Chapter 36: The Glow of War

Year 291 After Aegon’s Conquest.

Essos. Slaver’s Bay. Castrum of the First Legion.

My slumber was disturbed in the most insolent manner. Someone had decided to hold an argument right at the entrance of my pavilion, not a whit afraid of waking me.

"Fucking blockheads! If His Majesty does not receive this dispatch on time, he’ll have the hide off me and you both!" Daemon Reraxes was raving.

"Orders are orders, Lord Legate."

"To the Hells with you all! Let one of you go in and report my arrival!"

"Not a..." a Praetorian began, but my shout cut him short.

"Let him in!"

The moment Daemon entered, the last remnants of drowsiness slid away. Reraxes was clad in full plate armor, a red cloak fastened by a golden fibula rested on his shoulders, and he held a helm with a distinctive legate’s crest tucked under his arm.

"Your Grace," he barked, striking his fist against his chest over his heart and bowing his head.

"Report," I snapped, rising from the bed.

With a wave of my hand and a mental effort, the gloom of the tent was dispelled by the sparks of a dozen candles set upon their stands. A moment later, the Valyrian was by my side. His helm and gauntlets were tossed onto a small table as he deftly began helping me into my armor, explaining the reason for my early awakening as he worked.

"A messenger arrived from the city, sent by one Allozzo mo Goriaz. There is a massacre in Yunkai. The faction favoring surrender and annexation to Valyria, backed by the Priestesses of the Harpy, decided their blades held more weight than a thousand words." Fastening the buckles of my breastplate, the legate moved on to the bracers. "From what I could gather through the torrent of pathos and hints the negotiator dumped on my poor head, this Allozzo feared delaying the decision of the Council of Wise Masters. He orchestrated a Night of Long Knives against the dissenters, carving out his opposition. As for the Priestesses... they 'could not tolerate the fatal stupidity of the Wise Master's enemies,'" Daemon mimicked, his voice dripping with mockery. "In short, those witches decided to join the fray as well, likely on the High Priestess’s orders."

Handing me my belt with sword and dagger, the young man offered a crooked smirk.

"But the fools miscalculated their strength. They are being pushed back. The Unsullied have proven far more effective in urban combat than the 'Golden Riders' of House Goriaz. Our 'supporters' are only holding on thanks to the battle-eunuchs in the service of Allozzo's allies. The Priestesses have been nearly wiped out; half of them are daughters of noble houses who simply stabbed the other witches in the back."

"We must hurry. If these idiots, who clearly don't know the meaning of 'coordinated action', are slaughtered, we’ll have to storm the place regardless. This way, at least the chaos inside works in our favor." Buckling my sword-belt, I strode out of the pavilion. "Tell Willem to command the advance."

"And...?" Reraxes raised an eyebrow, but I cut him off.

"I will provide the light."

Behind me, the powerful thumping of great wings erupted, and a gust of wind sent my black cloak, emblazoned with the three-headed dragon, billowing outward.

Spinning on my heel, I met the gaze of Avero. His eyes burned from within like smoldering embers. His narrow pupils locked onto my figure, and a satisfied rumble vibrated from a maw filled with razor-sharp teeth.

Within minutes, the cool night wind was lashing my face as I squinted until my eyes ached, staring at the silhouette of the city. Stars and moon vanished fitfully behind clouds; visibility would have been wretched were it not for the riots engulfing Yunkai.

Clusters of torches flickered everywhere. Rare wooden structures were ablaze, and defenders scrambled along the walls, trying simultaneously to repel the rebels and save enough strength to face a potential assault.

My first target was the gatehouse tower. The defenders simply didn't have time to act. Dragonfire, a flash of brilliant orange light, tore through the darkness. Incinerating torrents surged through the arrow slits, greedy tongues of flame licking the warriors' clothes and igniting barrels of pitch and oil, supposed to fall as a rain of fire upon the attackers, they became instead the fuel for the defenders' funeral pyre.

Next came the section of the wall looming over the gates. Into the cacophony of clipped commands, war cries, and the clatter of steel that reigned over nocturnal Yunkai, the screams of men burning alive were woven, alongside the crackle of scorpions catching fire before they could loose a single bolt at the dragon. The defenders simply leaped from the wall or cast down their weapons and fled for the ladders, all thought of defense abandoned.

Banking into several turns, I raked the defensive works with flame, paying special attention to the scorpion crews. Looking toward my army's camp, I saw the steady rectangles of storming columns illuminated by torchlight. I proceeded to the second part of our long-planned nocturnal script.

Crossing the city wall, Avero went into a steep dive, forcing me to grip the saddle tighter. As Willem had guessed, the defenders had fortified the interior as thoroughly as possible. Directly behind the gates stood a barricade one and a half men high, its components visible thanks to the torches held by both the defenders and the rebels trying to fight their way to the entrance to open the path for our army.

