, an abolitionist. Even if the night is long, even if winter is coming."
Four Volantis slave captains who had come from far away set their longswords at Gendry's feet, then dropped to one knee and swore their loyalty.
The captains and sailors all wore ugly traces of old wounds. They had once been Volantis sailor slaves, their cheeks tattooed with the sail-mark of a warship. When they escaped, they slashed their own faces to ruin the skin and hide the slave brands they had carved out when they won their freedom.
"From this moment on, you are naval captains of the Free Company," Gendry said as he accepted their oath. "All men are born free. On my land, there are no slaves."
He stood with the leadership of the Wolf Pack and the Free Company at his side. Lightly armored Unsullied guarded his back, and not far off, Free Company fighters with longspear and crossbow kept watch around the camp.
Gendry was genuinely pleased. Their arrival was exactly what he needed, filling the one gap his forces lacked: ships. They were only a handful of black ships, not great war galleys, but it was a beginning.
"The slaves of Volantis are waiting for you," said Captain Hallis, the one who seemed to lead the others. "They're watching and hoping for your coming."
"I accept your loyalty," Gendry said. "And sooner or later, I will lead you back to Volantis, together with thousands upon thousands of rescued brothers."
"Long live the Free Company!"
"Long live the Free Company!"
Cheers rolled across the black ships as the slave sailors roared in answer.
"Many of the things you've heard about, the Widow of the Waterfront has been spreading for us in Volantis," Captain Hallis said in a lower voice. "I think the Lord Commander should reach out to her."
"The Widow of the Waterfront?" Just the name made Gendry suspect she would be difficult to deal with.
"She's an important figure in Volantis, but she's never forgotten where she came from," Hallis explained. "She was once a bed slave, trained in Yunkai, taught the way of the seven sighs."
"A Volantis Triarch named Vogarro bought her. Later he fell in love with her, gave her freedom, and eventually married her. Triarch Vogarro owned docks and warehouses, and he ran all sorts of businesses: cargo transshipment, currency exchange, ship insurance. When Vogarro died, the Widow of the Waterfront took over everything."
Gendry filed the name away. She was someone worth contacting. Still, an assault on Volantis was a distant dream. Volantis might have lost its dragons, but its strength remained, its population still among the greatest, and it maintained a massive standing army.
He brought the four captains on to the Fire Herb Manor. Along the way, the captains and sailors saw wheat fields and willow groves, and plots planted thick with fire herb. Former slaves walked here with heads high, like Free folk. Free knights and merchants passing through had to obey the Head Wolf's orders. Free folk worked the land. Free folk made up the army that kept the peace.
This was something new. A country being built in front of their eyes.
We came to the right place, one of the captains thought. A Free Company flourishing like this was bound to make slave masters panic.
The gates of Fire Herb Manor had become something else entirely, a new and far more frightening wolf's den. The walls had been raised and thickened again. Deep trenches encircled the place, lined with sharpened stakes. Tents stood in neat rows inside the grounds, leaving broad lanes between them. Horses were tethered on the northern side under the watch of assigned soldiers.
Most striking of all was a black stallion, a gift from the Prince of Dorne.
Steward Luff saw to every arrangement for the captains. His wife and children lived within the manor as well. Though he was Free folk from Myr, he had never been cruel to slaves and was always mild with people. Even after the Free Company was founded, the freedmen were still willing to have Luff remain as steward.
...
Elsewhere in the Disputed Lands, a secret meeting was underway in the Golden Company's camp.
Their encampment was immaculate, its layout precise and orderly, without a flaw in sight. From the arrangement of tents and barracks to the horses, sentries, and patrols, everything ran like clockwork. They called themselves sellswords, but in truth they were a standing army. And they had more than twenty elephants—terrifying beasts of war.
The captain's tent was sewn with golden thread. A ring of spears surrounded it, each topped with a gilded skull. One skull was especially large and grotesque, and beneath it hung another no bigger than a child's fist: the monstrous Maelys and his nameless brother. The rest bore fewer distinguishing features. Some had been smashed open by hammers, cracks spidering across the bone. One still showed a neat row of sharp teeth. This was a command and a tradition left by Bittersteel—when a man died, his skull was gilded, and one day, when they returned west to Westeros, those skulls would be raised high as banners.
"That little bastard is vicious," one senior officer muttered inside the tent. "He means to tear apart the slave masters' homes and turn the Free Cities into seas of flame."
The Golden Company flaunted its wealth with the brazen confidence of men who had earned it in blood. Jeweled swords, engraved armor, fine silks, heavy gold collars. Most striking were the golden armbands each man wore, priceless enough to ransom a lord. One band marked one year of service in the Company.
"It's a ruthless move," said Tristan Rivers. "Extreme, but ruthless. To challenge every slave master at once… the Wolf Pack's cub must be mad."
The Golden Company carried strong Westerosi roots. Many of its captains bore bastard surnames—Flowers, Rivers, Hill, Stone—though others carried proud names known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Two Strongs. Three Peakes. A Mudd. A Lothston. A Mandrake. A pair of Cole brothers. Names mattered little in a sellsword host. A man could call himself whatever he wished.
"That said," another added, "the little bastard's thinking is sharp. As long as that banner stands, slaves will keep flocking to him. He'll turn the world upside down. If we had soldiers like that, we'd make better use of them."
There was truth in it. Gendry had opened a brutal, dangerous new path. But the Golden Company thought in terms of contracts and coin, hiring themselves out to the Three Daughters. They had never considered seizing the Disputed Lands outright and standing against the Free Cities as he had.
"Forget it. Our goal is to go home," someone said. "Not stay here fighting the Three Daughters."
"What about the Myrish proposal?" asked Homeless Harry Strickland, captain-general of the Golden Company. "The Magisters are offering gold, slaves—everything—if we strike the Wolf Pack."
Harry was an unremarkable man, but the Golden Company's discipline was so solid that even a fool could command it well enough.
"A stupid proposal," Tristan replied flatly. "The Wolf Pack's strength is no joke. Their Head Wolf is fierce and cunning. Think of what happened to the Unsullied and the Brave Companions. Think of the Winter Wolves in the Dance of the Dragons. And those slaves worship him. A man fighting for freedom fights like a beast. Even if we win, we'd bleed for it."
"That may be," Harry said, "but we could offer Myr armed protection instead. Take their gold without risking our own strength."
"Or we contact the Wolf Pack," another suggested. "They want the Disputed Lands. We want Westeros. Like the Ninepenny Kings once did. Once they secure the Disputed Lands, they could help us take the Stepstones—or even the Reach. We still have friends there."
"You've lost your mind," Harry snapped at once. "We back a true dragon, wait for the right moment, and then sound the horn for Westeros. Not now."
The secret of Young Aegon was known to only a handful. It had not yet come to light.
"Wait for a true dragon?" Franklin scoffed. "You mean the Beggar King and his sister, that pitiful little girl? Have you forgotten? The Beggar King once invited us to dine, and we laughed him out of the tent."
He curled his lip.
"What dragon are we waiting for? The Ninepenny Kings dared to leap onto those islands. We can follow Maelys's path."