Chapter 19: Storms
Corwyn was unmistakably a Velaryon, even from a distance. He possessed the classic Valyrian purple eyes and silver hair, not unlike Aerys, but for a boy of fifteen Corwyn was tall with well-defined calves from many hours of hard riding where Aerys was leaner, more graceful.
It was not by any means difficult for Lelouch to spot his brother among the throng of people awaiting his arrival. Strange, but stranger still was Lord Leyton's absence. He couldn't remember a moment since the campaign officially began that the squire was not besides the lord and knight.
"What word from Lord Leyton?" Lelouch asked.
"He sent me, but not to deliver a message," Corwyn said, hesitating.
"He sent you from his side to fight with us instead?" Lelouch asked with a frown.
Corwyn nodded glumly. "To protect me, he said. I don't know if you've heard about what Blackfyre's done."
"The knights he released and their messages," Lelouch said. "Is House Hightower under suspicion?" It was wise of Leyton to send him away. At a time like this, the taint of suspicion was a plague that spread through association.
"Not them specifically. The whole of the Reach is, alongside the Yronwoods, the Tarbecks, any of the houses that sided with the Blackfyres during the First Rebellion really," Corwyn said. "Swords were nearly drawn when the new Lord Caron pointed out the Reach had suffered few losses initially during the Battle of Naqes, and that only a fool or a traitor would've ordered a charge unsupported into the Golden Company's lines."
"Lord Caron has grown a sharp tongue since his father's death," Lelouch said. The hatred between the Marcher lords, the Reachermen, and the Dornish was a deep and old one, from when a hundred men still claimed kingship. Time had mended those wounds some, but they were not forgotten at times like this. "Still, if there's any good to be had from this, it heartens me to have you at my side in the battles to come."
"There is that," Corwyn said.
As they reached the camp's edge, he spotted but a handful of the stormland banners fluttering by those of the Reach and Dorne, like daffodils swaying in the grasslands and desert. Far too few, Lelouch thought, and the banners from the other regions here are too many if they'd begun pacifying the other islands already.
"Has anything else occurred while I was away?" Lelouch asked. "The eastern islands, do they remain in our hands?"
"Prince Lewyn returned from the Veiled Isle, and Maelys has made no move against us since Naqes," Corwyn said. "We've not seen him or any of his allies along the coast of Essos we patrol."
Nor had anyone caught sight of Lashare went unsaid. Lelouch was certain the sellsword would have showed himself by now… had something happened at Myr to cause delay? It would be most unfortunate—Lashare would be easier to defeat on the field than behind Myr's high walls. Plans would have to be made to take the city after Tyrosh was brought to heel.
As for Maelys, most of the northern and southern beaches remained available to him. He could have marched either way in the past fortnight, while their own host had been crippled by mistrust.
Cyvasse would never come close to real war, but even in that… simplification there were three factors even a Volantene novice recognized as critical to the eventual victor of any position. Space: how much land was controlled by your side and their strategic value. Force: the quantity and quality of men you could bring to bear. Time: the most important, most elusive aspect of the three which governed the momentum of armies and the rhythm of war.
They were wasting the last by the barrowful, and it ought to be a crime. The Redgrass Field had shown even an hour's worth of delay could be the difference in war. Had Bloodraven been even a fraction slower, and Lelouch might today be serving under Maelys Blackfyre to crush Aerys Targaryen.
Hopefully not for much longer though. A knight with a mermaid on his shield found him soon after with instructions from Aerys for a war council.
Baratheon's seat, to Aerys' left now, was filled by Steffon.
It shouldn't have taken Baratheon this long to arrive with his reinforcements considering how much closer the stormlands were.
"King Jaehaerys recognizes the threat Blackfyre poses if he lands on Westeros," Gerold said, "and there are too many ports for us to cover while continuing to prosecute a war on foreign soil. Nor do we have, at this moment, sufficient naval dominance to negate the risks of his crossing."
"What then? Retreat?" Quellon Greyjoy scoffed.
"That would merely delay his crossing, but it would leave him dangerously free to do as he pleases in Essos," Gerold said. "No, the king has a different solution in mind. He has ordered Lord Baratheon to remain in King's Landing and raise a new host from the stormlands, the riverlands, and the Vale."
