Chapter 90: The Final Nail
Artos stood in the tavern with the stink of blood still clinging to him, resting only because the morning's slaughter had left even him with some measure of weariness, though night still had its own work waiting. Braavos had become a war camp by then. Guards of Bravos and Men of the Valens held the streets, hard-eyed and armed, trying to keep order where there was none, trying to shape the chaos into something useful before it swallowed them whole.
Glaro Sythan lay before him in a broken heap of flesh. Captured by Waymar who gained an immense honour and respect from Artos for it. Shinning his pride among the Northmen.
He was barely a man now. Beaten, cut, and tortured beyond the point where pride or terror could still live in him, he looked more like a corpse that had been denied burial than a captive. His mouth worked uselessly when he tried to speak, but no words came. Only breath. Thin, ragged, borrowed breath.
Lord Valen came to stand beside Artos, his face drawn and grim.
"Are we truly going to keep playing with him?" he asked. "I know what he did to Seraphine. I know why you want this done and even I want the same . But we need to strike the Sythans tonight. If we do not, we are the ones in trouble. The Sealord's men are already in motion. The arrangements have been made, aye, but he is still wary. He does not trust us for the Pentoshi deal , not fully. Not Vex to involve himself in this deal ,not the merchants, and least of all the promises made in their name. I have given my word in this matter, but it remains dangerous. If the request is made, then perhaps the Sealord will listen. Iron Bank money makes even cautious men cheerful. Afterall Pentosi would need a loan and Iron Bank would need some interest on that gold. So it's really a good deal for Sealord enough to make an exception for us. But still worried if Vex could do it for us rather than Motapis."
Before Artos could answer, Ronan cut in.
"Do not trouble yourself with that," he said. "Lysandro Vex has as much influence in Pentos as Ilyrio Motapis, if not more. If one man could broker this sort of arrangement, so can the other. I have already spoken to him, and so have you in your way. That matter will not fail us."
Lord Valen accepted that with a nod, though worry still sat heavily on him.
"But what of this task?" he asked. His gaze shifted to Artos. "He is my future son-in-law. I do not wish to see you die in some fruitless campaign."
Artos gave a rough laugh.
"Do not fret over me, Lord Valen. This is only another fight. Another war to win. I have already broken the Unsullied. This will be hard work, aye, and one of the hardest I have faced, but I will survive it. Northerners do that best. We survive."
Valen looked at him for a long moment, then gave a slow nod.
"You speak true enough. But how do you mean to break the Sythans in one night? I have heard enough of your victories to know you will likely win, but time is not on our side."
Artos's smile was thin and cold.
"I have not lost a war yet," he said. "I do not mean to begin tonight."
Then he leaned in, his voice sharpening.
"But I will need a distraction. A sacrifice. That will have to be your men, Lord Valen. They must strike at the Sythans head-on, hard enough to draw the eye and hold it. While they do that, we will go in through the weaknesses we have already found. There are several. We take them from within and strike them from both sides. It will cost us men, but it will buy us time. This is the only way."
Lord Valen stared at him.
"Are you mad?" he said at last. "How can you be certain it will work? That is a plan built on assumption."
Artos did not so much as blink.
"No," he said. "It is built on experience. It is the same kind of thing we did with the Unsullied, and it will work the same way now. Trust me."
Lord Valen did not like it. That was plain. But in the end he is a lord, and not a general
Who knew when there was no better road to take.
Artos turned from him at once and went to Glaro.
There was no ceremony to it. No speech. No mercy. He took the man by the hair and cut his head from his body, ending him at last and putting him out of the misery he had been dragged through for too long. The head came away heavy and ugly in Artos's hand, and for one brief moment the room seemed to grow quieter around it.
Outside, the first movements toward the Sythan settlement had already begun.
Valen's men were in motion now, pushing forward to test the defense, to probe the edges and force the Sythans to show their hand. The fighting had not fully opened yet, but the first blows were being traded. Arrows flew in the dark. Men shouted. Shields met steel. The night had begun to wake.
Artos had Waymar split the demons into smaller bands. They did not march like an army now, but slipped like knives into the dark, each group sent toward a different weakness in the Sythan Castle. They would strike under cover of the distraction, tearing inward while the Valens drew the first fury of the defense.
Artos himself went to the front with Lord Valen and a handful of demons, close enough to the first clash to taste it. He wanted Lord Sythan to feel him there. He wanted the man's wrath turned where he could use it.
And then, before the main assault truly settled, Artos had Rick carry Glaro's head to Lord Sythan.
It was a brutal gift. But mostly a bait to anger the man and take some foolish decisions.
A message wrapped in flesh.
Lord Sythan was in a hall when he received it, A bird flew in and dropped a head and screched.
Rick "screeched. Screech. Ree ree " he screeched agressively and even attacked Lord Sythan and given a gift to him in a form of a scratch on his face.
Lord Sythan "ahhhhhhhhhh, kill that bird at once."
His guards tried but couldn't do much
Rage took him at once. At this bullshit and seeing his dead son head immediately losing his logic and sense and barked orders " No mercy at the gates . Punish those Valens more don't let even one live. Make it even more harder for them"
He did not answer with calm. He did not stay back and wait behind walls as a wiser man might have done. He gave in to fury, and fury was a poor counselor. Men who defend their own walls can afford to be patient, but men who are wounded in pride often choose the wrong sort of defense. Sythan was such a man. Instead of standing purely on the strength of his position, he lashed out. He ordered his men forward in hard pushes, trying to drive the attackers back before they could settle. He made the defense aggressive, desperate, sharp-edged.
It was exactly what Artos wanted.
Not the full trap yet. Not the end of it.
Rick from there was gone and went to Waymar and demons to given them a way to find ways to infiltrate the Sythans and pincer them. It's kind of Speciality of Northern Brutes.
Only the first turn of the blade.
The Sythans answered with force, pushing against Valen's line, trying to crush the first wave before the night could deepen. Their men came out fiercely from behind cover, meeting steel with steel, and the settlement lit with the sparks of sudden killing.
Artos watched it all with that same still, terrible calm.
The fight had begun.
And now the Final Nail was being driven in.
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