"BOOM!"
The catapults in the Kingswood roared to life, their thunderous rumble tearing across the sky as stones began crashing down toward the last remaining royal warships on the river. Each stone that struck the water threw up a towering plume of spray.
In the distance, across the Blackwater Rush, the shifting wind snapped the sails of the ships with a sharp flutter. No more than twenty yards separated one vessel from the next, and their battle line had already formed, though their numbers could hardly be called plentiful. Even so, those warships did not charge rashly into the Blackwater Rush. They watched, again and again, waiting.
The Fury bore the crowned stag of Stannis Baratheon. Sixteen years ago, aboard the Fury, Stannis had led a fleet against Dragonstone. Now the direction had changed. This time, he was attacking King's Landing. Stannis had originally intended to command two hundred warships, but after he and Gendry planned their trap, the fleet had been reduced to one hundred.
"A feint against King's Landing. Besiege the city to draw out reinforcements. If the enemy comes, crush the relief force."
Great Lord Stannis Baratheon, his hairline receding, turned those words over again and again. He was as solid as a piece of cold iron.
He had become an excellent commander before he was even twenty, yet now that heavy burden rested on his nephew. Some men were born for the battlefield. At least when it came to scouts, intelligence, vigilance, and boldness, Stannis found that Gendry's way of war was even more mature and ruthless than his own.
"Tywin. Cersei. Will I see your heads?" Stannis thought. Robert had been his elder brother, and though their relationship had been poor, the Lannisters had offended both the gods and the law.
The Fury had three hundred oars, with ballistae lining both sides of the deck. Catapults were placed at both bow and stern, but what they hurled was not barrels of burning pitch. Instead, they were loaded with heavy sand. This three-hundred-oared vessel was not only intimidating, but also swift and nimble.
"I've found every light vessel I could and kept them in a fast, agile formation, but how much use this sand will be against wildfire is hard to say," Great Lord Stannis thought uneasily.
"Oars down," Great Lord Stannis shouted. "Form line."
A hundred oar blades plunged into the water at once, and the oarmaster struck the drum. The beat was like a great, steady heartbeat. With each stroke, the oars moved, a hundred men as one, perfectly in time.
On the other side of the Blackwater Rush, the sun still shone over the land. Rumbling war horns echoed through the woods of the Kingswood, their voices hoarse and deep, like the call of a demon. The demon of war had already stretched out its iron hooves.
Beneath the morning sun, banners rose everywhere in the camp within the Kingswood. The lords of the Stormlands, the Vale, and Crackclaw Point gleamed in their finery. They wore armor plated with gold and silver, their helms adorned with silk plumes, feathers, or gem-eyed figures shaped like their house sigils.
House Caron's banner showed a black nightingale on a field of yellow. House Swann's bore two fighting swans, one black and one white. House Royce displayed a pile of pebbles between two rows of runes on orange, while House Grafton's showed a yellow burning tower set on a black triangle against a flame-red field... But the most eye-catching banner of all was still Gendry's golden one.
"At least in numbers, I've gained a local advantage," Gendry thought. On the south bank of the Blackwater Rush, he already commanded more than twenty thousand soldiers from the Stormlands. Roland Storm and his half-brother, Lord Bryce Cullen, had arrived with the army gathered at Storm's End.
Roland had a face ruined by pox scars, but he was also a brave man. There were also reinforcements from the Vale and Crackclaw Point, bringing their total to around forty-five thousand, a powerful force. If Tywin dared to race back and forth, his army might be reduced to just over twenty thousand. As for The Reach, though it had fifty-five thousand soldiers, they would not all necessarily follow Tyrell. The key was how to play the game.
Amid that rich and splendid host, Gendry stood at the center like a moon surrounded by stars. His clothing was not especially luxurious, but he carried a boldness that was entirely his own. He wore his black scale armor, the breastplate adorned with a stag of black crystal and a Dragon of red crystal. The golden surcoat beneath his plate gleamed in the sun. He did not wear his crown, instead having Anguy carry his double-horned helmet.
