In King's Landing, inside the Dragonpit on Rhaenys's Hill, golden banners flew high outside the tents and over the open ground.
The quartered banners on a field of gold burned like a wildfire across the plain. The black warhammer and crowned stag, the red three-headed dragon, the gray rushing wolf pack, and the blue-and-white slave breaking his chains all seemed to come alive.
The desolate Dragonpit was truly enormous. As a single structure that occupied an entire hill, its openness could not be compared to either the Red Keep or the Great Sept of Baelor. The old tales said that a hundred thousand people had crowded inside when Aegon II was crowned. That was no doubt exaggerated, but the Dragonpit truly had that kind of scale.
Thud, thud, thud!
In the cool autumn air, the Dragonpit had become a vast construction site. The place rang with the clatter of walls being struck, and with the sounds of saws and hammers.
The grounds were being cleared, and new buildings would rise there, grand stone halls.
Carpenters, stonemasons, soldiers wearing the four-color dragon-and-stag badge, and soldiers wearing the Agile Hunter badge came and went. Some carried timber, while others pushed flatbed carts, hauled ropes, and helped clear the broken stone and rubble inside the Dragonpit. The greatest task was still the enormous dome riddled with holes. Once it had lost its balance and stability, that wondrous dome had become a danger. They would use small catapults and other tools to smash down the ruined dome, then clear it away bit by bit.
Gendry stood outside the site with the envoy from the Iron Bank of Braavos, watching the work. He had changed into a black leather vest over black chainmail. Orphan-Maker and a dagger hung at his waist, and a golden cloak draped over his shoulders.
Noho Dimittis, the Iron Bank envoy in a tall purple felt hat, looked at the busy scene before him and could not help sighing in admiration. "This is truly rare. Soldiers helping rebuild a city."
"The Prince's soldiers can, naturally. As for other soldiers, they prefer dice, drink, and women, but I will not let idlers have an easy time of it," the tall, gaunt, bald Randyll explained with a trace of pride. He wore chainmail and boiled leather, with a gray steel breastplate over it, and the greatsword Heartsbane protruding from behind his left shoulder.
This came down to the difference between types of soldiers. The standing army Gendry had trained in the lands of the Three Daughters was a disciplined elite force that received regular pay. Now he intended to set aside part of the Stormlands soldiers first, while the Unsullied of Astapor had formed another legion.
Most soldiers in Westeros, however, were still lords leading a few noble soldiers and household guards, while the rest were farmers and small merchants scraped from their lands and dragged straight onto the battlefield.
"It is an honor to see this," Noho praised. "But why are there maimed soldiers among them?"
Noho had seen several crippled soldiers in the crowd, cheerfully joining the work.
"The new domed hall is being built for them, and the surrounding houses will settle some homeless wounded veterans," Gendry explained. "This hall is called the King's Landing Home for Wounded Veterans. It may also be called the King's Landing Veterans' Home."
"You are truly kind," Noho said, his eyes brightening. "Once the Lannisters are destroyed, the war will be over."
"It is not that simple. The Seven Kingdoms must be united, yes, but the Lannisters and the Iron Islands cannot be underestimated. Still, I heard that after Volantis was defeated, many people in Braavos began having other thoughts?" Gendry asked.
"That is not something I could know. I am only a small employee of the Iron Bank." Noho bowed slightly. "My rank is too low. But you should understand that it was the courage to be no slaves that allowed Braavos to escape the Dragonlords' control."
Gendry smiled. The philosophy of Braavos was, in truth, a kind of isolationism. Braavos was wary of any hegemon, just as it had helped bring down Volantis during the Century of Blood. Naturally, it would also be wary of the empire now taking shape on both shores.
"At the very least, I hope that in your account, I remain a good friend of Braavos."
"Those willing to repay their debts on time are good friends of the Iron Bank, and friends of Braavos." Noho spread his hands humbly.
