Along the border of the Wolf Pack's new territory, the Free Army made several high-profile raids, spreading panic among the Myrish. Some manor lords had already fled back to the city, their slaves in tow. The dark clouds of war hung heavy in the sky, and the insatiable demand for sellswords in Myr skyrocketed.
But the eastern front was merely a feint. The real attack was aimed at the islands of the Stepstones. On two nameless, rocky isles, pirates who had long made the islands their home were startled by the sudden roar of war horns and the sight of long, black ships beaching on their shores. The grey-and-white banner of the Wolf Pack flew beside the stark black flag of the Free Army. The pirates, caught completely by surprise, were overwhelmed in a swift and brutal assault.
***
In the military command tent at Firegrass Manor, an envoy from the Archon of Tyrosh studied the man seated before him. Gendry, the so-called "Butter-King," sat on a simple folding chair draped with the skin of a tiger, a recent gift from the escaped slaves of Volantis. Behind him, a Myrish tapestry depicted a valiant knight hunting a boar. He wore his crude iron mask, flanked by impassive Unsullied guards and a smiling, white-haired maester.
*Most rumors are untrue,* the envoy thought. Tales of the Butter-King had spread to Tyrosh: an eight-foot-tall, heavily bearded warmonger who ate raw meat, drank blood, and sacrificed men to evil gods in exchange for his berserker's rage. The man before him was tall, but not a giant. He had the black hair and blue eyes of a Westerosi, and an air not of a crude brute, but of elegant danger. The rumors were true in one respect, however. The spiked warhammer resting beside his chair radiated a cold, deadly purpose. It was the hammer that had smashed the heads of Unsullied and sellswords alike.
"First," the envoy began, his voice smooth and practiced, "I present a gift from the Archon of Tyrosh to the Commander of the Wolf Pack." He opened a chest to reveal several bottles of fine Tyroshi pear brandy and a suit of ornately decorated armor.
"I like the Archon's gift very much," Gendry said, his voice flat and emotionless behind the mask. "But I doubt you traveled all this way just to deliver fine wine."
The Tyroshi were in a panic. The rise of this new power in the Disputed Lands was a threat to their own slave trade. "You have already gained enough in these lands, Commander," the envoy said, his own purple-dyed beard quivering slightly. "Do you truly wish to make an enemy of half the world? Besides Myr, there is Lys, Tyrosh, Volantis, and all of Slaver's Bay…"
"And does the Archon of Tyrosh have a suggestion to save my confused soul?" Gendry asked, his tone laced with a dangerous irony.
"Stop this slave-liberating propaganda and retreat to your original territory," the envoy said, trying to keep the fear from his voice. "Tyrosh will not contest your claim to Firegrass Manor. But if you continue to expand, we will consider it an act of war."
"The Three Daughters have hated each other since their alliance dissolved," Gendry countered. "The Myrmen already have a deep grudge against me. Why should the Tyroshi be alarmed if I attack Myr?"
"Do you truly want me to speak the truth?" the envoy snapped, his composure finally cracking. "You are deliberately instigating war! Many Tyroshi slaves have already fled to join you! The Archon, out of friendship, has not yet demanded their return!"
"It seems the Archon of Tyrosh wishes to intimidate me."
"I would not dare!" the envoy blustered. "But you must understand, your recklessness is provoking widespread anger. The Myrmen are negotiating with the Golden Company. I do not think you wish to add such a formidable enemy to your list."
"The Golden Company?" Gendry smiled, a slow, chilling expression that was all the more menacing for being half-hidden by his mask. "But I am also discussing a partnership with the Golden Company. They are interested in Westeros, and I am interested in the Disputed Lands. It is a win-win situation, you see."
The color drained from the envoy's face. He had no way of knowing if the man was bluffing. The Golden Company's political ambitions were well known. "It seems this negotiation has ended unpleasantly," he stammered, scrambling to his feet. "I still hope you will reconsider."
"How can it be a negotiation when you ask for everything and offer nothing?" Gendry replied coolly. "But I will be sure to send the Archon my regards."
The envoy fled, the cold, predatory gaze of the Unsullied guards following him out of the tent.
"It seems the Tyroshi will soon join the alliance against us," Gendry said to his council after the man had gone.
"Tyrosh is the most greedy of the Three Daughters," Qyburn noted. "Their slavers are highly aggressive. They cannot coexist with us." He smiled. "But your false information about the Golden Company must have scared them out of their wits."
"It is not entirely false," Gendry said. "We have a basis for cooperation with them. They wish to return to Westeros, and they have no love for the institution of slavery. Just as they supported the Ninepenny Kings, they may support us."
"They are dangerous friends," Handsome cautioned. "And their price is always too high."
"But they have connections," Gendry mused. "Many of their captains are from noble houses of the Reach. They have friends in Dorne. They could be a powerful ally."