"Mind the gains and losses of our policies. Our foothold in the Disputed Lands rests on freeing slaves, not slaughtering innocents or making enemies indiscriminately! Crushing the slave masters is inevitable, but we must avoid indiscriminate killing, especially of skilled people. That would unite every slaveholding city-state against us! I want an order that remains as intact as possible," Gendry said. Every war changed the existing power structure, bringing new blood into power.
Gendry's supporters were fugitive slaves, whose conflict with the slave masters was irreconcilable. Even so, they had to avoid going too far wherever possible. Peaceable slave masters could be bought off and placated; stubborn opponents needed a heavy hand. War was an extension of politics, and all politics revolved around compromise and suppression.
"Yes, Commander-in-Chief!"
"As you command, Commander-in-Chief!"
"We must also address the Free Army's fighting strength. We have numbers now, but we also need extensive, systematic training. Training is a soldier's foundation. Our instructors are excellent fighters, and the Wolf Pack is fierce. The newer Free Army recruits must also be forged into true steel. Next comes discipline. Discipline in both the Wolf Pack Company and the Free Army must be strict, and so must our screening! We need show no mercy to those bandit slaves and bandit sellswords who try to revive slavery or slaughter innocents."
Gendry explained these points thoroughly, and the Wolf Pack Company and the Free Army would soon carry out his orders. The Free Army now received several distinct forms of training. The Wolf Pack Company trained northern-style fighters for frontal assaults, including knights and longbowmen. The Unsullied's methods trained light infantry to fight in phalanxes.
"One more matter, Commander-in-Chief!" Handsome Man asked. "Many Free Folk have petitioned to have you crowned king of the Narrow Sea, the Stepstones, and the Disputed Lands."
At these words, many faces took on attentive expressions. A string of military victories had given the soldiers and the Free Folk an idea: to present their Commander-in-Chief with a crown.
"We'll discuss that later. Now is not the time. Declaring myself king now would make us everyone's target!" Gendry knew what many of the Free Folk and Wolf Pack soldiers wanted, but he could not do it.
Gendry wanted a crown too, but the time was not right. Building walls, stockpiling grain, and delaying his coronation was the prudent course. Putting on that crown now would be like setting himself over On the Fire to roast.
"We will support your decision, Commander-in-Chief!" Handsome Man breathed a sigh of relief. He had feared Gendry might get carried away too, which would cause an enormous uproar.
"A wise decision. We have not yet occupied all the Stepstones, nor have we taken a single city, such as any of the Three Daughters. The Commander-in-Chief is right. Our strength remains limited," Maester Qyburn added.
Chapter 47: The Golden Company's Dream of Returning Home (Please keep reading)
On the training ground at the Firepowder Herb Estate, the gray-and-white Wolf Pack Banner and the Free Army Banners bearing shattered shackles flew together. One man sparred against a group, while a dozen or so others cheered them on.
Gendry wore a black studded vest embroidered with the Wolf Pack Company's running wolf emblem. He was tall, agile, and strong. Facing him were Long Spear, Steel Fist, and several Unsullied. Long Spear and Steel Fist attacked from either flank, with Gendry's spike-helmed Unsullied guards in the center.
"Come on, then!" Gendry waved them forward, urging them to attack more wildly and viciously.
The sweet song of steel rang out, and steel brought a storm.
Spears and blunted swords followed. Gendry had to remain calm and resolute to evade each attack. Long Spear's spearhead struck viciously, darting out like a venomous snake. The well-trained Unsullied attacked in perfect unison.
Gendry blocked the killing blows aimed at his vital spots with his oak shield. The other attacks struck his plate armor, but he kept pressing boldly forward. There were slight flaws in the coordination between Long Spear, Steel Fist, and the Unsullied. Their rhythms differed, after all, and those openings were enough.
First, Gendry seized Long Spear's spearhead and snapped it off. His opponent involuntarily pitched forward and raised his oak shield to defend himself, only for Gendry to deftly knock him down. Next came Steel Fist's whistling longsword. Gendry's plate armor withstood a slash, and his mace hammered the other's oak shield. After several heavy blows, the shield broke. A hammer blow slightly dented Steel Fist's visor, and he lowered it and surrendered.
