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Chapter 257: The Scourge of Plague
🕑 Added 2025-04-09 11:40:55 +0000 UTCAlthough Lynd’s military actions were all justified under the pretext of maintaining the Narrow Sea’s shipping lanes, those paying close attention to the situation could sense the true intent behind them—particularly the other two Free Cities in the Disputed Lands, Lys and Myr.
Just as Braavos and the other Free Cities were preparing to pressure Lynd into withdrawing its troops from Tyrosh, Tyrosh itself made a move that caught everyone off guard.
Tyrosh suddenly deployed a large force of Unsullied and mercenaries to seize control of the gemstone mine that had previously sparked the unrest in the Disputed Lands. They then declared ownership over the mine and dispatched a considerable workforce to begin extraction.
Tyrosh’s actions sent Lys and Myr into a fury. They had initially considered aiding Tyrosh, believing that, as trading partners, they could help free it from Lynd’s grip. But now, Tyrosh had turned around and looted their territory instead. This sudden betrayal left them feeling deceived and humiliated.
The other Free Cities were equally stunned by Tyrosh’s actions. Observing Tyrosh’s response in light of Lynd’s previous military maneuvers, they instinctively assumed that Tyrosh was colluding with Lynd—Lynd’s forces securing Tyrosh while Tyrosh’s Unsullied and mercenary armies took the resources of the Disputed Lands.
Any plans to support Tyrosh were immediately abandoned, with all eyes now on how Lys and Myr would react.
The disputes over this region had persisted for centuries since the fall of Valyria. The Free Cities had long since grown accustomed to the endless struggles between Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr over the contested territory, and none of them had any intention of intervening.
Lys and Myr, too, knew they could expect no assistance from the other Free Cities. So, seven days after Tyrosh took over the gemstone mine, Lys and Myr each mobilized their mercenary forces and marched into the Disputed Lands. A new round of military conflict erupted on land still stained with the blood of the Dothraki.
In truth, Tyrosh found itself in a difficult position over this war. The Prince of Tyrosh had fallen seriously ill from the crisis, bedridden and unable to govern. Rumors swirled that he was near death. As a result, the Triarchs, Tribunes, Protectors, and other powerful figures eligible to contend for the Archon’s seat began preparing for the upcoming election. The war in the Disputed Lands, however, was entirely left to the mercenary companies and the Unsullied.
Whoever ultimately won the election would have to face one unavoidable problem—repaying Lynd’s debt.
Had the bonds been in the hands of anyone else, the Archon and even the entire Tyroshi council would have simply declared them void, as they had done in the past. But this time, the bondholder was someone they could not afford to offend. If they dared to announce the cancellation of Lynd’s bonds, Lynd’s forces would be marching into the city within moments, hanging every member of the council from the walls of Tyrosh.
And Lynd would not even face resistance from the other Free Cities for doing so. After all, no one would tolerate the sudden erasure of millions of golden dragons in debt. If the Free Cities tried to interfere, it would set a precedent for others to refuse to repay their own debts—such as the Iron Throne’s massive loans from the Iron Bank.
Realizing that no other Free City would come to their aid, Tyrosh’s elite had no choice but to negotiate with Lynd. But the talks yielded little relief—Lynd refused to reduce the debt but agreed not to impose further interest, on the condition that the debt be repaid within a set timeframe. Furthermore, payment did not have to be in gold; an equivalent amount in gemstones would be accepted as well.
This was precisely why the Tyroshi council swiftly passed the resolution to seize the gemstone mine in the Disputed Lands and ramp up mining operations.
Some within Tyrosh—such as the Prince and a handful of influential figures—understood that Lynd was deliberately sowing chaos among the three Free Cities in the Disputed Lands. But they had no alternative. The path Lynd had laid before them was the only one they could take.
Thus, when Tyrosh’s Unsullied and mercenary forces left the city to occupy the Disputed Lands, its defenses were handed over to the 5,000 Chosen soldiers that Lynd had previously stationed there. Aside from a few small urban security forces, all of Tyrosh’s military power was now effectively under the control of the forces of Summerhall.
