The Second Stag did not stop to rest and soon arrived again at the guest chamber reserved for the Iron Bank's representative.
"Lord Tycho, you are not a prisoner. You are free to leave at any time."
"Aren't you afraid of offending the allied forces by doing this?" A clear look of displeasure appeared on Tycho's long, gaunt, goat-like face.
"If I do this, will it offend the Iron Bank?" the Second Stag asked calmly, staring straight at him.
Tycho's gaze flickered a few times before he replied ambiguously, "The Iron Bank is the witness to your negotiations with the Tattered Prince. What you have done this time can also be considered a stain on the Iron Bank's reputation.
"I do not know how the Iron Bank will react, but it is obvious that your actions have put us in a very difficult position.
"Perhaps the Iron Bank will seriously reconsider your loan limits and interest rates."
A mocking glint flashed deep in the Second Stag's eye sockets. "Yes, you do need to reconsider, at the very least cutting my interest by fifty percent."
"Are you mad?" Tycho's goat eyes widened, as if he were seeing a cross-dressed Second Stag striking coquettish poses.
"The mad ones are you and the Iron Bank!" the Second Stag roared. "You dared to openly interfere in the kidnapping of Daenerys's close kin. Have you forgotten the fury of Deathwing's flames?
"You even dared, right in front of me, to favor the Pentoshi mercenaries during negotiations, and to sell them information about my fleet, causing me to lose several hundred thousand gold dragons."
The more he spoke, the angrier he became. Pointing at Tycho's nose, he ground his teeth and said, "Do you really think Stannis Baratheon is a puppet you can use to control Westeros? You are welcome to try!"
For a moment, Tycho was overwhelmed by the Second Stag's presence, his face pale as he shrank back in panic.
"No, you misunderstand. We are merely businessmen, absolutely impartial intermediaries. We never intended to provoke Daenerys, nor did we—"
At that point, Tycho suddenly came to his senses. Aren't you the Iron Bank's puppet yourself? Your war funds, provisions, and armies all rely on our support from Braavos. Who are you trying to intimidate here?
"Your Majesty Stannis, please mind your words!" The goateed man abruptly stood up, lifting his chin arrogantly. "The Iron Bank will not tolerate slander!"
The Second Stag's eyes hardened. He stepped forward, his bony right hand clamping onto Tycho's collar like iron tongs. With his left hand, he drew the Red Sword with a sharp clang. The blade was held horizontally against the goateed man's neck, producing a sizzling sound like meat on a grill.
"Aaagh!" the goateed man screamed.
He felt an unbearable pain, as if an elemental of flame were tearing at him with magma-dripping fangs. The pain seemed to penetrate from skin to muscle, spine, and even to the soul beneath his flesh.
The Second Stag froze for a moment and quickly pulled the blade away.
He had only been too agitated and meant to draw his sword and hold it at the Braavosi's neck to show his resolve.
To avoid injuring the goateed man, he had even deliberately avoided the blade's edge. Who would have thought—
"The power of the hero's Red Sword has increased," Melisandre said uncertainly.
"Has it?" the Second Stag felt nothing unusual.
"Look at him," Melisandre said, lifting her chin toward the Iron Bank's representative, whose eyes had rolled back and who was on the verge of passing out.
"With the Long Night descending, the sword's spirit may be beginning to awaken on its own," she said hesitantly.
The Second Stag sheathed the Red Sword and looked disdainfully at the sobbing Tycho. "Perhaps he is simply too weak and cannot endure pain."
"Could a weak man cross several thousand kilometers of the Wolfwood mountain paths?"
The Second Stag fell silent. Tycho had set out from the Shivering Sea and walked at least two thousand kilometers through waist-deep snow in the North. He was indeed no weakling.
"I apologize," he said to the Braavosi. "I apologize for my insulting words earlier. You are not a coward. As for scorching your neck, I can only say you had it coming."
"Have you forgotten who helped you out of your predicament?" Tycho wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and said through clenched teeth.
"Does that mean my debts no longer need to be repaid?" the Second Stag replied calmly.
"The Iron Bank does not tolerate default!"