There was no other choice really. The crownlands had committed and lost too many men already, and if the situation ever grew desperate they could be rallied quickly to King's Landing. The Reach was currently mistrusted, and Dorne had always been distrusted. The westerlands had a weak enough Lord Paramount in Tytos Lannister, and to weaken him further might invite yet another rebellion the crown would inevitably have to get involved in. As for the North, Lelouch doubted a Sacred Struggle was all that popular to the followers of the Old Gods.
The new levies would stiffen the miserable gold cloaks in the event Maelys did manage to land, though they likely wouldn't see much in the way of reinforcements. Could they win with merely fifty thousand men? Maybe, if the Golden Company didn't get the chance to defeat them in detail.
"How many men?" Jason Lannister asked.
"Two thousand from each region, with Lords Baratheon and Royce in command," Jon Arryn said. "If we count the City Watch, eight thousand men altogether. More than enough to man the walls in case of a siege."
"Blackfyre's elephants won't do much good when our men have stone walls," Rickard Stark added.
"Not that we've seen them," Hoster Tully said.
"I wouldn't be in a hurry to face them in the field," Lewyn Martell said, leaning back into his chair.
"Have you seen them before?" Aerys asked.
Lewyn nodded. "Years ago, when I had served with the Shellshield Spears. They use them to scatter formations, panic the men, even as mobile platforms to rain javelins and arrows from."
"If they're so effective, why haven't they been widely adopted in these lands?" asked Rickard.
"They're expensive to acquire, to feed, to train. If mishandled or startled, the beasts can cause as much havoc within your own ranks as that of the enemy's. It's a risk not many are willing to take on," Lewyn said.
"Does the garrison at King's Landing mean our campaign might proceed as planned?" Lelouch asked.
"With some minor alterations," Gerold said.
The plan remained mostly intact as far as Lelouch was concerned. His independent command remained untouched while the others argued over who ought to lead what host in taking which islands. To make up for lost time, they'd be sending three hosts instead of two to pacify the islands.
Ser Jason would lead the smallest host of Lannister and Baratheon vassals on the westernmost attack to take Dustspear. Ironically enough, the island was closer to Sunspear than the Veiled Isle, but had never in its history paid tribute to Sunspear due to Lyseni meddling. Lord Jon Arryn would lead the northerners and riverlanders to take the central Grey Gallows, while the largest host of Reach knights and Dornish spears under Ser Gerold would make for Scarwood.
It made sense that their largest host would be the closest to the Essosi shore in case Maelys attacked, and Lelouch doubted anyone but the White Bull could keep the two armies from killing each other.
The moon was high and bright when they finally retired.
Lelouch's tent remained as he'd left it. The pavilion of heavy linen with a coating of wax and linseed oil in case of rain had little in the way of heavier embellishments beyond the chairs and tables for entertaining guests. Lelouch couldn't afford to bring the bare minimum for war as he preferred, or House Velaryon would lose face. Still, he kept the displayed wealth in relatively portable forms—small, elegantly crafted glassworks, exotic vintages from Lorath to the Summer Isles, anything that could be stuffed into a chest and carried off in minutes really.
What he didn't remember leaving in his tent was a bearded Lyseni with pale blue eyes like the dragonlords of old Valyria and the small chest of gold he propped his feet atop of.
"You've a guest, cousin," Donnall said dryly, standing behind the pirate captain with his hand resting heavy on his pommel.
"I hope you don't mind. I helped myself to some wine," Captain Lysandro said, pouring the both of them a glass of white wine. "Ah, smells like home!"
"You have news for me?" Lelouch asked after taking a seat across.
Lysandro nodded, taking his feet off the chest and sitting up straight. "We seized the tradeship Saltbreaker right before it reached the Sea of Myrth and the Tyroshi patrols. Skirted around Pryr and followed the Westerosi coastline back here, like you instructed. The chest of gold is your cut, and the slaves we passed along to your Myrish pet." He patted his head twice. "The woman with green hair."
"Cici confirmed it," Donnall said.
Lysandro clutched his heart in an exaggerated fashion. "I'm hurt! Do you not trust my word, young man? I may be a pirate, but I have my honor."
