Eddard flapped his massive, cream-colored wings, circling through the ink-black night sky. Higher up, the air was a biting, clean chill that smelled of salt and distant rain, far removed from the stench of the plague-ridden city below. Through Viserion's burning golden eyes, the world was a map of heat and shadow. Meereen sat like a glowing bronze ember amidst the dark plains, surrounded by the flickering, fearful eyes of a thousand Yunkai'i campfires.
Below, in the central plaza, Ser Barristan Selmy was a silver statue atop a magnificent white stallion. According to Admiral Groleo, the horse was a wedding gift from Khal Drogo - a mount the Queen had ridden to conquer Astapor and break Yunkai. Barristan knew the value of a symbol; in the Queen's absence, her horse and her "Old Knight" were the only anchors the city had left.
Beneath the spires of the old slave exchange, five thousand Unsullied stood in ten perfect rows. They were marble statues in bronze, each carrying three spears and a shield. They didn't flinch as the "Pale Mare" continued its grim delivery, cadavers launched by Yunkish trebuchets hit the cobblestones with a sickening splat, like overripe tomatoes. The eunuch soldiers simply shifted their steps to avoid the spray of infected gore, then reformed their lines with a terrifying, silent discipline.
The Stormcrows lounged in the Merchant's Arcade, sharpening steel with the nonchalance of men who treated war like a trade. Nearby, the pit fighters gathered at the Skull Spire, their faces masks of bloodthirsty anticipation. They hated the masters, but they hated the besiegers more.
Eddard scanned the tactical deployment.
East Gate: Jorah Mormont and the Strong Shield Army. Their target: the "Dragonbreaker" and "Hammer of Mazdhan" trebuchets.
North Gate: "Scarback" Symon and the Free Brotherhood. They faced the bulk of the Ghiscari legions across the river.
Surprise Flank: Karas Snow and two thousand Karstark-trained elites, moving like shadows along the Skahazadhan River to circle the trebuchets.
South Gate: Missandei and the Dragon Mother's Servants, facing the "Long Lances" cavalry.
West Gate: Ser Barristan and the heavy cavalry strike force.
Atop the Great Pyramid, the beacon was lit. A small spark grew into a towering pillar of yellow-orange flame, burning a "bloody hole" in the night sky.
The gates of Meereen groaned open.
Ser Barristan led the charge out of the West Gate. Five hundred cavalry thundered toward the Ghiscari legions guarding the "Old Wench" trebuchet. Deep in the enemy darkness, a dozen armored war-elephants trumpeted, their howdahs filled with archers.
Eddard craned Viserion's neck and let out a roar that vibrated his very bones. He called to Rhaegal, who was occupied with clawing at a fallen corpse, and dived.
The two dragons descended like falling stars. Their maws opened, and two streams of liquid fire, white-gold and jade-green, poured into the center of the first Ghiscari line. The heat was a physical hammer. Soldiers were transformed into living torches in a heartbeat, their screams adding a high, discordant note to the symphony of the charge.
Eddard didn't linger. He flew over the second and third lines, fire exploding beneath his belly. The "Heron Force", slaves on stilts in pink enamel armor were the first to break. They were a joke of a legion, over two meters tall and useless the moment their balance was shaken. When the first spooked elephant careened through their ranks, the pink-plumed "birds" were crushed into the mud.
Boom!
Viserion's second breath ignited the "Old Wench." The ten-meter-tall wooden engine went up in a spectacular green-and-yellow inferno. Eddard soared back into the heights, weaving through a rain of panicked arrows that bounced harmlessly off the [Mana Armor] shimmering around his scales.
At the South Gate, the Long Lances prepared their counter-charge. Gyloro Rhevin, their commander, intended to use his eight hundred riders to trample the "slave rabble" of the Dragon Mother's Servants.
"CHARGE!" Rhevin roared.
But Missandei, the former Unsullied, had trained the men well. They didn't break. They bunched their spears together, forming a dark forest of steel. When the Long Lances hit the third layer of the phalanx, the momentum died. Karstark-style "Ice Warrior" tactics met Reach-style cavalry, and the spears won.
Rhaegal, bored of the infantry, swooped low and snatched two riders and their horses from the air. He flew a dozen meters high and dropped them, watching with a child's curiosity as they shattered on the dry earth. The Long Lances didn't wait for a second pass; they scattered into the darkness like autumn leaves.
At the East Gate, Jorah Mormont encountered the true horror of the Yunkish camp. As his men surged forward, they were met not with steel, but with the wails of the dying. The camp had been ridden by the "Pale Mare."
"Stay clear!" Jorah roared, his voice thick with dread. "Do not touch the dead! Do do not enter the tents!"
He led his army around the infected zone, running straight into a mass of slave levies who had been chained together to prevent their flight. It was a butcher's shop. The Strong Shield Army pushed forward, their shortswords stabbing through the gaps in their shields. Chained men fell, dragging the living down with them to be trampled or skewered.
In the center of the chaos, the Wise Masters sat in their ivory palanquins, screaming orders in High Valyrian. Rhaegal's golden eyes fixed on the silk and gems. He whistled downward, turning the "magnificent" carriages into funeral pyres. Eddard followed, roasting the high-profile Yunkai leaders until only charred bone and melted gold remained.
A massive crashing sound echoed from the north.
"Dragonbreaker" had collapsed. Karas Snow and his two thousand elites had emerged from the shadows of the river, routing ten thousand slaves in less than fifteen minutes.
Meereen's walls were no longer a prison; they were a fortress of victory. The land-based siege was broken, but across the water, the sea was already alive with the flash of firebirds and the drumbeat of oars.
Eddard flapped his wings, the heat of the burning palanquins rising to meet him. He let out a final, triumphant roar and banked toward the bay. The second naval battle of Slaver's Bay was about to begin.
Plz Drop Some Power Stones.
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