It was this realization that left the Prince of Tyrosh with little hope for the future—his despair was so deep that it drove him into illness.
Tyrosh’s occupation proceeded far more smoothly than Lynd had anticipated, largely due to Lynd’s long-term infiltration and groundwork. What the Prince of Tyrosh did not know was that nearly half of Tyrosh’s Triarchs, People’s Protectors, and People’s Defenders had already secretly pledged loyalty to Lynd. Of the remaining half, the vast majority had no desire to make an enemy of him.
Only a small number of people insisted on resisting Lynd’s invasion, but their efforts were meaningless in the face of the overwhelming tide. They didn’t even dare resort to drastic measures like assassination against the forces of Summerhall already stationed in Tyrosh. They understood all too well—Tyrosh could still maintain the facade of an independent Free City for now, but the moment they acted, even that illusion would be shattered.
What the people of Tyrosh didn’t know, however, was that the very person they feared had already arrived on Blackstone Island.
"Everything is proceeding according to plan. There's no need to concern ourselves with the opposition. Our immediate goal is to take control of Tyrosh’s entire military force, step by step."
With Tyrosh’s infiltration reaching a critical stage, Lynd needed to be on the front lines, ready to adjust strategy as necessary. That was why he had brought Augustus with him to Blackstone Island.
"There are still some constables who haven’t submitted to us. Should we...?" asked People’s Protector Atester.
Since his initial meeting with Lynd as a peace envoy, Atester had chosen to side with him, playing a key role in expanding Lynd’s influence within Tyrosh. His efforts in bribing the city’s elites had been particularly effective.
He was well aware that once Lynd fully controlled Tyrosh, the title of Archon would cease to exist. From the very beginning, he had never entertained any ambition of claiming that position for himself. Instead, he sought power and status within a Tyrosh under Lynd’s rule—ideally, something as high as a governorship.
"No need," Lynd said, making it clear that assassination was not his preferred method. After a brief pause, he looked at Atester and added, "The people despise corruption. Those constables who accept bribes should have no place on the streets of this city. As a diligent People’s Protector, it’s only right that you report those guilty of crimes."
"I understand, my Lord," Atester replied, nodding repeatedly.
Just then, an intelligence officer from the Eyrie hurried in and handed Lynd a report.
Lynd quickly scanned its contents, his brow furrowing, his expression darkening.
"My Lord, what’s happened?" Atester asked, noticing Lynd’s reaction.
Wordlessly, Lynd handed him the document. Atester took it, reading carefully—his face paled as he finished.
The report contained only one line: Signs of plague have been discovered in the military camps of Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr.
"Return at once and make the necessary preparations," Lynd ordered.
Atester didn’t ask questions. He simply bowed and left in haste, the weight of the news evident in his expression.
Lynd then turned to Jon, who had once again resumed his role as his affairs officer. "Are the medical supplies fully prepared?"
"They’re ready," Jon confirmed, though he hesitated before adding, "But... how did you know in advance that there would be a plague in the Disputed Lands?"
Lynd met his gaze and cut straight to the point. "What you really want to ask is whether I caused this plague, isn’t it?"
Jon didn’t deny it. He gave a small nod, acknowledging Lynd’s insight.
"No," Lynd answered plainly. "I only predicted it in advance."
He continued, "The Dothraki fought over a hundred battles in the Disputed Lands over the past six months, leaving more than a hundred thousand dead or wounded. Their corpses lay scattered across the land—many were even dumped into the region’s water sources. If given enough time, the earth would have reclaimed them. But instead, the moment the Dothraki left, the three Free Cities plunged into war. The result? Those bodies became a breeding ground for plague."
He gestured toward the document in Atester’s hands. "The signs were all there, in plain sight. Anyone paying attention could have seen this coming. But all they saw were gems and profits, and they instinctively ignored the dangers lurking beside them."
Jon, having suffered through illness himself, voiced his concern. "Will the plague spread to—"
Lynd shook his head. "No. I’ve already issued orders—any ship traveling to and from Essos must remain in quarantine before being allowed to dock."
