In the high tower of Firegrass Manor, the leaders of the Wolf Pack gathered around a map of the Disputed Lands. Gendry, Handsome, Steel-Fist, Longspear, Black Billy, Dick the Fletch, and Qyburn stood in grim silence. The clouds of war hung heavy over the manor; Magister Joey's retaliation would soon arrive.
"Joey is serious this time," Qyburn began, his voice low. "Our intelligence from Myr confirms he has hired the Brave Companions and is recruiting every wandering sellsword and adventurer he can find. It is a considerable force. Their movements are so overt, all of Myr knows they are coming."
"This is for the best," Gendry said, a cold smile touching his lips. "What I fear most is not a direct attack, but a slow, ironclad blockade. If the Myrmen are delivering themselves to us, we will not have to tire our horses chasing them." A blockade, combined with an alliance with the bandits in Crown Town, would have been an intractable problem. Myr's disunity was their greatest advantage.
"The Brave Companions," Handsome grunted, the name familiar and foul. "A collection of criminals, rapists, and exiles. The dregs of the world."
"An organization of clowns and madmen," Dick the Fletch added with a disdainful smile. "Their reputation is as foul as the Second Sons."
"But infamy is still a form of fame," Handsome countered. "They may be clowns, but an army of scoundrels is still an army."
"Then we will crush these clowns," Steel-Fist said, his voice a low growl. "They lack discipline. Break the Brave Companions, and the rest will scatter like rats."
"We will devour them," Gendry declared, his fist clenching on the table. "The Brave Companions will be annihilated. These criminals have lived long enough. The Wolf Pack has no time to harbor such filth. As for the others, they are free to flee." He looked at the map. A siege would favor them, but a decisive victory in the field would be a more powerful statement. "We will meet them in the open."
"Mobile warfare and ambush," Gendry continued, his finger tracing a path on the map. The Dornish used such tactics to wear down their foes, but he lacked their harsh terrain. Here, in the fertile Disputed Lands, he would have to make his own advantages. "The Myrish fleet cannot blockade the coast, and their army will be marching by land. We will set our trap there."
He laid out his plan. "Scouts and rangers will watch the coast and Crown Town to prevent an attack from our rear. We will set our main ambush here," he said, tapping a hilly region on the road from Myr. "Handsome, you will hold the rear guard at the manor. Steel-Fist, Black Billy, and Dick, you will command the archers and shield wall in the ambush. You will lead the main body of the Free Army. Longspear and I will lead the charge with the men of the Wolf Pack."
The commanders nodded their assent. Gendry was leading the most dangerous assault himself. It was his way. "Two hundred archers," Black Billy said. "We will give them a fine show."
***
The Myrish expeditionary army, a force of some thousand men, marched from the city. At its core were the Brave Companions, but the majority were a motley collection of sellswords and adventurers, commanded by Magister Joey's nephew, Qobo.
*Is such a rabble truly a match for the Wolf Pack?* Qobo wondered, looking with distaste at the men of the Brave Companions marching under their banner of a bloody-horned black goat. Their leader, Vargo Hoat, was a tall man, thin as a bamboo pole, with a thick black beard that fell from his chin nearly to his waist. He rode a strange black-and-white mottled zorse, and a black iron helmet forged in the shape of a goat's head hung from his saddle. A chain of coins from all the lands he had fought in was strung around his neck.
"Lord Vargo," Qobo said, riding up beside him, "perhaps we should wait for the fleet to land and reinforce us before we engage."
"Hah, what's there to be afraid of?" Vargo Hoat replied, his words indistinct and wet, as if he were constantly chewing. "I've taken your money. I will take care of these wolf pups for you."
"My lord, the Wolf Pack should not be underestimated," Qobo insisted. "The fury of the Northmen is renowned. And their new leader is a cruel and formidable knight."
"Afraid, afraid of what!" Vargo boasted, rattling his necklace of coins. "I will cut off the wolf pups' hands and feet." The sellsword's penchant for torture had earned him the nickname "the Crippler."
"Also," Qobo added, suppressing his disgust, "your holy man. I hope he does not harass the boys in my contingent. They are soldiers, not playthings from a perfumed garden."
"The Shriver likes what he likes," Vargo lisped. "But if a boy offers himself… I cannot control that."
Qobo's heart sank. He could not command these mercenaries, and their arrogance would be their undoing.