The fat man introduced Scarface to the two of them. "Handsome Man, our infantry commander in the Wolf Pack Company. He's good with a flail, a curved blade, and a longsword."
Gendry and Qyburn made friendly overtures to Handsome Man.
"Compared to this young man, what kind of handsome man am I?" Handsome Man laughed heartily. "Let's go, the commander is waiting for us inside his tent!"
The Wolf Pack Company commander's tent was large and spacious, flying the tallest and oldest banners. A pack of wolves ran across them, the flags featuring various patches of different colors where they had likely been mended after tearing.
"These banners are over a hundred years old, from the wolf hour of the Dance of the Dragons all the way to now!"
The few of them entered the tent. Weapons hung from racks inside: flails, chainmail, warhammers, and spears. The Wolf Pack Company commander sat in a folding campaign chair. He was a sturdy man with grey hair, a grey beard, and grey eyes. To the commander's left stood a smiling, tall man with purple hair and beard that looked as though it had been pomade-slicked. To the commander's right was a man like a pitch-black phantom, draped in an exceptionally magnificent feathered cloak of green and orange that clearly came from the Summer Isles.
"Our commander, Greybeard! Our paymaster, Long Legs! Our archer commander, Black Billy," the fat man introduced. "The maester, an old man skilled in the healing arts. Iron Hammer, a strong and sturdy boy, still an apprentice blacksmith!"
Then the fat man stepped forward, murmuring quietly with Greybeard and the others for a moment.
"An old man joining our ranks-our Old Dick can finally have some company!"
"A great honor!" Qyburn answered gracefully. Dick, it seemed, was also an old man.
"Lad, the fat man says you've got plenty of strength. How about showing us what you can do?" Black Billy asked curiously.
"That's easy!" Gendry picked up an oversized adult warhammer and swung it about with absolute ease.
Greybeard and the others watched his pacing, his trajectory, and his facial expressions. Fighting men could tell a person's proficiency and strength at a glance. Gendry was unhurried and effortless, wielding the great hammer with mastery. Considering his age, it was practically god-given strength.
"Welcome aboard! From now on, you're brothers in the wolf pack. Roar with the wolves!" Greybeard said loudly, stepping up to embrace the two of them one by one.
In a brothel in King's Landing, within the deepest and most tranquil room. Many brothels in King's Landing belonged to Littlefinger.
Littlefinger Petyr and the spider Varys sat facing each other inside the room, the two of them presenting a study in contrasts between lean and plump.
Petyr was slender and agile, shorter than an average man, with a pair of smiling grey-green eyes. He wore a small beard on his chin, and threads of silver ran through his dark hair, though he was not yet thirty. Fastening his cloak was a silver-white mockingbird. Varys, meanwhile, possessed a plump physique heavy with the scent of cosmetics, his head as bald and smooth as an egg. He wore a loose purple silk robe and a pair of velvet slippers on his feet.
"Your silver mockingbird is a sight to gladden the heart!" Varys praised.
"Thank you for the kind words, my old friend! Any fresh news of late? You were in quite a rush to see me!" Petyr said with a smile.
"There is indeed such a piece of news!" Varys said. "An apprentice from a blacksmith's shop has vanished, leaving his good master terribly worried! A hidden letter left by the boy says he went to the Reach, but he might also have taken ship out to sea!"
"An apprentice? Blacksmiths' apprentices are everywhere in King's Landing, and losing one isn't the end of the world. Perhaps the boy simply couldn't stand the heat or his master's harsh squeezing!" Littlefinger spread his hands.
"Perhaps so! But I should think that if that exceptionally handsome and sturdy boy slipped away from the docks or the gates, your people ought to have noticed something of it now and then!" Varys said. "Who doesn't know that our Lord Littlefinger is loved by everyone? The customs officials and the King's Landing Gold Cloaks all adore your Gold Dragon!"
"The little birds chirp away-why don't the little birds go look for him?" Littlefinger asked.
"The little birds keep their eyes fixed on the heights and may forget to look down. My fault-my little birds are always limited in number." Varys spread his hands. The main reason, of course, was that he hadn't invested all that much care into this particular pawn.
"No trouble at all, my old friend! For you to personally ask after a boy means he can hardly be a nobody! Let me guess-could this child be the bloodline of some noble house?" Littlefinger's eyes rolled.
"Nothing escapes you, my old friend! Indeed, he is a boy of noble blood!" Varys said, lowering his stance.
"I shall do my utmost! Yet people constantly come and go in King's Landing, and there might be no trace to be found at all. You know how it is-a mere nobody is not something my friends care to trouble themselves over deeply!"