"So what do we do now?" Jon asked.
"Nothing," Lynd replied calmly. "We wait. Let the show begin and follow the plan."
...
The wait wasn’t long. Within half a month, the plague had swept through the military camps of the three Free Cities in the Disputed Lands. Apart from the Unsullied, nearly all the mercenaries employed by Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr fell victim to the sickness.
"My Lord, the bodies have been disposed of," reported the First Captain of the Windblown as he entered the command tent, where the Tattered Prince sat, his face grim.
The Tattered Prince turned to his attendant. "How many of our men have been infected?"
"Seven hundred and thirty-six," the adjutant reported, glancing down at the ledger in his hands.
"No, it's seven hundred and thirty-one," the First Regiment commander corrected. "Five more died while I was away. I've already sent someone to handle it."
The adjutant lowered his head without a word, silently adjusting the number in his record.
The tension in the tent thickened as the other commanders spoke up one after another.
"My lord, we can't stay here any longer. If this continues, we’ll all die."
"We need to get out of this cursed place immediately."
"Leave? And go where?" The Tattered Prince looked at his men, his voice heavy. "The Unsullied are watching us. The moment we make any move to escape, they won’t hesitate to cut us down."
A grim silence settled over the group.
The Tattered Prince made his decision swiftly. "Campbell, take some men and return to Tyrosh. Report the situation to the ruling council. Tell them to send medical supplies and healers as soon as possible."
Just as the Tattered Prince had acted, other mercenary groups also sent their own envoys to their employers, pleading for aid.
But the responses were eerily similar—no city-state could spare the manpower to send reinforcements. They would provide food, medicine, and other supplies, but as for healers, there were only a handful available, barely enough to make a difference in the face of the spreading plague.
Worse yet, after learning of the outbreak, the city-states immediately sealed their gates, forbidding anyone from entering or leaving. They sent ravens to outlying towns, ordering them to erect walls and barricades, isolating themselves from any potential carriers. Fear spread like wildfire—everyone was desperate to protect themselves.
The Golden Company, the Windblown, the Company of the Cat—nearly every major mercenary force in the Disputed Lands was caught in the crisis. Those who had remained behind in the safety of the city-states were spared, but the ones in the field were far from safe. Even those who hadn’t yet fallen ill lived in constant fear of infection.
As time dragged on, more and more soldiers succumbed. They died in agony, their bodies buried hastily in mass graves. Some were even mistaken for the dead and buried alive.
"We can't go on like this," said Balaq, the archer commander, stepping forward on behalf of the men. He turned to MylesToyne. "Over three thousand in the company are already infected. We've lost over nine hundred. Even the company’s physician has died from the plague. The men are terrified. No one wants to fight anymore. If we stay here any longer, they’ll—"
"They’ll what?" Myles Toyne interrupted, fixing Bach with a cold stare. "Are you worried about a mutiny?"
Balaq hesitated, and Myles Toyne looked over the others before continuing. "You're all thinking about leaving. But where will we go? Myr? Pentos? Do you really think they’ll open their gates for us? Have any of you considered whether we even have enough food and supplies to make it out of here?"
A heavy silence followed.
Myles Toyne pressed on. "And what of our reputation? The Golden Company has never broken a contract. If we abandon this fight now, everything we’ve built will crumble. We’ll be no better than the Second Sons—forced to scrape for whatever scraps we can find. Is that what you want?"
The men lowered their heads, unwilling to meet his gaze.
Myles Toyne then asked, "What about the Unsullied? What’s their status?"
"They’ve lost over a thousand men, and another thousand are sick. Only a few hundred of them are still fit to fight," someone reported. After a pause, they added, "Even they are afraid."
The words hung in the air. The realization was chilling—even the Unsullied, warriors trained to fear nothing, had begun to falter.
Just then, a scout burst into the tent.
"My lord," he reported urgently, "a force is approaching—around two thousand men."
The commanders' faces darkened as they turned to Myles Toyne.
He wasted no time. "Prepare for battle."
