The Dread Lord of Essos
Chapter 42
The constant barrage of stones against the city wall was really grating on the nerves of everyone in the city. Most were cowering in their homes, too afraid to go outside and see for themselves what the state of the city was. Those with slaves sent them out. The smart slaves simply found a relatively safe spot to hunker down until it was all over.
All night, the relentless pounding of the wall had the remaining Great Masters on edge. They had moved further down into the belly of the Great Pyramid where it was safer. They had their steel-reinforced doors shut and barred, which was the best they could do. They only hoped Nohklaz Pahl was doing his job.
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Hiding in the basement of his mistress's house, Nohklaz Pahl was downing another cup of sweet wine with shaking hands. He had told the Great Masters that he was returning to the city to lead his men to victory, but in reality, he went straight to his mistress and convinced her to let him hide in her home. He didn't know what he was going to do in his current situation. The only thing that he was certain of was that he needed another glass of wine. He grabbed the bottle and poured it into his glass that was sitting on a scuffed, old table in the basement. The small, underground room was only illuminated by a candle sitting right next to the wine bottle.
"What will we do?" his mistress asked in a shaky voice. With every loud boom, dust fell from the floorboards above their heads. She coughed and rubbed the dirt from her eyes.
"I don't know," he truthfully told her. "Try and wait it out, perhaps," was the only answer that he was able to give. Suddenly, the next boom was quickly followed by the sound of breaking rock. It was a loud, violent cracking sound that sent shivers through his spine. He immediately knew what the sound was. A portion of the wall had finally collapsed. Nohklaz placed his head in his hands. Things were about to get even worse.
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His army roared and cheered as the wall came tumbling down. Daemon flew by with Harry sitting on his back. Harry smiled as he looked down. Soon, his army would be inside the city, securing it street by street. Harry did his best to avoid destroying too much of the city below. He didn't want to destroy the city, he wanted to rule it. There were also tens of thousands of innocent slaves down there, and he didn't want them to die. Unfortunately, the innocent were never spared during times of war. Slaves would die. It was unavoidable. Harry just wanted to spar as many as possible.
Daemon landed close to his army, and Harry hopped off. The black dragon immediately flew back into the air and began circling the city once again, occasionally dodging ballista fire. Decked out in his black battle armor, Harry was ready for the next portion of the fight. With the walls and rubble still incredibly hot and the surrounding streets covered in red-hot embers, they would never be able to get in without serious injury. Fortunately, Harry had a little trick up his sleeve. Unseen by anyone, Harry waved his hand, and dark clouds began forming high in the sky. After a few minutes, the first rumble of thunder met their ears. After a few minutes more, big, fat drops of rain began falling. The sizzling of water being instantly boiled against the hot stones was louder than Harry thought it would. For nearly an hour they waited until Harry walked up to the rubble and began climbing over. He reached down and touched a broken block that was many times heavier than he was. It was still very warm to the touch, but definitely passable.
"We move!" Harry called out to the Captains. Within seconds, war horns were blaring, and his army fell into position. Standing on top of the rubble, Harry pulled out his sword and pointed it toward the city. His Captains called out their orders, and they all pushed forward.
Harry slid off of the rubble easily, never losing his footing. His army wasn't so lucky. Some tripped and fell. Some twisted their ankles, and there were even a very unlucky few who broke their legs trying to pass over the shifting slabs of broken stone. The vast majority, however, made it across unscathed.
It was eerie just how silent the normally bustling city was. Only the rain could be heard. Out in the bay, ships loaded with goods and slaves to sell immediately turned around when they saw the sails sporting black lions upon a cream-colored field. Those who were already there were shit out of luck, as Harry would say. Harry silently led the men that had already made it across the shattered remains of the wall. He heard coughing behind him. Smoke still covered the area, even though most of the ash had been settled by the magical storm that Harry had conjured. The ground was covered in a layer of black goo and chunks of charred wood. Ignoring this, Harry pushed on. The buildings closest to the wall had been ravaged by his relentless assault. Some walls and roofs had holes punched in them, while other buildings had completely collapsed. Harry could even hear the cries and moans of the trapped buried below the piles of wood and sandstone. He ignored their plights and moved on.
Two blocks down from the wall and there was still no one to be found. There was no doubt that everyone with working legs had high-tailed it out of the area the moment his ships had opened up. The buildings here had far less damage, though some had clearly caught fire.
