Chapter 16 Part 2
Disclaimer: I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire, the Game of Throne or the Star Wars books, TV series or games. They belong to their creators, publishers and/or copyright owners. This story is not for sale or rent.
292 AC
Meereen
Boros Celtigar led his riders toward the Bloody Swords camp, observing as rows of mercenaries assembled for combat. It was surprising that they still needed to prepare for battle. Earlier that morning, scouts from Meereen had screened the approaching army before riding away. There was no way the Targaryens' march on the city came as a surprise. Likewise, the lack of soldiers on the city walls was striking, especially after the news of Yunkai's fall reached Meereen. Boros suspected that his Prince would have sensed a trap even without his warning.
Thinking about surprises… Unsurprisingly, Boros' former sellsword comrades greeted his return with hostile glances and quiet curses. Unlike some other companies, the Bloody Swords did not specialize in a specific form of combat; they weren't exclusively cavalry or spearmen and certainly lacked the numbers and diversity of groups like the Golden Company. The Bloody Swords were primarily men-at-arms, each wielding weapons they felt most comfortable using. While they did have a small detachment of light cavalry for scouting and delivering messages, most of their forces were infantry.
However, there were sellsword cavalry formations present. Nearly a thousand horses were massing on the flank of the tent camp, preparing to strike the Targaryen army once the engagement began. Boros had to admit that this was a solid strategy. With the presence of wildfire, the city, and the army of sellswords, an infantry force could easily perish in a failed attempt to capture Meereen.
Boros' eyes swept over his former comrades until he found Commander. Huzhor was a tall, dark-skinned man with almond-shaped eyes in the color of sapphire. As his name suggested, he claimed to be a distant descendant of the long-gone Sarnori people.
Huzhor tilted his head to the side, critically examining the envoys. Meanwhile, far behind them, the leading elements of the Targaryen army marched slowly into the dusty plain that stretched before Meereen. The Last Targaryens rode at the head of the host, flanked by the Royal Guard. All Boros knew was that his Prince planned something special for Meereen, which Viserys claimed would aid in the negotiations.
"Ya know," Huzhor rumbled in his exotic accent, "we're a free company. Ya're all free to join us or leave as you deem fit," the large warrior scowled. "Unless it's to go to the enemy when we're on a contract we've been already paid to uphold," Huzhor spat in the dust and glowered at Boros. "What do ya want, Celtigar? I know ya well enough, yar not here to beg us to accept ya back."
"That's true, Commander," Boros lowered his head in respect due to the long years they fought together. "I bring you a proposition in the name of Prince Viserys Targaryen. To you and every other sellsword commander out here," Boros spoke aloud, letting his voice carry as much as possible over the bustle of stirred war camps.
"We all have contracts with Meereen," Huzhor scoffed. "Do ya really expect us to break them? We might as well hang our weapons and become farmers or something else boring!"
A rumble of agreement came from the gathered mercenaries. Another ripple went through them, and Boros noted they were no longer focused on him or his party. Instead, everyone before his group looked far behind them. He did so as well and smiled. Prince Viserys had stopped a fair distance from Meereen's gate. Boros' liege was clearly using his magic, and it was also clear that he wouldn't even give an ultimatum to the Meereenese, who wanted to burn him with wildfire.
A clump of soil as large as a cart hovered before Viserys. Boros watched with fascination and glee how the dirt compressed into a much smaller volume before his Prince hurled it at the ramparts above the city gates as if he were a catapult! A heartbeat after it hit, green flames erupted, cascading like a hellish waterfall. Pieces of the walls simply shattered into dust while larger chunks flew everywhere like burning pieces of wood. Only then did distant booms like echoes of thunder carry over Boros' and his men. Large parts of the gatehouse were gone, leaving gaping holes filling with hellfire. Wildfire seared through stone and bricks, melting and deforming them until they washed away like glowing sludge. Liquid fire fell into the holes, igniting everything in its path until the gatehouse turned into a blazing inferno.
Eventually, Boros managed to tear his gaze away from the spectacle. He looked at his Prince with vindication shining in his eyes. Meereen was going to fall. If not today, then in the next few days, depending on how much wildfire would have to burn out before the army could storm the city.
Viserys tore another cart-sized clump of soil from the ground and prepared to spring another deadly trap.
Boros finally turned to look back at his former Commander.
"You are, of course, free to refuse Prince Viserys' kind offer, Commander Huzhoz. There is honor in such a choice," Boros admitted. "Then we will fight. You and your men will die. There will be no victory against my Prince here. You must know it now."
More booms sounded. Boros glanced over his shoulder to see the top of the wall near the sea gone in a pillar of green piss. The poor bastards on the ramparts burned like torches, some fool doused in too much oil. The rest of the sods on the walls decided that burning alive for no gain was madness and ran for the closest way off the deathtrap they were on top of.
