The Lord of the Wolf Pack's new domain now encompassed two islands in the Stepstones, a peninsula in the Disputed Lands, and the numerous manors beyond it. It was fertile, rich land, but from a military perspective, it was dangerously exposed, lacking natural barriers and strategic depth. Every battle would have to be a hard-won victory.
"Freedom! Liberate the slaves!" The slogan of the Free Army, "Break the Chains," spread like a contagion. Escaped slaves from across the Disputed Lands, and even from as far as the banks of the Rhoyne, flocked to join "the Liberator." The Free Army's momentum grew stronger by the day, and the ruling councils of Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys watched with growing alarm.
Inside Gendry's command tent, his commanders were gathered for a war council. Myr's first defeat had not been crippling, and a second, larger war was already brewing. This time, it was not the revenge of a single Magister, but a concerted effort by the city's slaving elite. The sweet fragrance of blood oranges, a gift from Dorne, filled the air, a symbol of both their new alliance and the coming conflict.
"Beware of Myrish gifts," Gendry said, holding up a letter that had been delivered by a Dornish fisherman, hidden inside a hollowed-out orange. It was a warning from the Red Viper. "Myr is preparing a new attack." Qyburn's own spies had already confirmed as much, but the Prince's letter was a welcome gesture of goodwill.
"Myr is lobbying every sellsword company from here to the Bone Mountains," Handsome reported. "The Golden Company, the Company of the Cat, the Windblown, the Stormcrows—even the Second Sons."
"The Company of the Cat and the Second Sons?" Dick the Fletch scoffed. "They're scraping the bottom of the barrel now. It seems Magister Joey is growing desperate."
"They may be notorious," Longspear countered, "but their numbers are not insignificant. The Company of the Cat has three thousand men."
"And the Golden Company?" Gendry asked, his eyes fixed on the map.
"They are observing," Qyburn replied. "The price they demand is astronomical, more than even the Myrish magisters can afford. And they will only agree to defend the city, not to attack us."
"They are hesitating," Gendry analyzed. "They see the possibilities. If they support us, they gain an ally for their own invasion of Westeros. If they support Myr, they gain a mountain of gold." He waved a hand dismissively. "There is no need to send envoys. The captains of the Golden Company are not fools. They will make their own choice."
He grew serious, his gaze sweeping over his commanders. "What I am about to say now is not pleasant, but it concerns the survival of our cause. Our foundation is the liberation of slaves, not indiscriminate slaughter. We must not make enemies of the entire world. Overthrowing the slavers is inevitable, but we must avoid excessive bloodshed, especially of skilled craftsmen and farmers. Peaceful slavers can be bought or appeased. Stubborn ones must be broken. War is the continuation of politics. And politics is the art of compromise as much as it is the art of the blow."
The commanders nodded their assent.
"We must also address the strength of the Free Army," Gendry continued. "They have numbers, but they lack discipline. They must be trained. The Wolf Pack will train our assault troops in the northern style. The Unsullied will train our light infantry in the phalanx. And our discipline must be absolute. Any man, freed slave or sellsword, who revives the practice of slavery or kills an innocent will be punished without mercy."
When he had finished, Handsome spoke. "There is one more thing, Commander. The Free Folk have petitioned for you to be crowned King of the Narrow Sea, the Stepstones, and the Disputed Lands."
A tense silence fell over the tent. A series of stunning victories had given Gendry's followers a dangerous confidence.
"A crown?" Gendry's voice was quiet but firm. "To claim a crown now would be to paint a target on our backs for every slaver in Essos. A king with no walls and no grain is a king for a single day. First, we build our strength. We build our walls and fill our granaries. The crown can wait."
A collective sigh of relief went through the tent. "A wise decision," Handsome said.
"Our strength is still limited," Qyburn agreed. "We have not yet taken a major city. To claim a crown now would be folly."
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