The Vale.
The mountains undulated to the north and south, their slopes covered with bushes and hardy grass.
Hiss—
A bronze behemoth flew out from the forest, its broad brown wings kicking up powerful gusts of wind. Aemon pulled on the saddle rope, guiding the dragon back toward the city of Riverrun. In the distance, a column of Vale knights, three hundred strong, rode with the momentum of a thousand men. At the end of their column, they escorted a group of captured clansmen. There were more than a thousand of them, mostly young and strong men fit for labor.
The population of Riverrun was still sparse, and the coal mines of Raven's Ridge and the copper mines beneath the Lonely Mountain were in urgent need of manpower. His Royal Highness had shown a peculiar sort of kindness: two years of hard labor, and they would be released to their homelands. If they worked for one year more, they would be granted citizenship in Riverrun. Since Rhaenyra had begun honing her dragon-riding skills for patrols, the number of captured clansmen had grown to at least eight thousand. It was, in its own way, a blessing to the city.
Riverrun
Vermithor descended slowly, his huge body crouching low to the ground. Aemon had just dismounted when Johanna approached, reporting, "My prince, the news of the tournament has spread. The lords of the Vale have responded."
"Who hasn't raised the twin-pointed banner?" Aemon asked.
Johanna replied, "As you expected, Gulltown and Wickenden did not respond. And House Malkor of Old Anchor raised the banner of the full moon and falcon instead."
"Old Anchor?" Aemon's expression grew serious. "A small castle by the sea." A minor complication, but a complication nonetheless. He glanced at the sky, at the warm noon sun. It was exactly the seventh day since the announcement had been made.
Aemon pondered for a moment, then patted his jacket pocket.
"Squeak~"
The golden-nosed rat poked its head out slyly, its small eyes flashing with the desire for food. Is it time to eat? Aemon reached into his pocket and withdrew a curved, blue-black horn. It was a foot long, with a mouth as wide as a man's palm. The horn's surface was dark, with half of it inlaid with a verdant metal, and a gorgeous pattern was etched around its bell. It was the broken horn of a harpy, now reforged with bronze and looking brand new.
"Let's see if the effect is as I expected," Aemon murmured.
He took a deep breath, raised the blue-black horn to his lips, and blew, the sound building slowly and gradually.
Woooo—
A dull, mournful note sounded, like the bellow of some great beast. Johanna felt goosebumps rise on her arms.
"Roar?" Vermithor stretched his long neck, shaking his head restlessly.
Undisturbed, Aemon continued to blow, his heart pounding as his body temperature rose. Suddenly, a faint red light pulsed across the blue-black horn, fueled by the thin magic in the blower's blood.
"Hiss!!"
"Hiss..."
The sound of the horn spread throughout Riverrun, and two loud roars answered it. Syrax was the first to take flight, flapping her golden wings hard. Seasmoke followed close behind, spitting a great mouthful of orange dragonflame laced with silver threads as he surged into the sky.
The horn's call spread farther, its influence expanding. In the Dragonpit, Silverwing, who had been sleeping all day, opened her vertical pupils, a low rumble rolling in her throat. By the lake, a grey-white dragon shadow shot through the clouds.
"Roar—"
A low roar like a tolling bell suddenly sounded, hiding infinite power.
In a cave somewhere in the mountains, the rocks were charred black, and sheep bones were scattered across the ground.
"Hiss!?"
In the ashes deep within the cave lay an ugly, mud-brown dragon: the wild dragon known as the Sheepstealer. It slowly climbed to its feet, shaking the ash from its body. Its frame was skinny and bony, with thorn-like barbs running down its back, giving it a wild and fierce appearance. A pair of brown wings protruded at the ends of the wing bones, looking like the claws of a devil.
"Hiss!"
The Sheepstealer's pupils darted about, its nostrils twitching as it cautiously climbed out of the cave. A closer look revealed that its neck and abdomen were scorched black, and there was a hole in its left wing. It had run into a more violent dragon while hunting and had paid the price. The memory was a shadow on its life.
After making sure its surroundings were safe, the Sheepstealer picked up a pile of charred sheep carcasses and flew away with a thief's caution. It was not wise to stay here for long. It would return to its lair to recuperate and come back to hunt another day. The dragon flew unsteadily, like a drunkard. One of its hind legs drooped weakly, a sign of another serious injury. But that did not mean it was weak. The Sheepstealer spread its wings and easily climbed hundreds of meters, looking like a small black dot from the ground, though its actual body length exceeded fifty meters.
After three minutes, the horn fell silent.
Aemon was sweating profusely, his skin hot and red, as if he had just stepped out of a steam bath.
"Roar!" Vermithor's pupils shrank, revealing jagged fangs. He was clearly ready for battle.
Seeing this, Aemon was secretly pleased. The war horn was a success. Forged from the horn of a harpy, it had a natural bewitching effect. Fire sorcerers and blood wizards in Essos used similar horns in their blood magic to summon krakens. Aemon had asked Lord Celtigar of Claw Isle, who theorized that the flesh and blood of sea monsters might have been added during the forging process.
