"The old gods protect us!"
"Warriors guard our arms!"
"Lady of Spears, shield us!"
"Light of R'hllor, guide us!"
Before the battle began, every soldier called upon their gods. The Wolf Pack prayed to both the Seven and the Old Gods, the Unsullied to their Lady of Spears, while the Free Army whispered to the gods of the Disputed Lands—R'hllor and the Lysene goddess of love.
From the battlements of Firegrass Manor, Gendry watched a dark tide moving on the horizon—an army as vast as the sea, surging inevitably closer.
The Myrish offensive was desperate, born of hysteria. Their Archons had set aside their rivalries and hired an alliance of sellswords—the Cat Company, the Spear Company, the Second Sons, and numerous Free Companies under contract from Myr.
"The Free Knights we positioned along the outer crossings have slowed only a few columns," Handsome reported.
"Enough," Gendry replied. "They were meant to harass, to sap morale. The real fight is here."
"The road ahead is perilous," Longspear said, pointing to a map. "The Myrish fleet—twenty warships strong—has entered our waters and begun blockading the coast. The Tyroshi granted them passage."
This time, the Myrmen were coming by both land and sea. "The coastline is wide and rocky," Gendry mused. "I doubt they'll dare a full landing."
"And we must guard against plague tactics," warned Qyburn. "The Myrish are capable of throwing corpses over the walls to spread disease."
Gendry nodded grimly. "Then burn every body that falls within range."
Bloodbeard's name was on everyone's tongue—the infamously savage captain of the Cat Company leading the Myrish host. "He's a brute, not a strategist," Handsome said, "but he'll be coming for loot. That makes him dangerous."
"Let them come," Gendry said. "We'll take their lands when they fall."
The Free Army worked like ants, clearing the outer manors, burning crops that could not be saved, and fortifying the chain of defense around Firegrass Manor. Armed with scorpion ballistas, trebuchets, and moats lined with sharpened stakes, the estate had become a steel fortress.
"Our hammer will be four hundred knights," Gendry said, donning his black scale armor. "Our anvil is Firegrass itself." His fingers drummed on the spiked warhammer beside him. "We'll crush the Myrmen like blacksmiths pounding iron."
At his command, Longspear and the knights assembled, silent and disciplined, their grey-white banner—the roaring wolf—ready to unfurl. Guerrilla bands under Dick the Fletch hid in the woods and hills, longbows poised to rain death. The rest of the Free Army—over two thousand men—held the manor walls under Handsome's command.
From the highest tower, Gendry glimpsed the approaching force. The banners of three companies fluttered above the enemy host: the snarling cat of Bloodbeard, the broken sword of the Second Sons, and the spear emblem of the Spear Company.
Bloodbeard's Cat Company formed the center, the Second Sons' cavalry took the left, and the Spear Company's horsemen the right. Behind them lumbered three massive trebuchets, "gifts" from the Myrish magisters.
"Six thousand," Gendry judged. "But Bloodbeard's two thousand elite form the spine."
"The rest?" Handsome frowned. "Cheap steel and cheaper loyalty."
"When I charge, the manor is yours," Gendry said.
"You have my oath," Handsome replied. "I'll live and die with this place."
---
At the head of the Myrish army, Bloodbeard bellowed. "Damn these cursed hills! I should've reached the Wolf's Den by noon!"
He was enormous—a mountain of muscle with a beard like a bloody tapestry. "These empty manors were traps!" he roared. "The damned slaves killed my men before dying themselves!"
"Break that fool's walls and the gold within is ours," said Mero of Braavos, captain of the Second Sons. His pale green eyes shone greedily beneath a long red-gold beard.
"He'll have hidden slaves too," Mero added. "We'll earn our pay tenfold!"
Bloodbeard laughed cruelly. "Patience, Bastard of the Titan. All in good time. Crush the manor, and the loot is ours to divide."
They had three giant trebuchets, crafted by Myrish engineers and given lofty names—*Wolfslayer*, *Lady of Myr*, and *Glory of Myr*.
"Protect those beauties!" Bloodbeard ordered. "If they fall, I'll have your heads."
The trebuchets creaked, their counterweights swinging heavily. "Boom! Boom!" The first volley hurled massive stones across the field. The air filled with the thunder of siege engines and the splintering crash of rock striking walls.
"Those stones won't stop coming," Gendry muttered atop his black Dornish stallion, the one gifted by the Red Viper himself. "We'll need to silence those machines."
He adjusted his Myrish silk cloak and gripped the cold haft of his warhammer. The air felt like the pause before a storm. Longspear and four hundred knights waited behind him—grim, quiet, ready.
The banner of the Wolf Pack caught the wind. "For freedom!" Gendry shouted. His mount reared, and the knights surged forward like a breaking tide. The clash had begun.