Gendry looked over the assembled men. The assignments had already been made. He would lead the vanguard. Lothor and Guyard would oversee the flank scouts. Bryce would command the Stormlands' center, and Roland would take charge of the rearguard. As for the Vale and Crackclaw Point, they would be under Bronze Yohn and Ser Boggs.
"The gods above have lit the path of the Storm. The Father demands justice of us, the Smith demands strength, and the Warrior demands courage. We shall be victorious." The septon from Sharp Point first turned to face the crowd, then cried out in a ringing voice.
"My lords, our war will decide the fate of the next few centuries, perhaps even the next dozen centuries. Volantis and the Lyseni may already be bringing the Slaver's Bay fleet here to join the battle," Gendry said. "Do we fight, or do we surrender?"
The intelligence had come from Lys and the Stepstones. The Volantis fleet, to his surprise, was racing forward with a fair wind, trying to arrive while the Onion Knight's fleet was still at the far end of the Stepstones.
Even Gendry had not expected the bait to work. He had used strategy and deception, yet now it still felt almost unbelievable. This battle was destined to make the War of the Five Kings even livelier than the original Battle of the Blackwater Rush, with Lys and Volantis added to the fray.
But when he thought about how long the Tiger Party of Volantis, or even all of Volantis, had been suppressed, and added in the lavish spending of the Slaver's Bay city-states and the exiled nobles of Myr and Tyrosh, it made sense that Volantis had moved in a frenzy of war. Still, for them to break through Lys and the Stepstones so quickly, it was likely due to some extraordinary power such as Blood Sacrifice. The red priestess had confirmed as much to Gendry. In the original timeline, Volantis had sailed toward Slaver's Bay amid bribes and calls for war, and the Volantines' warships would likely have suffered a massive rout.
"Some may choose surrender, but this is my only choice." Ser Good Morrigen drew his longsword.
"Yes. This is our only choice."
Knights of House Caron, House Massey, House Royce, House Boggs, and others all drew their swords.
Gendry drew Orphan-Maker. Its blade was dark as black smoke.
"Long live the Storm!"
"Long live the Storm!"
The knights cheered, urging one another on, and then the common soldiers joined them.
But there were also silent soldiers. The men from the Vale and Crackclaw Point hid somberly in the shadows of the Kingswood. They had been waiting for a long time, impatient and hungry for victory. They were full of confidence, but they still had to wait for the right moment.
The red priestess stood in a corner of the crowd beside a bonfire, with Sand Snakes at her side. Gendry had once asked whether her fire-vision could predict the battle ahead, but the red priestess had shaken her head. Her gift for prophecy was not fixed. It was more like chance.
"A handsome man. Like steel, like fire, and just as hard to look away from," Tyene Sand thought.
Tyene was quite dangerous, despite her sweet and devout appearance. But Tyene was also drawn to beauty. Tyene knew that Arianne had once shown interest in Renly when he visited, though that had ended poorly.
"Lord Yohn, Ser Boggs, take my horn and war drums as your signal. There's no need for the armies under your command to move too soon," Gendry said to Bronze Yohn and Ser Boggs. The Stormlands had also produced six large trebuchets, along with several smaller ones. Two were firing at King's Landing, while the other four had been left for Yohn.
"As you command!"
"As you command!"
Gendry saw the Sand Snakes. Though Dorne had not sent troops, the Dornish advance toward the mountain passes of The Reach had already put some pressure on the region. Dornish forces differed too much in strength at home and abroad, so Gendry did not expect too much from them.
"We're all gamblers. The Imp, Malaquo, and me. Let's see who the real hunter is," Gendry thought, gazing toward King's Landing. The Imp was using King's Landing and the Iron Throne as bait, with wildfire as his trump card. Gendry was using himself as bait, with courage and cunning as his trump cards.
The Imp was trying to trick him into attacking King's Landing, while Gendry needed Tyrion to believe he had taken the bait. He also needed the Volantene, who might yet arrive. Perhaps Volantis had learned from the failures of the Century of Blood and from the Battle of the Gullet. In that sense, Volantis had truly burned its boats, striking straight for the dragon's head. He needed King's Landing, but even more than that, he needed to destroy the enemy forces that appeared.
...
Tyrion Lannister had changed into a fine suit of armor, and he had also prepared a handsome red horse. Given his stature, however, he looked like a child stuffed into ill-fitting clothes.