"I'm sure," Donnall said.
Lelouch rapped his knuckles against the soldier pine table. "This is the second ship you've hit, correct?"
"Yes, and by far the more lucrative of the two," Lysandro said.
"The first was a sampler," Lelouch said. An honorable pirate was still a pirate, and he couldn't trust the man to run off if he gave away all his leverage. "The other ships, unfortunately, will not be so easy to get to. They fall on the Lorathi and Braavosi routes. I'll have the next route delivered to you before my fleet departs."
Lysandro clicked his tongue. "Braavos is exempt from our raids. The terms of your man were quite clear."
"It only applies for foreign ships headed to Braavos, not the other way around," Lelouch said. "And Rasporos is not Braavosi."
"That may be so, but those routes are too far north, especially with Tyrosh so active. Unless you'd be willing to let my ships dock on that island of yours?" Lysandro asked. "If not, I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do."
"My, what little faith you have in me," Lelouch said. "I've been ordered to keep Tyrosh occupied, and I intend to succeed."
Lysandro laughed. "I like you. You don't flinch from anything, even using men like me. But I've seen the size of your fleet and you've some ninety ships that fly the seahorse. It is not enough to take Tyrosh. Your men will die beneath their high walls."
"If I deliver to you the impossible," Lelouch said, twining his fingers together, "then I might have earned your trust."
-ZeroRequiem-
"Twelve thousand marines?" repeated young Lord Josua Bar Emmon.
"Conservatively," Lelouch said. "They could add more than thrice that if they stripped Tyrosh and all their tributary cities of their garrisons today, though I doubt they would go that far. The longer this war goes on, the more men they'll be able to call on to serve in the navies." The recent coup that made Alequo Adarys sole master of Tyrosh had seen some of the city's marines killed. It would take time to recover from those losses, true, but Tyrosh had the gold for sellswords and the men to man their ships.
"Hard to believe coin counters would have so many swords to call on. We're greatly outnumbered, Lord Velaryon," said Lord Qarlton Stokesworth, one of the oldest crownlanders to have survived Naqes.
"If we let them bring the whole of their strength to bear against us in pitched battle, I'd agree," Lelouch said. "Which is why we won't let them."
"But if they attack, we'd have to respond," Josua said. "We cannot allow them an unopposed path to Ser Gerold's flank. Failure would dishonor all of us."
Quiet Duram, a nephew of the recently departed Lord Rosby, nodded.
"Which is why," Dylar Wendwater interjected just as they'd rehearsed, "we will not give them the chance to attack us."
"You want to attack?" Qarlton said. "That'd be even greater folly."
"If it means we'll face a host smaller than ours, or even at par, it may be our best option. Seize the initiative," said Josua.
"Numbers aren't everything in a fight," Qarlton replied. "Storming an island is costly, and no island has built walls as high as Tyrosh to my knowledge. Had we ten times their men and I still would advise against this course of action."
"I intend to attack, yes," Lelouch said, "but not at Tyrosh. Lord Qarlton, of all those present here, your house must be the closest to King's Landing. Tell me, how does a city of five hundred thousand get fed?"
"Not easily," Qarlton said immediately. "Wagons from the Reach, the riverlands, and the crownlands arrive daily to sell crops, meats salted and smoked; dried and pickled… you want to starve out Tyrosh?"
"Such an undertaking would be impossible with the meagre force we have to work with," Dylar said. "With under eight thousand men, we'd be hard pressed to take and hold enough of their hinterlands to truly starve them out, even if the Disputed Lands was not teeming with our enemies."
"They could also fish," Duram finally said.
"And they could also fish," Dylar said, acknowledging the boy's contribution with a nod.
"We'd have to blockade them by sea then?" Josua asked.
Qarlton shook his head. "Not until the last of the winter storms come to pass. I reckon we have a month or two more of those. We'd be scattered by one easily enough while the Tyroshi watched from their rock, then they'd sally out and round up the survivors one by one."
In all its years Tyrosh has never fallen save through duplicity or dragonfire for good reason. With Volantis' militarism after the Doom of Valyria, many forget that of all the Free Cities it was Tyrosh alone that the dragonlords established to be a military outpost first and foremost. The copper counting, and even their famous dyes came later.
