8.
The Outcome of the Battle 12: Chapter 8.
The Outcome of the Battle 251 AC.
Tyrosh.
Irat Rexarion.
I could say my concerns were not unfounded.
Twice we had to repel attacks from guards trying to retake their positions and prevent a breakthrough through the gates.
During that time, I broke two swords, even without using enhanced strikes.
I had to repeatedly use the weapons of freshly fallen enemies just to stay armed.
The guards’ attempts to retake the gates forced me to constantly stay on the front line, in the thick of things.
This helped me somewhat understand the strange sensations that accompanied every kill I made.
I seemed to absorb some kind of energy from my victims, which gave me a feeling of vigor.
But beyond that, each death I dealt made me stronger.
Not much, drop by drop, but after the tenth kill, I began to notice changes in my abilities.
It became easier to control my power.
Shield and sword felt lighter.
Muscles seemed to fill with strength, blows were harder and faster than before.
And though these changes were so small they were difficult to notice, they awakened in me a thirst for even more power.
My mindless desire to stay on the cutting edge, to kill more enemies and gain more power, led to less than favorable consequences.
The inability to properly coordinate with my comrades affected our overall combat effectiveness.
Because of this, Jon and Rob were wounded, and only Magok’s arrows saved them from certain death until he ran out.
The thought of my comrades’ possible deaths sobered me instantly, but it also triggered a wave of rage that I unleashed on the remaining guards in the form of crushing weight on their shoulders.
Their movements became sluggish, their breathing labored.
They had to exert more effort just to overcome the resistance.
Such abrupt changes did not go unnoticed by Ross, who was fighting beside me at that moment.
Throwing interested, slightly surprised glances my way, he didn’t hesitate to use the situation to dispatch the enemies as quickly as possible.
I knew questions wouldn’t be avoided.
By the time the first fighters from the main force streamed through the gates, I had beheaded the last living guard with a single swing.
The new arrivals, once they broke into the city, immediately set about their business.
Their first priority was fortifying the position at the north gate that we had successfully held until then.
The chaos around me and the demands of the mercenaries who arrived to an already won position were starting to irritate me, so I decided to withdraw, leaving Ross to deal with them.
I headed toward the area where first aid was being given to our wounded.
“How are they?” I asked Beric, approaching him from behind.
He practically jumped when I spoke.
“I-Irat?” he exhaled in surprise.
“Who were you expecting?” I asked with a chuckle.
“The Stranger?” “But how did you…
so quietly,” he fumbled for words.
Realizing I had been moving with reduced gravity the entire time, practically gliding over the ground without making a sound, I quickly returned it to normal, waving off Beric’s questions.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, then nodded toward the two bandaged fighters by whom Magok was standing guard.
“Better tell me how they are.” Rob was conscious, gesturing reassuringly that he was fine.
His thigh had a blood-soaked bandage applied directly over his trousers.
Though he wasn’t in mortal danger, he needed to see a proper healer as soon as possible to stitch the wound and apply a real dressing.
Otherwise, recovery would take longer.
Jon lay beside him, his side bandaged, unconscious, and causing more concern.
One of the guards had been lucky enough to stab the distracted mercenary with a spear.
We could only hope his internal organs were intact.
“They’ll live,” Beric answered, as if echoing my thoughts, rubbing his stubbly cheek and apparently recalling someone else’s words.
“The wounds are shallow, and nothing vital was hit.
A couple of weeks and they’ll be fine.” “Good,” I said, exhaling with relief.
The news was encouraging.
Though I might seem indifferent to others’ lives, that wasn’t entirely accurate.
It would be foolish to disregard a resource like experienced warriors, especially ones willing to acknowledge my leadership.
I glanced once more at the wounded before turning my attention to Ross, who had freed himself and was hurrying toward us.
“And it looks like he’s found something out,” I thought, seeing his pleased expression.
The conversation with the big man gave me food for thought.
Besides our gate, the eastern gate had also been taken.
