Mercenaries had always carried the infamous reputation of being fickle and untrustworthy. Yet the Golden Company was like a clear stream
Mercenaries had always carried the infamous reputation of being fickle and untrustworthy. Yet the Golden Company was like a clear stream among them, their credibility frighteningly high.
Their motto was: "Our word is as good as gold."
Since its founding, the Golden Company had almost never broken a contract.
For the past few years, they had been serving Myr, renewing their contract yearly.
Now the time to sign the next contract was approaching, and the current commander of the Golden Company, "Homeless Harry," found himself puzzled by the unpredictable situation.
He was uncertain whether he should sign another contract with the Myrish.
By the agreement, the Dragon Queen should already have united with Prince Aegon, flying on dragonback to Pentos—where she was supposed to be defeated by the allied forces (according to Illyrio's analysis).
So Commander Harry wrote to the Governor of Pentos, urging the fat man to give him an answer quickly.
"Just sign it! Once the restoration succeeds, the lords will reclaim their titles and lands. The Golden Company will no longer be necessary. One broken contract won't matter," Varys said with a frown.
"They've grown tired of our constant changes in plans," Illyrio replied with a wry smile.
The original plan had been for Daenerys to marry the Khal, so that Viserys could soon lead the Dothraki into Westeros.
At that time, Varys would reveal Cersei and Jaime's incest to Robert, sparking strife between lion and stag.
With civil war across the Seven Kingdoms, Viserys would not have been slain in one swift strike by Westerosi knights.
When Viserys and Robert fought to mutual ruin—Viserys dying in battle, Robert gravely wounded—the true king, Aegon, would emerge in brilliance.
As for Daenerys across the great grass sea, her worth was in securing the Khal's screamers. That was her historical mission, completed. No one cared about her future.
The two fat men never even considered marrying her to Aegon to strengthen Targaryen bloodlines, for Aegon needed a better match, and the dosh khaleen of the Dothraki Sea held no value.
Indeed, Varys knew of the contract William Darry had signed with the Sea King (a Dornish princess betrothed to Viserys). But Prince Doran, who had drafted it, did not know they were aware.
Their plan was meticulous.
Yet the Golden Company waited and waited, only to hear news of Viserys' miserable death.
The gods had upset their scheme for the first time.
Then Illyrio comforted the exiles' descendants: Don't panic. Daenerys, that "worthless stock," has mutated into a premium share (hatching dragons). She'll rise without limit, and our chances of success are even greater.
So the Golden Company waited again.
They waited for countless reports about the Dragon Queen, yet none spoke of her returning to Westeros.
"Do you think Daenerys can withstand the allied army?" Varys asked uncertainly.
In all their plans, they had never considered that the Dragon Queen might defeat the world's coalition.
They assumed that after her failure, she would abandon her dream of freeing slaves, reach an agreement with the allies, return to Westeros to inherit her legacy, and promise never again to set foot in Essos. She might even be forced to give up one or two dragons.
The word "world" in world coalition made it clear this alliance could not be defeated.
Even the Valyrians, in conquering the world, lost hundreds of thousands and needed four thousand years.
How many dragons had Valyria possessed? How many did Daenerys have?
Truthfully, if not for this time-traveling Daenerys, even if Aegon the Conqueror had been reborn, he too would have perished under the allies' encirclement.
The gap in raw strength was simply too vast. Dragons were not invincible.
"Before, I thought she could not. Now… I'm not so sure," Illyrio said, frowning.
"If she can defeat the allies and conquer the western continent of Essos, then should Aegon still return to Westeros—or become Emperor of the World?"
A strange gleam flickered in the fat governor's eyes.
Varys' oily, plump face seemed covered in frost as he coldly insisted, "Aegon belongs to Westeros. We must not ask for more."
"He belongs to the best," Illyrio's jowls quivered as his resolute gaze locked with his companion's.
"He does not have that ability. Our training only prepared him to be a competent king of the Seven Kingdoms."
Varys placed his right hand on the governor's shoulder, his perpetually narrowed eyes opening wide, revealing his uncompromising certainty.
"Old friend, do not be greedy. A man should only eat as much as his stomach can hold. If Daenerys can defeat the allies, that only proves she alone is worthy to rule the world."
"I can bring out more money to help you raise more little birds. You can at least try," Illyrio added with a touch of pleading.
"Do you still think Daenerys is that pitiful little girl who once lived in your house? Wake up!
Little birds can deal with many people—even Regent Kevan—but they cannot harm her in the slightest. No matter how strong they are, they are not the Faceless Men," Varys snarled in anger.
Illyrio met his blazing eyes for a moment, then turned away and shrugged in compromise. "Fine. There's no such thing as a King of the World yet. It's too early to talk about that.
Tell me, then—what should we do next? Should we contact Daenerys?"
"This time, we follow her lead. If she says prepare for the Long Night, then we prepare for the Long Night.
