"Friends!" Jan Deacras shouted. "Lord Aeos is here!"
"If not now…" he roared, "then never!"
Jan's booming cry about revolution at their doorstep and about Lord Aeos' arrival drew the attention of everyone around him. Thousands of eyes of common people, of the soldiers, of the great masters were fixed on him.
Even the eyes of the Great Masters standing atop the walls and below, narrowed, shifting toward the commotion.
Yet their gazes quickly returned to the barrels still arcing through the sky. Whatever that insolent man was shouting could be dealt with later.
They had no idea what the barrels contained. More collars, perhaps? But why were they on fire?
Wildfire? A remote possibility, but still some shuddered at the thought. If it was wildfire, then they were doomed.
The speculation did not last long. The barrels struck the ground amid the soldiers.
A panic erupted among the soldiers and they scattered to avoid the burning barrel. The sudden movement of the men created, a small chaos breaking out among their ranks.
As the barrels shattered on impact, flaming cloth burst out, erupting in blazing piles of fire.
The Great Masters had not even processed what was happening, what harm or what kind of strategy this burning cloth represented when Jan Deacras cried out again, this time directly addressing them.
"Surrender!" he shouted. "Do not resist the inevitable. Revolution is inevitable. Lord Aeos is inevitable!"
"Choose your life over death," he boomed.
"I may die alone…" he continued, his eyes flicking toward the Masters who were now exchanging wary and questioning glances, likely preparing to order the soldiers to kill him.
There was not much distance between the Great Masters and the gathered crowd.
If not for the tension and chaos of the burning barrels, if not for the fear of inciting a full revolt by killing one common man, right then, they likely would have already ordered his execution.
The burning barrels had given just enough distraction, just enough hesitation.
"But I will never bow to these fools again!" Jan shouted.
A loud chorus of cheers erupted behind him. Jan did not know how much of it came from the true crowd and how much from the 300 undercover agents, his fellow spies, strategically scattered and intermixed among the people.
Their task had been simple. Follow his lead, stir the masses, and give the final push to ignite revolution.
But the sound, whether real or artificially created, was enough. It stirred anxiety in the hearts of the Great Masters and a subtle courage in the hearts of the people. The bubble which had been frothing from the past few days was ready to burst.
"Kill that bastard!" one of the masters barked.
The order was immediate. A couple of soldiers advanced toward Jan.
Jan's heart tightened as his eyes flicked to a particular street, the one he had been watching all along.
"I may die," he muttered under his breath, his voice echoing across the street, "but I will not bow."
And then he roared again, hurling the stone clutched in his hand at the master who had ordered his death.
The stone would not hit, of course, there was plenty of time to avoid it, but that was not the point. A man without a weapon was going against an army.
The advancing soldiers quickened their pace. Meanwhile, some movement stirred within the crowd. A few individuals stepped forward, gripping stones and bricks.
Most of them were Jan's own men, spies planted among the people, but the common folk still hesitated, daunted by the sight of soldiers with blades.
"Do not be late," Jan whispered to himself. "Come on."
As if in response to his prayer, a chorus of screams echoed from the street he had been watching. All eyes turned.
And then it happened.
Dozens of men surged from the alleyway, blades and spears in hand.
Before anyone could react, more and more figures poured out, charging straight for the gates.
These were the 200 trained combatants of Jan's spy company. Brutally trained soldiers.
The Meereenese soldiers, already rattled by the fire, had broken ranks. Their formation was in disarray.
The 200 Astapori warriors charged like men possessed. Trained rigorously, their purpose was singular and clear. They served one man. They served one cause. They served one purpose.
They struck with precision and brutality, cutting down the soldiers who had rushed toward Jan. In mere moments, throats were slit and blood started to pour in the street.
The attackers pushed forward in an arrow shaped formation, carving their way toward the gates.
With the defenders in chaos, the Meereenese soldiers had no time to regroup. In the first few moments, more than a dozen were dead.
"Charge!" Jan Deacras shouted. "Lord Aeos is here!"
"Lord Aeos is here!" he roared again. "His men have entered the city!"
Fallen Meereenese soldiers, the sudden appearance of warriors willing to die for their cause, a lone man without a weapon sparking open rebellion, and 300 others rising behind him and the possibility that these warrior were Lord Aeos men.
If all that was not enough to stir the blood of the common folk, then what could? And so, the crowd charged.
They seized the weapons of the fallen. They did not know how to wield them but it did not matter.
Their movement was enough. Enough to terrify the Great Masters.
The moment the Masters saw the crowd rushing toward them, fear took root in their hearts. The chants of Lord Aeos' arrival, the chaos in their army, and the sheer force of a desperate people became too much.
They began to retreat, panicked, shaken, and completely unprepared.
All of this was being watched by the Great Masters from the tops of the pyramids.
Naturally, they had not heard everything that had transpired near the gates, but what they had seen was more than enough to understand what had happened.
A rebellion had broken out. A true, organized rebellion. Men had taken up arms against them.
At this realization, the hearts of the masters tightened, especially those who had been in favour of surrender.
But even surrender now seemed uncertain. A mob did not pause to ask whether someone wished to surrender or not. It only saw blood, anger, and opportunity. And they knew that once their ire broke out, they would have no mercy.
Perhaps Lord Aeos would show mercy. He had not killed indiscriminately in Astapor.
And somehow, suddenly, to some of the masters, Lord Aeos began to appear less like a conqueror and more like a saviour. A saviour they could not wait to see enter the city.
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