Chapter 144: Prince Hazan
After navigating the bustling upper city, Ian rode in Illyrio's carriage down to Liberty Street in the lower city.
The street had once been called Bloody Street, home to the largest concentration of slave arenas in all of Pentos. But ninety-one years ago, after Pentos was defeated by Braavos, the arenas were all shuttered. To commemorate the great Braavosi victory, the street was renamed.
Hazan's arena, like that of Suda Titrus, was located here.
And it was to Hazan's 'White Blade Arena' that Ian now traveled, with Daeron at his side.
Sixteen Unsullied marched before and behind the carriage, their discipline a stark contrast to the chaos of the street. They drove the beggars and untouchables from the roadside, clearing a path.
This was a force Ian had borrowed from Illyrio's manse. After their frank conversation the day before, Ian had earned the Magister's complete trust, and with it, the authority to command many of his assets. The harpy-crested whip that allowed him to mobilize fifty Unsullied had been a personal gift.
Furthermore, with Illyrio having personally admitted he cared little for offending the Volantis Party, Ian now had the means to use the Magister's power to deal with the player, Ander Poole.
Yet, after a moment of consideration, Ian had abandoned that plan. He would stick to his original course: to kill Ender in the tournament.
After all, if he used his newfound authority to immediately strike at an acting warrior of Suda Titrus, it would be a tacit admission of his motives for helping Hazan. It would inevitably make Illyrio wonder if he and Daeron Grafson had orchestrated their previous conflict—if it had all been a double act.
If the outcome was the same regardless, there was no need to choose the path that might arouse Illyrio's suspicion.
***
"Ian is coming," Hazan said to Delifu, waving away the servant who had brought news of the carriage entering Liberty Street. "I have been looking forward to dealing with him for a long time."
"Is it because of what Taroben said of him?" Delifu's brow furrowed slightly. "I looked into him for you. This Ian Darry is nothing special. I even suspect he is merely a target, a figurehead pushed forward by Daeron Grafson."
"Go on."
"All intelligence suggests Daeron is Ian's subordinate, but you saw it yourself at Khal Drogo's banquet. Daeron showed him no respect. I also confirmed that the knights they brought from Tyrosh are all Daeron's men. So, my theory is this: Daeron Grafson is worried he will be targeted by assassins from the king in Westeros, so he has pushed his companion into this seemingly high station to serve as a decoy."
"It sounds plausible," Hazan mused, pausing in thought. "But… I don't know. There is something strange about it all."
"Oh?"
"You asked me before how I was able to discern Viserys's character without ever having met him," Hazan said.
"And your answer was, 'A king who has long relied on others, who suddenly gains true supporters and the capital to be courted, will be most anxious to prove he is not Illyrio's puppet.' Was that not correct?" Delifu blinked.
"It was. But what led me to that conclusion were Ian's own words. He said that Magister Illyrio was Viserys's most important ally, and that he believed His Majesty would not ignore the Magister's wishes."
"What does that signify?"
"The message within that statement is that Viserys has never held the power to decide great matters for himself. So, when he suddenly possessed such power, his rebellious impulse against Illyrio would be particularly strong."
"You mean…" Delifu's eyes widened as she began to guess what Hazan was thinking.
"I suspect Ian was intentionally trying to give me a hint."
"But his words were not out of place at the time; they didn't seem intentional. And if Daeron Grafson hadn't suddenly lashed out at him, the entire conversation that followed would never have happened. You can't possibly think the entire scene was arranged by him, can you?" As she spoke, Delifu suddenly stopped, her own certainty wavering. "Could it be?"
"It's hard to say. He didn't feel like he was acting. And if that's the case, what is his purpose? What does he gain by helping me?"
*Perhaps he has a fondness for your arsehole,* Delifu wanted to joke, but she knew better than to trifle with Hazan when he was in a state of serious thought.
"Perhaps the Iron Bank has spoken with him, my prince," she offered, a more reasonable guess. Her suspicion was not unfounded; countless past experiences had proven that Hazan's successes were often paved with his mother's gold.
"If that were the case, he would have let me know he was helping me," Hazan said, shaking his head.
"Perhaps we will have our answer soon. Daeron said he had something important to tell us."
"That is precisely why I look forward to this meeting," Hazan said. A thought seemed to strike him. "And if Daeron truly is just his puppet, then having such a man as our friend would be an immense boon to our plans. By the way, have you asked Celia what she said to Ian at Drogo's banquet?"
"Like you, she is also quite interested in the Andal knight. She intended to invite him to the Red Temple on the summit to win him to our cause. But now, it seems that may no longer be necessary. According to you, this Ser Ian already wishes to help."
As they were speaking, the servant appeared at the door once more. "They are here."
***
"We've arrived." Rohr pulled the carriage curtain open from the outside.
After Ian prompted Daeron to exit, he climbed out of the carriage himself.
The White Blade Arena was an ordinary-looking building, its large wooden door appearing somewhat old and worn. Rohr stepped forward and knocked.
The door was opened by a eunuch, a fact Ian immediately recognized from his high-pitched accent and soft, rounded figure.
For this meeting, Ian wore the white plate armor of Jonos Darry. Its craftsmanship was superb. Though it bore a slight dent from the blow of a spear-hammer, Ian had been unable to find any armor in Pentos that could surpass its quality.
The Unsullied stood guard outside. Ian and the others followed the fat eunuch into the arena.
They passed through a deserted corridor, then descended a winding staircase that led deep underground. Tallow lamps hanging from the walls cast a flickering, uncertain light, stretching their shadows long and thin upon the ground, until they disappeared into the unlit darkness below.
On the stone steps, the echo of their footfalls filled the narrow space.
For a brief, terrifying moment, Ian saw a weighted net flying toward him, followed by a fierce man in a golden robe smashing a spear-hammer down upon him.
He was lost in the trance, shaking his head violently to throw the images away. He came to his senses, realizing that what he had seen was only his own shadow on the wall, thrown into sharp relief by a nearby oil lamp.
A draft had snaked its way down the stairs, making the flames on the torches dance and sway, and the shadows on the wall fluttered with them.
---
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