Davos, who had spent decades drifting upon the sea, suddenly pressed a hand to his chest and retched dryly.
His second son, Allard, hurried to his side.
"Father, what's wrong?"
"I'm fine… I'm fine," Davos replied, forcing himself to breathe steadily. "Has His Grace boarded yet?"
"I don't know. Should I send someone to check?"
Davos thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Tell the people who went out to move supplies to come back. That's enough for now."
"All right."
Davos's dry heaving was not caused by sickness, but by sheer tension.
Viserys, Lothan, Arthur—they were openly making their move right under the noses of the Volantenes.
There were tens of thousands of people aboard the ships. If anything went wrong, their fate was easy to imagine.
And if they failed to bring the fleet back to Gohor…
"Gods, let everything go smoothly," Davos murmured in prayer. "And River Elder, too."
He did not know how much time passed before the ship suddenly began to shake violently.
Then he felt the deck beneath his feet lifting upward.
Cries rang out around him as people instinctively grabbed whatever they could reach.
Some lost their balance and fell to the deck.
Standing at the bow, Davos suddenly realized that the riverbanks on both sides seemed to be sinking. As if the land itself had collapsed.
Yet when he looked farther away, all the buildings stood firm and unchanged.
Only then did Davos understand.
The water was rising.
But this tide was far greater than any he had ever experienced.
He looked down at the river's surface and saw dark shapes moving beneath the water, appearing one after another.
The thick fog created by Viserys and Lothan could not cover too wide an area.
Farther away, Volantene soldiers noticed that something was wrong. The waters of the Rhoyne had surged violently, spilling past the embankments.
"The flood is coming! The flood is coming!"
A dreadful thought exploded in the mind of a soldier stationed at the lighthouse.
He rang the warning bell frantically, but the roar of the river drowned out its sound. As he stared at the rising waters, he realized something was off.
This was neither a flood nor an ordinary tide.
It was as if the once broad, calm surface of the river had suddenly bulged upward, forming a "hill of flowing water."
That moving hill carried an entire swath of ships northward.
"Th-that's the Targaryen fleet!"
Though it was hard to see clearly in the darkness, there was only one fleet in that direction—the one the young king had intended to sell.
The lighthouse guard watched as if witnessing a miracle.
That hill of flowing water looked almost like the back of a gigantic turtle.
The Targaryen fleet surged past surrounding vessels, moving farther and farther away, until it crossed beyond the gates.
Such a tremendous disturbance also jolted Aelyrios awake.
He rushed out of his chambers and saw the same moving hill of water.
And it was racing northward.
At that moment, a Tiger Cloak soldier tasked with watching Viserys ran over in panic.
"My lord, Viserys has escaped!"
"What? Escaped?" Alios began coughing violently.
News of the Targaryen fleet's escape quickly reached Malaqo as well.
The elderly triarch felt a surge of fury seize his chest and began coughing uncontrollably.
His face turned first pale, then purple, until attendants rushed about in chaos and finally helped him recover.
"Who was guarding them?" Malaqo roared. "I'll have him hanged!"
"My lord, the tide rose. They passed through the gates during the high tide."
"Tide?"
Malaqo's mind went blank for an instant.
It was the sort of reaction one had when hearing something utterly absurd spoken with a straight face.
Snapping back to himself, Malaqo kicked the soldier squarely in the chest.
"Then tell me this," he shouted, "if the tide rose high enough to pass our gates, why is our city still standing?nWhy is it unharmed?"
"It's true, my lord," the soldier insisted. "They truly passed through on the tide. It was as if the waves themselves lifted them."
Malaqo owned thousands of slaves.
He had used slaves his entire life and could tell at a glance when one was lying.
This Tiger Cloak soldier had neither the reason nor the courage to deceive him.
Malaqo ordered a thick cloak thrown over his shoulders, climbed into a litter, and headed for the harbor to personally lead the pursuit.
At the same time, Dofas and Nessiso also received news of the Dragonstone fleet's escape.
While rushing toward the harbor, they issued orders for the fleet to give chase.
"Lord Malaqo has already boarded a warship to pursue those shameless Westerosi."
When the two triarchs met, Malaqo's envoy demanded their authorization to deploy forces.
They hesitated not at all, signing their names immediately.
If those hundred-plus ships entered the Rhoyne, Volantis would no longer dare call itself the "Mistress of the Rhoyne."
Their slaving parties would no longer roam the upper river with impunity.
Mines and trade routes would all come under threat.
The losses would be unimaginable.
Even if Volantis lacked the strength to expand upriver now, that did not mean it never would.
Just imagining the Dragonstone fleet roaming freely along the Rhoyne made it feel as if the sky were collapsing.
Meanwhile, Davos's mood could not have been better. The burden on his shoulders was finally lifted.
Standing at the bow, he let the oncoming wind whip through his hair.
He felt as though he should tie a rope around his leg, or he might be carried away. There was no wind, yet massive waves drove them forward.
Watching the fleet race alongside him, and Volantis growing ever more distant behind, he still found it hard to believe.
Viserys had truly done it.
Though the ships had no sails to catch the wind, the waves pushed them onward at remarkable speed.
"Father, this was all agreed upon between His Grace and the River Elder," Marcus said excitedly, once again recounting their encounters at Nasar and Chroyane.
The sight of Viserys summoning the River Elder(Old Man) and speaking with him was something he would never forget.
Davos had doubted it before.
Now, he could no longer.
The fleet was moving upriver without wind. There was no explanation other than divine power.
Still, much of Marcus's tale left Davos bewildered.
The ghost fleet of Prince Garin, for instance, sounded like something straight out of legend.
"Don't worry, Father," Marcus said. "Once we pass Chroyane, we'll be safe."
Davos nodded, yet still raised his spyglass and looked behind them.
In the distance, a fleet was trailing them.
The fleet of Volantis.
___________
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