"There are tributary cities sworn to Tyrosh," Dylar said. "They are smaller, but also easier to harm in this way."
"How so?" Josua asked. "Would not having less mouths to feed be a boon to them if we pursue this stratagem?"
"If this were Westeros, yes," Lelouch said. "Do any of you know how wars, normal wars, are waged between the Free Cities? My uncle once told me proper sieges were unheard of here. They surrender cities without spilling blood or bringing ruin to their fields." He held his hands out to either side, mimicking a scale. "When these men make war on each other, they see it not with honor as we do, but as merchants would."
The lords looked at each other.
"Do you imagine," Lelouch continued, "this complacency would serve the lesser cities well when faced with a force like ours?"
"If it's as bloodless as you say, these sieges… you want to occupy their cities?" Qarlton asked.
"We don't have the men to spare garrisoning every city we come across," Dylar said. "No, my lords, what we propose is something far simpler."
"We drive their smallfolk into the cities. Leave their crops to rot, burn their fields, leave their herds to the jackals," Lelouch said. "When they ask for terms, they'll find no one to bargain with. When they send their army, they'll find no host to take the field. It sounds simple, but I assure you they have never had to fight the kinds of wars we wage for long."
Josua pressed his finger on the map where the Tyroshi hinterlands lay. "If we're over here doing as you say, how does this keep their fleet away from Bloodstone?"
"If there is one thing I've learned to trust when it comes to copper counters, it's their self-interest. Alequo Adarys cannot afford to ignore us, not if he likes being the Archon of Tyrosh," Lelouch said. "Tell me, if an enemy of yours brought ruin to lands and villages titled to you as I'd just described, and you hid in your castles, would you be lord for long?"
"For a while at least," Qarlton Stokesworth said. "But if I was forced to hide long enough? No, I would be lord of nothing in truth."
"Lord of ashes and bitter dust," Duram said.
"You say these Essosi merchants see war differently from us," Josua said. "If this is true, why should the fate of a few cities bother them enough to react, when they could land a crippling blow on us?"
"They might see war differently," Lelouch said, "but you'll find the game of power remains the same. Alequo is new to the Archonate, and it was achieved through ill means." Adarys had purged his biggest rivals and obstacles when he took the city, but he could not very well order the wholesale extermination of Tyrosh's elite. "I imagine many men resent him for this. If cities long sworn to Tyrosh suddenly break away, well…"
Josua nodded. "He would look weak. Weak enough that his rule might be challenged."
"Ignoring us causes more problems than it solves," Dylar said.
-ZeroRequiem-
For a task where brutality was a virtue, there was no one better suited for it than Lord Dylar's monster-at-arms, Ser Rolan Redmoore. Besides, it was unwise to leave a man of his… qualities idle for long.
Ten oared taridas—ships designed by the Citadel specifically so that the Reach's knights could unload onto the beach already horsed—would bring Redmoore and two hundred swords to a point off the coast of Highwatch. It was well behind the chain of cities Tyrosh currently claimed as their border, some fifty miles north of Naqes, but that strip of shore was lightly patrolled after Highwatch had fallen into their hands. A change of horse would be made available to each man to ensure they remained mobile throughout the raiding mission.
"Bah!" Redmoore said as he listened to his orders. "Asking me not to fight whatever poor bastards I come across? You test me, Velaryon, truly."
Lelouch smiled. "If you prefer, I can have someone else lead it."
"And be stuck on this goddamned island doing nothing for much longer?"
"Those are your options," Lelouch said.
He sighed. "Fine, fine! I'll withdraw each time I'm faced with serious opposition, on my word as a knight."
"I'm glad we understand each other," Lelouch said. "I'll be rather cross if most of your men don't make it back safely. We only have five hundred knights and as many squires with us."
"Yes, yes, and if I lose too many men it means there'll be less battles we can take. So you've said," Redmoore said grudgingly.
The raiders were without lance and only lightly armored in helmets, breastplates over hauberks, and greaves. Still an overwhelming threat to any militia-grade force, but dangerously underdressed for anything more than a skirmish if faced with a serious foe.
They departed after two days of preparation.
