At the border between the Wolf Pack's territory and Myr, the Free Company had made several loud, deliberate appearances. Panic spread through Myr. Some estate owners had already fled back to Myr City, taking part of their slave stock with them.
War clouds pressed low over the Disputed Lands. The horns echoed cold and sharp. Myr's demand for sellswords surged overnight. Adventurers and mercenaries poured in, eager to secure a contract.
But the eastern front was only a feint. The real blow fell at sea.
On two nameless islands near the Stepstones, pirates suddenly heard the furious cries of unfamiliar sailors.
The Stepstones were littered with unnamed rocks and islands. Only Bloodstone and Grey Gallows had true notoriety. The rest were storm-lashed wastelands, barren and harsh.
Black ships ran aground along the shore, packed with escaped slaves from Volantis and fighters from the Wolf Pack.
"For the Wolf Pack!"
"For the Wolf Pack!"
Ash-gray wolf banners flew beside the Free Company's flags bearing broken shackles.
The pirates had never expected an attack from the Wolf Pack and the Free Company. Their lines collapsed almost immediately.
...
Inside the command tent at Fire Herb Manor, the Tyroshi envoy studied Gendry, who sat before him on a folding chair draped in tiger skin. The tiger hide had been a gift from escaped Volantis slaves to the "Liberator" and "Abolitionist."
Behind Gendry hung a Myrish tapestry depicting knights hunting. He wore a rough black iron mask. Unsullied stood guard at his side, and beside him stood a white-haired maester with a faint, knowing smile.
Most of the rumors were nonsense, the Tyroshi envoy thought.
Stories about Gendry had reached Tyrosh as well. They said he was a tyrant who beheaded slave masters and kept their skulls, an eight-foot giant with a wild beard, a bloodthirsty war maniac who swung a warhammer like a mountain come to life, who ate raw meat and drank blood. They claimed the Head Wolf offered sacrifices to dark gods in exchange for savage strength.
But the man before him was a little over six feet tall, not seven or eight. The Fire Herb King had black hair and blue eyes. Tall and lithe, he carried himself not like a brutish sellsword, but like something more refined—and more dangerous.
Still, some rumors were true. The black iron warhammer resting nearby gave off a cold, dim gleam. That spiked hammer had crushed many skulls—Unsullied, brigand mercenaries, Meereenese alike.
"First, a gift from our Archon of Tyrosh to the Wolf Pack of the Disputed Lands, to the Lord Commander of the Free Company, the Head Wolf."
The envoy signaled, and a chest was opened. Inside lay Tyroshi pear brandy and a suit of armor decorated with elaborate ornamentation.
"I appreciate the Archon's generosity," Gendry said calmly. "But I doubt you came all this way merely to deliver good wine."
The rise of the Fire Herb King had unsettled Tyrosh. During the War of the Ninepenny Kings, Tyrosh had once been dominated by a self-proclaimed king who seized power for years. They knew how dangerous such men could be.
"You have gained enough in the Disputed Lands, Lord Commander," the Tyroshi envoy said. His beard and hair were dyed a deep purple-red, as Tyroshi fashion favored bold colors. "Do you truly intend to make enemies of half the world? Beyond Myr, there is Lys, Tyrosh, Volantis, even Slaver's Bay."
"And what wise counsel does the Archon offer to rescue a misguided man like me?" Gendry asked, looking at him steadily.
"End your proclamations of slave liberation. Withdraw to your original territories. Tyrosh does not concern itself with Fire Herb Manor and a handful of your early estates. But if you continue expanding, Tyrosh will regard the Wolf Pack's ambition as an act of war."
The envoy forced himself to speak evenly. Head Wolf. Leader of the Wolf Pack. Fire Herb King. Iron King. He had no desire to end his days with his skull shattered.
"Since the dissolution of the Three Daughters' alliance, the Three Daughters have hardly trusted one another," Gendry replied. "Myr and I are sworn enemies. If I strike at Myr, why should Tyrosh be afraid?"
"Must you force me to speak plainly?" The envoy's composure finally cracked. "The Disputed Lands were once shared. Yet the Wolf Pack's territory expands without pause. Tyroshi slaves are fleeing to you in increasing numbers. You are provoking war deliberately. Our Archon, out of goodwill, has not demanded the return of those slaves."
"So the Archon of Tyrosh means to intimidate me as well?"
"I wouldn't dare. But Lord Commander, you must understand that your recklessness is stirring public outrage. The Myrmen are already cooperating with the Golden Company. Leaving aside the future of your own little kingdom, I trust you have no desire to make yet another powerful enemy."
"The Golden Company? I happen to be in talks with them too," Gendry said with a faint smile. "They're interested in Westeros. I have my sights on the Disputed Lands. Sounds like a win-win to me."
"What?" The Tyrosh envoy's face drained of color, unable to tell whether the claim was real or a bluff. The Golden Company was the most powerful mercenary force in the Disputed Lands, and their political ambitions were no secret.
"It seems these peace talks have ended on a sour note, Lord Commander. I still hope you'll reconsider," the envoy pressed one last time.
"How can it be called negotiations when only one side profits? Still, I will send my regards to the Archon."
"If you insist on being so obstinate, there's no reason for me to remain."
The meeting broke up in open hostility. With the Free Company soldiers glaring like men ready to tear flesh from bone, the Tyrosh envoy dared not linger and hurried away.
The spears of the Unsullied gleamed with a cold, deadly light, like tigers crouched to seize their prey.
"It seems Tyrosh will soon join the alliance against us," Gendry said.
"The Tyrosh are the greediest of the lot. There's no way they can coexist with us." Tyrosh's slave trade was highly developed, and its slavers were notoriously aggressive. They had even sailed north, beyond the Wall, hunting Free folk to enslave.
"That false rumor about the Golden Company and the Wolf Pack must have scared the Tyrosh half to death," Maester Qyburn observed.
"It wasn't entirely false," Gendry replied. "There is a basis for cooperation between us and the Golden Company."
The Golden Company had always looked west, dreaming of returning to Westeros to reclaim a kingdom. Being Westerosi by origin, they were naturally hostile to slavery. There was indeed room for cooperation between the Golden Company and the Wolf Pack. Just as they had once supported the Ninepenny Kings in carving up the Disputed Lands and Tyrosh, only to later turn their blades toward the Stepstones.
"The Golden Company… they're strong. Worth reaching out to," Qyburn mused.
"Dangerous allies," the Handsome Man cut in. "Think about how they ended up here." Their ambitions were too vast. That was why they had achieved so little all these years.
"Many among the Golden Company come from secondary noble houses in The Reach. They may still have old ties—Peake, for instance. And they have supporters in Dorne as well."