The storm had arrived. Gendry stirred up a black tempest.
He raised his spiked warhammer and struck left and right with practiced ease. Horses shrieked as the longspears carried the rest of the Wolf Pack cavalry forward at his side. The wolves cut cleanly through the formation, and none of the reckless men who had rushed the shield wall were spared.
"Damn it! It's the Fire Herb King!"
"It's the Wolf Pack's commander!" The Myrish free sellswords muttered in terror.
The alpha wolf on horseback was a fearsome sight—tall and broad-shouldered, deep blue eyes like the open sea. The spiked hammer in his raised hand gleamed with a cold, ghostly light, as if bearing death's greeting. The sellswords were no fools. They did not believe their skulls were harder than those of the Meereenese Gladiators or the Unsullied.
"Run!"
Joppo no longer cared about formations. The moment he saw the Fire Herb King, his courage fled. He abandoned his carefully arranged battle lines and turned to escape. He knew, in that instant, that he was a coward. He could not bring himself to return to the slaughter.
With what remained of the Unsullied and Meereenese Gladiators guarding him, Joppo utterly forsook the vanguard surrounded by the Wolf Pack cavalry. Like a maddened horse, he led the sellswords in a desperate flight from the field. The rear ranks scattered like startled birds. Hundreds of free knights, Brave Companions, and Unsullied in the vanguard were left behind to face the Wolves and the Free Company alone.
"Draw! Loose!"
Black Billy and Fletcher urgently directed the archers atop the hill, sending another volley into the Myrish forces before the shield wall. Horses screamed in agony. Warhorses reared and thrashed, some crashing heavily to the ground. Free sellswords caught beneath the falling beasts were crushed where they lay, with no hope of escape.
Before the shield wall could be broken, Gendry and his cavalry smashed into the fray.
A free sellsword charged bravely at him. Gendry swung his spiked warhammer. The blow struck the man's cheek, caving in helm, bone, and flesh at once. The sellsword dropped instantly. Gendry did not slow. His gaze fixed on the Brave Companions and the Unsullied—the strongest force on the field. He meant to shatter the Myrish line completely.
Vargo saw the tide turning and immediately wheeled the Brave Companions around. The moment he turned, the entire charging vanguard fell apart. The free knights broke at once. When they glanced back, they saw that Commander Joppo's reserves had already fled. Only twenty Unsullied remained, raising short swords and spears as they continued to press toward the shield wall.
Thud! Thud!
The shield wall locked tight again and advanced like solid stone. The Unsullied were forced back step by step, yet they held their formation and fought without retreat. But twenty men were not enough to reverse the battle.
"Leave those foolish Unsullied. Kill The Goat and his rabble first," Gendry ordered. The longspears understood at once.
Vargo was impossible to miss. His goat-helm stood out clearly. He rode a black-and-white zorse, tall and gaunt, like a rusted blade. A pointed goat beard hung from his chin, and a necklace of coins clinked at his throat—spoils gathered from the many lands where he had fought.
He wore a black chainmail tunic and lobster-claw gauntlets. Gendry came at him with a roar. Vargo hastily raised his longsword to block, but Gendry paid no mind to the defense. The first hammer blow sent Vargo staggering, his arm nearly crushed by the force.
"Boy! You little brat! I misjudged you!" Vargo roared.
He hacked at Gendry's head and shoulders, sword and warhammer clashing in sharp bursts of steel. Vargo had fought in countless battles. He was a scoundrel and a villain, but he was no novice. His strikes were vicious and precise, his movements quick and agile.
Yet skill meant little against overwhelming strength. And trapped within an ambush, Vargo could not devote himself fully to the duel.
He stole a glance at the wider field and saw his men being cut down by the frenzied northerners. The North's heavily armored knights crashed through the Brave Companions and the free sellswords like iron fists, crushing them without mercy.
Vargo slashed wildly, but his blade skittered off Gendry's hardened black scale armor. Without a Valyrian steel sword, few blades in the world could truly threaten a heavily armored knight.
"Die!"
The flames of battle burned between the Black Stag and The Goat as the two mortal enemies finally met. Gendry launched a savage assault, finding the familiar rhythm of the forge in his strikes, driving his strength cleanly through with each blow. Again and again, his heavy warhammer came down until The Goat's helmet shattered and flew free, exposing that long, ugly face slick with blood.
Gendry saw the fear on Vargo's gaunt features—the pointed beard, the hollow cheeks, the terror in his eyes. So even a butcher of men felt fear when death stood before him.
"Forgive me, Black Goat God!" Vargo cried piously.
Bang!
Gendry's warhammer crashed into Vargo's brow. The wound split to the bone. Blood, shattered skull, and brain matter burst outward in a grisly spray, a red mist blooming across the battlefield. Vargo dropped at once, lifeless beyond doubt.
His poor zorse, suddenly masterless, shrieked and reared before arrows pierced it through.
"The Goat is dead! The Goat is dead!" Gendry roared, his voice ringing like iron across the field.
The remaining sellswords collapsed in spirit, scattering like an avalanche, running in blind panic. Commander Joppo had already fled. Now The Goat was dead as well.
"You killed the captain, you madman!"
"Jester" Shagwell sprang out from somewhere in the chaos. He wore green and pink motley over chainmail. Cruel jests were his delight, and in his hands he swung a three-headed flail.
The Jester whipped the weapon through the air with savage force. Gendry's warhammer rose again, but the three-headed flail coiled around it, tangling the iron spikes.
Seeing his chance, the Jester grinned wildly. "Die, wolf cub!"
He pulled a black dagger from his belt, aiming for the gap in Gendry's armor.
Whoosh!
Gendry let go of the warhammer without hesitation. At his side hung an arakh. The curved blade sang as it cut through the air, and in a single stroke it sheared the Jester's head clean off.
The cruel-tongued clown would never speak again.
"Kill the Brave Companions!"
"Kill the Brave Companions!"
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
"Long live the Wolf Pack!"
The Wolf Pack's knights charged again and again like iron fists, grinding down the encircled enemy until none remained standing.
At the heart of the slaughter stood the Brave Companions, that rabble of criminals and scum, meeting their end. The knights crushed the field like hammers, trampling and cutting until resistance collapsed entirely.
"Surrender!"
"We surrender!"
The free sellswords threw down their weapons one after another. They already regretted taking this contract. The pay had been generous.
It had not been worth their lives.