Still, Prince Viserys took no chance and tore a third clump of dirt. It was clear that the army wouldn't be storming Meereen anytime soon. Not before all the traps were sprung, and the wildfire burned itself out. That was most wise, Boros knew. And now he had all the time in the world to negotiate with the sellswords.
On a terrace on the largest pyramid in Meereen, Oznak zo Pahl and the greatest among the Great Masters watched in stunned disbelief how their plans and hopes burned. Most of their army was away from the walls, deep into the city. The walls and the houses closest to them were all trapped with wildfire, ready to immolate that never sufficiently cursed Valyrian Sorcerer.
That should have been enough to give them a fighting chance, if not a sure victory.
Oznak cursed while watching the Targaryen tear a chunk of the plain before the gates and use it as a weapon. He should have seen this coming! If the Sorcerer could drag whole ships and smash them like toys, why couldn't he do the same with rocks or turn the ground itself into a siege weapon?!
They should have left the bastard to take the walls with little opposition, lured him into the city, and then burned him down, even if it cost them much of Meereen. That way, it would have been cheaper than losing everything.
"Father, we must go," Oznak spat. Voicing his fears hurt, yet the Pahl scion couldn't afford pride and hope to blind him to the truth. "Despite everything, we've underestimated what the Sorcerer can do. Our best chance to put him down is now lost," he admitted.
As Oznak spoke, more booms echoed over Meereen, heralding another section of the walls shattering and burning. A torso-sized chunk of the fortifications flew into a house containing more wildfire. A flash of green followed, momentarily blinding those watching. Then, the house was simply gone, replaced by a geyser of green fire. All the buildings nearby simply shattered as if they were sand castles kicked by a petulant child.
"I don't know about you, but we are leaving," Agnak broke the stunned silence. "I won't let my family fall into the hands of that murderous madman," the envoy pointed at Viserys' distant form. His voice was pained and bitter. After today, liberating Yunkai would be far more challenging than anyone feared possible. The same would be true about liberating Meereen herself.
"Father!" Oznak moved quickly, turning his back to the pyres of his hopes and dreams. "The wildfire will serve to shield us and buy us time. We must leave now while we still can. We can't allow what happened at Yunkai to repeat at our harbor!"
Those words stirred the Great Masters from their dazzled disbelief. Instead of outraged accusations, Oznak only faced subdued murmurs of shocked agreement and pale faces carved with terror the likes of which no Great Master had experienced in many generations.
They still had an intact army, blazing fires to shield them and sellswords to bleed the enemy. Not all was lost. They could still recover and seek their revenge. That belief gave Oznak courage as he ushered his father towards their home to gather their family, all the treasure they could carry in a hurry and flee.
Chapter 16 Part 2
=Sith=
=Sith=
292 AC
Meereen
Boros Celtigar led his riders toward the Bloody Swords camp, observing as rows of mercenaries assembled for combat. It was surprising that they still needed to prepare for battle. Earlier that morning, scouts from Meereen had screened the approaching army before riding away. There was no way the Targaryens' march on the city came as a surprise. Likewise, the lack of soldiers on the city walls was striking, especially after the news of Yunkai's fall reached Meereen. Boros suspected that his Prince would have sensed a trap even without his warning.
Thinking about surprises… Unsurprisingly, Boros' former sellsword comrades greeted his return with hostile glances and quiet curses. Unlike some other companies, the Bloody Swords did not specialize in a specific form of combat; they weren't exclusively cavalry or spearmen and certainly lacked the numbers and diversity of groups like the Golden Company. The Bloody Swords were primarily men-at-arms, each wielding weapons they felt most comfortable using. While they did have a small detachment of light cavalry for scouting and delivering messages, most of their forces were infantry.
However, there were sellsword cavalry formations present. Nearly a thousand horses were massing on the flank of the tent camp, preparing to strike the Targaryen army once the engagement began. Boros had to admit that this was a solid strategy. With the presence of wildfire, the city, and the army of sellswords, an infantry force could easily perish in a failed attempt to capture Meereen.
Boros' eyes swept over his former comrades until he found Commander. Huzhor was a tall, dark-skinned man with almond-shaped eyes in the color of sapphire. As his name suggested, he claimed to be a distant descendant of the long-gone Sarnori people.
Huzhor tilted his head to the side, critically examining the envoys. Meanwhile, far behind them, the leading elements of the Targaryen army marched slowly into the dusty plain that stretched before Meereen. The Last Targaryens rode at the head of the host, flanked by the Royal Guard. All Boros knew was that his Prince planned something special for Meereen, which Viserys claimed would aid in the negotiations.
"Ya know," Huzhor rumbled in his exotic accent, "we're a free company. Ya're all free to join us or leave as you deem fit," the large warrior scowled. "Unless it's to go to the enemy when we're on a contract we've been already paid to uphold," Huzhor spat in the dust and glowered at Boros. "What do ya want, Celtigar? I know ya well enough, yar not here to beg us to accept ya back."
