Liomond Lashare, the lord of Battles, cleaved straight down with his mace, cracking the skull of the Tyroshi guard in front of him.

Around him on the wall, guards made a desperate stand to try and retain the high ground, but the red Crosses did their work, and they did it well.

It would not take long before they had completely routed or killed, every single one of the guards who had come running to try and stop the invaders.

Mayhaps a few minutes more of butchery, and it would be over.

By his side, an axe tried to split Hoath's head open. Quick as a snake, his shield shot up and took the blow with a crunching sound.

Hoath followed that up by slamming his mace into the man's knee, shattering it, and making him fall down with a scream.

Instantly followed up by Liomond breaking his neck with a well-placed stomp.

All around him, his men dominated the wall, in a way that only full armored men could do.

Their enemies were much more lightly armored. Some of the officers had a breastplate, but most just a set of chainmail, if that. The only real equipment every one of them had was a helmet and a cloak in that ugly orange coloring the Tyroshi were so fond of.

These were city guards, not a real military force.

Tyrosh, like all the free cities, did have a standing military. But it wasn't that big, maybe some 9000 Men, and he expected that they would be down there, eventually meeting his comrades in the field, rather than up here on the walls.

You didn't waste your cavalry up on the walls.

Truth, be told, he would rather have been down there on the field, but someone had to take the walls and sweep em clean of annoying archers and crossbowmen.

His company was one that relied heavily upon defensive strategies, their specialty being utilizing a series of armored wagons he had invented himself.

He had made them to fight Dothraki but had proven good at fighting pretty much anyone that didn't have siege weaponry.

Up here on the walls though it was a chaotic, gigantic melee as men in the finest armor butchered lightly armored troops.

Finally, they broke.

Maybe two hundred or so men had been butchered, or thrown from the walls by the red Crosses, before what remained began to Flee.

A cheer went up from his beloved soldiers, and as he stepped back and walked up to near the end of the collapsed section, the rest of the army began to pour up through the nearby gatehouse in true force.

Now that the chaotic first push was over, the men were marching up in ranks, and formations. Not that they would get to use those formations up here on the walls, but it warmed his heart to see their discipline nonetheless.

His men. His sons. His pride and joy.

It was a strange way to regard a group of 3000 men, most of whom were twice his age, but it was how he felt.

Liomond had been all of 15 years old when he had joined the mercenary company of the red crosses. 6 years had passed since then, and countless battles, where he had forged these men into a real, true army that was two cuts above any company in Essos… Any that wasn't the golden company anyway.

When the young boy from Pentos had joined, young, poor, and with nothing but a strong arm, and an ability to read and write, the Red Crosses had been just another company.

He had been with them for 7 months until the day had come that their captain had decided to take on a contract to fight a Dothraki khalasar.

That had ended… Poorly for them.

The company that had been almost a thousand men by then, had lost 600 men to the blasted horsemen.

And if Liomond hadn't been there, they would have lost all. However, in the chaos, where every officer had been butchered, and it seemed the day was lost, he had stepped up to take the reins.

That first, circular fort of supply wagons had been a sorry thing, but it had saved their lives, and against all odds, they had beaten the Dothraki. The battle had lasted a full day, and they had fired every arrow and bolt they had.

And when what they had brought with them were empty, they had fired the arrows the Dothraki launched into their makeshift fort.

In the end, they had claimed a victory, as the Khal was dead, and with it, his khalasar was broken and scattered as the savages always did when their leaders died.

He had been barely a man then, but after it was all over, the survivors had all agreed on their new leader. The one who had taken command, and had led them inside that fort.

That was how the stories told it anyhow.

The reality was that most of the men had been completely numb from shock and battle fatigue, and since he had been the only one who acted like a commander, they had followed his lead, until they had been given their payment from the Norvos merchant prince who had hired them.

That was the moment he had truly become their leader, as he shared out the spoils equally amongst his men while investing the part that he took, into remaking their sorry band, into something much, much stronger than what they had been before.