After all, Gendry's military display on the south bank of the Blackwater Rush had been too brilliant. He had broken through the enemy head-on, and now the cages on the south bank still held nobles from the Three Daughters, Volantis, and Slaver's Bay, while the graves dug there were filled with the bodies of slave masters, old Volantene nobles, and soldiers.
Even the dullest Braavosi noble could sense the rise of the Storm across the Narrow Sea, especially with Braavos itself in such an ambiguous period. The old Sealord was ill, and the new successor had yet to be decided.
"Good. Then you have seen it, Noho. My construction project is in full swing. Compared with war, I would much rather finish building my Hall of Honor." Gendry pointed to the rough outline in the center of the Dragonpit, where white lines had been drawn.
Showing weakness to the enemy was only a small trick, especially when the relationship between the two sides was so delicate. Braavos, King's Landing, and the Three Daughters were held in a fragile balance.
"This time, I will bring back the three hundred thousand principal you have repaid. After that, the Iron Throne's remaining debt will be seven hundred thousand golden dragons in principal. As for the new large loan you mentioned, I must still return to Braavos to discuss it," Noho said. Gendry asking Braavos for another large loan should have been a good thing, but with Braavos now both startled and wary, and with the political situation so tangled, Noho had to be even more cautious.
"Once I receive this sum, I will set out at once and bring the good news back to Braavos," Noho said. "At present, the Blackwater Rush and the port of King's Landing are still ruins. The river is clogged with shattered wooden piers and burned, sunken warships. Most ships are heading to Duskendale and using the harbor there."
"Safe travels," Gendry said to Noho, then sent Anguy to see the Iron Bank envoy off. "I hope that next time, you can depart from my port in King's Landing."
"There is a smell of gold on the Braavosi," Randyll said, stroking his chin as he watched the Iron Bank envoy being escorted down the hill. "The stink of copper."
"Not only them. All the Free Cities are the same," Gendry said, looking at Randyll. The systems of Westeros and the Free Cities were completely different. One belonged to martial lords, the other to wealthy merchants. "But right now, we cannot fall out with every city at once."
Randyll nodded. What they needed most was time. If a few golden dragons could send the Braavosi away happy, what was wrong with that? Once they had tightened the noose around Lys and Volantis, perhaps then would come the decisive moment with Braavos.
"Prince, we are badly short of manpower. Even maimed soldiers who serve us are usable," Randyll said as he explained the state of the works. "But now there is also the cleanup of the Blackwater Rush harbor. The port is full of severed limbs and wreckage from all kinds of ships, as well as the corpses floating in the river. Our wounded soldiers and the useless Gold Cloaks who ran back are not enough. I have already added some of your soldiers, and some of my own... I think we need more hands. The knights of The Reach have to go home and look after the grain, and the same goes for the Vale."
"Are you thinking of broken men, Lord Randyll?" Gendry asked.
In Westeros, broken men were soldiers who had left their posts without permission, abandoning their duties or evading their obligations without leave from their lord or superior.
Soldiers who failed to report for duty without permission were usually punished or imprisoned under military law. In wartime, men who became broken men were often hanged or executed on the spot by their lords, military officers, knights, or men enforcing discipline. Such men were used to plundering local smallfolk during war, so robbing girls, killing for coin, or taking lives for profit required little adjustment.
"Yes." Randyll nodded with a hint of melancholy. Broken men were, in truth, sins created by the noble lords themselves. They dragged farmers and tradesmen onto the battlefield, and in the end some died, some fell ill, and some turned to robbery. After all, not everyone held soldiers to standards as strict as Randyll's. "Autumn is extremely short, and the coming winter will be even crueler. Though those broken men fled the battlefield, some of them were once farmers and laborers. Rather than let them freeze to death or plunder the smallfolk outside, it would be better to settle them properly."
"I leave that duty to you, Lord Randyll. Later there will be an amnesty and reduced punishments. Those who come to us within a limited time may be pardoned or have their crimes lessened, but stubborn broken men who continue doing evil will be executed without mercy," Gendry said to Randyll Tarly. "Even among those seeking pardon, we will not accept true villains, the kind who plunder farmers and women. They must still be punished."