"I am glad for your willingness to help!" Varys chuckled.
"Let us share a cup! To the benevolence of our Lord Varys!" Littlefinger poured Varys a cup of Summer Red.
"Cheers!"
"I have a question: why have you changed your sigil, my good lord?"
"How terrifying a Titan of Braavos is, my old friend! Look how approachable this mockingbird is."
"Not merely approachable-a mockingbird imitates the calls of other birds, much as we attach ourselves to power!"
"Who's to say otherwise? After all, we are merely small players." The two drained their cups in a single draft, the Summer Red within glowing red as blood.
Chapter 17: The Smiling Knight's Companion
At the archery range of the Wolf's Den camp, the longbow instructor was teaching Gendry how to shoot. The targets were made of hay and straw, placed fifty yards away from the shooter.
"Just call me Dick, lad!" an old man in green robes and pale hair said to Gendry, looking at him with deep appreciation. "It's been a very long time since the Wolf Pack Company saw a recruit. I was beginning to wonder if I'd forgotten how to train an apprentice. The Wolf Pack prefers using Westerosi, but they have too many rules, and as a result, the pack has never grown very large."
"Right!" Gendry took the longbow, a tall bow of yew wood. He felt a mild sense of novelty; he hadn't expected the archery instructor to be some other old man rather than Black Billy, the expert from the Summer Isles.
"Good lad, I've never seen such a fine natural build, but you must remember that good steel still needs forging!" Dick said. A fighting man ought to be well-built, with a broad chest and full muscles.
"Many people place too much emphasis on swordsmanship and neglect the bow-that's a mistake! More often than not, whether it's a longbow, a greatsword, a flail, or whatever else is at hand, you use whatever works best! Don't overthink it; seize the initiative and strike first."
Gendry pulled on his shooting glove and stroked the longbow. Bows were dangerous things. Using one barehanded could easily lead to the bowstring tearing open a finger or splitting a fingernail.
"Good, right now!" Gendry notched an arrow, drew the bow, and took aim at the target ahead. His mindset was as steady as a rock; he caught the breath of the wind and loosed a fine arrow, though it landed some distance off-center.
"Not bad, lad!" Dick drew his own bow right behind Gendry, the motion as smooth as summer silk, and released an arrow that struck dead center in the bullseye.
"How was that?" Dick stepped back and asked.
"Brilliant!" Gendry began to applaud. The old man's archery was eye-opening.
"The wind, lad-you must mind the direction of the wind. You have good eyes and a steady hand, and I rarely see such a fine piece of raw material. But a battlefield is a chaotic place; you must learn to sense the wind instantly. Hitting the mark is nothing special; speed and accuracy combined make a master!"
"Now, fire a few more arrows. Don't force it-stop before you strain your muscles, and let me see just how much strength you have!" Dick looked at Gendry with eager anticipation.
Gendry hefted the longbow and loosed several arrows in succession, his breathing steady, his posture unmoving. Though he failed to hit the bullseye, every shot struck the target itself, and Dick's eyes grew brighter and brighter.
"Very well, lad, you needn't shoot any more!" Dick said happily. "I've truly laid eyes on a natural talent, a born warrior. Your stamina is greater, your endurance stronger, and you can fire several more rounds in battle than anyone else!"
"You need a good bow, lad! A good hand cannot lack a good bow; it's our very life!" Dick declared. "The finest bows are dragonbone bows and the Goldenheart bows of the Summer Isles, though unfortunately both are worth a king's ransom. A step below those are yew, weirwood, or ordinary beast-bone bows. I'll have to find you a proper one."
Dick went on to teach Gendry the proper shooting stance to avoid straining his muscles. He held nothing back from such a natural-born warrior.
After practicing for a while, Dick let Gendry rest on a long wooden bench set beside the archery range.
"I heard others say you come from Westeros?" Dick asked. "More specifically?"
"Yes, King's Landing. Yourself as well?" Gendry asked with a touch of curiosity.
"Aye, I fled to these parts from Westeros too! Have you ever heard of the Kingswood Brotherhood?"
"I have!" Gendry said, pleased. "A band of lawless outlaws whose stories are still told in King's Landing!"
Gendry had even heard ballads about the Brotherhood. In the taverns of King's Landing, he had once heard a wandering singer chant thus:
"The roving Kingswood Brotherhood, they call us thieves by trade, With the forest for our castle and the world our home and glade. No gold can flee our steel and blades, no maiden spares our clasp, Oh, roving Kingswood Brotherhood, the terror of their grasp..."
