The three parties reached an agreement: joint attack on Tyrosh, seize control of Grey Gallows Island.
Daeron didn't linger. He left Myr under the excuse of returning to Tarth to gather more troops.
---
Inside the archons' palace the three Myrish leaders were beaming, already counting their coming victory.
"That Dragon Prince seemed difficult to please, yet he agreed without hesitation," the estate lord said, surprised.
The banker chuckled. "Fame or not, he's still a boy. Probably hasn't even grown hair on his balls yet."
He had checked: Prince Daeron was only thirteen.
Boys that age were impulsive.
"Don't underestimate him," the sea trader warned. "He's the only living dragonrider in the world. He's no ordinary hothead."
The banker sneered. "One pot of tea and you're bought?"
"I told you—the Dragonlord family defies ordinary logic," the sea trader said, voice low and angry.
Before the Doom, forty dragonlord families had schemed and slaughtered one another. Now only House Targaryen remained. After the Dance of the Dragons and the Blackfyre Rebellions, their dragons had been extinct for a hundred and fifty years—yet someone had still managed to hatch new ones. Their luck was clearly not exhausted.
"Hmph. I think you're overrating them," the banker said, too arrogant to argue further.
The sea trader's eyes narrowed. He decided to quietly contact Prince Rhaeton on his own and deepen ties with the Iron Throne.
Anyone crazy enough to ride a dragon is no ordinary man.
---
Three days later.
A massive fleet sailed out of Myr bay, swept the nearby pirates from the Disputed Lands, and headed straight for the Stepstones.
Today was the day the alliance had agreed to strike.
Myr would commit the first troops, seize Grey Gallows, and Daeron would arrive on dragonback to seal the victory.
But when the sea trader's fleet beached on Grey Gallows and the fighting began, no dragon appeared in the sky.
"What the hell?" the sea trader muttered, face tight. "Is he delayed, or is the Iron Throne breaking the deal?"
The battle had already started. There was no turning back.
He grabbed a trusted lieutenant. "Sail back to Myr at once. Send someone to Tarth and find out what's happening!"
"Yes, Archon."
The Myrish sailor hurried off.
Stones and burning logs flew from the Tyroshi catapults, smashing hulls and sinking ships. The sea trader pressed forward anyway, using his numbers to push inland.
"Kill them!"
Suddenly a second Myrish force struck from the far side of the island, catching the Tyroshi garrison in a pincer. The Tyroshi commander saw the situation was hopeless and pulled his men back into the mountain fortifications to prepare for a long siege.
Only unified action by the Triarchy could hold Grey Gallows. Myr's betrayal would be answered.
"Hold the caves! I've already sent for the archon's reinforcements!" the bearded Tyroshi commander shouted. His men steadied. Tyrosh bred mercenaries and pirates; their fighting strength was nothing to sneer at. Myr alone didn't scare them.
"When the archon's troops arrive we'll slaughter these Myrish dogs," he roared.
But he stayed alert. Lys and Tyrosh were already on edge. If Myr turned traitor, Lys might pile on just to kick them while they were down.
If the archon doesn't send help soon, I'll poison the bastard myself and install a new one when I get back, the commander thought, completely unbothered by the idea of treason.
He never got the chance.
At that exact moment, the city of Tyrosh itself was under attack.
Tyrosh sat on an island north of the Stepstones, close enough to the Disputed Lands to dominate the gem trade. High walls and a black dragonstone inner curtain made it formidable. Only an enemy ten times stronger could hope to take it.
Today it met that enemy.
"Hiss-graa—!"
A blazing red streak tore across the sky, clearing the proud outer wall and revealing the entire city below.
"Dracarys!"
Daeron wheeled Caraxes back over the harbor and began the assault in earnest.
As the red dragon passed overhead, Tyroshi defenders instinctively closed their eyes. The downdraft from those massive wings nearly knocked them off the battlements.
Then the crimson flame fell.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes hovered above the port, wings beating, neck arched, and unleashed a roaring pillar of fire. The entire waterfront exploded into an inferno. Alarm bells clanged wildly across the city.
"Enemy at the harbor!"
"Send for the archon—now!"
