Wolf's Den received an envoy from Tyrosh—a young Magister named Alequo, with red-dyed hair and beard, wearing the tall pointed cap of his city.
He was escorted by thirty loud, flamboyantly dressed Tyroshi sellswords. Three Tyroshi nobles accompanied him as well, along with attendants bearing gifts.
After being questioned by scouts, Magister Alequo was finally admitted into the encampment outside Wolf's Den. He took careful note of the soldiers—pikemen, swordsmen, armored guards, messengers moving swiftly between units. Everything was orderly, disciplined.
"Forgive the interruption, Lord Commander. I have the honor of presenting Magister Alequo, envoy of Tyrosh."
Ser Jorah led him into the main tent.
"You are called Alequo as well?"
Inside, Gendry regarded the young noble who knelt before him. Under mounting pressure, Tyrosh had finally sent a man to sue for peace.
Tyrosh and Myr stood on the brink of war. Tyrosh had sheltered several exiled Myr Magisters and nobles, hired sellswords, and was suppressing slave unrest within its own walls.
"Yes, Lord Commander," Alequo replied calmly. "Alequo Adarys, the Silvertongue, was my ancestor."
He dared a glance upward.
Behind the desk sat the handsome sellsword king—dark-haired, blue-eyed, youthful yet built with the compact strength of a hunting cat.
An elderly white-haired maester sat in a leather folding chair. Several Unsullied guards stood silently nearby. Jorah remained off to one side.
"The descendant of the Silvertongue still lives," someone murmured in surprise.
"I serve as one of Tyrosh's Magisters," Alequo said evenly. "Though I am far from my forebear's stature."
"Magister Alequo," Gendry said, "you come to discuss urgent matters."
"Yes."
Alequo's pulse quickened. Every word might shape Tyrosh's fate.
"Before stating my purpose, allow me to present the gifts Tyrosh has prepared."
He spoke clearly.
"One hundred thousand Tyroshi gold rhombus coins. One hundred casks of Tyrosh's finest pear brandy. One hundred sets of wolf-head armor inlaid with gold and silver, crafted by Tyroshi masters. And lastly, a gift you will most appreciate—three heads belonging to fugitive Myr Magisters."
"We thank the Archon for his generosity," Gendry replied lightly. "Impressive gifts. And what does the Archon desire in return?"
The Tyroshi knew how to bend without breaking. Though a merchant city, Tyrosh had once stood as a Valyrian military outpost. It bore more steel in its bones than Lys or Myr. The reign of the Silvertongue—who had ruled as a tyrant for years—remained proof of that tradition.
"Peace," Alequo declared.
"If you grant Tyrosh peace, we will cede our estates and towns in the Disputed Lands to the Wolf Pack. We will recognize the Lord Commander's rule over Myr. Once a formal treaty is signed, Tyrosh will present you with gifts ten times greater than these."
"And if I refuse?" Gendry asked quietly. "If I take Tyrosh, all its wealth becomes mine."
"Tyrosh is not Myr," Alequo answered, forcing himself not to falter. "Our cities are filled with sellswords. Our armorers craft strange and formidable armor. Our black dragonstone walls are strong. And above all, the faithful of the Three-Headed God do not yield."
He drew a steady breath.
"Why choose a long and costly siege when wealth lies within reach?"
"And if I still say no?"
"Then remember this, Lord Commander. There are slaves throughout the world. Can they all be freed? To liberate slaves and at the same time restore a Targaryen orphan to her throne—each alone is a monumental undertaking. To attempt both at once is like dreaming of a Valyrian restoration."
"Why not choose more friends instead? Volantis once fielded hundreds of thousands and claimed dominion over half the world. Now that glory is gone. If you fight on every front, sooner or later you will become the common enemy of the Known World."
Gendry studied him in silence.
Young though he was, this Alequo possessed clarity of thought—and courage.
"Do you know what this is?" Gendry asked, drawing his Valyrian blade. "My army is as sharp as this blade."