Thud! Thud! Last came the Unsullied, their front line pressing steadily forward. Even in the sparring yard, they were difficult opponents. The Unsullied did not feel searing pain as ordinary men did. The wine of courage and brutal training had stripped them of their fear of death and enabled them to endure the pain that came with it.
Gendry fought the Unsullied with particular ferocity. Their dulled sensitivity to pain made them far harder to defeat than ordinary fighters.
Gendry's agility, strength, and toughness, his growing ferocity in battle, and his seemingly inexhaustible stamina ultimately gave him the upper hand, until he defeated the Unsullied one by one.
Gendry stood amid the wreckage of the training ground, victorious after multiple rounds of combat.
[Bloodline: Blood of the Storm (activated, 40% awakened)]
Gendry's Blood of the Storm was improving slowly, but its progress would grow slower as it reached a bottleneck. Perhaps he needed to fight stronger opponents.
His talents had not changed either; they were still the Deer family's ancestral gifts. [Talents: Caste Toughness (the Stag's descendants are tall and strong, blessed with many children, and produce black-haired, blue-eyed offspring). Storm Fury (when severely injured or enraged, unleashes fiercer, more powerful attacks)]
Blood of the Storm offered several benefits. One was an improved physique, strength, and speed. Another was blood frenzy, which strengthened his attacks when he was injured or enraged.
"Well done, Commander-in-Chief!"
"Long live the Liberator!"
"That's our alpha wolf!" Cheers rose from everyone around him.
Gendry smiled at them, helped the Unsullied who had been knocked sprawling in the fight back to their feet, and walked with them toward the resting benches. Long Spear and Steel Fist were also resting nearby, looking battered. Compared with mounted jousting, this brutal group combat came much closer to the realities of war.
"The Commander-in-Chief is a born fighter!" Handsome Man remarked. "Of all the men I've heard stories about, perhaps only Lord Cregan could compare with you!"
"The Wolf of Winterfell? The Hand of the Wolf Hour!" Gendry's interest stirred. Cregan was universally regarded as the finest Stark lord since the War of Conquest. At eighteen, he had raised an army to overthrow his uncle's regency; in his twenties, he had orchestrated the Wolf Hour and won lasting renown.
"Yes. Besides his political skill, Lord Cregan was also the greatest swordsman of his day. The Dragonknight said so," Handsome Man replied. "Sadly, his heir died in Dorne, plunging Winterfell into a long period of turmoil afterward. We all thought Brandon the Wild Wolf might revive Lord Cregan's glory, but then the Mad King burned him to death!"
"Speaking of him, the Wild Wolf was far more formidable than our present Lord Eddard. He was handsome and fierce, an excellent swordsman, with the very temper you'd expect of wolf blood," Long Spear added.
"Do you still miss the North?" Gendry asked a question that touched their souls.
"The North is our birthplace, but the Disputed Lands are our home now. Once the Wolf Pack Company came here, we were no longer vassals of House Stark."
As they chatted, Maester Qyburn appeared beside the training ground. Their distinguished guest had apparently arrived.
Gendry felt a surge of delight. It seemed his plan had met with some success. The men they had selected had made a show of negotiating with other sellsword companies about joining forces to attack Myr. They had approached the Second Sons and the Windblown, deliberately passing over the Golden Company. The Golden Company had heard the news as well.
The Golden Company's visitor was an unusual man from Volantis: Gorys Edoryen, the company's paymaster and, in practice, its second-in-command. He was gaunt, with glossy, blood-red hair curling over his shoulders. A leopard skin draped one shoulder, and the gold arm rings he wore were worth a lord's ransom.
"Welcome, friend of the Golden Company!" The white-haired old maester greeted him warmly.
Yet the Golden Company's envoy found the atmosphere strange. The Wolf Pack Company's Commander-in-Chief and the other commanders did not seem enthusiastic.
"I come in friendship. Our captain wishes to cooperate with the lord of the Wolf Pack!"
