Dawn broke slowly across the rugged stretch of the Disputed Lands, painting the horizon in pale streaks of gray and white. The faint morning breeze carried the briny scent of the distant sea—something Gendry had never appreciated more in his life. For the first time in many days, the salty air felt like hope.
Ahead of the moving column fluttered the gray-white banner of the Wolf Pack Company—its emblem of wolves in full gallop cutting through the dim light. After leaving Firegrass Manor, the mercenary company wasted no time. Their mission was critical: escort four heavily loaded carts of dried gunpowder herb across harsh terrain to the eastern coastline, where a smuggler fleet waited for them.
In the past, the Wolf Pack had always traveled by land from Firegrass to Myr. But this time, The Handsome Man—captain of the company—made a bold choice. The sea route was far riskier and less predictable, with steep roads leading toward the coast, but speed was essential. Taking the ocean would cut travel time drastically.
Still, secrecy had been impossible. Large carts moved slowly, and the timing of the gunpowder herb harvest made their schedule obvious to anyone watching the area.
"Four lookouts in the front and back!" The Handsome Man barked, his voice rising above the morning wind. "Cavalry on both sides! Gunpowder carts and infantry in the middle! Longbowmen behind them! Every man keeps armor on—plate, scales, chain—whatever you have. Even slaves get leather. We're keeping everyone alive."
An older mercenary jogged up from the rear, breathing heavily. "Captain! We have watchers behind us—Bandit Mercenaries and runaway slave scouts. They've been following for a while!"
Gendry tightened his grip on his mace. "Ready, old friend," he muttered to the weapon—half a joke, half a promise.
The Handsome Man clicked his tongue. "I picked the sea route to avoid those bandit scum. And still they're on us? They must've had spies near the manor. Once they realized we weren't taking the main road… they turned around."
He wheeled his horse around and galloped along the convoy, shouting, "Speed up! As fast as your legs can carry you! We're safe only after we reach those ships!"
Someone shouted, "Captain, they outnumber us three or four times!"
"What of it?!" The Handsome Man raised his riding crop high, pointing it toward the sky. "Are you afraid, brothers?!"
"No!" came the thunderous reply.
"We are the Wolf Pack! Wolves of the North do not fear death!" The captain moved through the ranks, fist-bumping every mercenary—and even the slaves chained to the herb carts. "Our tactics are simple: courage, courage, and more courage! Goods can be replaced—lives cannot. If forced, we abandon some crates. But as long as we deliver most of the shipment, the job is done!"
He lifted his voice in a familiar chant. "Winter is coming! The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives! If the old gods or new gods still watch us, then let us carve our path to the sea over the bones of cowards!"
"Winter is coming! The lone wolf dies, the pack lives!" the company roared, morale hardening like steel.
Moments later, The Handsome Man pulled up beside Gendry. "Boy, you and Qyburn stay near the middle. Guard the goods."
Gendry stiffened. "Captain, I want to be in the assault! My warhammer is thirsty."
The captain chuckled and clapped his shoulder. "Good lad. But even wolves need their pups alive. Wolf's Den needs you for the future. Protect yourself."
From dawn to noon, the scouts continued to harass them from afar—crossbow bolts fired from ridiculous distances, never close enough to hit. It was more teasing than fighting, meant only to pressure the convoy.
By midday, the terrain opened into rolling hills and wide plains—beautiful lands, but the worst place to be ambushed.
The Handsome Man sniffed the air like a hunting dog. "War. I smell it. Their scouts are softening us up. The main force isn't far."
As if summoned, the sound began: boom… boom… BOOM, the pounding of war drums. Horns blared from behind the hills. A dark mass rose in the distance—a swarm of Bandit Mercenaries and runaway slaves, charging down the slope like a flood of insects. Without the fortified walls of Firegrass Manor, the battle ahead would be brutal.
Gendry slid his helmet over his head and pulled down the iron mask. His heartbeat steadied. His mind went quiet. He was ready.
A voice bellowed across the plains. Purple Beard, leader of the Bandit Mercenaries, shouted, "Drop the gunpowder herb! Surrender it, and we let you live!"
The Handsome Man didn't hesitate. "We're not saints like the Golden Company," he called back, "but at least we're not liars and swindlers like you!"
Purple Beard turned to the towering Meereenese man beside him—a gladiator with scarred, bald skin and armor made of dark leather. Bardak, they called him. A monster of the arena.
"That boy," Purple Beard pointed at Gendry's masked face. "He killed Rust."
The gladiator's eyes lit up. "That boy? The one with the iron mask?" His Common Tongue was rough, broken. "Good. I will kill him and eat his heart. The heart of a brave man makes a gladiator stronger."