"Your servant understands." Randyll nodded. Dealing with Gendry was far better than following that fool Mace.
The birth, bloodline, and early education of lords ensured that most of them could at least become second- or third-rate warriors. Noble birth gave a warrior a foundation. But how high one could rise still depended on oneself, on talent, effort, and luck. The Wild Wolf had more talent for swordsmanship than Eddard.
Mace had the best resources and instructors in The Reach, yet it did nothing to change how hopeless he was on the battlefield. He had no strategic vision, and he was not outstanding in the lists either. His sons were far better.
Randyll's plan could gather scattered remnants, and if those soldiers were sent into the King's Landing Veterans' Home, they would become the King's servants and manpower, in effect adding more soldiers. If the Storm granted Randyll honor, Randyll was willing to lend Gendry his strength.
"As for the construction site and the Dragonpit, military discipline is in your hands. But after harsh winter, there should be a spring breeze. In terms of severity, Lord Randyll, you need not be too harsh," Gendry said to Randyll.
Randyll nodded. His military discipline was indeed severe. Perhaps it was not only Randyll, but a mark of the age itself, carrying the flavor of divine law and feudal law. Thieves had their fingers cut off, but if Randyll found a thief stealing inside a sept, he would demand seven fingers.
"Take this." Gendry handed Randyll Tarly a note.
Randyll took it without changing expression, glanced over it, and tore it carefully to pieces.
There may be trouble in King's Landing. Whoever calls you out is a traitor.
On the first day that followed, they cleared the Dragonpit and dredged the river. They stayed outside King's Landing.
On the second day, they cleared the Dragonpit and dredged the river. They moved into the military tents on the square inside the Red Keep.
On the third day, they cleared the Dragonpit and dredged the river.
Gendry scolded the rat-catchers and Lothor, saying their progress was too slow and Varys must have escaped already. By then, all Seven Kingdoms had received news of the enormous bounty.
On the fourth day, a new maid began boldly seducing the future King. Though Gendry said a few words to her, he did not have anyone reprimand her, as if he had truly sunk into court life. He moved into the Tower of the Hand, and in his chambers, Gendry began to enjoy drinking.
On the fifth day, "Pycelle" was released from the wooden prison on the Blackwater Rush and temporarily put in charge of arranging the ravens.
On the sixth day, Gendry took a liking to the "Septa Rhaelle" he had brought with him. The beautiful girl followed the Storm everywhere, laughing and talking with him.
...
As Gendry's presence in the Red Keep became commonplace, he seemed to have adapted to this life. Then came new word that Gendry would take ship for Dragonstone and soon leave King's Landing.
Deep in the night, the autumn wind grew fiercer and fiercer, beating against the narrow windows like a wild beast.
Gendry sat by the narrow window in the Tower of the Hand as the darkness deepened. Tonight, the one guarding him was the white knight Ser Balon Swann, who stood watch before the Tower of the Hand, having relieved Ser Barristan. His attendants needed rest as well. Their duties were heavy. Besides, they were not white knights, and they too were part of Gendry's plan.
Can the Spider really stay this patient? Gendry wondered. He had deliberately arranged for a "Pycelle" to appear, not the real Pycelle.
Boom!
A small bloom of green fire erupted somewhere in King's Landing. Judging by the direction, it was near Flea Bottom. Then the flames grew larger and larger. The sparks brought cheers, followed by a roar of voices, lighting the sky with heat and radiance.
"What is going on?" Tyene stared at the green fire. "Why is Flea Bottom burning?"
"Wildfire," Gendry replied. The Mad King had hidden wildfire all over King's Landing. Even after the pyromancers and Tyrion searched everywhere, there might still be a few flawed remnants left.
"Has it come?" Gendry touched Orphan-Maker. This was the Spider's last chance.
