Bronzegate, Warfare Council.
Ser Davos's expression was more somber than usual. "Your Grace, word from Storm's End reports their provisions are running low. Most of the army's rations were taken out with our forces. Now they're trapped outside by that boy who calls himself Aegon and his pack of Dothraki wild dogs. Their supply lines are nearly severed. The castle's reserves will last a month at most."
The Lord of Haystack Hall added grimly, "Yesterday, we clashed with those Dothraki on The Kingsroad. We lost nearly two thousand men. Those Dothraki cavalry aren't men at all—they're beasts! Their horsemanship and archery are terrifyingly skilled. Our infantry formations struggle to withstand their charges."
Bad news piled up relentlessly.
Stannis sat in the seat of honor, his face taut. His gaze kept drifting toward the silver-gray young dragon "Orys," chained to an iron rack in the corner, still clumsily breathing fire to roast meat. Damn it, the dragon is too small!
Stannis then turned his gaze to Melisandre, standing motionless. The red priestess met his eyes calmly, her gaze shifting.
Davos watched them lock eyes, his heart twisting in agony. It seemed Stannis had made up his mind—he was going to use that Shadow magic again. He hesitated for a moment, but ultimately abandoned any attempt to dissuade him. The current situation was dire for them. Had it not been for Aegon besieging Storm's End, they might have retreated all the way to Fellwood.
...
Bronzegate, late at night.
On the ramparts, Lorick felt sleep creeping over him. Drowsy, he shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He was a local conscript from Bronzegate, enlisted less than a fortnight ago—a farmer displaced by the Dothraki who roamed the Stormlands.
Muttering under his breath, he glanced at the veteran beside him. "Calvin, when do you think the next battle will be?"
Calvin, the veteran, was a taciturn man with a scar across his cheek. He squinted, his gaze fixed warily on the endless darkness beyond the walls. At the question, he merely shook his head. "Only the gods know! Stay alert, kid. The late hours are the hardest to endure."
They guarded the western gate of Bronzegate. It wasn't the main entrance, but a smaller passage used for transporting supplies and personnel. Still, it was thick and sturdy, clad in Steelskin and locked from the inside with massive oak bolts.
At that very moment, inside the city walls, three figures moved silently along the base of the ramparts. All wore Stormlands soldier uniforms, their armor caked with mud, indistinguishable from any weary sentry nearby.
The leader was "Iron Nail" Marco, a scout from the Golden Company, skilled in stealth and assassination. Following him were 'Dumb' Togg and "Swiftfoot" Leo. They were carefully placed pieces in the game orchestrated by Lysono Maa, the Golden Company's Spymaster. They had infiltrated the city disguised as stragglers or conscripts amidst the chaos when Stannis's army first camped at Bronzegate, patiently biding their time.
"This is the spot."
Marco halted in the shadow of a crenellation, his voice barely above a whisper as he scanned the gatehouse not far ahead. Below lay the narrow stone steps leading to the gate's drawbridge and bolt mechanisms.
"Two open sentries, two at the crenellations, and possibly two hidden ones down at the gate entrance."
Quickfoot Leo peered out, then quickly retracted his head. "The guard change just happened. They're at their most lax now."
Marco nodded, a flicker of ruthlessness passing through his eyes.
"Stick to the plan, Togg. You take out the guard by the winch and make sure the gate stays locked. Leo, you keep watch. If anything goes wrong, mimic a Nightingale's call. I'll handle the bolt."
No unnecessary chatter.
The three quickly dispersed.
Marco pressed himself against the cold stone wall, creeping toward the gatehouse below. Sure enough, two soldiers, leaning against the archway leading to the stone steps, were dozing, their long spears cradled in their arms.
Luck is on my side.
Marco sneered inwardly. Without hesitation, he moved behind the first soldier, clamping his left hand over the man's nose and mouth, while his right hand's dagger sliced cleanly across his throat. Warm fluid splattered across Marco's hand and the cold stone wall. The soldier's body convulsed violently once before going limp.
Almost simultaneously, Marco gently laid the collapsing corpse to rest and lunged at the second guard. The soldier seemed to sense movement, blearily opening his eyes just in time to meet Marco's icy stare and the blade sweeping toward him.
"Guh!"
A second dull thud.
Marco swiftly dragged both bodies into the shadows, covering them partially with discarded sacks. The entire operation was clean and efficient, producing almost no audible disturbance. He gestured toward the darkness. Soon, the burly figure of the mute Togg appeared on the other side, nodding to confirm that the guard by the winch had also been dealt with.
Now, the biggest obstacle was the massive door bolt. It would take at least two or three strong men to lift it. Marco and Togg approached the enormous bolt. It lay across the doorway, firmly wedged in its stone groove. The two exchanged a glance, sheathed their weapons, flexed their fingers, and braced for the effort.
Just then, Lorick atop the ramparts seemed to catch a faint, strange scraping sound, like something heavy being dragged.
"Calvin, did you hear that?" he asked, a hint of unease in his voice.
The veteran Calvin strained his ears but heard nothing beyond the wind. "Just the wind. Don't scare yourself." He muttered, tightening his collar.
Below, Marco and Togg's faces were flushed crimson, veins bulging on their foreheads as they strained every muscle to inch the heavy bolt upward from its stone groove.
"Hurry!" Marco ground out between clenched teeth.
Finally, the bolt was fully raised. They leaned it carefully against the adjacent wall, avoiding a loud thud. Now, only the massive gate itself remained. Marco signaled to Togg, who immediately ran to the door. Peering through the crack, he tapped the door panel in a specific rhythm: three long, two short. This was the signal for the advance team waiting outside the city.
Then, Marco and Togg each positioned themselves behind a door, took a deep breath, braced their shoulders against the door panels, and began pushing outward with all their might.
"Creak—squeak—"
The grinding sound from the heavy gate's hinges finally rang out, impossible to conceal.
"What's that noise?!"
Lorick on the ramparts jolted upright, grabbing his spear. Veteran Calvin snapped awake, his face turning pale.
"Below! At the gate!" He lunged to the parapet and peered down.
The once-sealed gate had been forced open, now gaping wide enough for a single man to slip through. Two dark figures outside were straining to push it wider still. And beyond the city walls, in the darkness, countless shadows surged forward.
...
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