The space before the gate leaves was surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped fortification of wagons lashed together with ropes and chains. The wooden transports were laden with hundreds of kilograms of stone, sandbags, and other debris to ensure the attackers could not easily dismantle or overturn the obstruction. Atop this was a veritable palisade of sharpened stakes, and behind the young tree trunks were board-hewn platforms where crossbowmen and archers were perched. The latter were currently loosing volleys at the rebels, whose pressure was being held back by the shields and spears of the Unsullied.

Avero’s roar drowned out the clatter of metal and the screams of the wounded. Men looked up, staring in frozen shock at the silhouette of the celestial monster visible against the fiery glow. Their awe did not last long; they quickly realized what the dragon’s arrival portended. Both defenders and rebels began to retreat, some breaking into a frantic run. Savvy commanders on both sides understood: the flame would not distinguish friend from foe. I circled the reinforced wagon-burg a few times, giving my supporters time to vanish into the narrow alleys between stone houses. I had no desire to incinerate my own allies, even if it meant taking the enemy with them; since I could spare them, I gave them the chance to flee.

A minute later, the barricade vanished in clouds of fire. I had to labor over this fortification, using the pressure of the flame to burn away everything that could catch. Those damned Yunkai’i had thought to drench their wagon-burg with water from time to time; thus, the "drying" and subsequent forced reduction of the timber to coal and ash dragged on for a dozen minutes. Billows of steam and then smoke obscured my vision, but I stubbornly dove again and again until finally, the long-awaited crackle and showers of sparks signaled that the defenses had collapsed.

The gates were harder. Thick, dense oak and bronze sheeting were not things that would burn quickly enough, so I had to act myself. The dragon landed right in the center of the fiery hell. My magical shield and immunity to high temperatures held for now.

My hand, clad in a thin gauntlet of Valyrian steel, shot upward. My magical focus hummed with the sheer strain; I ground my teeth against the mounting load. The fire and heat that ruled the site of the Ghiscari fortifications transformed into dozens of Fire Snakes, striking the sky in orange columns. The magical conduit connecting me and Avero swelled and stretched, funneling the dragon's mystic power into me.

"Avero!"

"Ra-a-a!" A roar-cry tore itself from my lungs, instantly echoed by the dragon's own bellow.

It felt as though rivulets of lava had been injected into my veins. I arched my back in agony, but stubbornly swept my trembling hand forward. The surrounding fire, as if awaiting only this command, billowed upward in a cloud, leaving behind only glowing chains, stones, and embers—everything that remained of the trap intended to bleed my legionaries.

Unbuckling the saddle restraints, I somehow made my way down the offered leathery wing and leaped to the ground. There was so little strength left in my legs that they gave way, and I landed on my back directly onto the stone pavement, which was covered in a thick layer of soot and ash.

My vision went dark for a moment. An exhaustion so profound washed over me that I wanted nothing more than to remain on this cobblestone and fall into a deep sleep.

"No... not like this..." Pressing my hands into the road, my palms coming away caked in greasy ash, I forced myself up. "It won't do!" I sat up with a jerk, caught my breath, and stood on trembling legs.

Colored spots danced before my eyes. Every so often, the sight of still-glowing embers was replaced by the darkness of a consciousness trying to slip into a welcome faint. My nearly empty magical reservoir throbbed with a dull ache, and my limbs shook like those of a veteran alcoholic in the throes of a hangover.

The first step was a struggle, as was the second, the third, and the tenth. But I walked stubbornly toward the brick gatehouse where guards normally sat. The door was locked, but I wasn't about to try kicking in an oak leaf reinforced with metal in this state. My hand-and-a-half sword left its scabbard with a quiet hiss, the blade forged centuries ago gleaming in the firelight. The strip of metal slid easily into the gap between the wood and the doorframe. Heaving my entire weight against the sword, I forced the blade down. It struck the bolt with a heavy thud.

Having dealt with the wooden latch, I leaned against the door and, nearly falling, stumbled inside. The guardroom was stifling, reeking of sweat. Inside, I found three guards sprawled on the ground. The Unsullied had simply lost consciousness from the heat. I stepped over the bodies of the battle-eunuchs and, grabbing the single lever, literally hung my weight upon it. Outside, I heard the snap of breaking bolts and the groan of the gates swinging open. I cursed internally, realizing I'd forgotten to remove the external bars from the city gates. Fortunately, the mechanisms and counterweights provided the necessary leverage, and the timbers simply snapped.

Slumping onto the floor, I leaned my back against the brick wall and closed my eyes, resting my sword across my knees. My task was done; the rest was for Darry and the others to handle.

******

Year 291 After Aegon’s Conquest.

Essos. Slaver’s Bay. Yunkai.

