Chaos reigned along the road. The Brave Companions' bandit sellswords hurried ahead, with the Myr-organized column trailing behind. Horses whinnied and snorted. The Free Sellswords cursed at one another, arguing and trading barbs, filling the air with noise.
Joppo did not trust slaves, nor did he truly trust the bandit sellswords of the Brave Companions. He feared the Myrish slaves might turn on them; the Fire Herb King's slogans had already thrown their loyalties into turmoil. The only men he truly relied on were the thirty Unsullied and four Meereenese Gladiators—his uncle's most valuable legacy to him. The rest of Joppo's force was a loose gathering of free Sellswords and adventurers, far too undisciplined for his liking.
"How much longer?"
Joppo spurred his horse forward and rode up to the captain known for hacking off limbs, Vargo, who wore a goat-helm.
"About… about two days or so." Vargo's speech was still slurred, but Commander Joppo kept his expression polite.
"I think we should wait a little longer," Joppo said after a moment, suppressing the unease rising in his chest. "If we coordinate with the fleet to attack from the west and have the Crown Town sellswords strike from the south, three forces advancing together would be far safer."
Rumor painted the Fire Herb King as a demon of war, a master of horsemanship and arms who could smash Meereenese Gladiators and leave the Unsullied broken in moments. The safest course would be to hire the Golden Company, but their price was outrageously high, and Magister Joeyr refused to pay it.
"Three forces? For what?" Goat Vargo snorted. "So more men can come and split the spoils with us? They're nothing but bandit sellswords and runaway slaves. What's there to be afraid of?"
Shagwell "the Fool" had just cut off the heads of two runaway slaves. He strolled over with the heads dangling in his hands, making them "talk" to each other.
"How did you die?" one head asked.
"I supported the Fire Herb King!" the other replied.
Commander Joppo felt his stomach churn at the sight, but he forced himself to endure it.
"The Wolf Pack's cubs aren't that weak," he said coldly. "And neither are those die-hard escaped slaves. If they were, so many Sellswords wouldn't have failed before us. This mission isn't some easy prize."
"Anything unusual ahead?" Joppo asked.
"Nothing, Commander Joppo. All quiet," the Jester replied. "The estate owners are afraid of the Wolf Pack's attacks. They've locked their manors tight. Hardly anyone is traveling the roads, so we can't gather any intelligence. Except I did catch two slave brats who slipped out of an estate, trying to run off and join the Fire Herb King."
"It's too quiet," Joppo muttered, scanning the wide expanse before him—flatlands, narrow rivers, and scattered estates. The green Disputed Lands were dotted with woods, and to his eyes, every patch of forest seemed to hide killing intent. He had always felt his uncle was too optimistic. Waiting for a three-pronged advance might have been the wiser choice.
"There are estates all around here," the Jester suggested. "Instead of letting the Fire Herb King take them, why don't we raid them first?"
"No! Absolutely not." Joppo hurriedly stopped him. "These belong to the Magisters. We can't act recklessly." They were here to crush the Wolf Pack, not to create new enemies.
"That's too dull," the Jester sighed. "I'd still like some gold and silver to spend. The Wolf Pack brats control six or seven estates and the surrounding lands. They must have plenty of coin—and all that Fire Herb."
"That's my uncle's wealth, and the property of the other Myrish nobles! You've already been paid your wages!" Joppo snapped, his vision swimming with anger. There was a reason no one wanted to hire a sellsword company with such a foul reputation.
"Look at you, all worked up, Lord Joppo. We were only joking!" The Jester burst into laughter.
"Pick up the pace!" Vargo ordered. "We'll find a safe place before we make camp!"
...
The black goat banner snapped high in the sky as they spotted a wide road and a low hill ahead.
"It's the wolf cubs and those lowly runaway slaves!" Commander Joppo saw it clearly: a shield wall already formed across the road, oak shields and heavy timber braced together as a barricade. On the hill to the left, longbowmen and crossbowmen stood ready, eager for the fight.
"Doo—doo!" A shrill horn split the air, followed by the pounding of war drums.
"Move! Forward!" Joppo shouted.
"Shut—shut your mouth, Commander. If we want to live, we fight like brothers! Brothers, charge!" The Goat swept his gaze over the dark mass ahead. Most of them were runaway slaves who had never seen real bloodshed. Behind them stood the Free Company's ranks, their equipment noticeably poorer—chainmail and leather armor, worn and outdated.
"Fine!" Joppo clenched his teeth. "We'll make one charge. I'll give you twenty Unsullied!"
Captain Vargo's eyes gleamed with cruelty. He personally led part of his men, together with twenty Unsullied and mounted knights from the free Sellswords, in a headlong charge.
There was a chance. The Wolf Pack's true elites were few. If they could shatter the shield wall, those estate slaves who only knew how to till fields and grow Fire Herb would collapse in panic. Victory would be theirs.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Longbows and crossbows loosed their volleys, targeting those charging at Vargo's side. The Unsullied were disciplined and well-equipped, and crossbows lacked the reach of longbows. Amid the hurried fumbling of some crossbowmen and the brief lulls between volleys, the Brave Companions found their opening.
"Watch the longbowmen! Break the formation if you want to win!" The Goat roared. Men around him fell, arrows punching through flesh. He barely avoided one himself. There were skilled marksmen among the enemy, but he had no choice except to press on.
Bang! Bang!
The Unsullied advanced in formation, spears and short swords ready. Other sellswords swung long axes against the shield wall, hacking for a breach. Yet the Free Company's reserves seemed endless, constantly reinforcing the line and keeping it steady.
"Infantry forward! Infantry forward!" Joppo saw the formation beginning to loosen; the shield wall looked close to breaking. Infantry surged in, and Joppo ordered the free knights to press the attack. He let out a breath.
So this was the Wolf Pack? Nothing impressive. He could already taste victory—the inheritance of his family's wealth, and perhaps even election as Magister.
Then the shouting changed.
From the woods on the right, fifty or sixty heavily armored knights burst out at full gallop. At their head rode a Black Knight—black helm, thick iron mask, clad in black scale armor, a spiked warhammer gripped in his hand. They crashed forward like a flood, straight into the Brave Companions and the Unsullied.
Bang!
Gendry's spiked warhammer came down head-on, crushing a free sellsword's face into a ruin of bone and blood.
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
The Wolf Pack cavalry roared as they plunged into the fray. Meteor hammers, great axes, and long spears tore through flesh and bone, sending up a gruesome mist of blood and shattered skull.
Joppo's vision went dark. Glory and honor vanished in an instant.
All that awaited him now was defeat.