If she says fight the Others, then we fight the Others.
If she says not to wage war in winter, then we rest and watch House Lannister's drama unfold.
When summer comes, and she decides it is time for her nephew to claim the Iron Throne, we will proceed with the next phase of our plan.
That will not harm Prince Aegon either. He is young, he can wait, and his bloodline…"
Varys hesitated, then said, "He needs more time to master the dragons."
"So we surrender all initiative?" Illyrio frowned.
Varys said solemnly, "The stronger one controls the game. Before, our power was greater than the little girl's, and we could manipulate her life at will. Now that girl has the strength to shake the world itself, and we can only cooperate with her."
"Fine, I'll tell Harry to continue signing contracts with Myr," Illyrio said helplessly.
The Bay of Grief.
Five hundred kilometers south of the Isle of the Free Maiden, and only three hundred kilometers from New Ghis.
That morning, the sun's smiling face peeked through cotton candy clouds.
A hundred sea ships sailed south in a long line—their white sails, brown hulls, and the endless blue of the sea.
Like a garland of a hundred white tulips sewn into the blue cloth of a banquet table.
Then ten dragons, flapping their leathery wings, appeared like ants suddenly leaping onto the blue tablecloth, crawling forward until they caught up with the garland of tulips.
"Dragons, dragons are attacking!"
"Ooooh—"
From the mast of the rearmost ship came the lookout's shrill cry, followed by the blaring horns echoing through the fleet.
At the head of the fleet, the flagship sent signals with flags: "Lower sails, form ranks!"
In truth, one command needed no admiral to give. Everyone immediately acted on instinct—pulling off waterproof covers, cranking winches to draw the strings of the great crossbows, and aiming them at the dragons in the sky.
On every deck, countless sailors rushed about in frantic preparation.
The sails came down, but the ships did not stop.
The rowers took their places, pulling with all their might to keep the vessels in motion. A moving ship was far harder for fire-oil bombs, dropped from above, to strike.
Every four ships formed a loose diamond-shaped formation.
"Yo-heave—yo-heave-ho!" The rowers chanted in rhythm with the drumbeats, striving to keep their strokes unified.
Black Dread's voice rumbled over the noise of the decks: "Tolos fell to the great Mother of Dragons five days ago. Aelaria was burned to ruins just yesterday.
The alliance has no supplies and is doomed to defeat.
Crew of the First Fleet, you have no hope. You are certain to be destroyed. Surrender!"
Yes, it had been five days since Dany took Tolos.
The day before, fifteen hundred ships loaded with captives and plundered goods passed South Andalos, signaling the completion of Dany's rearguard mission.
Before leaving Tolos, she led Gars' fleet and several dragons to the docks of Aelaria, just fifty kilometers away, and dropped the last five hundred pounds of wildfire along with about ten tons of fire-oil.
Aelaria was a small island, only ten kilometers long and three wide.
It had just one modest dock, which Dany's assault rendered nearly useless for sea transport.
She did not station men to seize the island, not because of any hidden danger, but because Aelaria was too small and too worthless to be worth the time or manpower.
No sooner had she left Tolos than Dany pushed forward relentlessly to catch up with the Crab's fleet. After Tolos fell, the Crab had departed ahead of her, chasing south after the allied First Fleet.
By now, the allies' First Fleet was only three hundred kilometers from New Ghis.
But Dany had not yet launched her assault. The Crab's thirty ships were still a hundred kilometers behind, and with only four dragons and six wyverns, she could not yet take on a hundred sea ships.
"You have no reinforcements, no hope. With Tolos, the supply hub, lost, the alliance will collapse from starvation."
"The alliance is doomed. Surrender and live!"
Black Dread's taunts were effective. Though none surrendered, the crews were shaken by the news. Senior officers already knew of Tolos through raven messengers, but the common soldiers had been kept in the dark.
The rowers panicked, whispering to one another, and their already sluggish pace slowed further.
"Ooooh—"
Suddenly the flagship's horn blared. After drawing the attention of every lookout in the fleet, the signalman on the mast relayed the message: Do not panic. No enemy fleet follows. The dragons have no more fire-oil bombs. They cannot harm us.
"Idiots! You're just forcing me to hit you first," Dany muttered.
"Fools, you have awakened the sleeping wrath of the Mother of Dragons!" Black Dread roared in perfect timing.
"Skreeee!" Little White broke from formation, accelerating ahead, and dropped clusters of grape-shot from its claws.
Like a flying hen, it cackled while laying eggs in midair.
"Thump, thump, thump—boom!"
Splashes burst across the waves. Only one ship with a brown-painted hull caught fire, a red blaze rising four or five meters high on its deck. Within three minutes, sailors doused it with seawater and sand.
"Hitting a moving target really does make the aim poor."
Dany muttered to herself, but paid it little mind. She only urged Black Dread to accelerate, climbing higher while keeping close to Little White.
(End of Chapter)
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