6.
Arrival in Tyrosh 9: Chapter 6.
Arrival in Tyrosh 251 AC.
The Stepstones.
Irat Rexarion.
The sea is vast and unpredictable.
It offers opportunities, but with equal ease it can take them away.
Life in Lys, which was one of the hubs of maritime trade, had given me some idea of what could await those who set sail.
Hundreds of sailors’ tales and legends about enormous sea monsters, countless ships that never returned, plundered by pirates, and entire crews that perished under mysterious circumstances, all of this instilled fear in those who dreamed of boarding a ship and tasting life as a seafarer.
But, despite all the possible dangers, luck was on our side.
The company owned several ships at once, which could accommodate our thousand men along with the crews themselves, practically eliminating the main threat at sea, pirate attacks.
Few pirate crews could boast the same number of vessels.
The calm sea also ensured a comfortable and swift voyage.
Our ship swayed gently on the waves.
I sat tiredly on the deck, leaning my back against one of the numerous barrels on board.
The sea breeze caressed my face, offering a pleasant feeling of coolness.
Only the sound of waves breaking against the ship’s side and the distant shouts of the sailors disturbed the pleasant silence.
It seemed nothing could ruin the idyll of that rare moment of rest.
Except…
“Water, water,” Beric repeated for the umpteenth time.
“Oh, more water!” “Shut up, Beric,” I said irritably, turning my head toward him.
“Look who’s talking,” he started to say, possibly the future food for fish, but he was interrupted.
The big man Ross slammed his fist down on the barrel he was standing next to, drawing attention to himself.
“The newbie’s right,” he took my side.
“Shut up, Beric.
You’ve gotten on everyone’s nerves.” Beric began to argue and protest, waving his arms in the heat of the moment.
According to other members of the squad, this was already a familiar situation for them.
Every time they put out to sea or on a long march, Beric would start complaining about the long journey and the lack of variety in the scenery.
I tiredly threw my head back and, closing my eyes, sank into memories of the last five days, two of which were spent in frantic preparation and loading onto the ships, and the remaining three in sailing across the Narrow Sea to Tyrosh.
But all of this applied only to the old members of the company.
My daily routine had hardly changed, only supplemented by even more training and sparring, with the help of the squad members.
My thoughts smoothly drifted to reflections on my comrades.
The squad turned out to be quite close-knit for mercenaries.
For the most part, they were calm men who had seen a lot.
They were all from Westeros, except for Silent Magok.
A very worthy warrior and an excellent archer.
A former resident of the Summer Isles.
No one knew more about him.
And the summer islander himself wasn’t in a hurry to talk about himself, considering he had no tongue.
When I logically asked where his name was known from, I was told the sergeant had come up with it.
“How much longer do we have to sail?” I heard the raspy voice of John, another member of the squad.
“The Stranger knows,” Rob’s voice answered.
“Maybe a day, maybe two.” I again tuned out of the outside world.
The voices of my comrades, the sailors’ shouts, and the noise of the sea faded into the background.
My consciousness sank into a kind of meditative state, allowing me to fully utilize every minute of rest.
Rest so rare that it felt like my days consisted entirely of training.
The sergeant’s order to double my training load had turned the last few days into an endurance marathon.
Constant sparring, combined with gravity doubled, created an excellent environment for physical development.
Movements were difficult and seemed sluggish.
I had to exert more effort to react in time to my opponent’s attacks and not end up beaten.
The last couple of days had been devoted to subtle effects on the opponent.
I was trying to develop the habit of deflecting the enemy’s weapon away from my precious self.
So far, with mixed success, I was managing to disrupt the flow of battle by increasing or decreasing gravity at the right moment.
But I was still far from perfect.
In any case, my progress in training could not go unnoticed, and it earned me a reputation as a talented fighter.
Unfortunately, this fact had little effect on anything.
“Newbie,” Beric called out, disturbing my peace.
“Get up, break’s over.
You’re next.” “I actually have a name,” I grumbled irritably, rising heavily to my feet.