Ser Balon pushed the door open and entered. "Prince, it is indeed wildfire. The situation in Flea Bottom is rather serious. After the fire began, the poor started making noise again."
"Do not move for now," Gendry said. "Lord Randyll's men are at the Dragonpit, close enough to respond. The soldiers of the other lords are posted around King's Landing outside the city, and today Great Lord Stannis is with his men on the north bank of the Blackwater Rush."
"Prince, Ser Balon, forgive the disturbance. A maidservant from Pycelle's people is asking to see you below. She says Lord Pycelle requests an immediate meeting with Prince Gendry," a servant came up to report.
"Oh." Gendry put on a robe instead of armor. His weapons were Orphan-Maker on his belt and a crossbow. "Finally."
"Shall I go with you?" Ser Balon asked.
"No need!" Gendry waved a hand, drunk and unsteady. "I will go see the Grand Maester and return. With the white knights so few in number now, you should keep watch over the Tower of the Hand."
"Is Lord Pycelle here?" Gendry saw the thin maidservant in a loose leather robe waiting below. Together they crossed the inner yard. Every courtyard and tower seemed like a monster. Gendry was unfamiliar with this place. He had never lived here. The moon waited in the sky, round and lovely, yet cold and distant.
The maid nodded and led Gendry onward.
Pycelle's chambers were beneath the rookery. They were spacious, with shelves full of herbs, salves, potions, and several racks of books and scrolls. The place was usually warm, but tonight was different. The moment Gendry entered, he felt a bone-chilling cold inside. Only black ash and dying embers remained in the hearth, and a few scattered candles cast dim little circles of light.
Everything was covered in shadow, except for the open window.
The instant Gendry stepped inside, the smell of wine on him vanished from his mind.
Whoosh!
Something rushed toward him like a giant's fist, aimed at his ribs.
Gendry drew back swiftly and slipped to one side of the wall. The quarrel struck the floor.
Gendry saw "Pycelle." "Pycelle" sat behind the table, his head resting on a thick, leather-bound tome. Gendry noticed deep red wounds on the "old man's" mottled scalp, a great chain around his neck, and a pool of blood beneath his head, soaking into the pages. Beside the candles the Grand Maester had lit were bones and brain matter, scattered through the melted wax like little islands.
"You did not leave!" Gendry drew his sword. The blade was dark as smoke and dust. Yet the stink of wine on him was very strong, and dodging that bolt just now seemed to have used up all his strength.
"The Storm is indeed the Storm. Quick on your feet. But, but tonight you die here too," Varys said hoarsely.
"I am sorry." Varys wrung his hands. "I know you must be surprised, while I stand aside like a wicked old woman watching a show. Let us bring this to an end. I will grant you release."
The eunuch pursed his lips and gave a soft whistle.
A cold wind rose. Many pale shadows emerged from the darkness. More than a dozen children appeared, holding daggers and crossbows. They wore ragged robes, their faces pale. The Grand Maester's door had already been locked tight.
"With them?" Gendry asked.
"You are Robert's son," Varys said with a smile. "A man is often less agile after drinking. It is a vile thing to kill a great man this way, but I have no choice. Blame your arrogance, and your greed."
Before Varys had finished speaking, bolts hissed through the air.
"Release!"
A strange sound suddenly rang out inside the room, while the chain still hung around Pycelle's neck.
But the old man vanished. The brain matter, death, and blood vanished with him. In his place stood a tall woman, her legs long, her body slender, Pycelle's chain hanging at her throat, and a beautiful, alluring face.
Varys's eyes nearly split open. "Pycelle."
Gendry turned nimbly and hid behind a bookshelf as bolts struck into the shelves. His figure was quick and agile. With his first stroke, he cut off the maidservant's head.
"You finally came, you rotten maggot of the night!" Melisandre cursed.
Then a cloud of black powder suddenly rose. The little birds closest to her touched the powder, clutched their throats, and fell straight to the ground.
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