The shoreline had to be scouted for any signs of the Golden Company or Fossoway's Knightfall Company—the only two forces with a heavy cavalry component that could shut down their attack before it could do damage. That neither were spotted was both boon and bane, as no one in the Westerosi host seemed to know where they could be.
While Redmoore set the vast farming estates to torch and drove slaves away from the planting fields, the crownlanders and Myrish auxiliaries were not just sitting about idly. Drills were conducted daily to keep the men alert and arrows needed making as they always ran short before the killing was done with. As for the smartest of Driftmark's captains, Lelouch set them about memorizing rhymes each noon.
"Red atop black, attack," they chanted in chorus. "Red below black, pull back."
"As clever as this wordplay of yours is, I cannot help but wonder what purpose it serves?" Dylar said. "We do not have some surplus of red and black cloth, or any colored cloth for that matter."
"Brown like sand, land."
"I've taken steps to remedy that. All in due time," Lelouch said.
"Blue dyed, starboard side. Black like night, flank right."
Dylar tilted his head. "As you say. It's been a sennight since Redmoore left, and the patrols around Pryr have not lessened a whit. If the Tyroshi have sent men to root out ours, they did not take them from there. It may be time for us to lean on them more, proceed to the next part of your plan."
Lelouch looked up to the sky, watching the wispy clouds strewn across it. "The legitimacy of the Archon rests on the compliance of tributaries, the merchants' prosperity, and the city's security," he said softly.
They could commit more men to Redmoore, accelerate the devastation in the hopes that defections occur. Not the slaveholding elite, those men were too rich and could buy every scrap of food to pass through their gates. They might be negotiated with however. The freemen? An option, but mayhaps too few in numbers with too much to lose. The slaves? Things would have to be truly desperate for men and women to face bared steel with bare hands.
Tyroshi trade was already a popular target for the Stepstone pirates, and the south and west was virtually closed off to Tyroshi captains save the most daring or foolish. The northern routes remained open as Tyrosh and Pryr made for formidable twin guards. Lelouch could skirt around them, launch privateers from Driftmark like he'd allowed Lysandro to do. That would take time to arrange, at the earliest a fortnight before it could bear fruit.
But to allow it in such numbers would be problematic once the war ended. A city needed trade, and traders had good reason to fear a lord that once openly invited pirates to stage attacks from their lands. It was not deniable.
As for Tyrosh proper, it would be denied to Maelys in time, but that time had not yet come.
"How much surplus in armaments do we have on hand?" Lelouch asked.
"Castle-forged steel?"
Lelouch shook his head. "That would be a waste. Normal steel will do or even iron workings. Anything sharp."
"What have you in mind?"
His smile to Dylar was all teeth. "Are we not in Sacred Struggle?"
-ZeroRequiem-
It was at times like this, when Cici stretched lazily on his bed and enjoyed the warmth of his blankets, that Lelouch thought her the personification of all things feline. Her eyes shared the shade of House Lannister's lion and her love of curling up on his bed—or perhaps denying him use of it—was certainly catlike.
"You're a fool," she said.
"You're the only one who thinks so," Lelouch said from the desk as he left the ink on his letter to dry.
"I'm the only one who knows you, and who you once were," Cici said. "Even now, you push yourself to do every vital thing. No wonder you had yourself killed after a few short months as emperor, you would've gone mad if you sat on that throne any longer!"
He read through his message to Driftmark one more time before he was satisfied it was without fault. "That was hardly why I did it."
"It wasn't," she conceded as she stood, "but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. You're a fool, Lelouch, to think you can affect change by doing everything on your own."
"I'm hardly trying to fight off the Golden Company single-handedly."
"No, but you are trying to do it against Tyrosh. Why else would you be landing personally with those weapons of yours?" Cici asked. "Anyone else could see them delivered."
"You don't know Rolan Redmoore like I do," Lelouch said, looking up. "I've worked with the man many times now—he won't listen to just anyone."
Her eyes hardened as she at the flickering wax candles, their dance reflecting against her irises. "He's a killer who enjoys killing. I know his type well. Let him savage a few men when the city falls to anarchy and he'll be happy as can be."