“Don’t care,” the man waved him off, gesturing invitingly with his “weapon.” “Why bother remembering your name if you’re going to die in your first battle?” “I have no intention of dying,” I thought, charging into the attack.
Quickly closing the distance between us, I shifted my body to the side, thereby dodging Beric’s counter-thrust.
Without changing position, I struck with my “sword” straight into the man’s exposed side, making him wince in pain and grab the spot where the blow had landed.
When my weapon was about to finish what it had started, the decanus’s voice rang out.
“Enough!” he ordered loudly, making me stop.
I glanced mockingly at Beric, who was looking sideways at the “sword” frozen a few inches from his neck, and took two steps back.
“Cut it out and let the newbie rest,” Mark said, walking up to us.
“If we pass the Stepstones without incident, we should be in Tyrosh by morning.” His words forced me to remember everything I had ever known about the Stepstones.
An archipelago of many large and small rocky islands that held no value except for their location.
It allowed for control of movement across the Narrow Sea, which made the Stepstones a haven for all sorts of scum, in the form of pirates and bandits.
“Is there anything to fear?” Ross asked.
“There’s always something to fear in the Stepstones,” the decanus spat.
“According to the commander, the pirates are once again fighting over control of the islands.” With these words, Mark went back to his cabin.
The squad, following their commander’s example, also began to disperse, leaving the deck.
Everyone wanted to rest as much as possible while they could.
“I suggest you get a good rest,” Ross said, walking past me and clapping me on the shoulder.
“The Stepstones are dangerous even without pirates.” Left alone, I tiredly wiped the sweat from my forehead and allowed myself to remove the load.
My body immediately felt an unusual lightness that I had grown unaccustomed to after several days under increased gravity.
I walked to the railing at the edge of the deck and leaned on it with my hands, gazing into the endless water surface.
The sun’s rays reflected off the crests of the waves, creating intricate highlights.
The sea breeze ruffled my slightly grown hair.
Closing my eyes, I enjoyed the feeling of freshness and a brief moment of freedom.
“Dangers?” I chuckled softly.
“Life itself is dangerous.” *** 251 AC.
Tyrosh.
Irat Rexarion.
The commander’s fears proved unfounded.
The pirates had no interest in us at all, which was unsurprising.
What fool would attack a dozen warships packed to the brim with soldiers?
We weren’t merchant ships; there was nothing to take from us.
No gold, no goods, only men ready to end the lives of unlucky pirates.
So our ships managed to pass through the Stepstones safely, despite the challenges posed by the natural conditions.
In that case, we had only to trust the experience of the ship’s crew.
By morning, with the first rays of the sun, as the commander had predicted, we reached our destination.
Tyrosh was another Free City, located on one of the islands of the Stepstones.
It was significantly larger than my native Lys.
The first thing that caught your eye when entering Tyrosh’s port was the large red tower, which everyone called the Bloody Tower.
It served as a lighthouse for incoming ships.
Stepping onto the land of a new place for the first time, I was surprised by the strange custom of the locals, dyeing their hair in bright colors.
It sparked my interest.
I wanted to start exploring the city as soon as possible, but we were ordered not to leave the port, to stay alert, and to await the captain’s return.
The port itself was a rather noisy place.
The large number of ships of all kinds, from merchant vessels to warships, provided great opportunities.
There was always bustle here, trade deals were made, or illegal schemes were carried out.
Reasoning that the port was an excellent place to gather the information I needed, I got to work.
Gathering information was complicated by the fact that the Tyroshi spoke their own dialect of Valyrian.
I could understand the locals, at best, every third word.
But even such difficulties didn’t prevent me from gathering enough data to form a general picture.
Like any of the other Free Cities, Tyrosh was founded by my ancestors during Valyria’s heyday.
Now, this city had turned into one of the most important trading hubs in the Narrow Sea.
Only, unlike Lys, where the main commodities were perfumes, poisons, and affordable prostitutes, Tyrosh traded in various dyes and, of course, slaves.
After slipping a couple of coins to a dockworker, I managed to learn that the city was currently going through a rough patch.
When I asked about the reasons for this situation, the dockworker just shrugged.