"Fire. Soon there will be fire everywhere."
Tyrion had set the riverfront alight, and flames had also been kindled throughout the Kingswood.
Standing on the castle walls, Tyrion saw all of King's Landing gripped by panic. The common folk had shut their windows and barred their doors, as though that would somehow save their lives. The last time King's Landing fell, House Lannister had burned, killed, and looted at will, taking hundreds of lives, and that was after the city had opened its gates in surrender. Now the Lannisters defending the city were resisting to the bitter end. Their fate was easy enough to imagine.
The news that Stannis had sealed off King's Landing with his fleet frightened everyone. Enemies were closing in from every side. Stannis's fleet, the Storm army, the cavalry of the Vale, the Crackclaws, and those savage Northerners.
"Am I the hunter, or the prey?" Tyrion wondered. He had laid trap after trap throughout King's Landing, using the city as bait to maul the Storm. But in turn, was the Storm also treating him as prey?
The dice had already been cast. If Tyrion failed, his head, along with Joff's and Cersei's, would hang from the city walls. Everyone at the heart of power was a gambler.
Tyrion loathed Cersei. On the eve of the Battle of the Blackwater, Alayaya had even been kidnapped by the Kettleblack brothers and used as Cersei's leverage against him. Unfortunately, Cersei was a fool after all. She had no idea which little whore he truly loved.
"Looks like the Sept is the only business still thriving these days," Bronn said mockingly. Even inside the Red Keep, people spent their mornings singing hymns in the Sept, praying to the gods above to grant them victory.
"Indeed," Tyrion said with a nod. "Perhaps the gods above will give us a little protection."
All of King's Landing had become one vast place of prayer. In their homes and in the Great Sept of Baelor, people begged the gods for mercy. They did not care whether the king was a Lannister or a Baratheon. They only feared that war would take their lives.
The singing mingled with the neighing of horses, the clash of steel, and the groaning hinges of the great bronze city gates, forming a strange and terrifying music.
"Let's hope so." Bronn looked around. The Red Keep had towering keeps and massive corner towers. Below it lay the city streets, winding like a maze. To the west and south, the Blackwater flowed without end, and to the east was the harbor. Soldiers crawled over the walls and the towers jutting out from the battlements. Behind the Mud Gate, three huge catapults rose twenty feet above the walls.
"The women pray to the Mother for mercy, but we can only pray to the Warrior," Tyrion said.
"Come on, Lord Hand. The King is ready," Bronn said.
So Tyrion and Bronn descended the tower together to find Joffrey.
Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard led a bay stallion to Joffrey and helped him mount. Joffrey and his horse were both dressed in gilded mail and crimson enamel plate. The pale sunlight struck Joffrey's armor, and gold and red shimmered together, making him look bright and splendid.
"Are you ready, dear nephew?" Tyrion asked. There were still some Gold Cloak spearmen in the yard, already waiting for the order to move.
Tyrion had also mounted. He looked odd, but the battleaxe hanging beneath his shield was very real. The taciturn Ser Mandon Moore followed him, a silent white knight.
"Not yet," Joffrey said irritably. "Sansa. Sansa is gone. This should have been her task. It's all those maids' fault. I've already had their heads cut off, but cutting them off a hundred times still wouldn't be enough."
Joffrey drew his sword. The pommel was a red gemstone cut into the shape of a heart, set in the mouth of a lion, and the blade had three deep fullers. "This is my new sword, Heart-Eater, Uncle."
"A fine sword. Beautifully made, Your Grace," Tyrion said flatly. "Did you hear what they said? We are going to war. Put your sword away."
"I command you to kiss it, Imp. Kiss it. My sword," Joffrey suddenly shouted. "People say touching a dwarf's head brings good luck. I think if you kiss my sword, it will bring me luck too. This was supposed to be the work of a beautiful Maiden, but I'll give the honor to you."
"That joke is not funny, Your Grace. You would do better to pray for the Warrior's mercy, so that we may win." Tyrion looked coldly at Joffrey. There truly was something wrong with this stupid boy's head.
