On the blood-soaked battlefield, the Meereenese man still twitched on the ground.
"They're not trying to wipe us out!" Gendry said. "They're trying to slow us down!"
Gendry's iron hammer had crushed half the man's skull, leaving a gaping hole in the shattered bone. The Meereenese was on the verge of death. But Gendry didn't finish him.
Qyburn stepped forward, still obsessed with his plan for an invincible guard of undead warriors.
"This is an excellent specimen!" Qyburn hurried over, carefully lifting a spear as he approached the half-crushed Meereenese—Baradak, a burly fighter standing seven feet tall.
The spearhead was coated in a thick, dark substance: Manticore venom, a poison that struck straight to the heart. Gendry recognized it at once. Qyburn had taught him the properties of many poisons.
Manticore Venom could kill instantly. But Qyburn had mixed in a blood-clotting agent and treated it with dark magic. He wanted the Meereenese to suffer in agony, clinging to life just long enough to see whether he could be turned into an undead warrior.
"I'll do it!"
Gendry took the spear and drove it swiftly and steadily into Baradak's body several times, aiming for the heart and the major arteries.
Baradak let out a few agonized roars. The bright red blood flowing from his wounds darkened into black. Wherever it touched the grass, the blades shriveled and died.
After a few more cries, the Meereenese finally went still. His heart stopped.
"Failed? Even a body this strong won't work?" Qyburn's old face tightened with frustration. Gendry let the poisoned spear fall to the ground.
Maybe it was the Red Comet. The magical tide had not yet arrived—without it, creating such formidable undead warriors was impossible.
The failure wasn't because the specimen was lacking. Qyburn didn't know the reason, but Gendry suspected it was due to the thinning of magical elements. Only after the Red Comet would these zombie warriors have any real chance of success.
"Throw down the Fire Herbs!" the Handsome Man ordered through clenched teeth.
The slaves dared not defy him. They untied the ropes and hauled three large crates from the cart.
The crates were dragged down and dumped onto the ground. When opened, dried, rust-colored Fire Herbs—worth their weight in gold—spilled across the earth in a wide heap.
The Handsome Man displayed them to the bandit knights on the hillside, making sure they saw the goods were genuine.
"This is my gift, Purplebeard! For you—all of you!" He walked to the rear of the column and shouted up at Purplebeard on the hill. "If we fight to the last man, you won't get a single scrap of Fire Herb. I'll burn it all. You'll gain nothing but death!"
Purplebeard stood in silence atop the hill.
"These Northerners really are hard as iron," he muttered.
"You'll die if you return to Myr!" Purplebeard called back. "Better to ride with me to Crown Town. With this Fire Herb, raising another Sellsword band won't be difficult!"
"Appreciate the offer," the Handsome Man shouted, "but the Wolf Pack never forgets!"
He ordered the slaves to move out.
Purplebeard's men did nothing as the Wolf Pack marched away. Only after they had gone some distance did Purplebeard signal his men to collect several crates of Fire Herbs.
"Boss, we're just letting them go? What about the Magister's mission?" one of his men asked.
"Magister? What Magister?" Purplebeard sneered. "The two Meereenese he sent were nothing but reckless fools. We'll take this batch of Fire Herbs and make our fortune anyway."
He let out a cold laugh.
"Everyone knows I'm a bandit Sellsword. Since when do bandit Sellswords care about keeping their word?"
"But what if the Magister holds us accountable?"
"For what? This miserable job cost me too many good men. Was that reward enough to cover it? Let those Myr men fight among themselves. With this Fire Herb, we can recruit and rebuild just fine."
...
The Handsome Man spotted a pot-bellied Myr merchant ship along the shoreline—the Mead.
At first, he doubted it was the Pirate King's flagship, but he quickly caught sight of Lysene figures aboard.
"I thought you weren't coming?" the Lysene pirate Salladhor Saan called out as he appeared on deck, flanked by two elderly Unsullied eunuchs.