Tyroshi sellsword companies rushed to the walls. Lucerys Velaryon's twenty warships sliced through the Disputed Lands and hit the Tyrosh bay without warning, launching a full landing.
Lord Selwyn Tarth was among them, bringing several galleys and a few hundred men from Tarth. Against a city this size it wasn't much—but they weren't alone.
"Hiss-graa—!"
"Hiss-graa!"
Defenders looked up and saw two dragons—one red, one black—circling overhead. Their faces went slack. Some actually turned to run.
Why were dragons attacking Tyrosh itself?
"Attacking the Stepstones?" Daeron's voice was ice. "Why waste time on rocks when we can burn the heart?"
He had come for the gem mines and pirate loot, yes. But striking an island outpost was nothing compared to sacking the city that ruled them.
A port city with no inland depth and no quick reinforcements.
Taking Tyrosh would not be hard.
"You've spent years raiding the Narrow Sea," Daeron said with a cold smile. "Time to see how it feels when the Dragonlords do the raiding."
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes glided along the high, thick outer wall, a ribbon of red flame slicing through the defenders like a burning blade. Black smoke rolled upward, screams echoing along the parapet.
"Hiss-graa!"
Toothless followed tight on his father's wing, green eyes sparkling as he sprayed misty green fire across the battlements. Soldiers leaped from the wall, bodies wreathed in red-and-green flames, crashing into the crowds below and spreading panic.
"Fall back! Get behind the inner wall!" a Tyroshi admiral shouted. He abandoned the harbor gate and retreated through the sally ports.
Lucerys Velaryon seized the moment. With the dragon's terror at his back he smashed through the harbor defenses and reached the base of the twenty-meter-high, five-meter-thick outer wall.
"Prince!" he roared into the wind, silver hair whipping.
Caraxes folded his wings and dropped almost vertically, landing hard in front of the gate. Friendly troops scrambled clear.
"Dracarys!"
Daeron stared at the massive reinforced doors and gave the order without hesitation.
Caraxes's molten-gold eyes narrowed. His chest swelled, serpentine neck arched, and he poured everything into one sustained blast.
"Hiss-graa—!"
A torrent of red-black flame engulfed the gates. At first the thick wood and iron held. Tyroshi soldiers on the wall cheered and began hurling stones, logs, and arrows.
Daeron glanced up, raised one hand.
Caraxes kept the flame steady and lifted his right wing like a crimson shield. Arrows shattered against it. Boulders and logs slammed down, only to be batted aside by an angry flap.
The gate's metal hinges glowed cherry-red. White smoke poured off them. The iron began to twist and drip like wax.
"Caraxes—Dracarys!" Daeron roared.
The dragon lunged forward. The flame roared hotter, black smoke billowing. The temperature spiked again and again.
The hinges finally gave way, melting into glowing rivulets of iron. The massive doors shuddered, then collapsed inward with a thunderous crash, burning debris tumbling into the city.
"ON THEM!" Lucerys bellowed. "Don't give the Tyroshi bastards time to regroup!"
Caraxes cut off the flame, neck drooping slightly, throat rasping. He looked winded.
Daeron patted his scales. No time to baby him—he signaled for immediate takeoff.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes answered with a lower, hoarser cry. He shook the wing that had blocked the boulders, then beat both wings hard, reared up on his small hind legs, and launched himself skyward.
Daeron checked him quickly. The dragon's fire output had dropped, but flight and balance were unaffected. He relaxed.
Caraxes was still young—over twenty meters long, the size of a young adult dragon—but his slender build was a weakness in a straight slugging match.
"Hiss-graa—!"
The red dragon flew over the inner wall, sweeping low and burning any Tyroshi soldiers still running. Toothless stuck close, spraying green fire wherever gaps appeared.
Wherever the two dragons passed, streets filled with smoke and screams.
"Straight for the archon's palace!" Daeron ordered.
Lucerys drove his men forward like a spear, following the dragons' burning path toward the black dragonstone inner curtain.
"Don't slow the prince down—keep pushing!" he shouted.
The royal troops charged, slaughtering the broken Tyroshi defenders street by street.