The morning breeze was cool. Myr, pressed against the sea, carried the sharp tang of salt in the wind—along with the faint stench of blood.
Sunlight shimmered across the water and spilled over Myr's walls, towers, and halls.
While the naval battle raged at Tyrosh, the thinning of forces around Myr had sparked unrest within the city itself. Some Myr slave owners, unwilling to accept defeat, dreamed of restoration. But their attempt was met with a fierce, overwhelming counterattack.
Brown Ben stood atop Myr's battlements. The city was still locked in brutal civil strife, yet the restorationists were clearly at a disadvantage, their strength nearly spent. The Free Company and the Second Sons still held the walls, the high ground, and most of the city. The freedmen and the Second Sons supported the current order in Myr, while the majority of Myr's citizens had shut themselves inside their homes.
"Looks like we've won this round after all," Brown Ben muttered, his large black almond-shaped eyes widening—eyes inherited from his Dothraki mother.
He let out a slow breath of relief. The banners rising in the distance were not the three-headed god of Tyrosh they had feared, but gray-and-white flags bearing the howling wolves of the Wolf Pack. The wolves seemed almost alive, as if they were truly roaring.
The standard-bearer ran at the head of the column, the gray-white wolves surging forward like a living tide—the Steel Fist knights advancing in force. They rode along the broad road that stretched out from Myr, part of the Valyrian road network.
"Spread the word! Myr's savior has returned!" Brown Ben shouted.
The old war horns sounded again through the city, their sharp blasts growing more urgent by the moment.
The piercing notes mingled with the cheers of the Second Sons and the Free Company. Soldiers atop the walls roared in celebration.
"Myr's savior has returned!"
"Lord Commander Gendry is back!"
"Tyrosh has fallen!"
Inside the city, the Myr restorationists still resisting turned pale. Their leader was a former Myr Magister now living in retirement. After the abolition of slavery and the confiscation of estates, many in Myr had grown deeply resentful of the new order. They had seen Tyrosh's counterattack as a rare chance and launched their coup without hesitation.
The silent knights thundered forward, only slowing when they neared the city gates. Brown Ben hurried down from the walls and led several dozen knights to Gendry.
"Lord Commander!" Brown Ben dismounted and dropped to one knee before him. "Just as we expected, some former Magisters and slave owners in Myr revolted the moment news of the Tyrosh war reached them. Fortunately, we prepared in advance. The walls and high ground are still in our hands. The restorationists are only making a last stand now!"
"The harbor? The city hall?"
"Also under our control!"
"Good. You've done well," Gendry said. Brown Ben had only five hundred cavalry from the Second Sons, along with some Free Company soldiers. Holding the key positions with so little was no small feat. "But the Dothraki will be here soon. I won't waste time on these rebellious slave owners."
"I've compiled a rough list of them," Brown Ben said quietly, handing over the names of the conspirators.
"Excellent."
"Victory!" Gendry raised his warhammer and swung it before the knights.
"Victory!" the soldiers echoed, drawing longswords, two-handed axes, and morningstars. Steel rang against steel as their roar surged skyward.
"Into the city!"
Gendry led his cavalry through the gates of Myr. With Brown Ben's seasoned handling of the situation, the fighting remained fierce but controlled. The Wolf Pack and the Free Company still held the advantage. Now Gendry's knights would deliver the final blow—and prepare for the coming of the horse lords.
"You are… Prince Oberyn?" Brown Ben recognized the Red Viper and looked genuinely surprised. They were old acquaintances of a sort. In his younger days of wandering, the Red Viper had served with the Second Sons for a year.
"Long time no see, Brown Ben. You've gotten a bit older," the Red Viper said with a faint smile.
"You've changed too, Prince." Brown Ben did not press him on why he was now with Gendry. There would be time for that later. "Prince, once we've crushed these rebels, we'll share a drink and catch up."
…
A tide of knights surged into Myr, gray-white cloaks sweeping forward at the front. The Wolf Pack's heavily armored riders led the charge, while the light cavalry of the Free Company and the Long Lances spread along the flanks. Before this day was done, the bloodlines of many old Myr noble houses would be cut short.
Gendry's knights unleashed a storm of death. Through the narrow slits of their half-helms, they slaughtered the Myr traitors without a word. Longspears, great axes, morningstars, warhammers, longswords—steel rose and fell without pause. Blood ran down their spear shafts. For the most stubborn of the Myr rebels, there was no patience left.
The insurgents had weapons of their own—distinctive repeating crossbows that could fire three bolts in quick succession, and finely crafted armor. But they had failed to seize the high ground of Myr, and they lacked heavy weapons such as ballistae. More importantly, the Myrish had never been formidable warriors. In a head-on clash like this, they were torn apart like parchment.
The tide of battle had already begun turning against the restorationists, though the Second Sons' numbers were limited. The arrival of Gendry's elite cavalry only hastened their collapse.
"Kill!"
Gendry swung his warhammer.
Before him stood a young Myr man—olive-skinned, dark-haired, dark-eyed—wearing elegant Myr armor. Likely a noble. His skill at arms, however, was pitiful.
The warhammer smashed into the young man's chest, caving in the ornate breastplate. A second crushing blow followed. Bone gave way beneath steel, and his body could not endure it. He crumpled to the ground, blood-flecked foam bubbling at his lips.
"Devil!" the Myrish shouted.
Their cries were faster than their blades. Gendry's hammer came down again and again, sweeping aside the young noble's retainers like a gale tearing through dry leaves.
The Red Viper rode silently behind Gendry, watching. This was no battle—it was a slaughter. The Myrish had believed they had seized an opportunity. In truth, it had been a gap deliberately left open, bait to draw them out.
"The Breaker has returned!"
A handful of freedmen who had been watching from the sidelines, along with some brave Myr citizens, finally threw open their doors and joined the assault against the restorationists. The rebels were now openly defying Gendry, fighting his army, slaughtering freedmen, and threatening citizens who dared cooperate.
The cries of battle echoed through Myr, from south to north, from east to west. Cavalrymen cut down the rebels and dragged their bodies to the center of the city square.
The final stronghold of the Myr restorationists fell.
In despair, Magister Kasaro locked himself inside his mansion and poisoned both himself and his family.
Veteran soldiers smashed down the gates of the Magister's residence and hauled the traitors' corpses out one by one.
Gendry looked over the ashen faces of the dead. Power was merciless. The order he had forged was bound to breed hatred. But the crown, authority—this was the price.
"You know what to do next," Gendry said to Brown Ben.
"I do." Brown Ben's voice was steady. "Those on the list who took part will be traitors. Anyone who knew and failed to report will be summoned to the city hall."
"Good. See to it at once. The Dothraki should be close now. That will be the real battle."