The uprising miners had split into two groups: one surrounded by several hundred Unsullied, while the other was scattered throughout the palace. History has shown ti and again how a few hundred well-ard regular troops could easily crush tens of thousands of poorly organized peasant soldiers at the start of an uprising. This was no different.
Jorah, leading fewer than two thousand miners, found himself locked in a brutal struggle against the Unsullied. When he spotted reinforcents from Tyrosh arriving in the distance, a cold dread settled in his heart. This ant that Viserys was in grave danger.
There was no escape—he didn’t even need to look back to know that.
“Hold on!” Jorah shouted, his eyes bloodshot and wild with desperation. He fought like a man possessed, slipping and falling on the blood-soaked stone floor. The palace’s hard surface couldn’t absorb the blood, which pooled and mingled with the severed limbs, making it nearly impossible for anyone to keep their footing.
Gasping for breath, Jorah felt the thick stench of blood filling his lungs. He had never been in such a ferocious battle in his life. The Unsullied advanced steadily, their spears dripping with dark red blood, like the claws of demons. Jorah had never faced an enemy like this before; most rcenary groups avoided direct confrontation with the Unsullied for good reason.
As he contemplated retreat, he realized with a sinking heart that his path was blocked. Behind him lay the bodies of fallen miners, and beyond them, the impenetrable palace walls. Despair began to creep in.
Suddenly, a golden rod-like object fell from the sky, narrowly missing him. Instinctively, Jorah dodged, and the object hit the ground with a dull thud, splattered with blood. He looked up and saw Viserys’s golden eagle circling above. Realizing what had fallen, Jorah snatched up the object—it was the Unsullied’s scepter.
"Charge! Kill them! Kill them all!" the commander of the Tyrosh reinforcents bellowed, his eyes wild with bloodlust, the overpowering scent of blood driving him to the brink of madness.
But in the next mont, Jorah raised the scepter high, shouting, “Dovaogēdyr!”—the command for the Unsullied. The soldiers halted, their attention drawn to the scepter in his hand.
“In the na of the scepter, attack!” Jorah commanded, his voice hoarse, as he pointed the scepter toward the reinforcents.
It was as if a switch had been flipped. The Unsullied, who had been fiercely fighting the rebel miners just monts before, suddenly turned their spears and charged the Tyrosh reinforcents. The commander of the reinforcents stared in disbelief, knowing all too well the deadly efficiency of the Unsullied. The sight of their spears now turned against him sent a shiver down his spine.
With the Unsullied leading the way, the miners rallied and charged at the reinforcents. The tide of battle was shifting rapidly. Rovi's son, who led the reinforcents, thought frantically, 'If Kambron is safe, we can still salvage this.' Losing the palace seed an acceptable risk if it ant regrouping for another fight.
Suddenly, the piercing cry of Viserys’s golden eagle echoed through the night, cutting through the chaos like a blade through black velvet.
Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out—it was Kambron’s.
“Everyone, drop your weapons! Drop your weapons!”
...
On the shore, the Sunspear fleet's assault was fierce, thanks to their dragon-shooting crossbows. However, despite the intensity of their barrage, the fleet remained at a safe distance, showing no signs of landing.
Arianne paced anxiously at the bow of her ship, surrounded by seven or eight heavily armored soldiers holding shields. She was safe, but her view was obstructed, allowing her only glimpses of Tyrosh through the small gaps between the shields.
“Move over a bit! We’re so far away, how could I possibly get hurt?” Arianne complained, trying to push the guards aside. But they were too large and strong, standing firm despite her efforts.
“Arianne!” The Red Viper’s stern voice cut through the tension. Arianne turned to face her uncle and, seeing his expression, reluctantly retreated.
“Uncle, why aren’t we attacking the city yet?” she asked, her frustration barely contained.
“Arianne, this is war. Father is the commander,” Obara said, her tone firm.
“But Viserys said he was attacking the capital. If we push harder, he’ll be safer, right?”
“We’ll fire three more volleys, then prepare to land,” the Red Viper ordered.
“Three more rounds?” Arianne echoed, exasperated.
“Arianne!” Obara warned again.
Frustrated, Arianne stamped her foot and stord off to sulk. She had already sensed that neither the coalition fleet nor her own had truly committed to the attack. Worry gnawed at her—what was happening inside the city? Was Viserys’s assault going well?
The Red Viper shared her concern. He knew that those inside Tyrosh must be fighting desperately, possibly even facing capture. But he also believed that Viserys was no ordinary man and would find a way to prevail.
At that mont, a white seagull landed on the flagship. Red Viper glanced at it, and his second daughter, Nyria, stepped forward to retrieve the note tied to the bird’s leg.
“Father! Viserys says he’s taken the palace and captured the Archon alive. He wants us to et him in the western part of the city!”
Red Viper could hardly believe it. He took the note and read it himself.
“He took the palace? And captured the Archon alive?” He repeated, astonished. “Where did he get an army from?”
The Red Viper was baffled. He had never been inside Tyrosh’s palace, but from the outside, it appeared impregnable without at least 5,000 elite troops. Sohow, Viserys must have conjured up such a force.
Finally, the Red Viper made up his mind to launch a full-scale attack. With the enemy’s leader captured, the defenders’ morale would crumble. Now was the ti to strike hard and reap the rewards of victory.
“Cease the harassnt of the city and prepare to land!” he commanded, ordering the ships to approach the shore.
Arianne eagerly donned her helt, ready to be the first to leap from the ship.
“Nyria, watch her. Obara and I will go,” the Red Viper instructed.
“No! Uncle, no! You promised !” Arianne protested, her anger flaring.
“I promised to bring you to Tyrosh, not to let you go to war,” the Red Viper replied, a cunning gleam in his eye as Arianne fud.
“Don’t worry, we’ll co for you after we’ve cleared the enemy,” he added, leaving Arianne to watch helplessly as he and the others disembarked.
anwhile, Connington, observing the battle from the Myr-Pentos alliance, studied the situation closely. He had suggested that the best vantage point to monitor the clash between the Pentos and Sunspear fleets was at their junction. But despite his strategic positioning, Connington wasn’t optimistic about the battle’s outco. As the forr Hand of the King, he had the insight to see that the loose coalition, while fierce, might not achieve much.
The Sunspear fleet seed to share his doubts. They wouldn’t risk their lives until they were certain of victory. The sailors’ morale was low, and there was little hope of success.
Then, to Connington’s surprise, the Sunspear fleet began a landing operation.
'What’s going on?' he wondered, baffled. He couldn’t understand why Doran, known for his cautious nature, would allow Red Viper to launch such an attack.
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