There had been a speech involved, but it was the massive share of the loot that had won them over to him as their leader.

The chainmail had given way to brigandine, their mix match of weaponry, for crossbows and maces, and their wagon… Well… He had changed them quite a bit since then.

He had seen the way forward even then. Wagon forts. Large circular, mobile fortifications that could be created with relative speed, and once set up, simply could not be beaten in the field with regular weaponry.

He and his meager band had next been hired to take a company of Sellswords from Braavos, hired by some other Norvosi trader.

Their enemy had twice their numbers.

With their wagon forts, crossbows, and maces, they had lost less than 15 men.

That was the moment his men really began to believe in him.

He had taken the gold, shared it out amongst his men, and invested his share into the company once more.

And so it went, as they picked up recruits, invested into more equipment, and won battle, after battle, after battle.

In his seven years of soldiering, he had killed 9 different Khalasar, destroyed 84 different armies, and hammered out a company whose equipment now put even the golden company to shame.

Every one of his men now wore a mixture between plated steel, and silk-covered Brigandine in blue, white, and red. On their visored helmets, every one of them had a topped spike with their company's banner, a thorny red cross, surrounded by white, on a blue background.

He had also picked up some 500 mounted men, to sally forth from the fort and deliver a final forthcoming hammer blow, along with ballistas to fire from between the gaps.

The company he had formed, was in every way, a glorious military force.

There was just one problem.

They were Mercenaries.

The fact that they were successful Mercenaries, did not change the fact that they were Mercenaries. One day, every one of them would die in some field, fighting a pointless war for money.

For most of his men, that was enough. They had signed on to this dreaming of riches and adventure, knowing that one day, it would end.

So long as they kept winning and enjoying the spoils until the end came, that was enough for them.

Not for him.

The thought of just keep doing this forever, until his men died of age, steel or disease, sickened him. They were his men. It was his duty as commander to lead them to something better.

He was going to make damn sure that these men would get to retire somewhere, with huge tracts of land under them, plenty of wives for all of them, and lots of wealth to go around.

He had thought about the question of how to achieve that long and hard. In the end, he had decided that there were only 2 options, for a good, cozy retirement for him and his men.

Either, he would have to found a kingdom, or he would need to conquer one.

He had actually looked into building a nation on the Rhoyne. There was a spot between Myr, Pentos, Norvos, and Qohor where he could easily have set up shop.

In the end, however, he had refrained. That option would have required him to get into a massive war with all the aforementioned neighbors, all at once.

And which people would he populate his nation with? His men and… Who? Slaves? The few Rhoynar who still lived on the river? Madness.

No, if his men were to get land and wealth they would need for a good retirement, he would need to conquer a nation. In the end, he had settled on his homeland of Pentos.

Pentos was a grand city, that could have been a true power in the world. Unfortunately for it, it had the misfortune of being neighbors with Braavos, and thus, just like Lorath, it had ended up as a secondary power amongst the free cities.

He had not settled on Pentos for any sentimental reasons, however. He could not have cared less about returning to his old home.

He had chosen Pentos because the city had a large, large potential for more farmlands, in it's hinterlands, where he could set up land for his men, as what the Westerosi would call landed knights, with peasants to farm their fields.

All he had to do was topple a nation.

And so, he had begun to invest everything into equipping them as good as money could buy.

Every single man in his company now wore a set of full armor, plated breastplates, greaves, arm guards, leg guards, shoulder guards, all mixed with brigandine to maximize both protection and mobility. Not to mention they all looked like lords with their silk-covered Brigandine.

He had been planning a conquest of the City long before the Silvertongue had invited him to meet to discuss an alliance with similarly minded folks.

He was rather glad he had decided to come. Thanks to that, his beloved men would get access to weaponry they could never have dreamed of to help them in their conquest.

The power of dragons.

As he stepped near the edge of the breach, Jaime from Andalos handed him a horn.

