Day after day passed. The tormenting wait finally came to an end.
Four days later, the first sellsword company's banner appeared on the horizon beyond the Highland Fortress—four glowing arrows splitting apart four crows.
The Stormcrows!
Trombo's heart sank. The Stormcrows were fierce fighters, but only five hundred strong… a mere drop in the ocean against the Easterners.
Soon after came the Second Sons, led by Mero, the "Titan's Bastard," their numbers about the same as the Stormcrows'.
It wasn't until the fifth day, when the blazing red banner of the Bright Banners and the black-iron crest of the Iron Shields appeared on the horizon—vast, thunderous columns rolling forward in a storm of dust that blotted out the sky—that Trombo finally let out the heavy breath he had been holding for days. The Bright Banners brought five thousand men, and the Iron Shields a full seven thousand. Now these were companies that could truly sway a battle.
The fortress gates opened, and the sellsword leaders were led up to the ramparts. Trombo forced down his irritation and impatience as he stepped forward to greet them.
Kov, the commander of the Bright Banners, was clad in brilliant crimson plate armor. He strode forward with an air of arrogance, his gaze sweeping over Trombo with undisguised contempt.
"Commander of Myr! Where's that audacious Eastern rat—the one bold enough to run wild in the lands of the Free Cities? Which hole is he hiding in now?"
Trombo's expression stiffened. He swallowed his anger, about to speak, when another voice interrupted sharply.
Goghor, commander of the Iron Shields, was built like a tower of iron. Encased in heavy plate, he walked to the parapet, raised a thick finger, and pointed toward the siege engines across the field.
"Look at those damn things. I don't want to wake up tomorrow to find myself and my men smashed into pulp. Those wooden monsters need to be torn down—now."
...
Then came an unexpected sound—a deep, rhythmic thunder of hooves approaching fast. From the northeastern plain, a cavalry troop of about a hundred riders galloped toward the fortress. They wore dark, polished armor, their warhorses sheathed in gleaming barding that flashed under the sunlight. The heavy cavalry drove before them a panicked herd of cattle and sheep, far outnumbering their own ranks.
"Ha! Myrish!"
Mero, commander of the Second Sons, burst into mocking laughter. Leaning lazily against the battlements, he stroked his red-gold beard and gave Trombo a taunting look.
"Look at you soft fools! Letting them stroll through your farms like it's their own backyard? Can't even guard your livestock? Ha!"
His laughter echoed along the ramparts, thick with smug delight.
Trombo's face flushed crimson. Shame, fury, and humiliation tangled within him, choking his breath as he glared at the strutting heavy cavalry below.
"Wait…"
A voice with a lilting Tyroshi accent cut in, smooth yet teasing. Daario Naharis, one of the three commanders of the Stormcrows, had appeared at the parapet without anyone noticing. He wore no armor, only a brightly colored, flamboyant coat. One hand idly caressed the ornate dagger at his hip, but his eyes—sharp as an eagle's—were locked on the cavalry's equipment and harnesses.
"These heavy cavalry… their armor and horse gear… look familiar. Aren't those from the Long Lances?"
Every gaze turned toward the returning Dragon Soul Guards. The arrogance froze on Mero's face—then gave way to stunned disbelief.
He whipped around to face Trombo.
"So these heavy cavalrymen's horses and equipment were all looted from the Long Lances? Damn it—does that mean the rumors are true? That Eastern bastard really conquered Lys, annihilating the Maiden's Men, the Ragged Standard, and the Long Lances entirely?"
He fixed Trombo with a piercing stare. The Long Lances' heavy cavalry enjoyed legendary renown among the Free Cities, and the shockwaves from their annihilation were beyond imagination.
Trombo, however, felt a faint sense of relief. His greatest fear had been that these arrogant sellsword companies would underestimate Lo Quen's strength. He nodded quickly, his tone grave.
"Yes, Captain Mero. The Easterner is cunning and ruthless, and his soldiers are the cream of the crop—especially those heavy cavalrymen who seized the Long Lances' warhorses. Our current situation is dire. Not only do they outnumber us, but they also possess numerous catapults and highly mobile cavalry units wreaking havoc in our rear. We must devise a foolproof strategy immediately to break this stalemate!"
Kov snorted arrogantly.
"Hmph! What's there to strategize? Our numbers match theirs. Right here, on this open field, we'll deploy our forces with honor and courage, crushing them with blades and bravery. Let that Easterner see what true warriors are made of. Hiding in this stone box admiring the scenery only lets a sellsword's courage go moldy."
"That's easy for you to say, Captain Kov."
Daario's mocking voice cut through the air instantly. He continued to toy with his dagger, his eyes fixed on Kov with a defiant glint.
"Their fortifications aren't half-bad. Those catapults aren't for show. More troublesome are their cavalry—especially the heavy horsemen. They move like the wind, ready to strike our flanks or cut off our retreat at any moment. Frankly, in this terrain, a head-on clash... our odds of winning are slim."
"You brat!"
Kov's rage flared instantly. He whipped around, nearly colliding with Daario.
"When I took my first enemy's head on the continent of Essos, you were still sucking your mother's teat! A coward like you thinks he's fit to be a sellsword? Fit to give orders here? Our Bright Banners Company has no room for weaklings like you!"
His spittle nearly splattered onto Daario's vibrantly colored tunic.
Far from backing down, Daario met Kov's blazing glare with an even broader grin. He tossed the dagger in his hand lightly and chuckled softly.
"Oh? Is that so? Then, esteemed leader of the Bright Banners, might you explain which 'fearless' mercenary company, over three hundred years ago, fled without even drawing their blades when faced with Dothraki whips outside the city of Qohor? Which 'glorious' chapter of history saw the city ultimately defended by a bunch of spineless Unsullied? Truly impressive!"
"You—!"
Kov's face flushed crimson. Daario had precisely struck the most disgraceful and forbidden scar in the Bright Banners' history.
The other company captains, including Mero and Goghor, fell into a subtle silence—some sneering, others frowning.
Trombo felt his scalp tingle. He quickly squeezed between the two men.
"Company captains! All captains! Please, calm down! With a formidable enemy at our doorstep—that Easterner across the way—arguing won't solve anything. Please... let us set aside our differences for now and discuss our next battle plan together."
Kov snorted coldly and turned away.
The wind atop the city walls seemed to grow stronger, whipping the colorful banners of the various sellsword companies into a loud, snapping roar.