"That's true, Commander," Boros lowered his head in respect due to the long years they fought together. "I bring you a proposition in the name of Prince Viserys Targaryen. To you and every other sellsword commander out here," Boros spoke aloud, letting his voice carry as much as possible over the bustle of stirred war camps.
"We all have contracts with Meereen," Huzhor scoffed. "Do ya really expect us to break them? We might as well hang our weapons and become farmers or something else boring!"
A rumble of agreement came from the gathered mercenaries. Another ripple went through them, and Boros noted they were no longer focused on him or his party. Instead, everyone before his group looked far behind them. He did so as well and smiled. Prince Viserys had stopped a fair distance from Meereen's gate. Boros' liege was clearly using his magic, and it was also clear that he wouldn't even give an ultimatum to the Meereenese, who wanted to burn him with wildfire.
A clump of soil as large as a cart hovered before Viserys. Boros watched with fascination and glee how the dirt compressed into a much smaller volume before his Prince hurled it at the ramparts above the city gates as if he were a catapult! A heartbeat after it hit, green flames erupted, cascading like a hellish waterfall. Pieces of the walls simply shattered into dust while larger chunks flew everywhere like burning pieces of wood. Only then did distant booms like echoes of thunder carry over Boros' and his men. Large parts of the gatehouse were gone, leaving gaping holes filling with hellfire. Wildfire seared through stone and bricks, melting and deforming them until they washed away like glowing sludge. Liquid fire fell into the holes, igniting everything in its path until the gatehouse turned into a blazing inferno.
Eventually, Boros managed to tear his gaze away from the spectacle. He looked at his Prince with vindication shining in his eyes. Meereen was going to fall. If not today, then in the next few days, depending on how much wildfire would have to burn out before the army could storm the city.
Viserys tore another cart-sized clump of soil from the ground and prepared to spring another deadly trap.
Boros finally turned to look back at his former Commander.
"You are, of course, free to refuse Prince Viserys' kind offer, Commander Huzhoz. There is honor in such a choice," Boros admitted. "Then we will fight. You and your men will die. There will be no victory against my Prince here. You must know it now."
More booms sounded. Boros glanced over his shoulder to see the top of the wall near the sea gone in a pillar of green piss. The poor bastards on the ramparts burned like torches, some fool doused in too much oil. The rest of the sods on the walls decided that burning alive for no gain was madness and ran for the closest way off the deathtrap they were on top of.
Still, Prince Viserys took no chance and tore a third clump of dirt. It was clear that the army wouldn't be storming Meereen anytime soon. Not before all the traps were sprung, and the wildfire burned itself out. That was most wise, Boros knew. And now he had all the time in the world to negotiate with the sellswords.
=Sith=
On a terrace on the largest pyramid in Meereen, Oznak zo Pahl and the greatest among the Great Masters watched in stunned disbelief how their plans and hopes burned. Most of their army was away from the walls, deep into the city. The walls and the houses closest to them were all trapped with wildfire, ready to immolate that never sufficiently cursed Valyrian Sorcerer.
That should have been enough to give them a fighting chance, if not a sure victory.
Oznak cursed while watching the Targaryen tear a chunk of the plain before the gates and use it as a weapon. He should have seen this coming! If the Sorcerer could drag whole ships and smash them like toys, why couldn't he do the same with rocks or turn the ground itself into a siege weapon?!
They should have left the bastard to take the walls with little opposition, lured him into the city, and then burned him down, even if it cost them much of Meereen. That way, it would have been cheaper than losing everything.
"Father, we must go," Oznak spat. Voicing his fears hurt, yet the Pahl scion couldn't afford pride and hope to blind him to the truth. "Despite everything, we've underestimated what the Sorcerer can do. Our best chance to put him down is now lost," he admitted.
As Oznak spoke, more booms echoed over Meereen, heralding another section of the walls shattering and burning. A torso-sized chunk of the fortifications flew into a house containing more wildfire. A flash of green followed, momentarily blinding those watching. Then, the house was simply gone, replaced by a geyser of green fire. All the buildings nearby simply shattered as if they were sand castles kicked by a petulant child.
"I don't know about you, but we are leaving," Agnak broke the stunned silence. "I won't let my family fall into the hands of that murderous madman," the envoy pointed at Viserys' distant form. His voice was pained and bitter. After today, liberating Yunkai would be far more challenging than anyone feared possible. The same would be true about liberating Meereen herself.
"Father!" Oznak moved quickly, turning his back to the pyres of his hopes and dreams. "The wildfire will serve to shield us and buy us time. We must leave now while we still can. We can't allow what happened at Yunkai to repeat at our harbor!"
Those words stirred the Great Masters from their dazzled disbelief. Instead of outraged accusations, Oznak only faced subdued murmurs of shocked agreement and pale faces carved with terror the likes of which no Great Master had experienced in many generations.
They still had an intact army, blazing fires to shield them and sellswords to bleed the enemy. Not all was lost. They could still recover and seek their revenge. That belief gave Oznak courage as he ushered his father towards their home to gather their family, all the treasure they could carry in a hurry and flee.
