Chapter 176: Pentos' Requiem
"Sentence Magister Guerrero Tetrus to death? Deprive our family of all property and power? And elect *Hazan Moharis* as the new Prince of Pentos?" Marte Tetrus's voice was lethally sharp. "Where is this Hazan? Does he not think he owes me an explanation?"
"Prince Hazan and his army have already entered the manse, my lord. Our spies also report," the adjutant paused, "that they breached the outer courtyard without encountering any resistance at all."
"No resistance?" Marte laughed, a bitter, angry sound. "So Hazan and Illyrio truly were allies? This grand trap of theirs was aimed at us from the very beginning?"
"My lord..." The adjutant did not know how to respond.
"Gather all our troops!" Marte commanded, his face a mask of fury. "Surround this manse and besiege it with our full strength! They want to destroy the Tetrus family? Then Hazan will not leave this place alive!"
***
"Your Highness, we have taken the outer courtyard of Illyrio's manse without opposition," Hazan's adjutant reported at his side. "Scouts confirm their forces have withdrawn completely to the castle on the back mountain."
"Abandon the entire manse below? Does Mills truly have the nerve for such a gamble?" Hazan shook his head in disbelief. "Besiege the mountain. We can deal with them after we have eliminated Illyrio's other forces in the city."
"One more thing," Hazan added quickly. "Loot Illyrio's treasury before Marte and his men arrive!"
"About that, Your Highness... We have been there. It seems the vaults have already been plundered. Most of the wealth remains, but the most valuable items are gone."
"How is that possible?" Hazan was baffled. "What thief would be so bold? Marte's army has not even entered the grounds. Who could have reached Illyrio's treasure before us?"
"Your Highness! Your Highness!"
A voice suddenly cut through their conversation. Hazan turned to see a young man running toward them, breathless. He recognized him as the agent he had posted outside the Palace of the Great Council.
"What is it? Why are you in such a rush?" A terrible premonition bloomed in Hazan's heart, a feeling tied to the sudden closing of the council.
"The Great Council is claiming Lord Guerrero Tetrus murdered Prince Trigg! They've sentenced your father to death! And... and they have voted to make *you* the new Prince! Magister Illyrio has publicly stated that he will see you are granted true power in time!"
Hazan's heart stopped. He didn't need to think. He knew instantly this was Illyrio's scheme, a masterstroke designed to turn his allies against him.
"Find Marte Tetrus at once! I must explain this to him face-to-face!" Hazan ordered frantically. "No, forget it. I will find him myself."
His usual composure shattered, Hazan turned to run from the courtyard.
He had taken only a few steps when the sound of running feet filled the air, followed by the unmistakable clash of steel and the shouts of men locked in battle.
The army of House Tetrus was already fighting his own guards.
"It's too late," Hazan whispered, grinding to a halt. "We have to find a way out."
Once blood was spilled, no explanation would suffice.
Because his own advance had been slowed by countless obstacles while Marte's path had been clear, the ratio of their forces was nearly one to three. He stood no chance of winning a direct confrontation.
Hazan darted away, but as he rounded a corner, he ran straight into another detachment of the Tetrus army advancing from the opposite direction. Left with no choice, he left a rearguard of his own men to die and fled down another path.
Unfortunately, he met the enemy there as well.
Though the outer courtyards of Illyrio's manse were a veritable maze, they had precious few exits.
Hazan finally realized there was no bypassing Marte's army. He drew his own steel and charged headlong into the enemy ranks, determined to carve a path through them.
The men he faced were merely levies, and his first furious assault shattered their line. But before he could catch his breath, reinforcements arrived—the elite guard of House Tetrus, with Marte himself at their head.
In the ensuing chaos, Hazan never found his chance to speak to Marte. He was surrounded.
He knew then that there was no escape. Neither the blessing of the Red God nor his mother's vast fortune could save him now.
But as the steel closed in around him, the one question Hazan could not answer was how. How had Illyrio discovered his plan? How had he arranged all of this in advance? He would die without ever knowing.
***
When the falcon that was Ian took to the air again, Marte Tetrus was already in full retreat toward the north with what was left of his army.
Below, in the gardens of Illyrio's manse, corpses littered the ground. Hazan Moharis was among them.
Ian felt a flicker of regret. Had Hazan not altered his plans at the last moment, he could have been a valuable ally.
But their paths were doomed to diverge from the moment Ian decided he would take Daenerys for himself. The conflict was irreconcilable. Hazan was a son of Pentos; for Ian to steal Daenerys would be to abandon the city to Khal Drogo's wrath—a price Hazan would never, ever pay.
And so, both Hazan and Illyrio had to die. Only with their deaths could Ian ensure that no one would ever know of the role he played in the city's ruin. Only then would he be safe from the vengeance of Marianne Frega for his betrayal of her son.
As for losing Braavos as a potential ally, Ian no longer saw it as a great loss. The situation had changed. He felt confident he could now guide Daenerys and prevent her from making ill-timed declarations of abolition. The support of Braavos had become less important.
A short while later, the falcon arrived at the southern gate of the city.
The Dothraki had gathered outside, a sea of riders. Ian had already seen to the catalyst, writing a deeply insulting letter to Khal Drogo in Illyrio's name. It called the khal an uncivilized barbarian, unworthy of marrying a princess of Old Valyria. Ian had no doubt Drogo's rage had been stoked.
Suddenly, a troop of fifty Unsullied, dressed in the garb of common mercenaries, emerged from the nearby slums and stormed the gate. The southern quarter had been Hazan's territory. With his forces annihilated in the fighting, the gate was almost undefended. It fell with ease.
The Unsullied threw open the gates, letting the army of horse lords pour into the city.
These were the first fifty soldiers Illyrio had given him. Ian had disguised them and sent them here with a simple lie: the centaur-like riders were reinforcements, come to aid Magister Illyrio. They suspected nothing.
From his perch on the gatehouse tower, Ian watched the Dothraki swarm into Pentos. He saw the first fires begin to blossom, spreading from the south gate northward.
The smell of smoke and cooked meat, mingled with the metallic tang of blood, drifted up to him. He felt a wave of visceral discomfort.
*I am a player,* Ian reminded himself, the thought a cold shard of ice in his mind. *If you cannot treat the people of this world as characters in a game, you will die at the hands of those who can.*
The Athenian Euphemus once said that for the sake of advantage, a ruler will stop at nothing. But was it only rulers who lived by such a creed?
Not wishing to linger, the falcon spread its wings and soared into the sky.
Behind him, the city played its final, terrible symphony: the crackle of flame, the thunder of hooves, the roar of the Dothraki, the clash of steel, and the endless screams of the dying.
It was, Ian knew, Pentos's Requiem.
---
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