"Then there you have it," the Second Stag sneered. "It is true that I owe the Iron Bank money, but I never intended to renege.
"I borrow and repay, the Iron Bank lends and collects interest. This is a normal economic transaction between us. On what basis do you think that makes me inferior?"
Tycho was momentarily stunned. He gave a bitter smile and rubbed his neck, then very tactfully said, "I apologize for my earlier wild words. I deserve what happened. It is just that…Aren't you and Daenerys mortal enemies?The allied forces are also her mortal enemies.
"The enemy of an enemy, even if not a friend, should not be fought like this.You must understand that the Iron Bank firmly supports your ascension to the Iron Throne.
"I also do not deny that Braavos dislikes Daenerys.
"But when I introduced the Tattered Prince to you, was it really with malicious intent toward you?One Aegon in exchange for a dragon horn, a dragon egg, and thirty wyverns. By any measure, that is worth it."
"This is a matter of principle," the failed Liu Bei said stiffly.
Nonsense. If the allied forces killed Daenerys, that would be one thing. But if she were to win and later come to settle accounts with me, would the Iron Bank still be so reasonable then?In the end, you just want me out in front, charging into battle for you.The Second Stag is not a fool.
Tycho sighed helplessly. "Since things have come to this, there is nothing more to say. You can only hope the allied forces find no opportunity to pursue the matter."
"The Long Night has already arrived," Melisandre said. "If the allied forces want revenge, they must first survive until the next summer."
"The Long Night?" Tycho curled his lips, wanting to sneer, but when he caught sight of the Red Sword at the Second Stag's waist, fear welled up in his heart, and the words on his lips changed.
"This is the magical sword forged after Azor Ahai sacrificed his wife, Nissa Nissa? It truly is wicked enough," he said, pointing at the sword.
Melisandre frowned and said unhappily, "This is the holy sword that will end the Long Night and save the world!"
"A holy sword? But I am not a White Walker. Why did it strike without discrimination?" Tycho said with a bitter smile.
The second stag did not answer the question. He only said in a low voice, "Do you know where the Pentoshi mercenaries have hidden the remaining twenty wyverns?"
A glint flashed in Tycho's eyes as he understood his intent. He probed cautiously, "How much will our Iron Bank get?"
The second stag glared, grinding his teeth.
That night.
A crescent moon like a sickle cut through layers of dark clouds, draping the silent, shadowy godswood in an almost invisible veil of silver.
Four fully armored knights of the Fiery Heart moved in silence along the forest path. Between them they bore the old Pentoshi mercenary, the chains on the old man's hands and feet clinking with a clear metallic sound.
"It's so late. Where are you taking me?" The Ragged Prince's throat was dry.
Sensing the fanaticism hidden beneath the knights' solemn expressions, the heavy bags under his eyes twitched incessantly.
"I am the Prince of Pentos!" The old mercenary, who had remained calm and soft spoken until now, found his voice trembling. "According to the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, I should at least be treated as a duke."
"Unfortunately, you are not from the Seven Kingdoms," a flippant male voice came from the end of the woods.
"But then again, we Westerosi are warm and hospitable, and we will certainly give you a king's treatment."
The stone path turned sharply at a one hundred and twenty degree bend, and the red glow of hundreds of burning torches flooded the Ragged Prince's vision.
When he saw the scene ahead, even the composure honed through a lifetime of experience could not prevent his face from paling in shock. Two hundred Fiery Heart knights packed the limited space around the heart tree. Beneath the white bone trunk of the weirwood, a ring of firewood piled as high as a man had been stacked, and before it stood the Red Woman, holding a small wooden box.
"Stannis, have you invited me to attend the Red God's evening prayer?" the Ragged Prince asked, forcing himself to remain calm.
The second stag did not even acknowledge him. He stood motionless, facing the white skeletal trunk of the weirwood, jaw clenched, his square chin slightly bulging, lost in thought.
"Yes, we are holding evening prayers. You are the only one missing," Gaudi Farring said, his eyes alight with excitement, his tone eerie.
The old mercenary let out a long sigh, more or less certain of his grim fate.