“That’s what people say,” he said, returning to his work and leaving me alone.
My further wandering and questioning of the common folk yielded no results.
I think I could have achieved more if I had cornered a thief, but that could have caused unnecessary trouble.
Already heading back to the ship where my squad remained, I noticed Rob hurrying toward me.
“There you are,” the mercenary said, slightly out of breath and already in full gear.
“Quickly, back to the ship.” “What happened?” I asked, quickening my pace and following the older comrade.
“The captain’s back,” Rob answered, wiping his sweaty forehead with his glove.
“And he’s not in a good mood.” Arriving at the sector where the company’s ships were moored, we were met with barely noticeable commotion.
Some, like us, were hurrying to their ships, while others checked their equipment.
Before I knew it, we were at our vessel and climbing the gangplank.
“What’s going on?” I asked Rob in confusion, stepping onto the deck.
Rob, glancing back, threw me a gloomy look.
“If only I knew, newbie,” he sighed and turned away again.
“If only I knew…” We walked just a few steps before I heard Rob mutter softly: “But it’s definitely not another contract…” *** Interlude.
Araiono Laar.
When Irving brought me Maelis’s letter, I immediately tensed up.
First, his six-month absence, combined with other factors.
Now, a general assembly had been called, and not just anywhere, but in Tyrosh.
A city that for several generations had been home to that Beast’s family.
The reason for the general assembly could be another war over the Disputed Lands, which would mean Maelis had managed to negotiate with the Archon of Tyrosh to hire the entire Golden Company.
But that was unlikely.
The last war had ended not long ago, and the former members of the Triarchy had still not recovered.
It would be foolish to start a new war without recovering from the old one.
Questions piled up, and there were no answers.
Already on the way, I received another order that made me even more tense: “Forbid the warriors from leaving the port and stay ready.” Suspicions about the Beast’s possible plans began to creep into my mind.
“Surely he doesn’t think the city authorities won’t notice anything,” I thought, already in the city and walking through its streets to the appointed place.
Thorne and Aastaar had followed me as escort.
The other sergeants were ordered to stay with the main force and be on alert.
As soon as we reached the mansion that had served as the Blackfyre home for several generations, and was also the birthplace of the Golden Company, we were met at the entrance by company members who were under Maelis’s direct command.
They stood out from the rest by having a patch with the Blackfyre emblem, a black three-headed dragon on a red background.
As we approached, the guards stepped aside, letting us through.
The mansion, as usual, greeted us with luxury and wealth, but there was no time to admire the beauty.
Catching a passing servant, I asked him where his master was.
“U-upstairs,” the scrawny boy stammered fearfully.
“In h-his study.” “Let’s go,” I said to the sergeants.
“W-wait,” the servant tried to stop us.
Ignoring the boy’s efforts, I quickly headed up to the second floor where Maelis’s study was located.
The sergeants followed me.
As we approached the room, voices became more distinct, with the commander’s bass standing out.
Without hesitation, I opened the door and entered the study, leaving the sergeants outside.
Inside, as usual, around a long table, all the other captains had gathered.
At the head of the table sat Maelis himself.
“Araiono,” the Beast rumbled, raising his eyes to me.
“You’re late.” The Monster’s gaze, combined with the second head protruding from his neck, created a terrifying impression.
Attracting this monster’s attention was the last thing I wanted.
“The sea is unpredictable,” I answered vaguely, walking to the only empty seat at the table.
“You know that yourself, Commander.” Blackfyre nodded silently, accepting my answer.
“What did I miss?” I asked, settling more comfortably into my seat.
No one was in a hurry to answer, silently exchanging glances and waiting for someone to take on that responsibility.
“At sunset, we take Tyrosh,” answered Aymond Rivers, the captain most loyal to Maelis and, by coincidence, his distant relative.
“What?” I couldn’t help but exclaim, though I had suspected something similar.
The confidence with which Aymond spoke of capturing the city inspired hope.
Hope that these words weren’t just empty talk, and that we had some kind of plan that I wasn’t yet aware of.
“So, what do you need from me?” I asked, pulling myself together.