Chapter 120: Act 2: Chapter 53

Twenty-fifth day, Tenth Moon, 260 AC (+22 days)

Ryden POV

The crowd of men parted before me, the men all bowing their heads in acknowledgement as I passed, though I didn't recognize any of them. Rickard was lounging in the shade of the command tent, while Lord Swann and Lord Baratheon were seated at a table discussing the situation.

"They are simply delaying the inevitable, my lord," said Lord Swann. "These primitive forts are just enough of a threat to stop us from passing them by."

"I know that," growled Lord Baratheon. "I am very bloody aware. They've armed the townsfolk and used their slaves to create these arce collis'. The further we go, the longer they have had time to build these defenses. Every town seems to have some sort of damned fortification, and every hill seems to have a fort."

"The hillforts are the greatest threat, my lord. They house the mercenaries that are prepared to sweep out to attack our rears. The towns are just annoyances."

I slipped into the chair beside Rickard and murmured a greeting.

"Consider myself bloody annoyed, Clifford. I have a bloody report here saying that some towns to the east are now using their slaves as human shields in their forts – lining the doors and other open areas so that we kill them in our assaults with arrows or fire."

"Bastards," cursed Lord Swann.

"Our progress has slowed to a crawl," said Rickard, who had leaned forward to pay attention.

"We are now facing the full force that the Nine can bear on us," said Lord Baratheon. "Our pace has been tremendous, but it was always going to slow so long as the Blackfyres hide." Rickard opened his mouth to reply, but Lord Baratheon cut him off. "Yes, yes. I know they aren't hiding anymore. Prince Duncan has had just a minor setback, that is all."

"Forgive me, my lord, for I have not heard it directly from you, but it is the talk of the camp," said Rickard. "The camp is rife with the tale: the Golden Company won a large victory and forced Prince Duncan to retreat to the south."

Lord Baratheon snorted. "Pfah," he said, waving away the notion. "A large victory? A lucky chance gave them a small victory. The whole battle only consisted of three thousand men – hardly a large battle."

"Has there been any more news after the battle?" asked Rickard.

"The remainder of Prince Duncan's one thousand regrouped with a second group of equal size who did not arrive at the battlefield in time and have retreated south a bit. The situation is still changing, as it appears that since Blackfyre was unable to kill Prince Duncan directly, he has split his army even further. He does not seek a large battle yet."

"Supply issues?" guessed Rickard.

"So, Prince Duncan believes," replied Lord Baratheon. He nodded in my direction and said, "It appears, Master Ryden, your brother, Ser Arthur, has been able to cause quite the disruption – the Golden Company has sent men northward to where your brother is to restore order."

I crushed my worry and replied, "I am glad to hear of my brother's success. And I am sure that he is prepared for the reactions it has caused."

"I hope so, for things will be heating up soon enough," said Lord Baratheon. "The Nine have completely abandoned their push for Myr now – they have even begun abandoning some of their more contentious claims as the Myrish Civil War grows in scale. It doesn't help that Volantis has started to expand their holdings in the Disputed Lands as everyone is looking elsewhere – they won't turn down free land. Luckily, they still have no intention of joining this war."

"The sooner we finished Tyrosh, the sooner we can join the men on the mainland," concluded Lord Swann.

Lord Baratheon took a drink of wine before replying. "Possibly, but the conquest of Tyrosh may collapse the Band of Nine altogether. These rogues have no honor and have continually faced setbacks. They were unable to hold on to Myr, but Tyrosh has been theirs for a long time, and I doubt it ever crossed any of their minds that they would ever lose that."

"Most of their funds now come from Tyrosh," opined Rickard.

"Exactly, and without coin, their mercenary armies collapse."

"But that does not end the threat of House Blackfyre," said Lord Swann.

"Very true, Clifford. King Aegon has plans if that comes to pass, so don't worry about it."

"Of course, my lord. Shall we continue to press northward to Tyrosh then?"

Lord Baratheon nodded. "We shall," he confirmed. "I had hoped to have the city surrounded a fortnight ago, but alas, I fear it shall take another fortnight."

A fortnight until the walls of Tyrosh loomed over us. A fortnight until these lands began to truly run red. A fortnight until I could start to think about rejoining my brother.

Xxxx

Arthur POV

"Hee-yah!"

As we rode through the small town on the outskirts of the slave pens, my men herded the people toward the pens – like shepherds and their sheep. Some of the men had already raced ahead to secure the pens, and to make sure none of the rich masters ran off, while others began to circle the town, cutting off anyone from running and alerting the Golden Company.

The slave pens were another link in the slave-trading chain. As slaves made their way across the world – whether it be by Dothraki or some city-state – they were bought and sold at all stages. As with any human business, people always sought efficiencies to increase their profit. So, instead of open camps with plenty of guards, there were these pits of misery - pens upon pens, rows upon rows, and suffering upon suffering. With little towns sprung up around these pens to bring in food, and serve the masters, they were a system onto themselves.

I plodded along after my men, content to let my seconds deal with this part. There was a time when a leader needed to truly lead, but scaring people like this always made my heart hurt. Seeing the conditions of the slaves did too, but at least with that, there was an undercurrent of righteous anger. Already, I could feel the anger being stoked in my breast. The way some lords treated their smallfolk back in Westeros was little better than slaves – especially in times of trouble, but, to me, it seemed like a more passive thing. King Aegon had tried, and to some small part succeeded, to make things better, and indeed there was a culture that had developed that treating smallfolk so egregiously was looked down upon. It made the cruelty that occurred a more passive thing – it was cruelty by any measure, but it was better than these pens!

To quantify suffering was something beyond me, but, at the very least, Westeros was better than this!

There was a large open field in the middle of the pits that all the slaves had been brought to, and the townsfolk lined the alleys. I brought the owners atop one of the pens with me and brought them to their knees. "My brothers! My friends! You do not know me, but I know you! I know the anger in your hearts and the cruelty you have bore on your backs! I have seen too many of these same pens, but even one is too many! But this time is over! This time of slavery – both for you and all those around you!"

I pointed to the men on their knees. "Slavers are brought to their knees, and your freed brethren have already taken the first steps to bring the rest down! Together, they have fought mercenaries hired by these slavers, and they have driven them from these lands! My men and I have trained them so that they can stand together!" I swept my hand out, indicating to my men atop their horses, who sat watching the proceedings. "If you wish, join us! We move forward to create a state for all people! We grow larger by the day, and soon we shall capture a city – a true place for you to call home! What say you?!"

There was some cheering as there always was, but it was more for the promise of violence than any dreams of the future. The reality hadn't set in yet that they were free. There were those who were numb, others disbelieving, and others already waiting for the opportunity to run. I could never bind all of them to my cause, but experience had shown me that too many would leave if I stopped here.

I had no way to see the future – to determine the best path to take. A true uprising made only with the truly willing and those of sound mind was the dream. But like determining the size of a fire from a hint of smoke, I could not tell if such a path would lead to a big fire or a small fire. Given time, even a small fire could consume the world, but I did not have the time. I needed a big fire, and I needed it now.

I kicked the first pen owner down into the field, amongst the newly freed people, and said, "The choice is yours, but first, my gift to you!" I began to kick the rest of the blubbering slavers down into the field, as the first stones from the crowd began to fly toward the fallen men. The crowd's anger began to swell, as rocks rained down on the fallen men. The crowd's anger grew as more and more people joined in.

There was righteous anger in my heart, and not a little self-loathing there too.