"Valyrian steel is sharp and thirsty for blood," Alequo said at once. "One glance is enough to understand. And if Lord Commander Gendry kills me, all it does is make Tyrosh harder to break."
"What a tongue you have." Gendry slid the curved blade away. "They pushed you out here, didn't they?"
"Yes," Alequo answered frankly. "House Adarys reached its peak under my forebear, and then fell just as quickly. In the Magister council I'm… awkward. I'm there to fill a seat, nothing more, and I'm not truly trusted."
"Tyrosh has those who want war, and those who want peace. Which are you?"
"The peace faction," Alequo replied evenly. "The Band of Nine took Tyrosh once. Lord Commander, your strength now rivals them—perhaps even surpasses them."
"I like you," Gendry said. "If the day ever comes when you have nowhere left to run, you can come to me."
"My thanks for your generosity, Lord Commander," Alequo said, bowing his head. "I hope that day never comes."
"Enough, Magister Alequo. I'll admit the gifts are tempting, but they haven't moved me."
"I will carry that message back to the Archon and have him prepare something richer," Alequo said, unable to hide his delight. A door left even slightly open meant there was room to talk.
"You may think of it that way," Gendry said. "You've traveled far. Go and rest."
He dismissed Alequo with a wave.
Soldiers escorted the Tyroshi envoy to quarters set well apart from the center of the camp.
...
"Summon all military commanders," Gendry ordered. "The time to take Tyrosh is almost here."
"As you command, Lord Commander," Qyburn replied.
A secret war council convened for the Wolf Pack and the Free Company.
The Handsome Man, treasurer and advisor to Gendry.
Fletcher Dick, advisor to Gendry.
Qyburn, maester, spymaster, and Gendry's mentor.
Longspear, cavalry commander of the Wolf Pack.
Steel Fist, infantry commander of the Wolf Pack.
Black Billy, commander of the Wolf Pack archers.
Gylo Rhegan, commander of the Long Lances.
Greywolf, commander of the Unsullied, captain of the guard, and commander of the Free Company.
Ser Jorah, officer of the guard.
"The moment for our final assault has come," Gendry told them. "Tyrosh has sent an envoy with gifts and talk of peace. The Tyroshi are famous for greed. If they're offering this much, it's because they're truly pressed."
"Then we use it against them," the Handsome Man said. "They're buying time with gifts, waiting for reinforcements from Lys and Volantis. Once those arrive, Tyrosh will surely strike back at Myr."
"Tyrosh's help may not come from Lys or Volantis," said Maester Qyburn, old but sharp-eyed, "but from the horselords."
"The horselords?"
"Exactly. If anyone can be lured into rescuing Tyrosh, it's them," Qyburn said. "Lys has taken in Myr's exiles, but the Magisters there hesitate. Attacking Myr by sea is too difficult, and by land they dare not face the Free Company. Volantis hasn't reached an election year. And as for the Iron Throne—old Jon is dead, Stannis has left King's Landing. The capital is likely scattered and divided."
"That's not unlikely," Gylo Rhegan agreed, nodding. "For years, Myr's Magisters have paid tribute to the Dothraki to avoid being raided. If the Tyroshi add a few lies and a bit of fire to the tale, the horselords may well come thundering in."
"My lords, the horselords are savage," Greywolf said calmly, "but the Free Company I drill can meet them. If we set our ranks in the Unsullied formation, we need not fear their raids."
The Unsullied were famed above all for their battle against the horselords at the City of the Black Goat.
"I've made my decision," Gendry said. "To avoid being dragged into a three-front war, we must move faster and strike Tyrosh at once. Hallis's fleet will blockade Tyrosh. Greywolf and Steel Fist will take the Free Company and part of the Wolf Pack to guard against horselord raids. I will remain as the main reserve."
"Three fronts?" someone asked, not quite following.
"There are enemies inside Myr as well," Gendry said. "Men who will hide in the shadows and wait for their chance."