Chapter 104: Interlude: Twenty

Nineteenth day, Seventh Moon, 260 AC (+1 day)

He shoved the body off him as the slave helped him up.

"Assassins," he spat. The sound of fighting from outside the room drowned out his spit landing on the scum's face.

One of his Unsullied lay on the floor, convulsing, clutching onto the poisoned dagger that had been meant for him.

As one of the top commanders for the defense of Myr, Vidar Taeniar knew assassins would be a risk. He just expected them to be better. He gestured to several of the frightened messengers who cowered along the walls. "Get me the status of the city," he commanded.

As the boys ran, Vidar took stock of the situation. The fighting over the past six days had been intense. The Nine had managed to take the outer wall and most of the outer wards, but his forces had managed to hold on to a few key areas of the outer wards and retained the Magisters' Palace, most of the family villas that dotted the city, as well as the waterfront. He had a sinking feeling that was changing.

He snapped off orders for messengers for status reports from key captains, but he had little trust for the mercenaries in charge. Unreliable, the lot of them.

The original messenger burst into the room as Vidar donned an unbloodied coat to replace the one that had been dirtied in the fight.

"Report."

"Magister! The enemy has launched another attack! Three gates in the outer ward have been overrun, and there is confusion that the Glorious Bastards have betrayed their contract and turned upon us!"

Vidar scowled. "Where did you hear that?"

"I had word from another messenger who lay injured! Smoke can also be seen from the streets, from something happening over near the Magisters' Palace, where they were stationed."

He swept from the room, motioning his Unsullied to move around him, forming a protective diamond. No doubt, the Nine would not stop with one assassin. The villa's previous occupants had been kicked out weeks ago, so it was only the footsteps of his men and slaves that echoed in its gilded halls.

The sight that greeted him was one that he had dreaded would all too soon be a reality.

Myr had fallen. The streets below him were packed with people and slaves, as they screamed and rushed about like headless chickens. No sense or logic, just the fear of their coming doom. With the Magisters' Palace occupied, the family villas were isolated and would fall. His forces here on the waterfront were insufficient to take back anything, as most were at the outer ward gate near the north end of the city, waiting for an order to counterattack that would never come. The mercenary leaders that were nominally in charge would never come together to actually make a decision, so they were useless to him now.

At least his good foresight had seen him well-positioned for this scenario.

"To the docks," he said, addressing his attendants. "Myr has fallen." Vidar pointed to a shocked messenger. "Boy, run to Captain Tylo and his citizen soldiers, and tell them to meet us at my ship, Revenant." When the boy didn't move, Vidar shouted, "Now! Or you won't have a place on the boat!" The boy quickly fled. Vidar pointed to another messenger. "Make sure the message is relayed, boy, and tell Captain Tylo to collect any strong youth that can be added to his forces as he comes, but to not delay overmuch." The boy also fled.

"Unsullied, clear a path. Forcefully, I won't stay here for a moment longer."

The crowd in front of us parted once the first few who didn't move ended up with spears piercing their bodies. Our passage was swift after that.

The docks were in chaos as boats were quickly leaving the docks. The ones that stayed all had armed men lining their decks, while the captains extorted payment out of the desperate. Citizen began to turn against citizen, and Myr's dying breath started to reach its crescendo.

His city was dying, and he could do nothing.

Stymied at every pass by the Council, decried as a fool for his citizen-soldier project, and his funds for which to fight continually shrunk. The corrupt merchants he had to deal with were well connected and immune from their malicious actions, even as Myr was continually pressed in on. Vidar had done what he could, but he did not have the power to do what was necessary.

Never again.

His flagship stood proudly at the dock; his soldiers held the entire dock surrounding the ship, ensuring no rabble got too close. In the distance, Vidar could see he was not alone in fleeing. He could make out some of the flagships of several Magister's getting ready to leave – and those were only the ones that still remained, for many more of the cowards had been slowly fleeing.

As he walked up the gangplank, he saw his grandfather, Jaemyx, sitting contentedly upon cushions while sipping tea.

"Ah, grandson. It is good to see that you made it. Won't you sit with me and have some tea?" his grandfather asked, in his still sharp voice.

He resisted the urge to grind his teeth and replied, "No, thank you, Honored Grandfather. The city is under its final attack, and we must depart immediately."