He put it to his lips, and blew, signaling that his part was done.

On the opposite side of the breach, their brothers in arms from the summer Islands were doing their part to clear the walls.

It took a bit longer, and with more dead on their side, but they did clear the walls, and began to move up on them in force.

Xhobar walked over to the edge, and giving him a nod across the breach, he also put a horn to his lips and blew.

That was all that their comrades had waited for.

Below, thousands and thousands of men began to move in through the breach, now completely free of any attacks from above.

They poured in through the gap, like a massive, orderly tidal wave of steel and cloth. First in rode Alequo Adarys, dressed in pretty much the same style of plate, brigandine, and silk, only his carried that dark yellow color of his, and the banner he carried was similarly colored, with only that color, with no sigil, or coat of arms covering the yellow background.

Alongside him were about 500 men on horse, in similarly splendid armor.

Behind them was Fossaways' contribution to the conquest of Tyrosh, some 200 mounted riders, though, unlike Alequo's men, they were not wearing plated steel, instead just coats of chainmail, shields, and helmets.

The lances in their hands though were just as shiny and pointy as their more armored brethren.

He knew all of them were knights, though frankly, compared to any knights he had ever seen, they were pretty unremarkably unequipped.

He was sure there were some internal differences between knights that he did not understand, but he really could not have cared less.

Heavy cavalry was heavy cavalry, whether you out a Ser in the name or not.

What good was a knight if he didn't have a full set of armor?

Behind the unequipped knights, however, the largest part of their armies here entered.

The Golden Company.

Here and there, he saw officers in red, but for the most part, the mass of men moving forward beneath him was a golden mass with dragons pointed high.

Behind them, giant elephants moved as well, decked out in astonishingly thick and heavy armor suits. Well over twice the height of a common man, the monsters moved with a slow, but unstoppable walk, like they were a living tower… Which hey pretty much were, for on their back, a small guard tower was fastened, and upon every back as a team of men and a siege dragon.

Yes, he saw the future in the men moving beneath him.

For as amazing as his wagon forts were, like all forts, the power of hand and siege dragon was about to make them obsolete.

Well. At least they would go out on a high note, helping to conquer half the known world.

And finally, behind the Golden Company and their elephants, were the Jolly Fellows.

They were a truly weird lot, led by a sorcerer, who frequented himself with other witches and warlocks. Hell, Nine Eyes had apparently married at least two of those.

Their men were not as professional as his glorious Red Crosses, and the discipline incarnate that was the Golden Company, nor the ruthless men of Tom the Butcher, but they were decent enough fighters. Their spirits and morale were also incredibly high, and they were singing a jolly song about some bear and a maiden as they walked through the breach.

Their tactics in battle though… We're rather queer.

In particular, the company did have a war elephant. But unlike the massive siege weaponry that was the golden company's monstrosities, this one simply wore a truly ludicrous heavy set of steel plates.

It didn't even carry a tower on it's back. And yet despite it's burden, it walked far, far more deliberately than any of the Golden Company's elephants. Like it knew exactly where to go, even stopping to let men pass it by.

It and the entire band it served were a queer lot.

As the armies finally managed to make their way through the breach, they began splitting up into 3 massive chunks.

The Golden Company split in half, with one part going with two-headed Maelys, and the other with his lovely daughter.

The Jolly Fellows joined with Fossaways knights, while he and Xhobar would March along the wall and Conquer every single guard post.

Meanwhile, Alequo would take his riders, and carts of weaponry around the various farms in front of them, going from plantation to plantation and personally freeing the slaves by the tens of thousands.

They had done the exact same thing all over the disputed lands, with Tom, Alequo, and Saan all taking their turn to play the part of liberating savior.

Their rapid conquest wouldn't have been possible without this strategy. All the cities they had conquered were currently kept under control by armies of former ex-slaves, now turned soldiers under the new regimes. They were led by officers from their new kings, but the manpower all came from previous slaver plantations.

