Of the Blood of the Dragon

Chapter Twenty Nine

The rioting began amidst the alleys and wynds of Flea Bottom, as men and women poured from the wine sinks, rat pits, and pot shops by the hundreds, angry, drunken, and afraid. From there the rioters spread throughout the city, shouting for justice for the dead princes and their murdered queen. Carts and wagons were overturned, shops looted, homes plundered and set afire.

Gold cloaks attempting to quell the disturbances were set upon and beaten bloody. No one was spared, of high birth or low. Sailors unable to return to their ships attacked the River Gate and fought a pitched battle with the City Watch. It took Ser Luthor Largent and four hundred spears to disperse them.

By then the gate had been hacked half to pieces and a hundred men were dead or dying, a quarter of them gold cloaks.

At Cobbler's Square the sounds of the riot could be heard from every quarter. The Shepherd drank deep of the anger. "The day of doom is upon us! This unnatural queen who sits bleeding on the Iron Throne, her whore's lips glistening and red with the blood of her sweet sister."

"Please save us! Save the city!" A septa in the crowd cried out.

"Only the Mother's mercy can save you, but you drove your Mother from this city with your pride and lust and avarice. Now it is the Stranger who comes. On a dark horse with burning eyes he comes, a scrooge of fire in his hand to cleanse this pit of sin of demons and all who bow before them. Listen! Can you hear the sound of burning hooves? He comes! He comes!"

As a thousand torches filled the square with pools of smoky yellow light. Soon enough the shouts died away, and through the night the sound of iron hooves on cobblestones grew louder. Not one Stranger, but five hundred, and the Riñnykeā Dracarys.

The City Watch had come in strength, five hundred men clad in black ringmail, steel caps, and long golden cloaks, armed with short swords, spears, and spiked cudgels. They formed up on the south side of the square, behind a wall of shields and spears.

At their head rode Lady Viserra Stark upon an armored warhorse, her mother's Valyrian steel sword in her hand. The mere sight of her was enough to send hundreds streaming away into the wynds and alleys and side streets. Hundreds more fled when Lady Viserra ordered the gold cloaks to advance.

Ten thousand remained, however. The press was so thick that many who might gladly have fled found themselves unable to move, pushed and shoved and trod upon. Others surged forward, locked arms, and began to shout and course, as the spears advanced to the slow beat of a drum.

"Make way, you bloody fools," Lady Viserra roared at the Shepherd's lambs, every torch lining the streets burning brighter. "Go home. No harm will come to you. The only blood we want shed is the Shepherd's."

Some say the first man to die was a baker, who grunted in surprise when a spearpoint pierced his flesh and he saw his apron turning red.

A rock came flying from the crowd, striking a spearman on the brow. Shouts and curses were heard, sticks and stones and chamber pots came raining down from rooftops, an archer across the square began to loose his shafts. A torch was thrust at a watchman, and quick as that his golden cloak was burning.

Battle turned to riot turned to slaughter. Surrounded on all sides, the gold cloaks found themselves hemmed in and swept under, with no room to wield their weapons. Many died on the points of their own swords. Others were torn to pieces, kicked to death, trampled underfoot, hacked apart with hoes and butcher's cleavers.

Even the fearsome Ser Luthor Largent could not escape the carnage. His sword torn from his grasp, Largent was pulled from his saddle, stabbed in the belly, and bludgeoned to death with a cobblestone, his helm and head so crushed that it was only by its size that his body was recognized when the corpse wagons came the next day.