"The slaves will never rise up for him," Lelouch said. "He's a—"
"A Westerosi knight, a member of the privileged elite. Closer to a magister in truth than one of them for all his uncouthness," Cici said. "But so are you. Who is Lelouch Velaryon to the Essosi? Just some boy raised since birth to rule. Have you ever known a day of hard labor, worked 'til your hands bled? Have you ever felt that gnawing, bottomless feeling of emptiness as your stomach turns on itself? Have you ever been whipped for speaking out, or moving too slow, or just to sate someone's whims?"
"You know I have," he said.
"Not in this life."
He nodded slowly. "Not in this life."
She looked him in the eye. "Then don't sit there and lie to me. You were never counting on these slaves to rise up for anyone but themselves. All you're doing is giving them the means to take their fate into their own hands, and the opportunity brought about by sowing chaos."
"It would be difficult for these men to work with Redmoore. He has spent the past week and a half killing them," Lelouch said.
"Killing others," Cici countered. "Should he walk up to them, acclaim them free men and strike down anyone who could say otherwise, would they say no? If he fed them, clothed them, made them wealthy enough to truly be free men, would they deny him?"
"Perhaps," Lelouch said. "He's never been the diplomatic sort. Praise from him might sound like scorn, and his gifts a trap. Besides, he chafes at being put on a leash, making peace with those he sees beneath him may be the last straw."
"Then send your cousin Donnall," Cici said. "If you mistrust Redmoore, trust the boy you grew up with to see your will carried out. He has no command of his own and no part in your war councils. His only task now seems to keep your head attached to your neck, and he's not yet so fine a swordsman that he'd be the difference where over seven thousand spears fail."
"Is he not just as privileged as I am? He was raised beside me after all."
"He's a bastard," Cici said. "At any point he lost favor, you could have cast him out. That you never entertained the thought speaks more about you than him."
Lelouch shrugged. "He was family, and he never tried to kill me or mine."
"He was baseborn, and everyday for three years he'd leave you eating dust in the courtyard. Your otherwise flawless record in the eyes of men tarnished because of him. Because you could be compared to someone who learned all your fancy tricks with the sword, one at a time until they wouldn't work on him anymore," Cici said. "When your men thought you weak at Myr, do you think it wasn't because there was a better warrior standing next to you all these years? He gave them reason to find fault in you."
"Donnall sided with me in a heartbeat, even against his own father, and those men followed my uncle because I was a boy and he was not," Lelouch said. "You're reaching and you know it."
She walked over to him, placing both hands on his face. They were warm and gnarled and rough. Cici waited for him to look up of his own will before she spoke. "I guess that makes us a pair. You're looking for reasons not to send me."
"You're—"
Cici shushed him with a finger to his lips. "Is there anyone better? I brought this world my pies, just because I could and made thousands of people follow my whims. I was chained like they were, and when the Tyroshi behold me, they will see some likeness. A distant kinship perhaps, because my hair is colored in their style. Rasporos could not know from where it was I originated. Do you think that wasn't on purpose?" She knelt, stroking his hair. "I've lived many lives, experienced many things. When I play a role, it feels genuine because it was genuine for me, at some point. I've done this before, let me do this for you."
"Things are different now," Lelouch said. "You're—" The words caught in his throat. You're not immortal anymore.
"And you do not possess the power of kings," Cici said. "Why does that change anything? Those powers of ours were shortcuts, they always were. In two years or twenty, we would have done what we did all the same."
In a voice so small it was barely a whisper, Lelouch said, "I don't want to lose you again."
She stretched out his hand, and poked the smooth pink skin that had finally healed. "Then you ought to take better care of yourself. I'm not the one that's nearly died several times."
"Will this make you happy?"
"I'm happiest as your partner, Lelouch. I'll accept nothing else."
-ZeroRequiem-
Among the Three Daughters, the collars were seen as commodities to be bought, sold, and traded. What the magisters did not use them for was a means to feel superior, at least not primarily. So while the Volantenes would put ink to the faces of their slaves, forever marking their status as being beneath free men, the slaves in the Disputed Lands remained unbranded.
Certainly one could distinguish most of them through the collars they wore, their tattered clothes, or their unrefined speech, but if a slave were educated and valued enough to be given silk robes? Those, such as the tutors that taught the offspring of the wealthy, were virtually indistinguishable from free men.
