On the blood-soaked battlefield, the Meereenese gladiator twitched on the ground, his life rapidly draining away.
"They are not trying to wipe us out," Gendry said, his voice grim. "They are trying to slow us down." Gendry's hammer had shattered half the man's skull, but he had not delivered the final blow. Qyburn, however, saw an opportunity.
"An excellent specimen," the old maester whispered, his eyes gleaming with a feverish light. He approached the dying gladiator, a spear in his hand. The tip was coated with a dark, viscous substance—the venom of a black scorpion, a poison that could stop a man's heart in an instant. Qyburn had taught Gendry about such things. The maester had altered the venom, adding coagulants and other, darker ingredients. He meant to keep the gladiator lingering on the edge of death, to see if he could be transformed into one of his tireless, undead soldiers.
"I will do it," Gendry said, taking the spear. He stepped forward and drove the poisoned point into the gladiator's body several times, aiming for the heart and major arteries. The man let out a few agonized gasps, and the blood that pumped from his wounds turned a sickening black, withering the grass it touched. But after a few moments, the gladiator went still. His heart had stopped.
"It failed," Qyburn said, his face a mask of frustration and sorrow. "How can it be impossible, even with such a strong subject?"
Gendry dropped the spear. *It is not the subject, old man,* he thought. *It is the world. The magic has not yet returned.* He knew that such necromancy would likely not be possible until the red comet once again blazed across the sky.
"Throw down the firegrass!" Handsome commanded, his teeth gritted in pain. The slaves obeyed, heaving three large chests from the wagons and spilling their contents onto the ground. The rust-colored herbs, precious as gold, formed a great pile. Handsome wanted the bandits on the hill to see it was no trick.
"This is my gift to you, Purple Beard!" he shouted. "For you and all your men! If we fight to the death, you will have none of it. I will see it all burned to ash, and you will have gained nothing but a shallow grave!"
Purple Beard was silent on the hill. "Stubborn Northmen," he cursed. He shouted back, "Your cause in Myr is a losing one! Come with me to Crown Town! With this much wealth, we could raise a new company!"
"Thank you for the offer," Handsome yelled, "but the Wolf Pack does not forget its oaths!" He waved his men forward, and the convoy began to move again. Purple Beard and his men did not stir until the Wolf Pack was a distant speck on the horizon. Only then did they ride down to claim their prize.
"Boss, are we just letting them go?" one of his lieutenants asked.
"What of Magister Karasso?" Purple Beard sneered. "The two Meereenese brutes he sent are dead. This is a handsome profit for a day's work. I am a bandit. Do bandits need to be trustworthy?"
***
At the coastline, a pot-bellied Myrish merchant ship, the *Mead*, was waiting. A man stood on its deck, flanked by two eunuch guards. He was a vision of flamboyant elegance, dressed in a bright robe woven with silver thread, its sleeves so long they dragged on the deck. Its buttons were carved from jade into the shape of tiny monkeys, and on his fine, white-blond curls sat a fan-shaped green hat adorned with peacock feathers. It was Salladhor Saan, the infamous Lysene pirate prince.
"I was beginning to think you were not coming," Salladhor called out as Handsome led his men aboard. The old pirate embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks. "Still taking wounds to that pretty face, I see. I am glad you are not dead, my friend. But where is Greybeard? Has he finally become a ghost?"
"He is in Myr," Handsome said grimly. "The city is in chaos. Our commander's life is in the balance." He handed Salladhor the arakh he had taken from the battlefield. "We had some trouble. It seems the Magister's enemies are willing to spend freely. Two Meereenese gladiators."
"Those brutes," Salladhor laughed. "Karasso's friends must be very wealthy indeed." He gestured to the ship.
"A new vessel?" Handsome asked. It was not Salladhor's famous flagship, the *Valyrian*.
"I have twenty ships, and many old partners," the pirate said with a wave of his hand. "Lending a ship is a simple matter. My own would be too conspicuous. One must be discreet."
Salladhor's men began to count the chests of firegrass. "Beautiful," the pirate murmured, sniffing a bundle of the herb. "An ancient smell. A pity Karasso's position is so precarious. He was set to make a fortune this year." He put an arm around Handsome's shoulder. "Count it carefully, lads. Even for old friends, I must take my one-tenth share." He then ordered his men to bring out hot mulled wine for the weary sellswords. "You will join me in my cabin, my friend."
His eyes fell on Gendry, who stood like a silent sentinel behind his captain. "And who is this?"
"Iron Hammer," Handsome said. "Our company's new hero. His courage and strength surpass my own."
"I am honored to meet a new hero," Salladhor said, his eyes lighting up as he shook Gendry's hand. In his cabin, he poured two cups of wine. "You must forgive the vintage. The wines of Pentos and Myr are not of fine quality."
"To my taste, this is delicious," Handsome said, taking a deep drink. Gendry stood silently.
"Does the boy not drink?" the pirate asked.
"He is shy in company," Handsome replied. "But on the battlefield, he is a demon. He hammered two Meereenese gladiators to death himself."
"Incredible," Salladhor said, raising his eyebrows in genuine surprise. He turned back to Handsome. "My friend, this life of a sellsword is a dangerous game. Men with a conscience do not live long. Come, work for me. I have many ships, but I lack capable men. You could protect my cargo, and we would both grow rich."
"Thank you for your generosity, old friend," Handsome said, shaking his head. "But my mission is not over. Greybeard's fate is unknown. We must get these supplies to Myr, and we must bring our commander home."
"Alas," Salladhor sighed. "You are too honorable for your own good. I say the same to the Onion Knight, but he, too, seems to have found a taste for playing the lord."