The battlefield was a vision of hell, fire and blood under a sky pierced by the rising sun. Gendry, a whirlwind of death and destruction, carved a path through the ranks of the Second Sons. He was a storm of a man, and he had brought the tempest to the sellswords' door.
"Long live the Wolf Pack!" the knights behind him roared, their black and grey armor a stark contrast to the chaos around them. They were the iron fist of the north, brought to bear on the soft underbelly of the Free Cities.
The war horn sounded its desolate cry, and Gendry's arrowhead formation crashed through the Second Sons' line. His warhammer was a blur of motion, each blow perfectly placed, crushing skulls and splintering bone. He was a blacksmith at his forge, but the metal he now worked was flesh and blood, and it could not withstand the force of his hammer.
The Second Sons broke and fled. Their equipment was poor, their discipline nonexistent. They were not warriors; they were opportunists, and they had no stomach for a real fight.
"Organize a defense!" their commander, Mero, shrieked, even as he sent a runner to the Cat Company, begging for aid.
"Useless!" he screamed as the tattered banner of the Second Sons disappeared in the rout. The Wolf Pack infantry, a solid wall of shields, advanced from the manor, the warriors of the Free Army forming up behind them.
Bloodbeard, the captain of the Cat Company, finally made his decision. He could not watch the Second Sons be annihilated; it would break his army's morale. He sent a small contingent of riders to support them. "The rest of you, with me!" he bellowed. "Press the attack! Those few hundred knights will be spent after they deal with the Second Sons. Break the shield wall, and the day is ours!"
But the "Bastard of the Titan," Mero of Braavos, was already fighting for his life. His army of sly dogs and failures had abandoned him. Longspear, his own weapon a whirlwind of death, charged toward him.
"Damn you, Bloodbeard!" Mero screamed, raising his shield to block Longspear's relentless assault. He parried one blow, then another, but the Northman was too quick. A spearpoint found a gap in his armor, and blood spurted from a wound in his armpit. His speed faltered, and Longspear pressed his advantage, the whistling of his spear a constant threat. He feinted, then thrust, and the spearpoint tore a chunk of flesh from Mero's throat.
The Bastard of the Titan turned to flee, but a black steed blocked his path. The Wolf Commander was upon him, his warhammer raised high. Mero, wounded and desperate, managed to block the first blow, but the force of it shattered his sword. The second blow crushed his helmet and the skull beneath it. He fell like a small mountain, his blood and brains spattering the dirt.
"The Bastard of the Titan is dead!" a cry went up.
The knights of the Cat Company, sent to reinforce the Second Sons, saw the bloody scene and faltered. The Wolf Pack, their momentum unbroken, changed direction and charged toward the three great trebuchets. The slaves guarding the siege engines threw down their weapons and turned on their masters. The sellswords scattered. The "Wolfslayer" was pulled to the ground with chains, and the "Glory of Myr" and "Lady of Myr" were toppled.
The surviving members of the Second Sons surrendered. Their new leader, a man with the almond-shaped eyes of his Dothraki mother, knelt before Gendry. "I am Brown Ben Plumm," he said. "We surrender to the great Liberator."
"Mero is dead," Gendry said, pointing his warhammer at the man. "Put away your banners and attack the Cat Company with me."
"The Second Sons are always with the victors," Brown Ben shouted, and his men, with the Wolf Pack at their side, galloped toward the rear of Bloodbeard's army.
From the west, a rain of arrows from Dick the Fletch's longbowmen fell upon the Cat Company's flank. From the east, the shield wall of the Free Army advanced, their spearpoints a forest of glittering death. The fall of the trebuchets had dealt a fatal blow to the Myrish morale.
"Useless!" Bloodbeard roared, his eyes bloodshot with fury. "Are the Second Sons all cowards?" The battle was on the verge of collapse. His own company was about to be wiped out.
"The Second Sons have defected!" one of his captains screamed. "They are attacking our rear!"
"And the Spear Company has turned on us as well!" another cried.
Bloodbeard's vision went black. He had known these sellswords were unreliable. He should have waited, hired the Windblown, or even the Golden Company. "Retreat!" he bellowed, his voice thick with rage and despair.
But it was too late. "Bad news!" a scout cried, galloping toward him. "Banners in the rear! It is the Golden Company! And they have elephants!"
Bloodbeard looked back in horror. In the distance, he could see them: the skull-topped banners of the most feared sellsword company in the world, and the stout, gray shapes of their war elephants. The Golden Company had rejected the Myrish gold and had instead joined the Wolf Pack. It was over. Bloodbeard's body began to tremble. It was all over.