Purple Beard sighed. "Lord Bardak, perhaps you should wear plate armor? The Wolf Pack is heavily armored. Going in with only leather is—"
Bardak growled. "Armor slows me. Speed is my strength." Indeed, Meereen gladiators were famed for fighting half naked so the crowds could enjoy the bloodshed.
Purple Beard rubbed his forehead. "The Governor wants us to delay them and reclaim the herb. Not die in a pointless fight."
"Coward." Bardak spat, then charged down the hill.
Purple Beard held his troops back. "Let the runaway slaves go first. No point wasting our real fighters."
The slaves charged after Bardak, though their formation was chaotic. Most had poor weapons, no armor, and only raw desperation driving them.
Bardak roared, "Masked boy! Come out!"
The Wolf Pack longbowmen drew.
"Fire!" shouted The Arrow Maker.
Arrows flew in elegant curves, then fell like rain. Several slaves dropped instantly, their bodies riddled with shafts. Bardak alone avoided the barrage—dodging, sliding, weaving like a cornered bull. Even after his horse went down with a scream, Bardak rolled to his feet and sprinted forward.
But now he was alone.
He looked back at Purple Beard on the hill and screamed, "COWARD!"
Dick the Fletch released another arrow. It sailed cleanly and buried itself into Bardak's left shoulder. The gladiator staggered but did not slow.
The Handsome Man moved forward to meet him. Bardak lunged with his long spear, thrusting like a venomous serpent. The captain deflected one strike but not the next—a red slash opened across his cheek. Blood streamed down his face.
But with the same motion, the captain's sword cut a deep wound into Bardak's right arm.
Gendry stepped in with a roar. His heavy mace whistled through the air.
"Coward!!!" Bardak shrieked, jabbing in a wild angle at Gendry's ribs.
The blow might've killed him, but Gendry raised his oak shield in time. The spearhead cracked against it.
And then—
CRUNCH.
Gendry's mace smashed into Bardak's face. Bone fractured. Blood sprayed. The gladiator collapsed like a felled tree, twitching once before falling still.
Qyburn rushed over. "Captain! We must go! The Bandit Knights on the hill—look!"
A wave of mounted bandits was gathering, preparing to descend.
The Handsome Man tore a strip of cloth to press against his cheek wound. "Throw a few crates of the herb! Lighten the load! MOVE!"
The Wolf Pack scrambled. Slaves heaved two wooden crates off one wagon, letting them crash to the ground. With the carts lighter, the convoy surged forward.
Purple Beard finally raised his hand. "Advance slowly! Keep pressure on them. Don't die for nothing."
The runaway slaves and a few eager Meereen fighters crept forward—but cautiously, nervously. None wanted to charge after witnessing Bardak fall so easily.
Behind them, more drums thundered. Dust rose in the distance. Reinforcements.
The Handsome Man cursed. "We're running out of time. Everyone! Hold the line a little longer! Once we reach the cliff path, we can funnel them!"
The terrain ahead narrowed between two stony ridges—a natural choke point. The perfect place for a small force to hold off a larger one.
Arrows flew from both sides. The Wolf Pack's archers struck down several slaves. Bandit crossbow bolts struck shields and armor, some grazing skin, others finding gaps.
A mercenary beside Gendry fell with a bolt in his neck.
The Handsome Man shouted, "KEEP MOVING!"
The convoy raced toward the cliffs. Enemy cavalry began thundering down the hills behind them.
The Wolf Pack longbowmen turned, firing shot after shot to slow the mounted advance.
"Faster!" shouted the captain. "We're almost there!"
The wheels of the herb carts bounced violently over rocks. A slave stumbled and nearly fell under a wheel but kept going.
The sea breeze grew stronger.
The faint sound of waves reached their ears.
Gendry looked back and saw at least a hundred mounted bandits pursuing them. Dust clouds rose behind them like storm clouds.
"Captain!" Gendry shouted. "They're gaining!"
"Just a bit more! Hold on!"
The cliff road came into view—a steep, twisting path that dropped toward the waiting ships.
Purple Beard's forces pushed closer, but the bandits hesitated to charge recklessly down the narrow pass.
The Handsome Man raised his sword. "This is our chance! INTO THE PASS! MOVE!"
The convoy funneled into the narrow path. Horses slowed. Wagons creaked. Men squeezed together.
Purple Beard cursed loudly from atop the hill. "Damn wolves! After them!"
But his knights could no longer surround them.
Gendry took one last look at the army gathering above—the slaves, the bandits, the Meereen warriors, all preparing to descend.
Then he followed the Wolf Pack into the cliffs, the sea wind rushing up to meet them.
Their escape had just begun.