As the sky slowly brightened, the gray-white Wolf Pack banners flew high above the walls. From atop Myr's ramparts, Gendry, the Red Viper, Brown Ben, Qyburn, and Fletcher could see the vast sea of Dothraki screamer warriors more clearly with each passing moment. The Dothraki would begin their assault at dawn.
Out on the waters of Myr Bay, the towering ships commanded by Morosh continued to prowl. The Dothraki feared the sea, and those warships still carried soldiers and archers aboard.
"We must rely on the strength of the city—hold fast and strike back," Gendry said. "The Dothraki's tactics are simple, and western Essos offers almost no natural defenses."
He had designed a layered defense for Myr: the Unsullied forming a shield wall outside the city, longbowmen stationed along the battlements, catapults positioned just inside the gates, and the fleet patrolling the bay.
The Dothraki fought in a fixed pattern. When a khalasar moved, scouts always rode ahead of the main host, searching for prey and signs of the enemy, while advance riders guarded the flanks. After battle, the "Jaqqa Rhan," warriors bearing great axes, would harvest countless heads from the dead and the dying. Little girls followed behind, pulling arrows from corpses and gathering them into baskets for use again.
The houses around Myr's gates had already been torn down and brought within the city. Now the infantry stood in formation directly before the western gate, unmoving. At the front, the Unsullied beat spear against shield in steady, forceful rhythm.
"Thud!"
"Thud!"
Wearing spiked helmets and holding Longspears and shields, the Unsullied led the soldiers in their roar. Gendry had equipped them with sturdier, more practical armor—well within the skill of Myr's craftsmen.
Yet there were only a few dozen Unsullied. Behind Greywolf stood the Wolf Pack soldiers and the Free Company troops he had trained. Further back, Wolf Pack infantry and Free Company infantry clad in plate and mail waited with weapons and shields at the ready, faces stern, eyes hard as iron. Though the ranks were set, they had not drunk the wine of courage nor endured the brutal conditioning that would let them withstand wave after wave of Dothraki assaults.
"Lady of Spears, watch over us," Greywolf prayed softly. "Watch over our commander, the Breaker. Grant him victory."
To the west of Myr Bay, the land had been ripped apart by Dothraki iron hooves. Rye and beans were crushed into the mud as the warriors raised their savage cries.
The Dothraki cavalry advanced like a rolling black cloud. Each rider wore his hair in long braids, small bells tied into them so they chimed faintly as they moved.
"Zekko is here!" Gendry caught sight of Khal Zekko—a middle-aged khal astride a black stallion, around forty years of age. He had bronze skin, black eyes, and black hair, tall and powerfully built.
Zekko wore a long beard, and his hair was braided into a single plait that reached his thighs, threaded with small golden bells. Time had left its traces: fine lines marked his face, and streaks of white showed in his hair.
"Seven thousand screamer warriors, give or take," the Red Viper said.
"Zekko has staked everything on this," Gendry replied. The Dothraki were ever greedy. Since they had accepted gifts from Tyrosh and agreed to come, they would not be satisfied without claiming even greater spoils.
Gendry had gathered all his cavalry: the Wolf Pack, the Long Lances, the knights of the Free Company, and the hundred Dornish light horsemen brought by the Red Viper. The Second Sons were cavalry as well, but their riders were too slippery—unsuited for a direct clash alongside the Myrmen.
"Then let's see who brings down this barbarian of the Dothraki Sea first," the Red Viper said with a faint smile. His squire carried a spear at his side, its leaf-shaped head wicked and gleaming.
"This spear is eight feet long. The shaft is cedar—smooth, thick, and heavy. The last two feet are steel. I originally prepared it for another brute."
"The Mountain." Gendry knew at once who he meant. The Mountain stood close to eight feet tall, weighed near thirty stone, and was nothing but muscle. He could wield a two-handed greatsword in one hand and split a man in half with a single blow. His armor was so heavy that no one else could wear it—few could even lift it.
"Exactly. A spear is perfect against a monster like The Mountain. As for this pig? I won't let him die too quickly," the Red Viper said, brimming with confidence.
Overconfidence is never a good thing, Gendry thought, but he said nothing. Against a giant like The Mountain, caution was wiser.
The Dothraki roars rolled across the battlefield. Khal Zekko led his screamer warriors to within sight of the formation, yet he did not immediately order the attack.
"Run!"
"Run!"
A group of slave boys were driven forward and released. No girls—girls were still considered valuable property. The boys sprinted toward the gates of Myr. They had bronze skin and almond-shaped eyes, resembling the Dothraki, but they were shorter, with flatter features and close-cropped hair.
"Lamb Men," Brown Ben said. "They live in the Lhazareen, southeast of Vaes Dothrak. A herding people. The Dothraki call them 'haesh rakhi'—Lamb Men—because they're meek and live by tending flocks."
"So this is how the Dothraki mean to show us their strength," Gendry said coldly.
The boys ran on foot. They could never outrun horses. The screamer warriors spread out, herding them like animals and forcing them to scatter. Whips cracked. Riders lashed the children's backs as they galloped past. A boy who stumbled was overtaken; his scream tore through the air as blood streaked down his back.
Those farther out soon grew bored. Some wounded boys collapsed and could only crawl. The Dothraki drew their bows and loosed. Arrows pierced the Lamb Men boys through the back. Within moments, they all lay dead before the Myr lines.
Gendry watched the slaughter in silence. Brutality alone achieved nothing. It only deepened the hatred and fear the Myrmen felt toward the Dothraki.
"Once the cavalry rides out, I'm counting on you," Gendry said to Brown Ben, Maester Qyburn, and Fletcher.
"Leave it to us."
"I still want to bring down a few more horsemen," Fletcher muttered. "They say the Dothraki are unmatched with the bow."
The killing was merely the first display the Dothraki offered. Yet what puzzled the khal was that the Myrmen did not retreat. They held firm, maintaining the Unsullied formation.
Dothraki scouts quickly noticed the flaw. There were not thousands of Unsullied after all. Their tension eased.
Seeing no vast army of Unsullied before him, Khal Zekko finally gave the order to charge.
Under the open sky, the screamer warriors surged forward. Their long braids gleamed black in the sun. Bare-chested, without shields or helmets, they wore painted leather vests, leggings bound with horsehair, and bronze belts. Only the khal's belt differed—bright gold and finely worked.
"Crack! Crack!"
The catapults groaned, then hurled stones the size of a man into the charging ranks.
Some unlucky riders were struck outright, their bodies bursting apart. But more Dothraki pressed on, slamming into the Unsullied formation.
"Armored cowards!" the screamer warriors shouted.
Greywolf and Steel Fist held the line. At the outermost ring stood the Unsullied and a thousand Wolf Pack soldiers—seasoned and fierce. Behind them, two thousand Free infantry only needed to hold.
"Bang!"
Some riders were thrown from their saddles, yet the shield wall did not break. They had received their first surprise. Before the Unsullied line, Gendry had ordered oil spread thickly across the ground. The once-dry earth was soaked and slick, spoiling the momentum of any charge.
"My victory depends on how long Greywolf and Steel Fist can endure," Gendry thought as he watched the battle below. He felt like an arrow drawn tight upon a bowstring, ready to be loosed.