"How?" Gendry looked at the Golden Company's paymaster.
"You want the Disputed Lands, and we want to return to Westeros. We can both benefit!"
Laughter rang through the tent. The Golden Company alone could not challenge Westeros's ruling order, nor could it do so even with the present Wolf Pack Company and Free Army added to its strength.
"My dear envoy, I must remind you that we have no ships, and not enough men!" Handsome Man said.
"Men!" the Golden Company's paymaster declared. "Our Golden Company numbers ten thousand, the largest of all sellsword companies. That includes five hundred knights, each with three horses and a squire, and each squire with a horse of his own. And don't forget the elephants. You, Commander-in-Chief, could also muster more than five thousand men!"
"We would need an entire pirate fleet to transport the army. And the lords sworn to the Iron Throne would be waiting, fresh and ready," Gendry pointed out the plan's madness.
"We can strike across to Westeros. That stretch of sea is not especially wide. If Maelys the Monstrous could make it back in his day, so can we. We lack no money," the Golden Company's paymaster said.
"You want Westeros, but that is far too difficult! In the days of the Ninepenny Kings, the combined strength of the Disputed Lands, Tyrosh, the Golden Company, and many of those Copper Kings still failed to win the war!"
"Your reasoning is sound, Commander-in-Chief, but we do not intend to attack immediately. We propose cooperation. We will not obstruct your expansion, and you will support our landing in Westeros."
"No!" Gendry shook his head. "That plan is too risky. Wealthy Highgarden, the Westerlands, and so many other enemies."
The Golden Company's paymaster fell silent, his expression souring. This attempt would achieve nothing.
"But we could choose something simpler." Gendry suddenly offered him a little hope.
"Myr has hired sellsword companies. The Cat Company and the Second Sons are going to attack us. The Golden Company could strike their rear. Victory would bring money, and it would deepen the Three Daughters' dependence on the Golden Company."
Chapter 48: Lion, Deer, and Spider (Please keep reading)
King's Landing, the Red Keep, the throne room. The scents of roast meat and perfume mingled with the crowd, accompanied by decadent music beneath brilliant lights.
At the feast in the throne room, splendidly dressed men and women moved to and fro. King Robert was devoted to pleasure. Hunting, feasting, tourneys, and desirable women were his whole life.
King Robert's roar drowned out every other sound. He staggered to his feet, face flushed, a goblet in one hand, drunk beyond measure.
"You damned woman, don't think you can order me around!" King Robert screamed at Queen Cersei. "I'm the king here, do you understand? If I say I'll hunt a boar alone, I'll bloody well hunt it alone!"
Everyone stared in shock: the White Knights Barristan, the king's two brothers, Littlefinger. The queen's face looked carved from ice, white and utterly bloodless. She chose to leave outright. Gathering her skirts, she turned and walked away without a word, her servants hurrying after her.
Jaime reached to restrain the king by the shoulder, but King Robert violently shook him off. The Kingslayer stumbled into a long table. "What a great knight you are. You're nothing but my servant. Remember that, Kingslayer." The king banged his jeweled goblet on the table, spilling almost all the wine.
"Yes, Your Grace!" The Kingslayer steadied himself, his voice cold and stiff. His golden hair flowed, his green eyes shone, and his smile was sharp as a blade, yet the name Kingslayer weighed on him like shackles, leaving him unable to breathe.
Lord Renly approached with a smile. "Robert, you've spilled your wine. Let me pour you another cup." Stannis watched Renly resentfully. Renly was richer than he was, and more popular too.
Joffrey seemed accustomed to the scene and remained silent. The Hound stood not far behind him, like an emissary of the night.
Stannis considered the scene before him. Why would the Kingslayer not take off his white cloak? Why did he insist on remaining in King's Landing to endure these humiliations?
Could the elusive honor of knighthood be more attractive than becoming heir to the wealthy Westerlands? Ser Jaime's golden curls gleamed, and so did Joffrey's hair. Stannis looked again and again, thoughts churning within him.
"Where is my foster father, Duke Jon? Did no one invite the Hand to the feast?" King Robert shouted. His Lannister attendant, Lancel, immediately came forward from behind him.
