Hearing Elville's suspicion, Nekania's expression darkened. His jaw tightened, and his hand curled slowly into a fist on the stone table.
Aegon Targaryen lacked men. Tyrosh, on the other hand, could summon tens of thousands of slaves to die for them. It was the one advantage the city still held.
"If he intends to take in that horde of slaves, we cannot allow it," Nekania said. His voice dropped to a low, cold register. "Spread the word at once."
He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with fury.
"Announce that Aegon Targaryen means to overthrow slavery and that he has already begun. Assemble a fleet armed with dragon bolts. Strip the defensive crossbows from the walls and mount them on the warships. Intercept his fleet at any cost."
His anger sharpened further as he continued.
"Gather twenty thousand slave soldiers. Assign garrison officers to oversee them, ten slaves to one man. The fleet and the army will depart together. Tell the officers they are to show no mercy. Crush the Rebels as swiftly as possible."
His voice swelled into a shout.
"Women and children included."
He struck the table with an open palm. The torchlight flickered across his furious face.
Aegon Targaryen gaining tens of thousands of laborers would shatter the balance. And in the Lango Highlands there were at least a hundred thousand souls if the serfs were counted alongside the slaves. None were elderly or crippled, the weak never survived long under Tyroshi masters.
Seventy thousand of them were able-bodied men. Put a spear in their hands, and they became soldiers. Combine that with their hatred for the masters, and the result was a nightmare.
Nekania could stomach Aegon supporting rebels. He could not stomach Aegon absorbing them.
If the boy raised an army of tens of thousands and marched with dragons overhead, Tyrosh would face annihilation.
A twitch ran through Nekania's eye. He rounded on Elville and bellowed, "Go. Lead the army yourself."
Elville snapped to attention. "At once."
He left the chamber and strode into the night, his cloak snapping behind him as he barked orders. Decrees bearing the Chief's seal were delivered to every quarter. Under the pressure of the garrison, slave owners surrendered their laborers whether they wished to or not.
Before long, twenty thousand slaves and two thousand garrison troops had been assembled.
Elville oversaw their armament himself. Slaves were handed rough leather vests and long spears with iron heads. Their eyes were hollow, their movements sluggish, yet the weapons were forced into their hands all the same.
Elville strode before them, shoulders squared, and raised his voice.
"The dragons are coming to destroy our home, and we must fight back! If we do not stand together, their fire will consume our wives and children, our land, our houses. Take up your weapons. Drive away the dragons!"
His voice echoed across the plain, but the crowd of slaves remained eerily silent. Not a single cheer. Not a single cry of agreement.
Why would they? They had no houses. No land. Nothing to lose except shackles.
The garrison men, for their part, stared ahead with empty eyes. They had once faced four dragons and survived. Their memories had left deep scars.
Elville felt heat rising to his ears. His spine stiffened with embarrassment. Still, he forced his voice steady.
"All troops, heed the order. Move out."
Despite his loyalty to Nekania, Elville lacked the instincts of a soldier. His decisions were quick but often poor. The twenty-two thousand marched hard, sweat streaming down their backs, until they reached the base of the Lango Highlands.
There, the remains of campfires and footprints spoke clearly. The rebels had not gone far.
"Advance!" Elville ordered, thrusting his arm forward.
"My lord," said Taylor, the Commander of the Garrison, stepping close. He kept his tone cautious. "Perhaps we should let the men rest. With all this noise, the rebels must already know we are here."
Elville stiffened. The earlier humiliation still burned across his skin. He turned sharply.
"Taylor, are you teaching me how to command?"
Taylor lowered his gaze, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his frustration.
"Do not forget who raised you to your position," Elville continued, leaning closer. His breath was hot, and a vein throbbed at his temple.
Taylor exhaled inwardly. He bowed his head. "My apologies, my lord. I will assemble them at once."
"I will command. You will observe," Elville snapped.
He pushed Taylor aside and seized control of the formation. Under garrison prods and shouts, the slave soldiers began to climb the road in a clumsy charge.
Up on the rising path, a band of five hundred rebels had already assembled. Iron blades glinted in the fading sunlight, and leather armor creaked as they shifted. A few of the strongest wore full iron, proof that they were the elite.
Kress, their leader, raised his voice to steady the others.
"Brothers, Sam has gone to deliver word. They marched long and hard. They will need to rest. All we do is watch them."
He moved briskly along the line, adjusting shields and checking formations. His men listened intently. Five hundred defenders on a narrow slope could hold for a long while. The road was little more than ten paces across. If reinforcements arrived in time, even an army of thousands could be held back.
They had taken Lango Highlands only after a golden dragon tore open the slaver lines. They knew the terrain was their ally.
Kress divided the men into ten groups, pairing two groups for each shift. Rotation would keep them fresh.
As long as no disaster struck, they would hold.
Just as he finished setting the line, a murmur rose from below. Kress turned sharply.
A wave of slave soldiers was already charging, spears lowered, stumbling uphill with reckless momentum.
Kress stared, incredulous.
"Are these fools mad?"
The slope stretched more than a hundred meters, and steeply. Charging immediately, without rest, was the act of a commander desperate or ignorant.
But the moment the enemy committed, hesitation ended.
Kress lifted his arm.
"First and second groups, form up. Shields ready. Hold the line."
The defenders locked their formation.
Below them, the mass of slave soldiers surged upward.
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A/N: Aegon's ambition has begun to stir.As his power grows, so do his foes, traitors, and enemies rising with blades already drawn.
Will he truly succeed… or be crushed before he can claim it all?
If you want to find out, read ahead on Patreon. 19 advance chapters available, the first 2 are free.
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