The most valued slaves were treated well, and likely lived in luxury most free men could only dream of. Paradoxically, these slaves most capable of escape refused to; their fine dresses and rich food serving as a gilded cage stronger than the iron bars the chattel were kept in as punishment. If they left, where would they go and with what coin? They'd been domesticated, trained to expect a certain lifestyle they could not leave behind. The downtrodden, on the other hand, were worked to death and oft too tired to plan or execute any kind of escape.
"If I leave, how would I eat? Where would I go?" those men would say to themselves, and so the cycle continued.
There were some, of course, in whom the yearning for freedom burned so hot that they'd overcome these hurdles. Some, but too few to be a meaningful disruption. These, the magisters would claim, died painful deaths and their corpses left for the animals to pick at. Was it true? Who could say; least of all a collared man.
Controlling the narrative was a powerful thing the magisters understood, but now the reins had slipped from their fingers.
"Averillys has risen up in rebellion," Lelouch said to his war council. "The heads of slavers line their walls. Our scouts report movement along the coasts. Tyrosh has sent a contingent of their marines and sellswords under the banner of a two-headed man."
"The Myrish succeeded," Josua said in a tone that betrayed his surprise.
When he had sent Cici to incite rebellion, many lords opposed sending a woman. It's why he'd sent half the auxiliaries with her—they could not object if those men did not belong to them.
"Take heed then, and learn the lesson well. I do not trust lightly, and the people I choose are not decided without care," Lelouch said.
It was simple enough for Cici to come across a band of slaves driven off from the vast farmlands they tended. With their slavedriver dead, their master far away, and their fields burned and no longer fit for planting, there was little for them to do. She offered them pretty gifts and a cart of food, with directions to the closest city. They accepted of course, driven on by fears for their own safety.
Dressed nicely and with the ongoing food shortages, the guards didn't even look twice at the wagon before showing it in. If they had, they'd have found plenty of weapons hidden beneath.
They hadn't rebelled at first. But then the trickle of food making its way to the city stopped completely as the Myrish blocked the Valyrian roads leading to it, and the poor always starved first. Hunger, anger, and weapons made for a dangerous concoction in cramped conditions. Suddenly, those knives and iron swords looked far more appealing. It only took a handful of men to decide they'd rather eat than starve for violence to break out, and afterwards: madness.
Mobs overwhelmed the guards of the manses and city walls, those that hadn't fled beforehand. Magisters were stabbed half a hundred times. It was almost merciful that they died quickly, for their soft slaves too were seized and drowned slowly in the salt sea. Women had their silks torn and wrapped around their delicate necks 'til they choked.
The children fared worst of all. Their flesh was tender and when a crowd went rabid, even the Old Gods looked away.
Then, just as abruptly, the madness ended. Cici allowed the wayns and wagons to pass through, and she was acclaimed the First Friend of Averillys. She who had brought the city to madness with a single command to her people. Now the tributary declared themselves free, and word had spread like a plague.
The declaration was a challenge to Tyrosh's authority twice over.
"These smallfolk are not soldiers," Qarlton said. "Their city will fall in time to Tyrosh unless we assist them in holding the walls. If we set sail tomorrow, we could reach them with time to spare."
"We'll sail on the morrow, but not for Essos," Dylar said. "We've a different target in mind."
"They'll make a fine distraction then, if nothing else," Qarlton said.
Lelouch's stomach churned as he engineered thousands of deaths with but a word. "Pryr."
"The Tyroshi fleet has had to shift some ships around to be able to land the host they did," Dylar said. "Pryr's garrison has weakened considerably—we estimate it held by under half of what it had a few days ago. Maybe some thousand men left now and a dozen ships."
"They must think our host headed for Essos," Josua said.
"Them and everyone else," Lelouch said. Outside, the sky was dappled with rows of tiny fleecy clouds in a rippling pattern, like the scales of a fish. "My lords, I would hear your thoughts on how we might take and hold this Tyroshi outpost."
The jockeying for command began.
-ZeroRequiem-
Three weeks since he returned to Bloodstone, Lelouch found himself departing from its shores once more, though with living men instead of corpses.