"The Smiling Knight, Big Belly Ben, White Doe Wenda, and Oswin Longneck, the Three-times-Hanged!" Dick rattled them off as if counting family treasures.
Gendry thought for a moment; there seemed to be a Dick among the Kingswood Brotherhood as well. He looked at the old man, having initially assumed it was merely a shared name. "You're that Dick from the Kingswood Brotherhood?"
Gendry looked upon him with newfound reverence. This man was truly a demigod of archery. Dick the Bowmaker had been born in a village near Stonehelm. He had once taught Ullmer how to use a bow, and some held him to be the greatest archer who had ever lived.
"I am!" Dick nodded, unconcerned. "I was once a member of the Brotherhood-a magnificent bandit. Now? Merely an instructor killing time in a foreign land! Aside from Ullmer, most of my companions are dead." The Targaryen dynasty had fallen, and he was entirely free to return to Westeros, but most of his comrades were already gone, including the White Bull and the Sword of the Morning, who had led the crusade against them. For him, returning would only mean a place of sorrowful memories.
"Didn't the Kingswood Brotherhood get wiped out entirely by the Sword of the Morning back then?" Gendry asked curiously.
"There was indeed a major battle, fought in the Kingswood. Jaime Lannister, Arthur Dayne the Sword of the Morning, and Barristan the Bold encountered my most famous brothers, including the Smiling Knight and our leader Simon Toyne. Barristan killed Simon Toyne, and Arthur Dayne slew the Smiling Knight. Later on, White Doe Wenda, Oswin Longneck, the Three-times-Hanged, and Big Belly Ben were captured while trying to break through the encirclement-though not I, for at that time I was away in the stormlands searching for choice timber to make longbows. When I learned the news of the Smiling Knight's death, I fled across the narrow sea," the Arrow Maker murmured. That was over a dozen years in the past now! The people of Dick's stories had all become things of the past.
"The Smiling Knight? And the Sword of the Morning!" Gendry found the two men fascinating; they were legends in their own right.
"The Smiling Knight-he had the build of an ordinary man, but twice the madness. Despite his madness, he was a master with a blade. As for the Sword of the Morning, even now I can scarcely imagine how he could have met his end on some obscure patch of earth in Dorne. He was the strongest of our generation!" Dick recalled.
"Are there any young prodigies in Westeros of late?"
"The Knight of Flowers!" Gendry thought about it, but he hadn't really heard of many rising stars besides the usual lot: Barristan the Bold, Jaime of House Lannister, Bronze Yohn, and their peers.
"What do they matter? So long as you're willing to accept the training of the Wolf's Den, every last one of them will be your vanquished foes!" Dick said with disdain. "I've seen plenty of those trumped-up young lords. Back in the day, the Smiling Knight once killed a Rose."
"Come now, old man, are you regaling the young fellow with your old tales again?" Handsome Man walked over, spotting Gendry and Dick on the bench. He seemed familiar with Dick's bouts of nostalgia and called him out directly.
"Let's go, kid. The commander has a new assignment for us!"
Gendry parted ways with Dick and left. Over these past days, he had undergone a battery of training in the Wolf Pack Company-archery, swordsmanship, and horsemanship. Now, it seemed, the time had come to take the field.
Chapter 18: The Firepowder Herb Estate in the Disputed Lands
The morning light was chilly as Gendry and Qyburn followed their captain, Handsome Man, away from the Wolf's Nest to head toward their employer's estate in the Disputed Lands. The grey banners of the Wolf Pack Company fluttered in the wind. The Disputed Lands lay further south than King's Landing, and the climate was milder, with the single shared trait being their proximity to the sea.
Gendry followed his companions across sweeping plains, catching sight of numerous villages, towns, rolling hills, and small rivers. Many slaves toiled away here in the fields, and numerous archons and nobles held estates here. The Wolf Pack Company numbered around forty souls, with Gendry and Qyburn among them-their very first assignment with the company. On occasion, the Wolf Pack Company crossed paths with other mercenaries; they would exchange greetings and quickly part ways, for mercenaries trusted one another not at all.
Gendry wore his blackscale armor, and strapped to his saddle were his spiked warhammer, a yew longbow gifted by Dick the Bowmaker, a Myr crossbow, and a dagger. Maester Qyburn was far more at ease; the elderly physician commanded respect and rode a docile, good-natured old horse.
Four scouting horsemen rode far ahead, probing the situation before the column.