His grandfather rose a single eyebrow. "Oh? I hadn't realized sacking a city was a quick endeavor. My, my, my, it seems our family is in the wrong business if sacking cities is so simple."

Vidar winced and sat across from his grandfather, who beckoned to a slave to fill a cup for him.

"Now, grandson, what seems to be the problem?"

"The mercenaries have shown their true colors and betrayed us, assassins have made their attempt, and Myr has fallen!" I said, shouting at the end.

"Myr has fallen?" he asked rhetorically. Grandfather looked about exaggeratedly. "Ah, yes, it does seem like it no longer exists. No walls or people; streets nor docks."

"It is falling," Vidar corrected.

"Better. I had hoped that your lessons would have imparted more knowledge, but they seem to have failed you. Or you, them."

Vidar lowered his head in submission, though mainly to hide his irritation. "My apologies, Honored Grandfather. I find myself vexed and irritated after such a close call with an assassin, as well as the culmination of the idiocy of our fellow Magisters."

Grandfather nodded wisely as he sipped his tea. "Quite, though, I have always found a good assassination has me feeling alive like never before. Have your Unsullied decimate themselves for allowing the assassin to get so near to you."

"I would hate to waste them, Honored Grandfather. I will have them on the next frontline instead."

"Wise, grandson. Have you decided on your next course of action then?"

Vidar clenched his fist. "Yes, Captain Tylo is heading here, and once he is, we shall depart to the north. We shall regroup, and I shall fight on my terms, not the Magisters'."

"Not to the south?" mused Grandfather. "The Westerosi have nearly secured the Stepstones. From there, we could head to Lys and access our treasures there. Enough to hire many men to fight for you."

Vidar shook his head. "Not enough to wage a proper war, and it would put the Lyseni in a position of power over us."

"A position of power, like them having a city – one which we lack."

"Besides," continued Vidar, ignoring his grandfather's last point. "I want nothing to do with more mercenaries."

"And the Westerosi?"

"Barbarians," he scoffed. "They may hold the Stepstones for now, but not for long. No one ever does."

"And when they land their men in the Disputed Lands?"

"They will be a nuisance, but they cannot hope to bring enough to bear to fight the Nine on their own. They are little more than dogs."

His grandfather hummed as he took another sip of tea. Vidar forced himself to take a sip while he waited.

"Have you ever been to a bull-baiting, my grandson?"

"No, Honored Grandfather. It is a base sport, with nothing in the way of skill or art."

"Even still, there is a special breed of dog that is a staple of many a game. They are bred never to let go of their prey, even as death claims them. Tenacious and vicious, even as simple-minded as they are, they can bring down even the mightiest of bulls – by simply hanging on," said Grandfather, as he trailed off.

Vidar took up the unspoken invitation and asked, "And you believe the Westerosi are similar?"

"They have the potential, especially if left alone, to harm your future plans."

"As do many things."

"As do many things," agreed Grandfather.

"I see your point, but if I head there, the rest of the countryside will fall without leadership. The mercenaries will turn on us when news of Myr's fall reaches them."

"Perhaps, but will you be able to lead the mercenaries even with your hatred?"

"I shall keep my opinions from them."

"Perhaps some time to meditate on the matter before you interact with them?"

"No, my anger shall fuel me. It is time for a new direction. Myr has fallen, but Myr shall live once again. Risen again, stronger and better than ever before. My anger shall be a cold thing, but it is a true thing, and I shall let all hear of my conviction."

"And if the mercenaries are troubled by your anger?"

"They shall not have the time. I shall rebuild Myr, starting with a true army. An army of citizens. It shall take time, time which the mercenaries will buy me."

His grandfather chuckled lightly. "The mercenaries shall buy you something? Do you not have that backward?"

Vidar chuckled darkly. "No, I have it right. They shall buy me time with their blood. No longer will Myr be subservient to outside powers, reliant on those who care nothing for her. No, Myr is done with mercenaries. They shall not take part of us anymore! I shall drown out enemies in blood upon the fields and upon the rivers… upon the beaches, upon every inch of soil, and they will know fear! I will indicate it to all, that Myr has risen anew, and none shall stop her!"

For once, Grandfather has a pleasant smile on his face. "And how shall you do this, grandson?"

"The age of magisters and their corruption is at an end! It is time to excise the rot, Honored Grandfather."

"How?" he breathed out.

"I shall be Rex."