"I don't need mercy at all. My bastard brother and my uncle are the ones who need mercy, but I won't leave them any. I'll cut off their heads and make them kiss my blade."
"Enough, Your Grace. I'm sure we'll find someone on the battlefield to kiss it," the Hound said. During the riot in King's Landing, Tyrion had shown him a little concern, and the Hound still felt somewhat moved by it.
"Well said, my dog." Joffrey sheathed his sword in satisfaction. "When I return, my blade will be stained with blood. Then you can taste the blood of that bastard and my uncle."
Two White Cloaks would follow Joffrey and Tyrion, along with Ser Osmund Kettleblack, whom Cersei had sent. Joffrey's task was to command the Three Whores of King's Landing and deal with those traitors.
"Move out."
Joffrey turned his horse, dug in his spurs, and rode toward the city gate, with Meryn and Osmund on either side. The Gold Cloaks advanced four abreast, while Tyrion and Mandon brought up the rear. The soldiers of the Red Keep cheered loudly as they saw them off.
After the king left, a heavy gloom settled over the Red Keep. The crowd inside had split in two. One group sang softly in the Sept, while the other gathered in Queen Dowager Cersei's Maegor's Holdfast.
"May the Smith grant King Joffrey's sword and shield divine strength. May the Warrior grant him courage. May the Father protect him in his hour of danger."
The septon sang in the Sept, and the gray-haired old servants, anxious young wives, maids, soldiers, cooks, falconers, knights, servants, squires, kitchen boys, and wet nurses all joined in. They did not necessarily love King Joffrey. They were simply terrified of the unknown.
"The battle has begun." On the other side of the castle, Lady Tanda was coaxing her daughter upstairs.
"No!" Lollys was fat and bloated, and her wits were very poor.
"Hurry up, my lady." Lollys's maid, Shae, was already deeply impatient. From her expression, she looked as though she wanted to shove the fat girl into the dry moat and let the iron spikes impale her.
"Go on, good daughter. That's enough now. There are drinks inside, and music, and food," Lady Tanda said.
"She's ill," the Lady said awkwardly to the person helping them. That person and Shae pulled Lollys along, coaxing and tugging until they finally got her into Maegor's Holdfast. The noblewomen nearly burst out laughing. Everyone in the city knew the girl was pregnant.
The soldiers guarding the door wore lion half-helms and dark red cloaks, but they were only ordinary Sellswords.
The Queen Dowager's ballroom was not even a tenth the size of the castle's great hall, and only half as large as the small hall in the Tower of the Hand, but it could still seat a hundred people without trouble. Though the space was not large, it had been arranged with exquisite elegance.
Behind every torch bracket hung a polished silver mirror, doubling the light. The walls were carved with delicate wooden patterns, and fragrant rushes covered the floor. From the gallery drifted the light melodies of flutes and fiddles. A row of arched windows lined the south wall, but heavy velvet curtains covered them, letting in not a trace of light and shutting out the sounds of prayer and battle.
Nearly all the noblewomen in the city had been placed in Maegor's Holdfast, and with Cersei there were also several old gentlemen and young boys. The mood was grave and sorrowful. All the men had gone out to fight Stannis and his nephew.
Cersei's seat was on the dais. A silent man stood guard beside her, holding Ice, wearing a long, freshly oiled black mail shirt.
"All rise and pay homage to Your Grace Cersei of House Lannister, Protector of the Realm and Regent Queen Dowager!" the master of ceremonies called.
Cersei wore a snow-white linen gown, as white as a Kingsguard cloak. Her long trailing sleeves revealed a lining of gold silk, and her thick bright-gold hair spilled over her bare shoulders. A necklace of diamonds and emeralds hung around her slender throat. Dressed all in white, she had a strange air of innocence. Apart from a few spots on her face, she truly looked like a Maiden.
"Please be seated!"
Upon the city walls, the war horns began to sound without end, and the scorpions loosed yard-long iron-tipped bolts. The catapults of King's Landing started swinging their arms, hurling great stones and barrels of burning pitch toward the opposite bank. Water sprayed high as the royal warships bearing the lion-and-stag banner patrolled nervously upstream.
The besieging army began probing attacks from several directions, and the battle slowly intensified.
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