As fear and panic faded, he regained his unhurried composure and looked at the second stag. "From the very beginning, I knew that the justice and laws you cling to would vanish the moment they harmed your own interests.
So I can understand why you abandoned the tradition of not harming captives.
But I am truly curious. Are all you Westerosi this thick headed?From the Dragon Queen, to Euron, and then to you, none of you seem the least bit afraid of an alliance made up of the entire world and dozens of city states.
The Dragon Queen I can understand. She is a ruthless figure without equal in past or present.
But what gives Euron the right, and what gives you the right?A kraken and a witch?In Valyria, sea monsters were nothing more than pets for amusement, and in far eastern Asshai, witches are everywhere.
Even if Westeros is remote, with your respective statuses, you should not be so shortsighted."
This time, the second stag finally turned around. His deep blue eyes were filled with resolve and indifference. "Your nonsense is useless. My mind is made up.The Long Night has arrived. The Night King is on his way south, and I need power to save the world.
This is my mission, and it is also your destiny."
The Ragged Prince did not struggle, allowing the four Fiery Heart knights to bind him within the pile of firewood. He asked softly, "What power?"
"A demon dragon." Melisandre opened the wooden box and took out a stone egg the size of a coconut, covered in black and red scales.
"Your king's blood will please the great Lord of Light and awaken the demon dragon within the stone!"
"Demon dragon, demon dragon, demon dragon!" The surrounding Fiery Heart knights flushed red with fervor as they shouted in unison.
"Sigh, you have all been deceived by Daenerys, those who sacrifice their closest kin…" At this point, the Ragged Prince paused, momentarily stunned. It seemed she had only spoken of king's blood.
"The alliance has sacrificed their closest kin, all of them high born royal descendants, yet to this day, not a single great dragon has hatched, except for that one time in Yunkai." He gave a bitter smile.
"That is because your dragon egg is fake," Melisandre said calmly.
The Ragged Prince's pupils constricted. "You discovered it?"
He had received a dragon egg and a horn from Euron as payment, only for both to be seized by the second stag.
The only reason he had been willing to use the dragon egg as a bargaining chip was because Jenny had recognized at first glance that it was a shattered fossilized dragon egg glued back together.
"So you deliberately used a fake dragon egg to deceive me," the second stag said, glaring at him.
"The dragon egg was given to me by Euron, and Euron's dragon egg was stolen from Daenerys." The Ragged Prince shook his head and smiled bitterly. "It is very likely that she lacked the money to buy the Unsullied, so she fabricated fake eggs to swindle the Ghiscari slavers. In the end, most of the world was duped by her."
The second stag's tightly clenched jaw slackened, and he stood there stunned.
"That woman is truly cunning and vicious," Gaudi Farring exclaimed in shock.
Aunt Mel lifted her head to the sky. Seeing the sickle moon hanging at its zenith, she called out loudly, "The moment has come. Prepare to light the fire."
The scarred knight Richard eagerly brought over a basin of palm oil and poured it over the Ragged Prince's head, shouting with fanatic zeal, "R'hllor be praised! Long live King Stannis! Long live the demon dragon!"
The Ragged Prince licked the oil streaming down his aged face and suddenly roared, "Stannis, I will wait for you in R'hllor's deathly inferno!"
He struggled violently with the arms bound at his waist, forcing them up to raise two middle fingers, one aimed at the second stag, the other pointed at the ground.
"Hypocritical champion of justice! Shitty Westeros! May there be no place for you in hell. Unfortunately, you all deserve to go to hell, shit!"
Aunt Mel raised her slender finger and lightly pointed forward. "Boom!"
The Ragged Prince and the pile of firewood were instantly engulfed in roaring flames.
"Aaaargh!" The old mercenary howled in agony amid the blaze.
"The Long Night is endless, danger lurks everywhere, only my lord…"
The believers prayed loudly. Shadows stretched out from the flames, wrapping and constricting Aunt Mel in her flowing red robes like the tentacles of an octopus.
Crack.
A fissure split open in the eggshell.
(End of chapter)
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