Given our ships in the harbor with the rest of our company, this allowed us to take the city in a pincer.
Such a development meant the victory was all but assured.
“Then we can rest,” I said, sitting down on the steps leading up to the wall.
“I think the rest will be handled without us.” Beric left to share the news with Rob and Magok.
Ross stayed beside me, also taking a seat.
For a while we sat in silence, broken only by the shouts of warriors running past, more and more pouring into the city.
I glanced over and watched the mercenaries left to guard the gates try to loot the bodies of the guards we had killed.
Watching such blatant acts of looting made me realize that any mercenary group, no matter how large, was essentially a band of criminals from a humanitarian standpoint.
“This isn’t how I pictured it,” I said thoughtfully, watching the looters walk away disappointed, having found nothing of value because Beric had already stripped the bodies.
“What do you mean?” the puzzled mercenary asked.
Turning my head, I looked at the man waiting for my answer.
“I didn’t think that in my first real battle,” I continued my thought, “we’d have to take a city, and I’d have to start commanding.” “Nevertheless, you did pretty well,” he said with a smile.
I gave him a skeptical look and said nothing.
My command could only be called “pretty well” until we had to defend.
The thirst for power that had clouded my mind nearly cost us the lives of two squad members.
Who knows how it all could have ended?
In any case, I clearly understood the mistakes I made, and that was at least half the battle.
I just had to make sure I didn’t make them again.
“From the outside, it’s different,” I said ambiguously, not wanting to start an argument.
Ross just chuckled and handed me a flask that had appeared from nowhere.
Taking it, I sniffed the contents.
A faint, slightly sweet aroma of watered wine hit my nose.
Taking a sip, I drank deeply, quenching my thirst, then handed the flask back.
“What are we going to do next?” the big man suddenly asked.
“You ask as if my choice will decide anything,” I chuckled.
“It all depends on what the captain decides.” Ross nodded thoughtfully, agreeing with my assessment.
“And besides, it’s too early to decide anything,” I continued.
“First we need to hold the city, and then we can make plans.” Silence fell again.
I don’t know how long we sat there like that, quietly sipping wine from the flask, but the sky began to slowly glow pink.
The colors grew brighter as dawn approached.
That was the moment Beric chose to approach us.
“Jon came to,” he reported immediately, looking at me.
“So even Beric is ready to accept me as temporary commander,” I thought, catching Ross’s sly, slightly amused glance.
“Good,” I said, pleased, then gave the order.
“Help Magok get them ready.
We need to get back to the port before it’s fully light.” The wiry mercenary nodded, showing he understood, and hurried off to carry out the order, leaving us alone again.
“There’s still one thing I don’t understand,” I said, standing up from the steps.
“What’s that?” Ross asked with interest.
“Why don’t you want to become decanus yourself?” The question was mostly rhetorical and didn’t really require an answer.
I was perfectly fine with the mercenary’s decision.
Ross just grinned and looked up at the pre-dawn sky.
Returning to the rest of my squad, I found everyone ready to move out.
Rob was limping badly, leaning on the summer islander’s offered shoulder.
Jon, who had been unconscious not long before, wasn’t as limited in movement and could move on his own, though he held his injured side.
Beric stood beside him, ready to catch his comrade at any moment.
“Move out,” I said, checking how my shield was secured.
“The city isn’t fully under our control yet.
We might run into remaining guards.” Fortunately, my fears were unfounded this time, and the path to the port went without incident.
The city seemed deserted.
Only the bodies of guards, mixed with our comrades and locals who had been foolish enough not to stay indoors, reminded us of the night’s battle.
The mad night ended for us when the sound of the surf reached our ears and we finally arrived at the port.
— Interlude.
Aastaar Dahiris.
“Come in, Aastaar,” the captain, and by extension my friend, said when I knocked and opened his cabin door.
Stepping inside, I once again marveled at how much the image of a typical Lyseni, who adored luxury, clashed with the ascetic arrangement of the cabin.