It was really, really easy to conquer slave-owning nations. All you had to do was break the chains of the slaves, then kill the ruling class, confiscate their wealth and lands, then give every slave a plot of land to work on that they owned.

In practice, they remained farmers and would continue to farm and produce food, thus keeping the nation running as it had.

But they were incredibly grateful, utterly loyal to their new king, and had a STRONG incentive to keep the new status quo in effect.

The worst possible thing that could happen to them after all, was a return to the way things had been.

So long as you were ruthless enough to wipe the old regime out root and stem, and didn't destroy the infrastructure, it was the perfect plan.

I


Ser Robar Daggerfall rode across the plains.

Here and there he spotted slaver drivers looking at him or his comrades in complete shock as he rode across the fields.

The slaves scurried away too, not really understanding who these strange Fellows in gold were.

The one time a slaver tried to stop him to ask who the hell he was, and why he and the rest were trampling all over the fields where the years' harvests were just popping out of the ground, Robar simply drew his hand-dragon and put a hole in his head.

He did wonder though why no word of a possible attack had been spread out amongst the Slavers.

Probably to prevent them from panicking or worse yet, revolting.

Either way, he did his job and scouted for any possible army the Tyroshi had ready to spring forth.

They weren't expecting a gigantic force, but surely there had to be at least one army of a decent size somewhere on this island.

But as he rode, all he saw was fields, and fields, and fields.

The rest of the scouts he saw didn't seem any more successful than he was, given the lack of a horn signal.

Robar was part of what Daemona Blackfyre called a Reiter, which from what he had heard, was just an old term from the Stormlands meaning rider.

Either way, they had two jobs. One was scouting, and the other was harassing the enemy with small, one-handed hand-dragons.

It was essentially just a more effective version of an outrider. A Westerosi knight might have bristled at being equipped in nothing more than a helmet and breastplate, with a horse with no boarding or protection whatsoever. The Golden Company, however, was built on effectiveness. Not on clinging to old forms of warfare until they got killed by other soldiers, who had ditched those outdated ways of fighting.

And man, were they developing fast. And all thanks to one person.

Daemona Blackfyre.

The wonder girl from Myr, who was the true brain behind their technology, tactics, and pretty much anything related to her new weaponry.

Of course, no one actually said that openly, but they all knew it to be true.

Maelys might want them to spread the word that HE was the mastermind behind it all, and within the company itself, the officers all said that it was Maelys who was responsible for the tactics, while the girl had been responsible for the weaponry.

The men knew better.

Robar in particular knew better because he had grown up with Maelys. He remembered the boy with no patience and a sadistic streak. There was no way that the two-headed oaf was responsible for their tactics.

A good fighter who lead by example he might have been, but a man whose brain was spread out over two skulls, one that was deformed and listless? He was a moron. He had been a moron as a kid, and he hadn't grown more sense since then.

Clearly, there was someone smarter, and more subtle behind him guiding the ship.

Daemon had been more clever, but not very wise. Else he would have refused the duel and ordered Maelys executed. Instead, he had gotten his head ripped off. And what had happened right after that? The girl from Myr had gotten free reigns, and "Maelys" introduced a whole lot of new tactics, and ideas, along with a bucket load of new technological improvements.

There was a lot of talk amongst the men, discussing whether Daemona had been the one who had manipulated Maelys into killing Daemon, so she could begin to take control over the company from the shadows.

The recent events had given lots of credence to that, as the girl had suddenly been given control over half the army for this conquest.

A woman. Clearly being groomed for command. Either she was pulling Maelys strings to make it happen, or he was quite a bit more sentimental than he let on.

The girl WAS clearly being set up as their new leader for when Maelys inevitably kicked the bucket. And when he did, she would slide into place, take over, and not be burdened with having committed kinslaying to get rid of that bloody fop that had only led them due to being one of only two remaining male Blackfyres.

There was a lot of talk about that, but the simple fact was that most of the army(himself included) liked the girl.

