A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 17: The Storm of Blades (Part 1/4)

As dawn broke, scouts returned with grim news.

Volantis had rallied. Not just their armies, but three of the greatest sellsword companies in Essos.

The Stormcrows.The Second Sons.The Company of the Cat.

A combined force of 30,000 men.

And they were coming.

The breakdown of the Volantene army:

8,000 archers, trained to rain death from afar.3,000 horsemen, ready to break lines with their lances.20 war elephants, each one a walking fortress.The rest—infantry, spearmen, and Volantene sellswords.

Aerion stood atop the hill, overlooking the vast golden plains where the battle would be fought. His army was outnumbered, but they had the advantage—the high ground, fortified positions, and the will to fight for their prince.

Clement stood beside him, wiping blood from his cheek. "They come for our gold. For you."

Aerion's blood-red eyes burned in the morning light.

"They will find only death."

The battle for the Dragon Company had begun.

The Volantene host stretched far across the golden plains, banners of black and orange fluttering beneath the morning sun. The Second Sons, the Stormcrows, and the Company of the Cat formed the vanguard, their seasoned sellswords eager for the blood-price promised by the Triarchs.

Behind them, the Volantene spearmen stood in endless ranks, their polished armor gleaming.

The war elephants, massive and unstoppable, were positioned near the center, their tusks capped in steel, their howdahs filled with archers ready to rain death from above.

At their head rode Mero, the Titan's Bastard, his cruel grin visible even from a distance. Daario Naharis and Prendahl na Ghezn rode beside him, while Sallor the Bald and Bloodbeard led the flanking forces.

Against them, atop a gently sloping hill, the Dragon Company stood ready.

Barricades of sharpened stakes and wooden palisades had been erected.Pits had been dug, covered in cloth to trap charging cavalry.Oil and pitch were prepared, ready to turn the ground into a sea of flame.

Prince Aerion Targaryen sat astride a black destrier Darysy, a horse he got for his tenth nameday from Monford, his blood-red eyes surveying the field.

The young prince's black armor gleamed, and at his hip, his Meteor steel sword, Sarfyre, rested—a unique blade, wielded now by a warrior not yet thirteen.

Beside him, Ser Barristan Selmy adjusted his white cloak, his expression grim but composed.

Lord Monford Velaryon, his plate worked in pearlescent silver, rested a hand on the hilt of his longsword.

Lord Clement Celtigar, ever reckless, spun his new axe in his grip. "This is going to be fun," he said, grinning.

Naeron Qoherys, standing with the heavy infantry, said nothing. His hand tightened around his poleaxe.

The enemy outnumbered them nearly 2 to 1.

But numbers alone would not decide this battle.

War would.

And war was what they were born for.

The First Charge begun.

The horns blew, and the Volantene vanguard surged forward.

Naeron Qoherys gritted his teeth as the Second Sons and the Stormcrows charged.

The earth shook beneath their galloping horses.

His men stood behind the rows of sharpened stakes, spears braced against the ground.

"Hold!" Naeron barked. His voice boomed over the ranks, steadier than he felt. "Hold!"

The enemy came closer.

Closer.

Then, at the last second—Aerion raised his hand.

The sky lit up in fire.

Arrows soared, darkening the sky as the Dragon Company's archers loosed their first volley.

Hundreds of horses screamed and fell as the arrows struck home.

The enemy charge collapsed into chaos. Some riders tumbled from their saddles, others crashed into the spikes, their mounts impaling themselves.

And still, more came.

Naeron lifted his poleaxe. "NOW!"

The Dragon Company's front lines surged forward.

Naeron swung his poleaxe in a brutal arc, cleaving through a Stormcrow mercenary, the blade cracking ribs as it exited his back.

A Second Son lunged at him, but Naeron sidestepped, driving the spiked end of his weapon into the man's skull.

The battle had begun.

Clement Celtigar had never seen a war elephant in battle before.

Now, he was about to fight one.

The massive beasts thundered toward their lines, their steel-capped tusks gleaming like scythes.

"Shit."

Clement turned to the sappers and siege engineers behind him. "NOW!"

The men hurled clay pots of burning oil toward the pits they had dug in the field.

The moment the elephants stepped forward—FIRE ERUPTED.

Massive flames roared into the air.

The elephants shrieked in terror, rearing up as fire licked at their legs.

One panicked, turning back and crashing through the Volantene lines, trampling their own men in its blind terror.

But not all of them fled.

One elephant broke through the fire, its massive frame wreathed in smoke, and crashed into the barricades, shattering wood and steel alike.

Clement cursed. "FALL BACK!"

Too late.

The elephant's rider hurled a javelin, and one of Clement's men crumpled as the weapon impaled him.

The beast barreled forward, scattering soldiers like dolls.

Clement barely had time to dive aside before a massive foot crushed the ground where he had stood.

"SEVEN HELLS!"

He turned, sword ready, but how the fuck do you fight an elephant?

And then—

A whistling spear soared through the air—striking the elephant directly in the eye.

The beast bellowed and reared up—then collapsed, dead.

Clement turned.

Standing behind him, lowering his spear, was Monford Velaryon.

Monford smirked. "You're welcome."

Clement wiped the sweat from his brow. "Yeah, yeah, fuck you too."

At the center of the field, Daario Naharis rode forward.

He carried his ornate arakh in one hand, a curved Myrish stiletto in the other.

His blue-dyed hair was tied back in a braid, and his golden mustachioed smile was full of confidence.

"Prince Aerion Targaryen!" Daario called, his horse stepping over corpses. "They say you are a dragon reborn. Let's see if you bleed like one."

Aerion's blood-red eyes narrowed.

He spurred his stallion forward, drawing Sarfyre from a lifeless Second Son.

The Meteor steel blade shone as Aerion pointed it at Daario.

"Then come and find out."

Daario laughed, then spurred his horse into a charge.

Aerion did the same.

The two warriors clashed in the heart of the battlefield, steel meeting steel, dragon against sellsword.

The first strike of many to come.