Chapter 139: Illyrio's trump card (Part 1)
Furthermore, the final difficulty of the quests issued by the mercenary captains, Dorian and Rohr, had also proven to be lower than their theoretical ratings. Though the reductions varied, the trend was consistent.
This lent more weight to his speculation: the quest-giver's low status had a negative impact on the final difficulty assessment.
Could there be a cap? Ian suddenly wondered. A mechanism that dictates quests from anyone of knightly rank or lower can, at best, be judged as [medium]?
It would explain why the missions from Rohr and Dorian were both rated as medium. But it failed to explain why the [Woman in Red Robe] mission had been judged as easy.
Therefore, other factors had to be influencing the judgment mechanism. Ian pondered this for a long time before finally shaking his head. Without more samples, he could make no further judgments.
The next phase of testing was necessary. But now that he had confirmed the [task issuer] was a key variable, Rohr was no longer a suitable subject. He needed to find a quest-giver of a much higher station, someone who could generate a task of greater difficulty.
Of course, he couldn't simply order such people to cooperate. He would have to guide them, to deceive them.
An idea quickly took shape in his mind. Perhaps Prince Hazan would make an excellent experimental subject.
Early the next morning, Ian was invited to breakfast with Illyrio in a private dining chamber within Khal Drogo's manse.
"How are you, Ian? Did you rest well last night?" Illyrio asked with a placid smile as he spread plum jam on a piece of bread. He always seemed to wear that same expression, a mask that betrayed neither joy nor anger.
"Not very well, in fact," Ian began, his voice laced with a carefully constructed sneer of concern. "I meant to speak to you about this last night. His Majesty, Viserys, was deceived by Hazan. He agreed to lend him one of Daeron's Water Dancers. I fear this will compromise your position of neutrality in Pentos."
Seeing Ian's worried expression, Illyrio simply laughed.
"You needn't trouble yourself with that," Illyrio said, taking a sip of wine. Amber drops trickled down his greasy, forked golden beard. "When Olanto led me away from Viserys's side, I had already guessed Hazan's purpose."
"Then why did you not stop him?" Ian asked, his puzzlement genuine this time. This was one detail he truly did not understand.
"That touches upon my neutral position," Illyrio replied. He considered for a moment, then asked, "How do you understand my neutrality?"
"You do not participate in the dispute between the Volantis Party and the Braavos Party?" Ian answered, drawing on the information he was 'supposed' to know.
"That is true on the surface, but in truth, the Volantis Party is of little importance." Illyrio paused. "Speaking of which, did my steward Mills ever tell you that my position is biased toward Braavos?"
"He did not say it outright, but he certainly implied as much."
"Then are you not curious why I am unwilling to form an alliance with Hazan?"
"I'm sorry," Ian said, feigning confusion. "I have not given these matters much thought. What do the party struggles of Pentos have to do with our restoration?"
"Think of it as a lesson, Ian. You will need these abilities sooner or later. Westeros is a far larger and more complex place than Pentos. Did Viserys not name you his Hand of the King last night?" A flicker of almost imperceptible sarcasm crossed Illyrio's face.
"As the Hand, you must learn to know what every man under your command is thinking. You must detect their intentions, balance their interests, and influence their positions. Only then can you manage a kingdom well."
"Yes," Ian nodded, a strange and indescribable feeling stirring in his chest.
It was clear that Illyrio now trusted him completely. The Magister was actively grooming him, training him to be the Hand for 'Aegon VI,' yet all the while, Ian was plotting his downfall.
But what choice do I have? he thought bitterly. There is only one Iron Throne.
In Illyrio's grand design, Daenerys would marry Aegon, and together they would reclaim Westeros. Was he truly expected to become their loyal vassal? How could a man born for greatness live his life in the shadow of others?
Wait, a thought struck him. Illyrio could not have predicted the deaths of Viserys and Drogo. That wasn't his original plan. So what was it? What was his plan from the very beginning?
"Have you worked it out? If so, we shall continue," Illyrio said, interrupting his thoughts.
Forced to set aside his own questions, Ian adopted a respectful tone. "Yes, Magister. Please, teach me."
"Very good," Illyrio nodded, satisfied. He leaned forward. "The reason I will not ally with Hazan is because his uncle, Tormo Freyga, is the primary rival to the man I am sponsoring in the next election for the Sealord of Braavos: Uther Antalun."
That much is true, Ian thought to himself. But…
"You are sponsoring a candidate for Sealord?" he asked aloud. Do you have that kind of coin?
"Do you believe all candidates for Sealord are Keykeepers of the Iron Bank? No, no, no," Illyrio said, reading the doubt in Ian's eyes and waving his hands dismissively. "All citizens of Braavos are qualified to run for Sealord. As for General Uther Antalun, he became my friend when he was a man of little means, much like our king. Though he is now one of the three commanders of the Purple Fleet, he remains grateful to me."
Gods. Ian's heart skipped a beat. A commander of the Purple Fleet! No wonder Illyrio dares to dream of Westeros. He holds such a powerful trump card in Braavos!
If Illyrio's plan succeeded—if Uther Antalun won the election, Viserys secured a Dothraki army, and they were joined by the Golden Company, the Dornish, and other opportunists from Westeros… with such a force, they could challenge Robert Baratheon's rule even without the civil war Littlefinger was fomenting.
"You seem surprised," Illyrio noted, once again breaking into Ian's thoughts.
"I am seeing a glorious future, Magister," Ian said quickly.
"Do not celebrate too soon. Things are not so simple," Illyrio shook his head. "As things stand, the man most likely to win the next election is Prince Hazan's uncle, Tormo Freyga. In second place is a Keykeeper supported by the current Sealord. General Uther Antalun is ranked only third."
Ian had assumed Illyrio was aligned with the current Sealord's faction. He hadn't expected the Magister to be backing a third party, building a power base from nothing.
"So," Illyrio said, fixing Ian with a sharp gaze. "If you were Uther, facing two such powerful opponents, what strategy would you adopt?"
Ian knew this was another test, part of his 'learning.' The question, however, seemed a bit too simple.
"I do not know. It would be difficult for the one in third place to win, would it not?" Ian shook his head, feigning that the problem was too complex for him.
"Think, Ian, think," Illyrio insisted, clearly unsatisfied.
Ian pretended to consider it for a moment before offering the most conventional answer he could. "Ally with the second to defeat the first?"
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