The Disputed Lands were never peaceful. Situated in the southwest of Essos, the region was perpetually contested by the Free Cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh, with Volantis occasionally joining the fray. Ever since the collapse of the Three Daughters, the endless disputes of the Disputed Lands had sustained a vast multitude of mercenaries.
"The Disputed Lands are divided in two. Closer to the Three Daughters are the towns and estates controlled by them; there is some order there, and ordinary mercenaries generally know better than to cross archons and wealthy merchants. The Myrmen grow Fireweed on their estates-the raw material for Myr firewine-while the Tyroshis plant pear trees and raise pigs. As for the Tyroshis... no, the Lyseni plant red and white grapes, and grow aromatic herbs to make perfumes," Handsome Man said, flicking his riding crop. "But the central zone is a chaotic battleground where the Three Daughters tear at one another and mercenaries and adventurers slaughter each other! If you want a long life, you'd best stay out of that ring."
Gendry nodded. The Disputed Lands were rather like an arena for venomous insects: the deeper one went, the more dangerous, chaotic, and vicious it became. For cities with advanced manufacturing like the Three Daughters, the sources of raw materials relied entirely on the towns, lands, and estates near the city-states. Even the sprawling Volantis boasted three dependent towns whose scale rivaled cities in Westeros.
"Be cautious, lads! There are more mercenaries in the Disputed Lands than fish in the river!" Handsome Man said. "Quite a few of them are outlaws and bandit-mercenaries!" Once a mercenary cast off order, they became little more than robbers and raiders.
"The Doom of Valyria laid the foundation for Essos as it is today!" It was much like the barbarian invasions and imperial fragmentation that followed the collapse of a great civilization. Gendry watched the shifting curves of the land beneath him, which featured virtually no towering mountain ranges. It was a pity that such fertile soil had remained mired in conflict ever since the Doom of Valyria.
The Three Daughters fought over the Disputed Lands and the Stepstones, while the war between Pentos and Braavos had ended in a crushing defeat for Pentos-a war fought not only over slavery but also for control of the fertile lands and waterways between the two cities.
Most terrifying of all was the rise of the Dothraki. Four hundred years ago, the Dothraki swept out from the east toward the Free Cities, sacking and burning every town and city in their path-including the Kingdom of Sarnor, the Quarthian cities in the Red Waste, and the Ibbenese settlements of the Kingdom of the Ifequevron-until Temmo and his khalasar of at least fifty thousand were stopped by the Unsullied of Qohor. During the Century of Blood following the Doom of Valyria, the Dothraki drove commoners from their hovels and nobles from their estates, leaving behind nothing but grass and ruins from the Qohorik Forest to the sources of the Sar Mell.
"This is the place we are to protect! The Firepowder Herb Estate!" Handsome Man said. Having looked at him for so long, Gendry felt his scar could almost be considered quite benevolent. The wolves halted only upon sighting a Myrmen-style estate; the entire expanse of low hills belonged to it.
Gendry saw a vast tract of dark green plants standing about waist-high, the edges of their leaves already tinged with an iron-brown hue.
"Those are Fireweed! Very valuable!" Handsome Man introduced. Fireweed was used to treat lacerations and commanded a high price.
"This is my first time seeing a Fireweed estate!" Qyburn remarked. As a maester, he naturally knew the efficacy of Fireweed, but this was indeed his first time seeing such a vast hill planted with it.
Gendry had heard his companions speak of the employer. The one who had hired the Wolf Pack Company was an archon of Myr. The Myrmen archons all possessed private estates, vast farms, and mines in the Disputed Lands, though the archons themselves rarely visited. This particular Firepowder Herb Estate was rather special because of the immense value of the Fireweed crop, which was used to craft Myr firepaste and Myr firewine. Moreover, it lay close to the heart of the Disputed Lands, and the archon was forced to hire mercenaries to protect the estate during the harvest.
Catching sight of the Wolf Pack Company's banners, the lookouts at the Firepowder Herb Estate blew their horns, the notes long rather than short.
"They're here! My old friend! I've already had hot water and food prepared for you!" The steward of the Firepowder Herb Estate walked out, accompanied by several slaves, to welcome Handsome Man and the mercenaries. The steward was an olive-skinned Myrmen free man, not a slave.
"Sorry for the trouble, Master Lev!" Handsome Man stepped forward to say.
"I've been waiting some time for you! This time of year is always when I'm most anxious!"
"Rest easy, old friend, you always fret. With us to guard them, these Fireweed will make it safely to Myr." Handsome Man gave a hearty laugh, waved his hand, and the mercenaries filed into the estate.
Before you continue