"The Lord Hand's son is ill. Duke Jon is keeping the child company," Lancel said quietly.
"Poor Robin!" Dejection crossed the king's face, but he still accepted the fresh wine and drained it in one gulp.
Stannis considered his suspicions. If he could find an ally in King's Landing, Duke Jon was the only possibility.
Beneath the Red Keep lay a labyrinth of passages like a spider's web. Maegor the Cruel had believed that only true dragons should possess these secrets, so he had killed every craftsman who built the Red Keep.
House Targaryen had once treated the secret passages as a closely guarded secret. Among ministers outside the family, usually only the master of whisperers knew of them.
Deep within the dark passages, Varys and Illyrio spoke in secret. The light was dim, with only a torch illuminating the shadows.
Varys was a stout man, but a master of disguise. He wore a short leather cloak. Despite his heavy boots, his feet seemed to glide soundlessly over the ground. Beneath his steel helmet was a round, scarred face with a short beard. He wore stiff leather beneath armor, with a dagger and a shortsword at his waist.
"Stannis is secretly searching for those bastards. Perhaps he has formed a private suspicion," Varys said. "Gods above, the king truly has rather too many bastards. There are ones readily found in the Stormlands and the Vale, as well as King's Landing."
"What will Stannis do?" Illyrio's little yellow mustache gave him a distinctly seedy look. His rings glittered in the torchlight: red gold and silver, set with rubies, sapphires, and even yellow-striped tiger's eyes. Every finger bore a ring, and some bore two.
"I don't know. He might provoke a war. I think he will share this secret with old Jon! Stannis has no allies, after all, and few people like him. The lion, the wolf, the rose, even the Stormlands knights-poor Stannis."
"Too soon, my old friend. A fight between lion and Deer would do us little good! We are not ready yet!" Illyrio said anxiously. "And the timing..."
"We have no army. That is a deadly problem!" Varys sighed.
"Perhaps we must consider those savages. They hate seawater and have no learning, but at least they have tens of thousands of screaming warriors!"
"Must we really consider those savages? The Dothraki hate seawater and have no ships. Besides, even if we give them gifts, who knows how many years it will take before they repay us!" Varys said disapprovingly. They knew the savages' ways.
"We can only put our faith in that possibility. The magisters have no such armies and no intention of invading. A marriage between a khal and a true dragon. Things would improve once the princess was pregnant. Only after the child is born might the khal act!"
"Perhaps we have another option!" Varys reminded him.
"You mean that mysterious Fireweed King?" Illyrio mused. Though grossly fat, he moved lightly, his weight on his heels, walking as a water dancer should.
"Do you remember that I once gave a smith one of the king's bastards? Black hair, blue eyes, a strong build!"
"You mean-!"
"Yes. Judging by his build and deeds, I suspect he is that boy. But he has escaped my control!" Varys stressed. "If this bastard learns his parentage, he will surely attack House Lannister."
"Old friend, we cannot place our faith in outsiders. The Fireweed King has challenged slavery. That means turning the world upside down. There are too many concerns about cooperating with him, and he does not have tens of thousands of fighters either. Let us first see whether he can withstand Myr's attack!"
"Old friend, what are the rose and our dear Renly doing?" Illyrio asked.
"The rose and Renly are plotting. Renly sees all the quarrels between the king and queen. The Knight of Flowers keeps writing to advise his father. A maiden in her teens, beautiful and obedient. Lord Renly and Ser Loras intend to make Robert fall for her, marry her, and install a new queen. As for Littlefinger, who knows what he is thinking... And Lord Stark-the northerners are still keeping their composure..."
"My old friend, the situation is complicated. We need time. There are so many balls in the air. I hope you can be a splendid magician and buy us a little more time."
"I will do whatever I can," Varys, holding the torch, said softly. "But I need funds, and thirty more little birds."
"So many?" The light ahead dimmed, and Illyrio's voice grew fainter.
"The kind you want are not easy to find... young, yet literate... if they were a little older... less likely to die..."
"No, younger ones are safer... treat them a little better..."
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