Pryr was the northernmost island and the black sheep of the island chain, depending on which maester's classification of the Stepstones one was inclined towards. The geographic classification would see Tyrosh listed as the fifteenth island, technically also a remnant of the now submerged Arm of Dorne.
Politically? It was unwise to lump Tyrosh with sellsails, reavers, and pirates if one liked to purchase fine dyes. Though by that same argument one might claim Pryr was not truly of the Stepstones either. The Tyroshi held dominion over the island longer than anyone could claim over any other in the Stepstones. More importantly, almost every significant naval power in the narrow sea region recognized their claim. Culturally its inhabitants had adapted too, though without such ostentatious waste of wealth like dyeing one's beard in garish colors.
Living on a rock more ill-suited to agriculture left its marks.
It was, however, a fine port whose high cliffs kept the worst of the wind out not only from their harbor, but also those long, red slices of northern beach along Bloodstone. With Pryr in hand, Tyrosh exerted significant influence over the north-south trade routes running through the Strait of Dye and the Strait of Tyrosh. The same reasons why the Stepstone privateers could not totally shut down Tyroshi trade filled Maelys Blackfyre's warchest with an admittedly smaller, but still significant and consistent amount of gold.
That ended today.
"So that's what those rhems were for," Dylar said, staring at the mast of Seafyre where a red-and-black flag flew at half-staff.
"They arrived three days ago from Driftmark, along with that," Lelouch said, gesturing to a semispherical bronze bowl large enough to seat two grown men if not for the goat hide stretched tautly over its mouth. A tanned Myrman who'd formerly served Magister Rasporos stood behind it like a watchman, a pair of wooden sticks tucked beneath his armpit.
"I don't think I've ever seen a drum that large," Dylar said. "It looks heavy."
"It weighs ten stone, but the Myrish are fond of kettledrums for entertainment during parties," Lelouch said, "I've found it's sound quite distinct, and it has a quality of cutting through noise easily."
"Red atop black, attack," Dylar remembered. "You've been having your captains learn a set of commands."
Lelouch nodded. "Or move forward when it's in that position. The commands remain simple and serviceable for now, but with more time I hope to expand on the system."
"It would run into troubles with a large fleet," he said, stroking his chin, "or during times of poor visibility like night or a fog."
"You raise excellent points," Lelouch said. "You're right. If the fleet were larger, I'd have a few ships placed strategically to repeat my orders. Poor visibility would still hamper my orders though. I might teach men how to communicate by drumbeat in the future, if circumstances prove favorable."
"It would be quite the undertaking," Dylar said as a dozen Tyroshi ships launched to meet them. "So, would you have your captains staring at this ship's mast all day then? How are they to know when to look for new orders?"
"Like this. Flag to full mast!" Lelouch said as a seaman on standby started pulling on the rope to hoist the flag to its summit.
The Myrman pulled out his hardwood sticks and began beating on the kettledrum. The round, resonant sound it produced carried across the water easily. Heads turned towards them, and the captains began barking out orders. The fleet picked up speed.
"At full mast, it's meaning becomes attack," Dylar said, putting on his greathelm and lifting his morningstar.
So they attacked.
The Tyroshi fought bravely, the Tyroshi fought honorably, the Tyroshi fought valiantly. And the Tyroshi died.
Outnumbered seven-to-one, they never stood a chance and it took no cleverness to beat them. If the stakes of this war weren't so high, Lelouch might have felt badly commanding a fight so skewed instead of leaving it to a trusted subordinate.
"We ought to send word to our pirate allies," Lelouch said as he watched men raise the flag of Driftmark over the harbor an hour later. "The gate to Tyrosh's trade fleets lies open now, all that's left is to seize them."
"They'll come for us as soon as they're able," Dylar said. "And given how you've ordered Redmoore and those Myrmen to pull back from Essos, it'll be very soon. Averillys will not remain independent for long with nothing but ex-slaves and brittle knives to hold their walls."
"I'm counting on it," Lelouch said.
At every step, they'd forced Tyrosh's hand to this conclusion. Lelouch was entirely unsurprised when a hundred ships bearing the purple banner of Tyrosh came from the east after just three days.
Overhead, dark clouds gathered and thunder boomed.
Perfect.