With his hood up, the rain was unable to touch him. His men most likely found the cool water refreshing, even though the wet clothes and armor only added more weight for them to carry. Continuing on, Harry marched another block toward the city's center. With the rain pounding on rooftops, he never heard the sounds from above. He only heard the screams of his men who were peppered with arrows from the roof of a nearby building. Arrows bounced off of Harry's Valyrian Steel armor set while his men pulled out their shields to try and block the falling arrows. They locked shields above their heads, creating a solid slab of hardened Black Wood, though some of the men weren't so lucky. A young soldier dropped to the ground near Harry with an arrow buried deep in his neck. Suddenly, the entire upper half of the building completely exploded as Daemon flew by and raked it with his massive legs. Stone, wood, and men fell to the ground around them. A few of his men were crushed by the falling debris, but most escaped unharmed. The same could not be said for the enemy that had been firing down on them. The City Guardsmen were strewn across the ground, some dead, some groaning in pain. His men had little sympathy for them. Almost as soon as they had hit the ground, his men pounced on them, driving swords and spears into their chests to finish them off. Harry motioned for them to continue.
The deeper they pushed into the city, the more dangerous it became. As Harry started to cross an intersection, a massive projectile nearly took his head off. It flew by so close that Harry stumbled backward. Looking to the side, he saw a small group of men in the distance frantically trying to reload another bolt into their ballista. Harry's eyes narrowed. These were just one group out of many that had been firing shots at Daemon all day and night. With his sword in hand, Harry began to trot toward them before breaking out into a full run. He heard screaming behind him and knew that his men were following. Only five or so meters in front of them, they aimed and fired.
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"Hurry up, you fool!" Preznos Ulti cried out.
Growing up poor, Preznos had been delighted when he was accepted into the City Guard. His family had been so proud the day he finally finished his training. Now, he was wishing that he became a fisherman like his father. He had been spending hours taking shots at the horrid beast flying over their heads. When he saw the enemy enter the intersection, he quickly turned his small ballista, aimed, and fired. The bolt shot out, cracking the air as it flew toward the enemy. Sadly, it whizzed right past him and tore through a brothel's wall. It was then that he noticed the man's armor. It was made of black and rippled metal with a dark hood covering his armored face. His cape was flowing behind him, snapping in the harsh wind. Even through the downpour, he knew who this was. Preznos's eyes widened. "D-Dread Lord," he cried out in a hushed voice. "Reload!" he yelled.
Preznos nearly wet his pants when the Dread Lord began charging him. He called for his men to hurry. "Loaded!" one of his men called out. Preznos wasted no time. With the Dread Lord only feet away, he aimed and fired. His heart sank when the Dread Lord simply swung his dark sword and cut the metal ballista bolt in half, never breaking his stride. Preznos threw out his hands. "No … Please!" he begged, but the Dread Lord cared little for his pleas.
Preznos found himself tumbling through the air when the Dread Lord violently kicked the front of the ballista. Fierce pain erupted in his belly as his body rolled across the hard, stone ground. When his body stopped, he saw the remains of the ballista that he had been behind still tumbling away from him. He groaned in pain, holding his belly. Lifting his hand up, he saw it covered in blood. Beginning to panic, he looked down and saw a large piece of splintered wood sticking out of his stomach. He yelled in fright and panic, grabbing the piece of wood and giving it a tug. The pain it caused made him instantly release it. He began to panic. He thought about his mother and father. He thought about the woman that he wished to marry. He had already put the down payment on his first home and had purchased his first slave. He was supposed to live a long and happy life. That was the reason why he had been working so hard. All around him, his men were screaming. Kelhan stumbled and dropped to his knees with one arm missing. A sword was driven through his back and exploded out the front. Mozlheern, his friend who loved to get drunk and piss on passing slaves, was pushed to his knees right before his head was taken off. His vision was suddenly blocked by a tall, dark figure looking down at him. Drops of fresh blood were dripping off the tip of his dark sword.
The rest of his life flashed before his eyes as the Dread Lord gently placed the tip of his sword against Preznos's neck. He reached up and grabbed the blade, only to have his hand nearly severed by the razor-sharp edge. "S-Stop!" he begged as the blade was slowly pushed down. He felt the tip pierce his skin. It was only when it was an inch deep that the pain truly hit him. The sensation of being branded with a white-hot iron started at the point of penetration and spread throughout his body like an uncontrolled wildfire. He thrashed around as his body gained a burst of adrenaline, and he desperately tried to save his own life. The thrashing and clawing did nothing to save him. Only a second later, he was resigned to his fate, and he stopped fighting. A strange sense of calm passed over him as he gurgled on his own blood. Perhaps dying wasn't so bad, he thought to himself as the blade cut his spine in half.
