Lys was tasked with defending the Dragon's Flame Fortress. Rovi, the general in charge, stood on a high point with his second son and several officers, watching the fleeing Tyrosh soldiers below. Excitement surged through him as he surveyed the battle. Without taking his eyes off the chaos, he commanded, "Send the Unsullied down to break their formation! Inform the soldiers that I will reward them with ten gold dragons for every head they sever, and ten thousand gold dragons for Toland's!"
"Yes, my lord!" came the swift reply.
As the messenger departed, another soldier approached. "Lord, Bloodbeard has also requested to join the battle!"
"Hmph, these mercenaries," Rovi scoffed.
Rovi's family had been responsible for the defense of Lys since his grandfather's time. He despised sellswords, viewing them as mercenaries who only fought when the battle was easy. Yet, to defeat Tyrosh in a single stroke, he begrudgingly accepted their participation.
"Bring me some wine!" Rovi ordered. He then turned to the nobles around him, a grin spreading across his face. "There is nothing more enjoyable than watching the enemy flee while sipping wine."
"Yes, yes," the nobles agreed eagerly.
"Father, look at them. They're like fish without a brain," Rovi's son chimed in, seizing the moment to flatter him. As the second son, he needed to keep his father pleased to secure more benefits.
But Rovi frowned at his son's words. "You should address me by my title at a time like this."
"I understand, Father."
Despite the relaxed atmosphere, one person frowned secretly. Rovi had always insisted on formalities during operations, and this lapse in protocol was noted.
"Lord Rovi, should we send some troops to block the Windblown?" Feles of House Rogare asked. The silver-haired man, in his twenties, was a descendant of a once-powerful house that had ruled Lys over a century ago. Though the Rogare family had since fallen and fled Lys, they had returned with little influence. Still, Feles was distantly related to Viserys.
His suggestion was sound; containing the Windblown could secure victory. However, Rovi dismissed the idea with a sneer. "Lord Rogare, have you forgotten that the Windblown are just a mercenary group? Faced with certain defeat, mercenaries will only think of running faster. Why would they come back to support them?"
Dissatisfied, Feles pressed, "If you were in their place, would you support Tyrosh's army?"
"No!"
"Of course not!"
"Mercenaries fight for money, not to risk their lives. Why would they help Tyrosh?"
Eager to please Rovi, others chimed in with agreement.
"Now, we must commit all our forces and crush the noisy Tyroshi in one decisive blow!" Rovi declared, smugness evident in his tone.
"But..." Feles began, but Rovi cut him off. "Let's make a bet. How long do you think Tyrosh will last? I doubt it will be more than an hour."
"Three-quarters of an hour!"
"Two-quarters of an hour!"
Another noble started to suggest a quarter of an hour but was met with laughter.
...
While Lys's leaders basked in their confidence, Toland, who had been so assured just moments ago, was overwhelmed by the looming defeat. How had a seemingly certain victory turned into this disaster?
"Lord! We must retreat!" a noble urged.
Toland looked at the man who had been drinking and laughing with him not long ago, his mind racing. Could they really retreat? If they lost the battle, they would face dire consequences upon their return—possibly even massive reparations they couldn't afford. In slave-owning Free Cities like Lys and Tyrosh, those who couldn't pay their debts had only one fate: becoming slaves.
The thought chilled Toland to the core. Not only would he become a slave, but his wife and daughter would also become property to settle the debt. In this world, that was how free men were turned into slaves.
"No, Windblown!"
Suddenly, Toland remembered that the people from Windblown had warned him before the battle about a possible trap. At the time, he dismissed it, never imagining it would lead to such a disastrous consequence.
As he stared at the map behind the tent, Toland realized his only hope lay with the Windblown. But would a mercenary group fight desperately in a battle they were certain to lose? What price would he have to pay?
In the end, he made up his mind. After all, no cost was greater than the price of becoming a slave, not only for himself but for his family as well.
He turned to a nearby attendant, a medium-sized man, and shouted, "Tell the Windblown that if they come to our aid, I will sign a long-term garrison contract with them for Tyrosh, plus 100,000—no, 150,000 gold dragons! Hurry!"
Toland was now like a drowning man, flailing helplessly and desperate for rescue. The terms he offered were indeed very tempting.
In the Free Cities, while mercenaries might be used in battle, securing one's home typically required one's own people. If the Unsullied were available, they would be the preferred choice. For sellswords, however, securing a garrison contract with a city-state was a prize. Such a contract provided stability—no need to fight, yet still get paid, and paid well.
For a mercenary leader, a contract like this would attract more skilled fighters to join their ranks. Usually, they were employed only during wartime, which made their upkeep more affordable. Toland was clearly desperate to make such a promise.
...
Meanwhile, the Tattered Prince, who had been considering a retreat, hesitated upon receiving Toland's offer.
First, Tyrosh's defeat seemed inevitable, making recovery difficult. Second, even if Tyrosh lost, it would still maintain some influence in the Two Lakes region, ensuring future cooperation. They now had a guaranteed minimum outcome, but taking a risk seemed too costly. Moreover, with his 2,000-odd men scattered, gathering them quickly would be challenging.
At this moment, Viserys spoke up. "Commander, we don't have to succeed in saving Toland, but we could at least try."
"Try?" the old commander asked.
Viserys had observed through the Golden Eagle's eyes that Lys had not deployed troops to contain their forces. He suggested leading a small group to advance quickly and harass the enemy from the side. Even if they couldn't change the battle's outcome, they might buy Toland and his men some time.
They could send a cavalry unit to test the situation. If an opportunity arose, they could commit more forces; if not, they could locate Toland and escort him to safety. For Viserys, who saw the battlefield clearly, rescuing a single person posed no challenge. Moreover, it could be quite profitable.
If the old commander's plan to hold the line was a safe bet, taking a calculated risk could yield a higher return. The Windblown's actions could become a hallmark of their reliability, much like the Golden Company's reputation for keeping their word. This battle could serve as a "signboard" for future contracts. Even if Tyrosh lost, the Windblown's reputation would grow, and they could demand higher prices in future negotiations.
The old commander considered this and agreed to Viserys's plan. He trusted that Viserys would keep the losses within acceptable limits. After all, he had raised this unit himself, and if the losses were too great, Viserys would be the first to feel the pain.
The Tattered Prince then ordered Viserys to take the 7th Battalion, along with the cavalry from Webber's 9th and Jorah's 10th Battalions, to provide support. The combined cavalry battalion reached Toland's crumbling defense line in less than 20 minutes.