There were the weapons she had introduced, the tactics Maelys had taken credit for, but which were obviously hers, and frankly speaking, if the choice was between a cunning girl who created marvelous weapons after marvelous weapons that obliterated all before them, or another bloody fop in the form of another Daemon, whether it be Toyne, or God's help them Bittersteel, he knew where he would fall on the issue.

Frankly speaking, he could not have given less of shit about the betrothal arrangements between her and the Redwyne boy, that had their officers in such a bloody fuss.

So long as the girl kept leading them(Whether it be directly, or behind the scenes) to smashing victory after smashing victory, he would be content. He would follow her all the way to her coronation if need be, so long as he could get back his beloved keep back on the fingers.

It had been a small thing, and not much. Certainly, nothing compared to the greater tracts of lands the other knights lay claim to, especially the Reacher knights.

But it had been HIS home.

It was a small little keep on the smallest of the fingers.

A grand total of 7 villages of rather small sizes swore their allegiances to it, and no natural Anchorage spots for large ships.

Of course, that last thing could be fixed.

And easily at that.

When he had been young, he had once asked his father why they couldn't build a harbor. And the old man had told him that it just wasn't possible.

If he had ever visited the western coast of Essos, or just taken a ship to visit White Harbor, he would have known that all it would have taken to fix things, was a tiny little breakwater, a couple of months work, and he could have made it possible for larger ships to land.

That one little change would have allowed him to build his little piece of the world into something a hundred times more productive.

But no, that was the problem with the Vale. It was still thinking that it was the age of the andal invasions and not the modern age.

Nothing was changed there to make it more efficient. Everyone just went on, doing the same damn thing their ancestors had done before them with no change because that was the way things had always been done.

Lord Arryn sure as the seven hells would never consent to riding into battle with only a breastplate and a helmet, even if that was the way things were developing.

Well, he was here now, and tradition, just for tradition's sake was about to meet a particularly bloody end when they finally landed in Westeros.

Finally, Robar came upon an area that wasn't cultivated.

It was just a field, where some cows grazed, but no men were there to tend them.

That puzzled him for a moment, then he realized there weren't any predators here within these walls to threaten them.

Still, as his horse trotted out into the open plain, he got a distinct impression that something was… off about it.

There was just… Something in the air. Something… Wrong.

He squinted.

There was a hill over there in the distance, and… his eyes shot up and quickly spurred his feet into the horse's sides.

The star-shaped spurs Daemona had invented were quite a bit more effective than the simply pointy ones, but he didn't focus on that right now.

At that moment, he just focused on what he was seeing in the far, far distance.

It took him about 10 minutes of full gallop before he reached the hill. It had been further away than he realized, and larger too, but his horse had no trouble scaling the sides up unto it.

The sides weren't all that steep, but damn, the hill was tall. Maybe some 20 feet. It hadn't been before he got close he realized just how big this thing was.

Finally, as he reached the top, he pulled out a spyglass and began surveying what he had seen moving.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling a bit nervous, but he quickly began counting, as his training had drilled into him time and again.

One, two, three, four, six, seven, eight, nine, ten… Eleven. Mayhaps an army of eleven thousand or so was marching across the plains. Straight towards the breach from the north.

He had to get back immediately to report these numbers, but best to make his Fellows aware of the danger first.

A series of horn blows sounded in a pattern, as he began setting out. The sounds echoed strangely far and wide across the plains, in a way that startled him, as he began making his way down the hill. Also, was this hill more vertical than when he'd ascended?

No matter, his horse did manage to get down, and then, it was off in a gallop back the way he came. As he rode, he eventually spotted his fellow outriders, who rode up to meet him.

As they reached him, he wondered how far the army had gotten since they had left them behind. They had spent almost an entire day riding. How many more would it take to get back to report?

The battle would not happen today, that was for certain. There were too long distances for two armies to March, even if they force-marched.

No, at the earliest, it would happen on the morrow.