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Harry pulled Fiendfyre from the neck of the young man just as his men had put the rest to the sword. "Move out!" Harry ordered. As they moved from street to street, the rest of his army was climbing over the rubble of the shattered wall. They began clearing streets and buildings as well. They were ordered to free any slaves that they came upon.
They had to be careful as they traversed the streets surrounded by densely-packed, tall buildings. There were City Guardsmen in many of them, waiting to fire arrows or even worse, poor flaming oil down on their heads. A small group of his men found that out the hard way. They spread out away from Harry, some going left to clear the buildings and some going right. Those that went right almost immediately began screaming in agony. Harry quickly turned to see them completely engulfed in fire. No matter how much they rolled on the ground, the sticky oil continued to burn, despite the rain. It wasn't long before they stopped moving, and their bodies continued to burn. Harry ordered another squad to run over and break through the door before any more oil could be tossed. They did as he ordered and barged into the house. It wasn't long before members of the City Guard were tossed from the roof. They hit the ground hard, and Harry could clearly hear the crack of their bones over the sounds of the torrential rain. Those men were also put to the sword.
With his men spreading out, Harry carried on with a small group of Unsullied warriors who were holding shields and spears. It seemed that every nook and cranny held danger for them. As they crossed the front of an alley, one of his Unsullied was forced to use his shield to deflect a large stone that was thrown at them. From the shadows, a group of ten men ran at them with swords in hand. Harry stepped up to the front of the group, his sword at the ready. As they arrived, Harry blocked the sword strike of the first to reach him. His momentum carried him forward, and Harry hip-tossed the man behind him. The screams told him that the rest of the Unsullied had made quick work of him.
Harry parried another attack, and an Unsullied spear slipped by his side and pierced the enemy in the gut. The man crumbled to the ground, holding his wound. With several of the guards dying, the rest began moving back. Harry and his men began pushing forward. Harry swiped at the neck of a man, but he was staying well out of range. Annoyed by this, Harry lifted his blade over his head and threw it at the man. The black sword became impaled in his chest, and the rest of the men cried out and ran. His Unsullied ran after them, their war cries loud and terrifying. Harry walked up to the man on the ground who was gasping for breath. Harry pulled the sword from his chest, making him cry out in pain. The shallow puddles of water around him first turned pink, then red as blood leaked from his body. Harry ignored him and pushed on.
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Slaves that were unshackled at the time of the attack ran down the lanes trying to avoid the battle that was raging around one of the fighting pits. By order of the Great Masters, every pit fighter was to fight to the death. They were to meet their enemy and force their retreat if possible. If not, they were to stall them as long as possible. If any pit fighter retreated back toward the center of the city, they were to be executed for treason.
It wasn't only the slaves that were fleeing the fight. The city had been filled with citizens of other cities and kingdoms. They certainly didn't want to get caught up in a battle that wasn't theirs to fight. Sadly for them, many died at the hands of the City Guard who perched on the roofs of tall buildings and fired at anything that moved back toward the city's center. They had their orders after all.
The pit was filled with carnage, and Harry was right in the middle of it all.
"Free the lions!" someone shouted. Roughly twenty lions began running into the sunken coliseum through steel gates that were being raised. Those who ordered this didn't care that their own men would get mauled as well. They were desperate.
Harry ducked under a mighty hammer swing from a particularly large dark-skinned man. The pit fighter had muscles on top of muscles, and he swung his warhammer with ease. As Harry stood back up, he was forced to dodge as the man lunged forward and jabbed at his gut with the head of the large hammer. Again, Harry slid to the side when instead of pulling the hammer back, the man swung it upward, trying to shatter Harry's jaw. Harry was having the time of his life. He swung his sword, but the man blocked it. Harry would wager that he was at least as good as King Robert was during the former King's hay day. As Harry's sword bounced off of the hammer head with a loud clank, the man kicked Harry right in the gut, sending him stumbling backward. Before he could regain balance, the man was already attacking again. Harry ducked, and he dodged. The man was sweating profusely, and his thick arms were bulging. Harry could see the corded muscles flexing underneath his dark, scarred skin. When he jabbed again, Harry was ready for him.
