The sea wind howled, waves crashing as the great ship split the swells.
To the heavy beat of the drum, the snap of canvas, and the creaking rhythm of oars, the smuggling vessel fled Myr Harbor before dawn.
"Winter is coming. A lone wolf dies, but the pack survives!"
"Winter is coming. A lone wolf dies, but the pack survives!"
Inside the swaying hold of the Myr merchant ship Mead, beneath the gray-and-white banner of the Wolf Pack, every soldier knelt before Gendry and swore obedience to their new commander.
Handsome Man was the first to drop to one knee, placing his longsword at Gendry's feet. Fletcher followed, then Steel Fist, then Longspear, and finally the rest, one after another.
Obey orders. Endure the storm together. That was the marrow of the North. House Stark had lived by it—the blood of the running wolf, fierce and fearless, untamed and wild. By courage and strength alike, Gendry had won them.
He slipped on the black lone wolf ring of the Wolf Pack and looked at them one by one: the aged Maester Qyburn, Fletcher Dick, the crippled Handsome Man, the weary Steel Fist, Longspear. A broken little band—but all he had. The first stone of everything he meant to build.
"Up, brothers."
They rose.
"My arm is ruined. I can't take the field anymore," Handsome Man said steadily. "I volunteer to serve as your aide."
Gendry considered it. Handsome Man was a straightforward man. Once he had surrendered the captain's ring, he had thrown himself fully behind Gendry.
"There's no need to change the old appointments," Gendry said at last. "Handsome Man remains treasurer and serves as my aide. Steel Fist continues to lead the knights. Longspear commands the infantry. Fletcher stays as master-at-arms. Qyburn remains our healer."
In times like these, stability mattered most.
"Agreed!"
"Agreed!"
"Then from this day on, we strike as one." Gendry raised his fist. "Only united do we have the strength to stand against Magister Joeyr!"
"Let Magister Joeyr and those pirate merchants of Myr regret the day they cross us again! We are the pack—and the pack never forgets!"
"The old Wolf's Den won't do anymore," Handsome Man said. "It's too close to Myr. Without the Magister's protection, it's not safe."
"We take Fire Herb Manor," Gendry said.
The estate had once belonged to Magister Casso. If it had already gone to auction, the Wolf Pack could seize it.
"That's a good choice. It's farther from Myr and closer to the coast. The stewards and the slaves there are natural allies."
"We need men," Gendry went on. "As many as we can get. We used to hold back because of Myr. No longer. We free the manor slaves and stand openly against them."
If the Wolf Pack had no place in Myr, then let the Disputed Lands burn. Stir the waters. Free the slaves.
Slavery was the chain strangling the eastern continent. He couldn't afford to provoke every slave master at once—but throwing the Disputed Lands into turmoil? That, he was willing to try.
"Then let's smash those dog-born slave traders!"
"Do it!"
"Both the Old Gods and the New Gods despise slavery!"
The Wolf Pack Sellswords roared their approval.
Whether old gods or new, none blessed chains. And the men of Westeros hated slavery by instinct. With Myr already their sworn enemy, there was no point in half measures.
"Magister Joeyr owns several Fire Herb estates," Gendry added. "They're his purse."
Take grain from the enemy. Joeyr was their foe. Ruining his estates and turning his slaves to their side would cost them nothing.
The discussion grew loud and heated, but in the end they settled on Gendry's plan.
A sharp clap broke the noise.
Moments later, the old pirate from Lys stepped into the hold. Gendry pulled on his mask.
"Young hero! Young hero!" Salladhor applauded. "The winds howl over the sea, and behold—a new champion rises!"
"Hail to you, young Lord Commander of the Wolf Pack—the Head Wolf!" Salladhor said grandly. "Bloody Ben took the field at eleven. Tywin became Hand at twenty. Robert launched the War of the Usurper at twenty! Youth has a way of changing history."
"You give me too much credit," Gendry replied.
He studied the pirate king of Lys. A man who danced between storms. Stannis, the fat Magister of Pentos—Salladhor had ties to them all. Cooperation would require caution.
"You didn't come just to laugh at us, did you? Homeless man," Handsome Man said coolly.
"Laugh?" Salladhor threw his head back and laughed anyway. "No. I came to speak of partnership."
"I've long wanted a mercenary company of my own—fearless, loyal, brave. I've always liked you sons of ice. The Golden Company charges too dearly, and the Unsullied are expensive and stiff as spears. I've waited a long time for my northern friends."
"And what sort of partnership?" Gendry asked.
"Simple," Salladhor said, spreading his hands. "I have ships. Secret sea routes. Sailors. Friends and information across the Known world. The Wolf Pack has warriors—good ones. We fit together well."
"So we become pirates?" Longspear blurted.
Gendry said nothing, letting Salladhor continue.
"For three centuries, my family has lived by piracy. One of the Ninepenny Kings, Samarro Saan, was my ancestor. A pity the Ninepenny Kings failed. They never won our house a single strip of land. Pirates and Sellswords have always made good friends. We help one another," Salladhor said with a grin. "You are not my subordinates. You are partners."
"I understand, Captain Salladhor," Gendry replied, studying the cunning old pirate of Lys. "We need a foothold in the Disputed Lands or the Stepstones. Your fleet can shield our coastline. In return, we can lend strength to your ventures."
"A wise choice. The Wolf Pack's commander is a clever man," Salladhor said approvingly. "Head south. Fire Herb Manor is an excellent base. It's close to the eastern coast, and further south—beyond Crown Town—lies territory under Lysene influence. I'll provide protection with my fleet. If the Myr come for you, you can withdraw to a small island in the Stepstones or slip away to Crown Town."
"And in return, you'll extend a little help to loyal old Salladhor," the pirate added lightly.
"Agreed. But we strike only at Myr," Gendry said firmly. The Wolf Pack needed ships and control of the sea. For now, cooperation with the old pirate was their only real option.
"Done. Though, Commander, you're thinking too narrowly. Once you incite a slave uprising, every Myrish will count you as a mortal foe."
"To a fruitful partnership," Salladhor declared. "And to avenging my poor old friend Greybeard as soon as possible."
He had an attendant bring a large jug of warmed wine and eagerly clinked cups with Gendry.
"Cheers."
The cups rang sharply together.
"One more question," someone called out. "If all Three Daughters join forces to crush us, will Captain Salladhor come to our aid?"
Salladhor shrugged. "In that case, I can do nothing. My assistance is always… discreet. I trust you understand, Commander. There are bold pirates, and there are foolish pirates. The foolish ones do not live long."
He spread his hands.
"If you are unlucky enough to be wiped out, then consider that you were never aboard my ships. We made no agreement."
"You truly are a sly pirate," Gendry said, unable to suppress a smile.
Salladhor's support came at a price. He would never cripple himself for their sake.
"Then let's make it worthwhile," Salladhor said, eyes gleaming. "There's a ship belonging to a Magister of Myr. To be precise, the head of the Navigators' Guild—Magister Rech. An ambitious man. He was the chief hand behind Magister Casso's fall."
"His merchant vessel is currently docked in Volantis. It sailed from Qarth, carrying spices, jade, and Unsullied, and it's bound back for Myr."