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The envoy memorized Logar's conditions and hurried back with the message. When Lysandro Rogare heard it, a wide grin split his face.
For him, partnering with the dragonrider was a perfect two-for-one deal: it would get rid of that thorn in his side—Archon Bambarro Bazanne—and end the crisis threatening the entire city.
He didn't hesitate. He immediately sent spies to watch Bambarro's estate and locate Prince Viserys. At the same time he dispatched more men to slip out of the city, map out every troop position the Archon had placed, and note his exact hiding spots. All the intelligence was delivered straight to Logar.
Once he had House Rogare's information, Logar traded a quick look with Nettles and chose not to strike right away.
He knew that after yesterday's attack, Bambarro and his men would still be on full alert, nerves raw and ready for a fight.
Only after they'd spent the whole day tense and exhausted would tonight be the perfect moment to hit them hard.
...
Nightfall.
Bambarro Bazanne had spent the entire day hiding inside the city hall, staring up at the sky. When the two dragons never appeared again, he finally started to feel dizzy from the strain.
He handed command of the Unsullied to his officers, retreated to his private rooms, downed a huge cup of honeyed wine, and tore into a roasted lamb leg.
"Those two dragonriders probably won't come back today, right?" he muttered around a mouthful of meat.
Just thinking about the damage they'd done to the harbor yesterday made his stomach twist. Those dragons were terrifying. Half the merchants in the city had been sobbing over their burned cargo. The only reason he hadn't lost much was because he was already bankrupt—his own warehouses and ships sat empty. There was nothing left for the dragons to burn!
At the same time, he felt both fear and a strange awe. Such magnificent, powerful creatures… they really were the living symbols of the glory that had once built the Valyrian Freehold.
He couldn't help daydreaming: If I had a dragon of my own, I wouldn't be stuck here taking this kind of shit as Archon.
The fantasy soured quickly into irritation. The dragons hadn't shown up all day, which meant his careful preparations had been wasted. Would they come tomorrow? Or were he and his men supposed to stay on edge forever, just waiting for the next attack? What kind of nonsense was that?
Still annoyed, he finished his dinner.
That was when the slave girl clearing the table accidentally knocked over his wine cup. The dark liquid spilled across the wood and soaked into his robes.
"Archon! I-I'm so sorry!"
The girl's skin was pale as fresh milk. She dropped to her knees instantly, trembling.
Bambarro stared at her pretty, frightened face and felt a surge of ugly anger.
He shot to his feet and slapped her hard across the cheek.
"What are you so scared of me for? Am I more terrifying than the fucking dragons?!"
"N-no!" The slave girl clutched her burning red cheek, tears streaming, too terrified to know what to say.
"Useless! Can't even clear a table without screwing it up!"
Bambarro's face twisted with rage. "Do you even understand that dragons could drop on our heads at any second?! If I die, every last one of you slaves goes with me!"
"I'm sorry, Archon!"
The other servants in the room dragged the girl away in terror.
Once the table was cleaned and another servant had changed his stained clothes, Bambarro's temper cooled a little. Still fuming, he growled, "If I weren't feeding you worthless slaves, you'd all be dragon food already! Shit!"
Every servant in the room lowered their heads even further, not daring to make a sound.
After venting, Bambarro felt slightly better. He still wasn't comfortable, though, and decided to head up to the city walls to check the defenses himself.
That was when two familiar dragon roars suddenly split the night air.
His eyes flew wide.
"No! The dragons are here!"
Far away on the outer walls, the mercenary guards had finally started to relax, convinced the dragons weren't coming back.
But high above them in the darkness, Logar and Nettles had already slipped into Lys using the exact troop positions and key defense points supplied by House Rogare. They struck like lightning.
"Cannibal—Dracarys!"
Above the main mercenary barracks, Logar's voice was calm and steady as he gave the order.
"ROAR!"
The Cannibal, fully rested after a full day, opened his massive jaws. Sickly green dragonfire poured down like molten lava.
The sleeping mercenaries never stood a chance. Flames engulfed the entire building in seconds. Men woke screaming, tried to run for the doors, only to be driven back by walls of fire. Their agonized shrieks cut through the night, but none lasted more than a few heartbeats before they became twisted, blackened corpses.
The whole barracks collapsed like paper thrown into a furnace. Bricks glowed red and exploded. The air filled with the stench of charred flesh and burning wood.
The power of the Cannibal's flame was terrifying.
"Sheepstealer—attack!"
The moment Logar struck, Nettles dove right behind him on Sheepstealer.
She guided her dragon to sweep fire across the now-alert enemies while igniting every building around them, throwing the defenders into total chaos.
The night raid was brutally effective. With House Rogare's precise intelligence, every single strike hit the enemy where it hurt most.
After burning the barracks to the ground, Logar turned his gaze toward the city hall at the center of the district.
According to Lysandro Rogare, Bambarro was holed up there, too scared to go anywhere. Perfect place for a decapitation strike.
But just as Logar and Nettles banked toward the hall to finish the job, everything changed.
The panicked, fleeing crowds they expected to see on the main avenue never appeared.
Instead, a low, perfectly synchronized sound—like metal scraping stone—rolled over the distant noise. It came from the shadows of several streets at once.
"Raise shields!"
The command was cold, flat, without any battle cry.
In the next breath, rows and rows of bronze-helmeted soldiers poured out from the side streets in eerie silence.
They moved with terrifying speed and discipline. In barely a dozen heartbeats they had formed a perfect, unbreakable phalanx in the square in front of the city hall—spears bristling like a forest of steel.
"Unsullied?" Logar's eyes lit with excitement the moment he saw the perfectly disciplined troops.
He did a quick count. Nearly a thousand of them. But they were still foot soldiers. Could they really stand against his Cannibal?
"Nettles, watch these ones carefully. Don't fly too low."
After she nodded, Logar patted the Cannibal's neck, voice thrumming with anticipation.
"My friend… let's show this army what you can do."
"ROAR!"
The Cannibal feared nothing. His black wings thundered in the night as he dove like a living fortress straight toward the waiting Unsullied.