Harry caught the shaft of the hammer underneath his arm. Harry yanked it toward him, causing the man to stumble forward. Harry's headbutt was vicious. His Valyrian Steel mask smashed into the man's forehead, and he fell back on his ass. Harry swung his sword down, but the man rolled out of the way. As quick as a cat, he was back on his feet. Blood was dripping down his face, and Harry could see a deep gash where his face plate had connected. The man used the back of his hand to wipe away the blood. By then, he was starting to breathe heavily. The constant swinging of the heavy hammer and the hot temperature was starting to get to him.
Beside Harry, one of his Unsullied cracked a man with the butt of his spear, swung it around with a graceful move, and slit the man's throat. Blood began pouring down the front of his green and yellow tokar. The sound was disturbing. He tried to breathe, but only a wet whistling sound came out of the exposed windpipe. His Unsullied showed no mercy and finished him off by driving the spear right into his chest.
Harry's foe screamed and swung the hammer down right where Harry's head would have been had he not jumped aside. The hammer struck the stone floor, shattering a brick, and sending sharp shards and dust into the air. Harry backhanded him, and the man fell, his hammer slipping from his grasp. It was a shame the man needed to die. He had fought honorably. Harry was on him in an instant, and he drove his sword down, only to be surprised when the man slid to the side, avoiding the sword's tip. Harry was barely able to catch the man's hand as he thrust a dagger at his thigh. Harry knelt down and drilled his knee into the man's gut. He grunted in pain, and Harry twisted the man's arm and pushed. The man's eyes went wide as his own dagger began lowering. The man pushed with all his might, but it was no use. The tip of the dagger easily slipped into his chest, and with a hard shove, Harry drove it down to the hilt. Still, the man fought to his last breath. Once he stopped moving, Harry stood up.
Lions were ravaging anyone stupid enough to get close to them. Harry grabbed a spear from a dead Unsullied and threw it at a lion. The spear buried itself deep in the lion's side, knocking it off a dead Guardsman whose insides had spilled outside. Harry laughed as he watched one of his Unsullied jump onto a lion's back and repeatedly stab it with a dagger. They truly were fearless.
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A spark flickered off of the chain as the links snapped in half. The released slave fell to the ground before picking himself up. He moved to cower with the rest of his recently saved brethren. Chained beside him was a girl no older than fifteen. She was nude from the waist up with only dirty, shredded rags covering her lower half. On her upper arm was a slave brand that Harry knew nothing about. Harry swung his sword and cut the chains holding her arms above her head. His sword easily cut through the cheap metal and even sliced into the stone wall that she had been chained to. Like the others, she fell to the ground. Harry saw that her back was laced with long, thick scars likely made with a whip or a cane. She quickly scampered to huddle with the other slaves.
In the upper portion of the home that they were in, their Master was currently resting on the floor with several spear holes in his body. "Gerimo!" Harry called out, pulling his hood down and removing his face plate. The pattering of feet could be heard coming down the stairs, and a young boy ran over to him holding a water skin. Harry took it and drank deeply. The boy was training to be a member of his army when he was older. Not being able to fight, he and many boys like him were in charge of bringing in the supplies as they pushed further into the city. Harry wanted plenty of supplies within a few minutes walk of the front lines.
"Give them water and food," Harry ordered, indicating to the freed slaves. "Then move them away from the front lines."
"Yes, Your Grace!" Gerimo stood at attention. "R-Right away!" he stuttered and instantly ran back up the stairs.
Harry was letting his men rest. The air outside was humid now that the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and while Harry didn't mind the heat, his men did. Being Unsullied, they wouldn't complain or show any sign of weakness, but Harry knew that the heat and humidity were slowly sapping their strength. They needed time to eat and rest just like anyone else. Another boy came into the room and escorted the slaves out of the house.
They had been at it most of the day. It was now late in the afternoon, and the sun would soon be setting. Perhaps twenty percent of the city had been captured, so Harry knew that there was still a long way to go. Casualties were light with less than a thousand dead and several times that injured. The injured were getting fixed up by trained healers that were hanging back behind the lines. Their push forward had slowed. His army was tired and needed rest, so Harry gave the order to stop for the night. Camps were being set up and guard duty was being assigned.
Harry already had two other camps set up. One was for the freed slaves, and the other was for the citizens of the city that they had come across. Surrender didn't guarantee anyone's safety. Anyone owning slaves was immediately executed. Only children were spared from this fate.
He found it amusing that even war didn't stop the local whores from trying to earn some coins … especially since it was from the invading force. Harry had provided several chests of gold to pay every whore in town to have a good time with his men. Hopefully, they would have a good night, because many would surely die before they sacked the Great Pyramid.
The Dread Lord of Essos 42