Daemon never ceased to be amazed by the raw power and lethal grace of a real, living, fire-breathing dragon. Nor did he cease to be astonished by the turns of phrase his own tongue had acquired since he started reading books in earnest. Gods, if someone had asked him to describe a dragon before, he surely would have said something like: "a big fire-breathing beastie, horned and scaly." But now? "Lethal grace." Hah. That Valyrian who had written Strategy and Tactics of the Victorious was quite the wordsmith. Though one had to admit, some of his expressions were wonders for wooing beauties.

Emerging from the swirl of thoughts that always tugged at a young man's mind before a battle, Daemon adjusted his helm with a slightly trembling hand and watched the action over the wall. There was Avero, dark purple scales shimmering, banking to fly deeper into the city after clearing the gatehouse section of defenders. Knowing exactly what this meant, the Valyrian shouted:

"Sound the advance, Ser Raidshield!"

The knight seated upon his charger gave a sharp nod and, raising a silver-chased horn to his lips, blew a simple melody.

To the sound of the warhorn, Daemon lowered his visor, swayed his purple cavalry crest from side to side to inspect his mounted warriors, and, raising his spear high, screamed with all the power of his lungs:

"Fire and Blood!"

"Fire and Blood!" hundreds of iron throats echoed. Soon, the battle cry was joined by the neighing of spurred horses and the thunder of hooves as heavy chargers carried knights in full plate toward the city.

Daemon kept the pace measured, ensuring Viserys had time to clear their path and open the gates. He had judged correctly. When they were a mere hundred paces from the walls, something on the other side snapped loudly, and the gates began to groan open. Charging inside, Daemon looked around and winced at the heat. Piles of smoldering embers were scattered everywhere, and the air smelled purely of a massive bonfire. Above, the dragon roared, announcing the invasion to Yunkai for the hundredth time.

Pulling to the left, Reraxes reined in his spirited stallion beside a one-story brick building, flanked by five mounted Praetorians. The cavalry, once inside the walls, immediately split into small units that snaked through the streets and alleys of the city, kicking up clouds of ash and dust, their shod hooves beating a staccato rhythm on the stone pavement.

They needed to take positions and hold, awaiting the arrival of the infantry. Upon reaching favorable positions or the rare, makeshift barricades of the defenders, the riders leaped from their horses and formed ranks. A wall of shields and spears created an impenetrable barrier. Crossbowmen and archers filed in behind them, while the few squires brought along for the assault took the horses' reins and led them away, lest a stray arrow strike such expensive transport.

"All the demons of the Hells!" one of the Praetorians suddenly cried out, leaping from his horse and running toward a brick building.

"What is it?" Daemon asked, sounding slightly irritated. Soon the flow of riders would cease, meaning the rear tagma he was meant to hold the central street with would arrive, and here one of the bodyguards was running off!

"His Majesty is here!" the Praetorian’s voice drifted back.

"What of Viserys?!" Daemon’s heart seemed to stop. If the Targaryen was dead, everything could turn to ash. Too much was tied to this young man. If it was all over...

"Alive, but unconscious! No blood!" the voice of a second bodyguard interrupted his panic. The moment the guards heard about the Emperor, two more dismounted and rushed inside. Looking back to ensure the first fifty of his rear tagma were already within the walls, Daemon gave the order:

"You three stay with the Emperor. Wait for the infantry in this building; a dozen of my riders will cover you."

"But—"

"That is an order! The assault must not fail, and thirteen men in plate are more than enough to keep His Majesty alive. All roads are blocked; the infantry will be here shortly to get you out!" Daemon snapped, brooking no argument.

Leaving the unconscious monarch under secure guard, Daemon soon took up his defensive position, blocking the city’s central street and crushing a line of Unsullied who attempted to obstruct the invaders. The thin line of spearmen, only two ranks deep, was simply swept away by the heavy cavalry, whose very horses were armored in iron.

"Bar-ra-a!" came a cry from behind, and Daemon, like the other dismounted knights, dropped to one knee. A moment later, a swarm of crossbow bolts hissed overhead like angry wasps, biting into the shields and bodies of the defenders.

Rising, the ranks of armored men moved as one, marching forward with a steady, rhythmic beat. Their spears stung like scorpion tails, lashing out at the Unsullied, whose formation had finally collapsed. Daemon kept pace with his men, occasionally finishing off the wounded on the ground and pushing back yet another squad of battle-eunuchs.

Step, strike, raise the shield. The clatter of a spear-tip hitting the shield boss. Duck, straighten, and drive the pike into the body of a battle-slave. The faceted point punched through mail, snagged briefly on the leather cuirass beneath, and slid home, gutting the man. Withdrawing the spear, Daemon spared a glance for the enemy sergeant falling to his knees and took another step, raising his shield and preparing to drive his spear into the next foe.

It promised to be a long day...