Across the Narrow Sea, the waves roared as the wind drove the swift ships onward.
Thunderous war horns rolled over the water, their hoarse, guttural cries carrying from vessel to vessel like the call of some demon.
The Wolf Pack was Gendry's flagship, once known as the Lady of Myr, the backbone of the Myr Fleet. Her sails gleamed in the sun, emblazoned with the sigil of a howling wolf pack.
She carried three hundred oars. Ballistae lined both sides of her deck, and a catapult stood at bow and stern, ready to hurl barrels of burning pitch. She was as fearsome as she was swift.
"I never expected to see you here, Ser Davos!"
Gendry wore no armor, only a gray-white leather vest, his helmet resting at his feet. Heavy armor was a nuisance at sea, his fleet commander had warned him.
Ser Davos had crossed the Narrow Sea under Stannis's orders to scout the markets for mercenaries and sailors in case they were needed. Naturally, he had come to visit an old friend. He had not expected that Morosh the Myrman would already have come ashore and joined the Wolf Pack.
For a moment, Davos felt as if he were looking at the king in his youth.
Gendry was as handsome and strong as the king had once been. Renly, that dandy, had never possessed a warrior's bearing. Yet the boy was not exactly the same. The king had carried himself with a wilder edge. Still, there was no denying it—both had the magnetic presence of a true Baratheon warrior, like a flame that drew every eye in a crowd.
A strange feeling came over Davos. For more than a decade, he had followed Great Lord Stannis without hesitation. And now he found himself fighting beside the Great Lord's bastard kinsman, half by circumstance, half by choice.
"It's an honor to meet you, Lord Commander. I never thought I'd be betrayed by an old friend."
Ser Davos, the Onion Knight, was plain of face and slight of build, with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a thick grey beard.
On his left hand, the first joint of each finger but the thumb had been cut away. He kept the severed knuckles in a small leather pouch as a talisman, always hanging from his neck.
"In the past, I commanded Myr's mercenary fleet. Now I command the Wolf Pack, and I even have a seat at Myr's Round Table. Between us, it's simply business."
Morosh's olive skin marked him as a true Myrman, his eyes sharp with cunning. When Myr fell, he knew his path as commander of a hired fleet had reached its end. Seeking a brighter future, he had brought his ships to Gendry.
"That doesn't sound like you, old friend," Ser Davos said dryly. "You used to take great pleasure in smuggling and selling your sword."
"It's simple enough. Not everyone wants to be a pirate for life like old Salladhor. You were the first among us to choose wisely, and you became a Ser for it. I've lost my taste for smuggling as well." Morosh waved a hand dismissively. "As for Stannis, I know the man. Hard as stone and twice as dull. You'd do better to join the Lord Commander—with old Salladhor too—than waste away on some volcanic island."
"That's enough, old friend. You know that isn't who I am. My loyalty has always belonged to Lord Stannis."
Gendry studied Davos for a moment. The man might be lowborn, but when it came to the sea—winds, coasts, ships—few could match him.
"It seems Lord Stannis's days on Dragonstone have not been easy," Gendry said. "To send his most trusted man across the Narrow Sea like this."
Dragonstone's bleak isolation had always constrained Stannis's ambitions. Now, with the sudden death of the old Lord Jon, Stannis had grown even more cautious, his strength in truth quite limited.
Davos did not answer. Words had never been his strength.
"Very well. Ser Davos will sail with my fleet and see how we take Tyrosh."
Gendry did not press him further. Loyalty was rare. If it could be swayed so easily, Davos would not be Davos.
After a moment's thought, Davos decided that since he could not leave the ship, he might as well witness this rare and momentous battle.
"Commander Hallis now commands the fleet in the Narrow Sea, while I direct the Myr Fleet," Morosh declared.
So this is a show of strength, Davos thought grimly. Their power already stretches across Lys, the Stepstones, and the Disputed Lands. Tyrosh is next. Morosh has accepted the bastard's high office and rich rewards. Of course he would ignore Stannis's summons.
Even so, Ser Davos could not help but be struck by Gendry's boldness. Young men were often arrogant, deaf to the counsel of their elders. Yet Gendry listened to an old sea captain like Morosh. With their numbers, Tyrosh truly stood in peril.
"Lord Commander! Our scout ships have finished their reconnaissance. It's time to launch a full assault!"
Morosh could barely hide his excitement. He had once commanded a mercenary fleet and made his name as a smuggler, but he had never taken part in a battle on this scale.
Careful probing, testing the enemy's strength instead of charging in like fools. As Davos's old friend, Morosh's knowledge of ships, sails, and coastlines was just as exceptional.
Davos watched the situation at sea with steady eyes. On open water, the best tactic was to close in from both flanks and trap the enemy in the center.
"Lower oars!" Morosh shouted. "Form line!"
Three hundred oars dipped into the sea at once as the drum thundered. The rhythm was like a great, steady heartbeat. With each beat, the oars drove forward. Three hundred men moved as one, perfectly in time.
The Wolf Pack Fleet and the Narrow Sea Fleet swept in from both sides.
The Narrow Sea Fleet had been formed from Stepstones pirates they had subdued and fugitive slaves who had thrown in their lot with them. It numbered more than two hundred ships. They were not massive war galleys, but they were quick and highly maneuverable.
The Wolf Pack Fleet, on the other hand, was the former Myr Fleet transformed into a proper navy, its ships built for war.
"Faster!" Morosh roared.
The Wolf Pack took the front line. To either side sailed two-hundred-oared warships. The rest of the first line consisted of vessels with more than a hundred oars each. Behind them came a second line of hundred-oared warships, commanded by veteran sailors, escaped river pirates, and runaway slaves.
Farther back sailed the smaller, slower Myr ships. Beyond them trailed merchantmen and cargo vessels.
Knights and soldiers stood aboard the ships in the first and second lines, though not in great numbers. Too many armored men would slow a vessel down. Only the ships behind the second line carried larger bodies of troops.
"Lord Commander! The Wolf Pack Fleet is made up of the King's Myr warships. We are the right fist of this operation!" Morosh said proudly. "Commander Hallis and the Narrow Sea Fleet are our left fist!"
"Woooo—!"
The war horns sounded again. The signal came from the Wolf Pack, and the rough blast of the horns rolled across the sky, cutting through the crashing white spray.
"Thud! Thud! Thud!"
On deck, infantrymen beat their swords against their shields while archers readied their bows.
Gendry fixed his gaze on Tyrosh ahead.
The city lay close enough to see. But only blood would open its gates.