He was a polished, slippery man, famous for his flamboyant attire. He wore a dazzling coat woven with silver thread, its long sleeves trailing almost to the deck, fastened with jade buttons carved in the shape of monkeys. His fine, pale silver curls were topped with a fan-shaped green hat adorned with peacock feathers.
The Handsome Man led his people aboard. Gendry studied Salladhor with interest. A descendant of the famed Saan pirate family, Salladhor was a Lysene pirate and Sellsword captain, and a close friend of Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight. He wore many faces—smuggler, merchant, banker, and notorious pirate.
The old pirate embraced the Handsome Man and kissed him on both cheeks.
"You've still got wounds on your face. The Handsome Man I know isn't in the grave yet—but I've never seen you in such a sorry state. And what of Greybeard? I fear he's turned into a ghost."
"Greybeard is still in Myr," the Handsome Man said darkly. "You must know how chaotic things are there. Our captain's fate is uncertain."
"Oh? And my gift?"
The Handsome Man handed him a spear—the weapon of a Meereen gladiator.
"We ran into some trouble. Two Meereen gladiators. There are likely more of them in Myr. They're crude and savage, but deadly when it comes to assassination."
"Meereenese. Those brainless brutes. It seems Magister Casso's dear friends are quite willing to spend their coin," Salladhor said with a chuckle.
"Your new ship?" the Handsome Man asked. This was not the Valyrian, the flagship of the Lysene pirates, but an ordinary-looking Myr merchant vessel.
"I own twenty or thirty ships, and I have plenty of friends. Borrowing one is easy enough. If I sailed my own, it would be far too conspicuous."
"So you're back to piracy?"
"Don't put it so harshly. If someone owes me money and refuses to pay, I simply confiscate his ship."
The old pirate then ordered his Unsullied eunuchs to count the Fire Herbs. He picked up a bundle and inhaled deeply.
"Beautiful. That old, rich scent. A true specialty of Myr. Magister Casso could have made a fortune this year. A pity his seat has drawn too many hungry eyes."
"Count it carefully, lads! The Wolf Pack are old friends, but I still take my tenth." He slung an arm around the Handsome Man's shoulder.
"Bring some hot wine for my men! My old friend Handsome Man will join me in my cabin. Add some white cheese and dried beef."
"And who's this?" Salladhor asked, noticing the Handsome Man motioning for Gendry to follow—a tall warrior with short black hair and an iron mask.
"Iron Hammer Young Gendry. The new Hero of our Company. His courage and strength surpass even mine."
The old pirate's eyes lit up. He clasped Gendry's hand warmly.
"An honor to meet a new Hero!"
"You'll have to make do with the wine," Salladhor added. "Pentos and Myr don't produce anything truly fine, and what little there is isn't cheap."
The Handsome Man lifted his cup.
"Even so, this wine tastes wonderful."
"Does the lad not drink?" the old pirate asked, as Gendry stood beside the Handsome Man like a wall of iron.
"He's shy. But on the battlefield, he's savage. Smashed two Meereenese to death."
"Remarkable!" Salladhor raised his thumb in approval. The Handsome Man did not praise young men lightly unless they truly deserved it.
"My old friend," Salladhor went on, lowering his voice, "Sellsword work is a dangerous game. Men with a conscience rarely live long. Why not join me instead? I have many ships, but I lack capable men. At night, someone slips vessels into Braavos, Myr, or Volantis. You guard my ships—I trust your reputation and your skill. In and out without a trace, hauling spices and silk. We'd all grow rich."
"Thank you for your generosity, old friend," the Handsome Man replied. "But our Sellsword mission isn't finished. Greybeard's fate is still unknown—we must bring him back. And these supplies are meant for Myr."
Salladhor sighed.
"You always think you've climbed some lofty branch. Personally, I find piracy far freer. I've tried persuading the Onion Knight more than once, but he seems to have truly taken to being a knight."