It was a clever imitation. When repairing the horn, Aemon had added fragments related to dragons, such as dragon-dung cakes to fuel the fire and the bronze bell which had been fused with some of Syrax's scales. Stained with the breath of dragons, the horn's purpose had changed: it now summoned them.
Aemon was quite satisfied. Although it did not have the powerful ability of the legendary Dragonbinder to control dragons, it could awaken them, stimulate their ferocity, and to a small extent, summon dragons without riders. It was a treasure.
"Aemon, what happened?" Laena and the others ran out of the Evergreen Hall, drawn by the commotion.
"It's nothing," Aemon said, raising the war horn to share his joy.
Boom—
Suddenly, a scarlet dragon shadow burst through the clouds, streaking toward them like red lightning.
"Roar!" Vermithor turned his head and let out a warning roar.
"Land, Meleys!" a mature woman's voice commanded from above.
The scarlet dragon flew overhead. Aemon looked up to see his aunt, Rhaenys, clad in black-and-red armor. Shouldn't she be on Driftmark?
"Hiss!" Meleys roared, her majestic body pausing in mid-air as she expertly adjusted her posture. She landed with controlled force. The barbs on her head and neck flashed with a cold light, and her scales, as thick as steel plates, exuded a fierce aura.
Rhaenys took a breath and patted her dragon's neck. Meleys's pupils were alert. She folded her pair of light pink wings and lowered her body for her rider to dismount.
It was the first time Aemon had been this close to the "Red Queen." He felt that she radiated heat like a great fireball, her nostrils breathing hot air. In human terms, she was an old dragon, but in dragon years, she was in her prime. Meleys shook her head, her pupils darting to Vermithor to confirm he would not attack. Aemon noticed that over the years, her size had grown steadily. Her body had become more and more majestic, her length steadily approaching the sixty-meter mark.
She's almost catching up with Caraxes, Aemon watched with admiration. Caraxes had outstanding potential, and his size was surely still improving. He liked the enchanting scarlet dragon very much, not only because of her name but also because of her fierce temperament. Meleys was one of the few dragons that dared show aggression toward Vermithor without a command from her rider.
Thump! Rhaenys climbed down the rope ladder, a weary look on her face. "Children, I have some bad news."
"Is there trouble in the Stepstones?" Laenor asked immediately.
Rhaenys nodded. "Corlys and Daemon have joined forces to challenge Tyrosh and Myr."
"What's the situation?" Laena frowned, wanting to know how fierce the infighting among the Three Daughters had become.
Rhaenys shrugged. "Tyrosh and Myr were fighting fiercely, but when they saw the Stepstones were about to slip from their grasp, they allied against the common enemy." Lys was still consumed by its own internal conflicts between its magisters.
Aemon remained silent. He hadn't expected to blow his new war horn and summon the Red Queen herself.
"How is Daemon?" Rhaenyra asked suddenly.
Aemon glanced at her.
Rhaenyra quickly explained, "Daemon represents the royal family. I heard he built his own castle in the Stepstones."
"He's fine. War suits him," Rhaenys recalled. "But he's gotten involved with the nobles of Lys. It would be easy for him to get hurt."
"Aunt, come to the hall and rest," Aemon interrupted, uninterested in the topic.
Inside the Summer Hall, Rhaenys quickly stated her purpose. The Sea Snake, Corlys, was in a tough fight and had asked for his son to join him.
"No problem. I've been wanting to prove myself," Laenor said, his face flushing with excitement.
Aemon understood. A dragonrider possessed the greatest power in the world—a dragon. But in times of peace, that power had nowhere to be used, which was frustrating. Laenor was a passionate young man, and it was normal for him to be eager for glory.
"Do I need to go back?" Laena asked, standing close to Aemon, her eyes filled with worry and reluctance. The original plan had been to attack the Vale lords today.
Rhaenys poured herself a glass of wine and said calmly, "No. Not only do you not have to go back, but I won't be going back either."
"Huh?" Laenor was stunned.
Looking at her hot-blooded son, Rhaenys said grimly, "Corlys and Daemon are both madmen. Two stubborn fools." One had suffered a humiliating marriage proposal. The other had been exiled from King's Landing like a stray dog. In their pride, they had decided to fight the Free Cities to the death, never considering that such cities could not be taken so easily.
"You should have stopped them," Rhaenyra sighed sadly.
"I tried," Rhaenys said, spreading her hands. "I couldn't."
"I'll see my cousin off. Johanna, please prepare a room for my aunt," Aemon said to the impatient Laenor, and the two young men went outside.
The tournament in Riverrun was about to start. From his aunt's attitude, it was clear she had come here to get away from the conflict. It was good to have an elder present to lend authority.
"I'm sorry I can't accompany you to Gulltown," Laenor said with genuine regret.
Aemon's mouth twitched slightly. "That won't be necessary."
"Let's go," Laenor said, climbing onto his dragon's back. With a roar from Seasmoke, the dragon ran twice on its hind legs, then flapped its silver wings and took off. Aemon watched silently until the silver dot disappeared over the horizon. It was a pity. He had lost a willing sword arm.
