The last of the firegrass was harvested, dried, and bundled. The manor's wealth, and Magister Karasso's political future, was now loaded onto a train of wagons, ready for the perilous journey to Myr.
"I will await your message," the steward, Luv, said to Handsome, his voice heavy with foreboding. "I will await the roll of the dice that decides the Magister's fate."
"You are not returning with us?" Handsome asked, surprised.
"This manor, with its red-painted gate, has been my home for half my life," Luv replied, a sad smile touching his lips. "I was born here, and I will die here. Besides, Myr is as dangerous now as this place. But I will pray the Magister wins his election. Otherwise, I will be out on the streets. A new magister will want his own people." When a ruler fell in the Free Cities, his property was liquidated, his family sold into slavery. Karasso's ports, manors, and even his wife and children would not be spared.
"Take care, old friend," Handsome said, his voice deep with emotion. A desolate horn blast echoed through the dawn air. It was time to depart. For weeks, the sound had warned away opportunistic thieves. Now, it signaled their true departure.
In his room, Gendry looked at his reflection in a polished mirror. He was as bright and sharp as a newly forged sword. Tall and muscled, with the thick black hair and deep blue eyes of House Baratheon, he was a handsome, powerful young man. He strapped on his black scale armor and checked his weapons: the spiked warhammer, the curved arakh, and the yew longbow Dick had gifted him. The road to Myr would be treacherous.
Qyburn entered, clanking in a suit of black chainmail that looked far too heavy for his old bones. "Let us go, Your Highness," he said. "At our pace, perhaps we will not miss the grand game of the Myrish election."
"Power has a magic all its own," Gendry mused as they walked to the courtyard. "It makes men dance to its tune."
"It is the way of things," Qyburn replied. "Unless we become as strong as the Golden Company, the Free Cities will never bend to us. We will always be dependent on the whims of men like Karasso."
"There is a worst-case scenario," Gendry said as they mounted their horses. "Karasso could fail completely. What becomes of the Wolf Pack then?"
"It would be best if we had stayed at the manor," Qyburn muttered. "If the situation in Myr turns against us, we could have taken this firegrass, retreated to Crown Town, and become pirates ourselves. A pity Northmen are so stubborn."
"That is a bandit's thinking," Gendry said. "The Wolf Pack is better than that."
"I have news from Pentos," Qyburn whispered, riding close. "The Beggar King and his sister are growing more desperate. They have sold their mother's crown and now have nothing left but the girl. But few are willing to trade an army for a bride, no matter how beautiful, if it means a direct challenge to the Iron Throne."
"Viserys wants too much," Gendry agreed. He knew the great alliance of the stag, lion, wolf, and fish still held Westeros in a firm grip. No merchant prince would dare launch such a foolish military adventure. "The Beggar King is going mad, waiting for a chance that will never come. He is a stumbling block to our own cause. We need the princess, not him."
The desolate road to the coast was not the main trade route; it was rugged and narrow, but it was the fastest way. It was also a grim testament to the lawlessness of the region. On either side of the road, bodies were nailed to crude crosses, their flesh picked clean by crows, their empty eye sockets staring out at the passing convoy.
"Runaway slaves and smugglers," Handsome said, his voice grim. "This is their fate if they are caught."
Dick the Fletch, who had arrived with reinforcements from the Wolf's Den, rode beside them. "Greybeard went to Myr with thirty men," he said. "We have sixty here, and another sixty remain at the Den with the families."
"Fifty, now," Handsome corrected, his face tightening at the memory of their fallen brothers.
"I heard the boy here killed the Meereenese," Dick said, clapping Gendry on the back. "Avenged Morningstar." Gendry felt a flush of pride, mixed with the lingering sorrow of the loss.
As they rode on, Handsome suddenly held up a hand, his eyes scanning the rocky hills around them. "I've had the feeling we've been watched for the last hour," he said, his voice low and tense. "It seems they have been waiting for us."