News that the Dothraki screamer warriors were closing in spread over Myr like a bank of storm clouds.
"The Dothraki are coming!"
Panic rippled through the city. Since the Century of Blood, the Dothraki had been a byword for ruin and slaughter.
It was tied to their faith. The Dothraki revered the earth as their Mother Goddess, and they believed it was sinful to break the land with plow, spade, or axe. So they burned fields, farms, and towns, letting the grasslands swallow everything back into emptiness.
In the Century of Blood after the Doom of Valyria, they drove smallfolk from their huts and nobles from their manors, until nothing remained from the Forest of Qohor to the headwaters of the Selhoru River but grass and ruins.
Four hundred years ago, the Dothraki advanced from the east toward the Free Cities, pillaging and burning every town and city along the way, including the Kingdom of Sarnor, the Free City of Essos, the Qartheen cities in the Red Waste, and the Ibben settlements of the Kingdom of the Ifequevron. Only when Khal Temmo and his khalasar of at least fifty thousand were halted by three thousand Unsullied at Qohor did that devastation finally stop.
"The Dothraki were bought with gold by the Archon of Tyrosh and the exiled Magisters of Myr, at the cost of Myr's own people, all to restore the old order."
That revelation angered the Myrman even more. The exiled Magisters, long known within conservative circles of the city, had ultimately betrayed Myr.
With Qyburn's spies deliberately stirring the matter, the scandal quickly spread throughout the city.
These exiled Magisters and restorationists had not only fled Myr and incited unrest, they had deliberately drawn the Dothraki here. Even the old citizens felt deeply wounded by the actions of these former nobles.
"Traitors!"
"Traitors!"
"Treason!"
Panicked citizens flooded into the streets in protest. With war approaching, they had no choice but to stand alongside the Freedmen they once disdained, to maintain order before chaos took hold. Before violence erupted, they needed someone with an iron hand.
The Dothraki would seize upon any turmoil to plunder Myr, and gold alone might not satisfy them.
At Lace Square, the towering White Towers rose behind the plaza. The cluster of white spires housed Myr's city hall, where the Magister of Myr had once convened assemblies. Spears stood like a forest, their tips flashing coldly in the light.
Soldiers of the Wolf Pack and the Free Company maintained order around the square. Knights in plate and mail, and Unsullied guards bearing shields and spears, gave the Myrman renewed confidence. Sellswords could not be trusted, but the Wolf Pack and the Free Company were true armies.
"Citizens of Myr, freedmen, farmers, craftsmen, soldiers of the Wolf Pack, the Free Company, and all other forces! Even former Magisters, noble merchants willing to uphold me and the new order!" Gendry proclaimed loudly from the square.
"Myr stands on the brink of destruction. The Dothraki will charge into our city, ravage its beauty, kill our loved ones, and plunder our homes. What should we do?"
Gendry stood before a vast crowd. The Lord Commander's deep blue eyes were hard as steel. Clad in heavy armor, he looked like a black storm made flesh. He saw the faces before him, the Free folk and the citizens of Myr alike. Behind him stood Fletcher, holding his Dragonbone longbow.
The Red Viper cast an envious glance at the Dragonbone bow. It was the finest bow in the world, with the goldenheartwood bow ranking second. Yet both the Dothraki and the Dornish favored recurve bows, for from horseback they could unleash deadly volleys with ease, rather than picking off targets one by one.
"Kill the Dothraki!"
"Kill those traitors!"
The Freedmen shouted the loudest. Having been freed from slavery, they loathed the institution above all else. The Dothraki, notorious for slaughter and cruelty, also kept slaves. No matter what, the Freedmen would never allow the Dothraki to triumph.
Soon the old citizens of Myr joined the cries, this time from the heart. They might once have been timid, but they understood that this was Myr's critical hour. Destruction or survival—when faced with violence, they had to choose those who could protect them.
The Lord Commander was satisfied. As long as the Dothraki surrounded Myr, as long as they truly appeared before its walls, the exiled Magisters of Myr and the Archon of Tyrosh would become the targets of the city's fury.
Most of Myr was made up of common citizens. Slaveholders and the highborn were, after all, a minority. Gendry needed to win these citizens to his side.
Defeat the Dothraki, win the hearts of Myr, and display his strength.
One battle, many gains.
"In Myr's hour of life and death, you are the shield and sword of all Myr, Lord Commander!" the members of the Myr Roundtable cried out. Among them were merchants from the carpet, lace, screen, lens, and painting trades, along with representatives of the Freedmen and the craftsmen.
"I accept this charge! Crush the Dothraki butchers!"
"We will defeat the Dothraki horsemen! For Myr, for the Disputed Lands, for the countless free citizens!" Gendry swung his warhammer high.
"Victory!"
"Victory!"
Longspears and swords were raised as steel struck steel with a clear, ringing clash. The shouts swelled, growing louder and louder, until they merged into a single torrent—a river of steel.
Even those Myrmans who had once been unwilling to take up arms found themselves stirred in this moment of life and death. It was as if some unseen force had taken hold—loyalty to the city-state and its people, the resolve to defend their homeland. Love for Myr, the fierce thrill of protecting it, filled each person with sudden courage.
Freedmen stepped forward to enlist. Citizens of Myr opened their coffers without hesitation. Some even volunteered for the Myr Garrison, climbing the city walls of their own accord to stand guard over their home.
The Red Viper watched from a shadowed corner. Perhaps this young man truly had a gift for turning foes into friends. Before long, these Myrmans would become his most devoted followers.
"Perhaps I really am old," he murmured to himself. "This world belongs to the young now."
Next came Brown Ben's address. As commander of the Myr Garrison, he was one of the most familiar figures in the city.
"Given the traitors' conduct during the Myr uprising—given that they paid to lure the Dothraki into attacking their own mother city—they abandoned Myr. They sold their country. In the name of Lord Gendry, Triarch of Myr, the Disputed Lands, Tyrosh, the Narrow Sea, and the Stepstones, I hereby announce the list of traitors. They are stripped of all former honors, and their property is to be confiscated."
Brown Ben's voice rang across the assembly. The exiled Magisters, merchants, and nobles named on the list would be publicly denounced in Myr, deprived of all wealth and honor.
"Kill the traitors!"
"Kill the traitors! Kill the Dothraki!"
The list passed without dissent. It would be posted in Myr's squares and along its streets and alleys. The exiles would lose everything—their fortunes and their reputations alike.
"March!" Gendry ordered.
Greywolf led the Free Company soldiers out of the city, while the rest of the troops quietly took their places atop the walls. Some Myr citizens eagerly joined them, ready to fight.
The army formed up, ranks aligned beneath a thousand fluttering banners. Before the Dothraki arrived, Greywolf would arrange the Free Company and the Wolf Pack soldiers into position. It was bait.
"Knights!"
The steel-armored knights Gendry had envisioned were the force that would decide this war in a single stroke. The Unsullied formation was too rigid—and most of them were not true Unsullied to begin with.