Meleys now lay beneath the white city wall, her head resting on her tail as she lazily basked in the sun. Dragons all had different temperaments. After a long flight, she had grown lazy. Aemon's eyes glinted, and he ordered a flock of sheep to be brought to feed the fierce she-dragon. A gout of red flame spurted out, and the sheep turned to charcoal. Meleys lowered her head and began to gnaw on them slowly and methodically. She ate very elegantly, not at all like Syrax and Seasmoke, who devoured their food voraciously.
"Be calm, Meleys," Aemon said in High Valyrian, secretly using his Binding Spell.
Meleys glanced toward the voice, her pale pink wings shifting to support her body in a more comfortable position. She showed no ill intent.
Aemon grinned and walked forward boldly. The word for "calm" had many meanings in the Binding Spell, depending on tone and situation. In this case, it was meant to soothe a dragon while it was eating, a crucial step to building a bond through touch. Even a food-possessive dragon might be soothed, and allowing him to touch her would be a sign of acceptance.
Aemon stretched out his hand and touched the wing bone covered with red keratin. A notification sounded in his mind.
Powerful creature with special magic detected. Portion of Hot Fire magic obtained.
A faint, red halo invisible to others floated out from the dragon and drilled into his chest. His heart beat faster, and his body suddenly felt warm.
Another day of progress! Aemon thought, calling up his magic panel.
[Aemon Targaryen]
Bloodline: Ancient Valyrian Dragon King (58%)
Magic Essence: 3020
Bloodline Purity Increased by 5%. Magic Essence +100.
With the house's main dragons gathered, I've finally touched them all, Aemon thought with some pride. It was still early. The family now had twelve dragons, far fewer than the twenty-one they'd possess during the Dance of the Dragons. Besides the wild Sheepstealer, the two sub-adult dragons on Dragonstone were still unaccounted for, but he had now touched all the others.
Thump, thump!
His heartbeat suddenly accelerated, his blood circulating rapidly, and he felt a faint pain in his veins. Aemon felt a little uneasy. The blood seems too strong. The feeling came and went quickly.
Crack!
He picked up a broken brick and crushed it without any effort. Aemon slapped the dust from his hand and muttered, "My physical fitness has been strengthened a bit." Looking at the panel's evaluation, he realized he'd have to be more careful about interacting with dragons in the future. Fortunately, the Sheepstealer was nowhere to be found, and he wasn't ready to seek out the two dragons on Dragonstone yet. He could concentrate on training his own dragons and expanding his territory.
He bid farewell to Meleys and returned to the Evergreen Hall. Rhaenys had taken off her armor and changed into a set of comfortable clothes.
Her first words to him were, "You intend to attack the Vale?"
Aemon said sincerely, "In my situation, I can only ever move forward." After he came of age, he would have two wives. If he didn't secure the support of a major realm, the Faith of the Seven would surely rise against him.
"Well said. If you were content with the status quo, hard days would lie ahead," Rhaenys nodded with satisfaction.
In front of his aunt, Aemon assigned their tasks. He would ride Vermithor to Wickenden to subdue House Waxley.
"Gunthor will lead a group of Vale knights from Blackwood Hall to follow you to Old Anchor," he said to Laena.
"And what about me? Am I going to Gulltown?" Rhaenyra asked.
"You're not going anywhere. You're staying here with Aunt Rhaenys," Aemon said, shaking his head. This was his war. Laena and the departed Laenor could help, but Rhaenyra could not.
Rhaenyra's eyes became resentful.
"Don't look at me like that. Gulltown doesn't need you," Aemon said.
"Why?" Rhaenyra demanded.
Aemon simply ignored her. Targaryen women were stubborn; explanations were often wasted on them.
At dusk
The sun set in the west, painting the sky yellow and orange, the clouds dotted with color. Wickenden was a black castle with three towers standing side by side upon coastal rocks, surrounded by golden wheat fields. The salty sea breeze blew, and the candle-emblazoned flags on the towers swayed. It was like a beautiful ink painting.
Inside the hall, Lord Camon Waxley and his family of five sat at the dining table, their hands clasped in prayer to the Seven.
"There's a dragon!" his youngest son, Harland, who had just turned eight, pointed out the window in surprise.
Camon opened his eyes and looked, but there was nothing there.
"You must be quiet, Harland!" Camon's face darkened, and he began to scold his unruly son. His wife persuaded him to stop, and the family began to eat.
Whoosh—
A gust of wind blew, and the flags on the tower whipped violently. The chandeliers in the hall swayed, and all the beeswax candles on the dining table were extinguished. Cold sweat broke out on Lord Camon's forehead as a sense of unease washed over him.
Tap... tap... tap...
There was a sound of footsteps on the stairs. Someone was walking down slowly. By the dim light of dusk, Lord Camon turned his head, his movements slow and stiff.
A figure with silver hair and purple eyes appeared.
Aemon looked down from above, a victorious smile on his face. "Lord Camon. It has been too long since we parted at the Eyrie."
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