A modest dark wood bed with posts to hang clothes on.
Near the window, through which the port was visible in the rays of the rising sun, stood a small table cluttered with various maps, with a simple wooden chair pulled up to it.
In the corner of the cabin stood a rack with armor carelessly hung on it.
From the residual bloodstains, it was clear it had recently seen battle.
Not what you’d expect from a Lyseni.
Though, Araino was a living embodiment of contradictions and a direct refutation of stereotypes.
“Though I’m not one to talk,” I thought, smoothing my hair, which wasn’t dyed in bright colors like other Tyroshi.
The cabin’s owner sat on the edge of his cot, looking quite thoughtful.
But as soon as I came closer and settled into the only chair, he immediately shifted his attention to me.
“Report,” the captain ordered, steepling his fingers and resting his elbows on his knees.
“And none of your favorite jokes.” “You’re no fun, captain,” I said gloomily before beginning my report.
“Things are bad.
No other way to say it.
We took the city, but not without difficulty.
Casualties are colossal.
Nearly half my unit is gone.” Araino’s expression darkened noticeably.
“We need to call the others,” he said quietly, meaning the sergeants.
“What’s there to call?” I barely held back from spitting in frustration.
“I asked around, and the situation is either worse or no better than mine.
The other units are down to half strength, at best.” “Shit,” the captain swore.
Unable to contain himself, he jumped up and began pacing nervously around the cabin.
“Understatement of the century,” I agreed, leaning back in my chair.
Watching Laar pace inevitably made me think about everything that had happened.
Putting all the facts and “coincidences” together, I began to suspect that the Beast was up to something.
Something very stupid or insane, otherwise I couldn’t understand the need to capture my hometown.
And besides, I didn’t like that our unit had suffered the most casualties, while Maelis’s fighters merely held the archon’s palace until the main forces arrived, who came to an already won position.
After a while, the captain calmed down, returned to his place, and pulled a corked jug from under the bed.
“I haven’t told the others this yet,” he said thoughtfully before continuing, echoing my own thoughts.
“But I don’t like what’s happening, Aastaar.” Voicing his thoughts, Araino uncorked the container, and the familiar smell of pear brandy hit my nose.
He took several long swigs straight from the jug’s neck, then handed it to me, exhaling deeply.
“You’re not alone in that, captain,” I said with a grin, taking the vessel from his hands.
“You know, it’s not very pleasant to give the order to capture your own hometown.
Maybe I even knew some of the people that pack of exiles under our command cut down that night.” “The Golden Company, an elite mercenary unit,” Laar said, mimicking someone, while I drank from the jug.
“And in reality, a bunch of exiles and traitors who have no place in their homes.” For a while we drank in silence, passing the jug back and forth.
The alcohol was starting to hit, but I hadn’t lost my sober mind.
Perhaps in this liminal state, Araino decided to continue the conversation.
“Maelis is definitely planning another attempt to overthrow the Targaryens,” the captain continued to reason.
“Only one thing I don’t understand.
Why capture Tyrosh?” There was no doubt about the captain’s suspicions, as he knew Blackfyre much better than I did, and his words about overthrowing the dragon lords put everything in place.
“A foothold?” I guessed.
“Maybe.
But wouldn’t it have been easier to just negotiate with the archon?” “Don’t forget, Araino,” I addressed the captain by name, making him look me in the eye.
“Maelis is insane.
Don’t look for logic in his actions.
Sooner or later, he’ll walk himself into the grave.
Maybe this idea of another Blackfyre rebellion is exactly the case that will end his life.” “The main thing is to be as far away from him as possible when that happens,” my friend said with a weak smile.
“Then we can leave without fear for our lives.” “Just have to live long enough to see that moment,” I said, darkening the mood slightly, handing back the nearly empty jug.
My friend didn’t comment on my words.
He just stared thoughtfully at the wall, swirling the contents of the clay vessel.