Fire and Blood

Chapter 153: Attack on the Dragonpit (Part 2)

King's Landing ― Dragonpit...

A deafening horn suddenly blared through the vast gallery—a sharp, fierce call that echoed sharply off the stone walls. The sound was immediately met with a cacophony of chaos: deafening screams rising in panic and terror, and the harsh clatter of staffs striking bone, creating a discordant symphony of violence. They had reached the inward gate now, the very front line of the Shepherd's defenses, where the most intense combat unfolded. The keepers' boys, young and eager, fought desperately, driven by unwavering loyalty to tradition and the looming threat of dragons. Amidst this chaos, Aemma's intense resolve showed in her clenched teeth; her muscles tensed as she reached for the heavy, cold belly chain. She grasped the rusted, weighty key, feeling its cold metal bite into her palm, and inserted it into the lock. With deliberate force, she turned the key, leaning her entire body into the effort, her ribs protesting under the strain. The key finally clicked as the shackle's pawl snapped with a loud bang, freeing her to move once more amid the tumultuous battleground.

"Vestragon! Now!" Maegros's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, slicing through the chaos with the precision of a well-crafted sword. He kicked at the heavy capstan, its massive wheel creaking and groaning in protest as it began to move. The intricate winch, a marvel of iron and timber, hummed with mounting intensity, its teeth grinding against each other in a steady rhythm. The rugged chain, forged from interlocking steel links, started to lift slowly, hissing as it threaded through the massive rings of the pulley system, flowing seamlessly like a determined river carved from steel.

As the weight that had burdened Silverwing shifted, she gingerly began to lift her forefeet from the deck, her claws grazing the rough surface lightly. The elder she-dragon tensed her powerful muscles, preparing for the challenge ahead. The last ring—a formidable rear hob—anchored her hindquarters firmly, attached to an unyielding chain secured to a deep-seated floor bolt, embedded into the ship's deck with such confidence that even the most skilled mason would be impressed.

"Come on!" Aemma commanded through her teeth, steadying herself amidst the chaos around her. She carefully fitted the torque-head into the last shackle, her hands trembling slightly from the tension. With a firm pull, she activated the device, but it resisted—laughing at her efforts as if mocking her struggle. The shackle creaked and nearly tore itself free, almost throwing her back to the floor. Her heart pounded in her chest as she gritted her teeth, determined to succeed despite the relentless resistance.

"*Wrrrr, urrrhhh...?*" Silverwing made a rare, raw noise that echoed the only time before when Aemma had fallen hard from the saddle and had to climb back up, determined never to be a child again. The sound was a mix of protectiveness and impatience, raw and instinctive.

Aemma, hearing it, smiled and adjusted her stance, setting her feet wider for a better grip before pulling again on the stubborn lock. It groaned loudly, protesting as it yielded, its sound carving itself into the stone like a secret finally slipping free.

"*Brrrrrhhh!*" Silverwing called, her chirps echoing from her throat. Once she felt she was free, Silverwing shook her head vigorously, stomping her feet to stretch and move. Carefully, she angled herself just enough to position Aemma for her to start climbing up toward the saddle.

"The peasants! They're coming!" one of the acolytes shrieked.

"The gate!" Maegros cried aloud, his voice echoing through the area. The bay doors, enormous slabs of iron-faced oak, shuddered loudly as they recoiled on their chains. Each foot of opening required a grueling effort, accompanied by curses uttered in frustration. As the doors finally opened, a rush of frigid air sliced through the scene, sharp and biting, carrying with it the acrid smell of smoke that intensified the tense atmosphere.