One evening, several unexpected visitors came seeking an audience.
"Your Grace, a group of people arrived at the docks claiming to be 'envoys of Magister Malo of the Elephant Party.' They wish to invite you to his official residence inside the Black Walls for a discussion."
Viserys and Arthur exchanged a glance. They had only been in Volantis for a few days, yet their whereabouts were already known.
"How many people? And how are they dressed?" Ser Arthur asked.
"Four, dressed in the Elephant Party's white robes trimmed with purple. The leader appeared to be a steward or similar servant, and his attitude was respectful. They arrived in a sedan chair bearing the Magister's sigil."
Viserys pondered for a moment. "Tell them I will arrive shortly."
The soldier acknowledged the order and withdrew.
"Your Grace, this could be a trap," Arthur Dayne warned. "We do not know whether they are friends or foes."
"In Volantis, there are no permanent enemies, only eternal interests." Viserys stood up. "Besides, if we wish to enter Valyria, we may very well need their assistance. Or at least, we need them not to interfere with us. Ser Elissar, take twenty capable men and wait outside the residence as backup. Ser Arthur, you will accompany me."
If the Volantis port district was a world of noise, chaos, sweat, and commerce, then the area inside the Black Walls was a domain of order, luxury, and ancient power.
The streets were wide and smooth, lined with exotic trees transported from the upper Rhoyne River, their leaves broad as parasols, casting dense shadows. The buildings were mostly constructed of white marble, decorated with gold, silver, and colored glass. The patrol guards were better equipped and their discipline was stricter.
Magister Malo's official residence was located slightly east of the city center, a three-story building with a massive courtyard. In the courtyard was a fountain made of white marble, where golden carp unique to Volantis swam.
Viserys and Arthur were ushered into the reception hall.
The room was spacious, its walls hung with tapestries depicting Valyria during its golden age. Dragons soared among the Fourteen Flames, and Dragonlords rode their beasts. But the tapestries were faded, their edges showing signs of repair, as if recounting glories long past.
They did not wait long before a man around sixty years old entered. He was slightly stout, dressed in a deep purple robe embroidered with the Elephant Party sigil, and wore the practiced, gentle smile of a politician, though his eyes were sharp.
"Welcome to Volantis, guests from afar." The man spoke in fluent Valyrian, the High Valyrian dialect with a Volantene accent. "I am Nahalo Malo, one of the three Magisters of Volantis. Please, sit."
Viserys nodded slightly in acknowledgment and sat on a chair padded with silk cushions. Arthur stood one step behind him.
Servants brought wine in silver goblets and candied fruits on exquisite porcelain plates. Nahalo raised his cup in a toast: "To friends who have traveled far."
Viserys picked up the cup but did not drink. "How did you know of my arrival, Magister Malo?"
Nahalo smiled, a hint of cunning in his expression: "Volantis has its own eyes and ears. When two Westeros-style armed ships dock in the harbor, manned by disciplined sailors, and led by a young man with a pure Valyrian countenance, it is hard for us not to notice. Especially," he paused, "when this young man also had a meaningful conversation with Priestess Kinvara in front of the Temple of the Red God."
Viserys remained composed. "Then why have you invited me here, my lord?"
"A straightforward man, I like that." Nahalo put down his wine cup and leaned forward slightly. "Let me guess your purpose: you wish to enter Valyria, do you not? Everyone with silver hair and violet eyes who comes to Volantis eventually develops this desire. It is a call that runs in our blood."
"Our blood?" Viserys seized upon the word.
"Yes, ours." Nahalo pointed to his graying hair. "The Malo family lineage can be traced back to the 'House Silverwing' of Valyria. Although the blood has been diluted through generations of mixing, that yearning to return to the homeland, to recover the lost glory, has never faded."
"So you have also organized expeditions."
Nahalo's smile turned somewhat bitter: "Three times. The first was when I was thirty, ambitious, taking the family's best warriors and most advanced equipment. Sixty men left, seven returned, bringing back only mad ravings and burns that would never heal. The second was more cautious. I only sent a small team of scouts to land on the relatively gentle western coast of the peninsula. They never returned. The third time was twenty years ago. I funded a team of Mercenaries and scholars, instructing them to observe from the sea and not land. Their ship encountered something on the edge of the Smoking Sea. Only the captain survived, his hair completely white, and he has been unable to speak a word ever since."
Silence fell in the reception hall, broken only by the faint sound of water flowing in the courtyard fountain.
"Then you ought to be discouraging me," Viserys said.
"Discouraging you?" Nahalo shook his head. "No. I merely wish to tell you the true danger. But I also know that people like you—I can see it in your eyes—will not be dissuaded. You possess something I also had when I was young: the conviction that you are different, the belief that destiny has a special plan for you."
He stood up and walked to the window, gazing at the eternal haze hanging over the eastern sky. "Therefore, rather than letting you blindly rush to your death, let us make a deal. I can offer help—truly useful help, not the fake maps and nonsense you buy in taverns. In exchange, if you find anything of value in Valyria, I want a share. Not vulgar things like gold and jewels, but knowledge, texts, or things related to dragons."
Viserys mused, "What can you offer?"
"Three things." Nahalo turned and held up three fingers. "First, some ancient manuscript copies dating back before the Doom of Valyria, which record certain lesser-known internal information. Second, detailed reports of all recorded expeditions that departed from Volantis for the ruins of Valyria—their departure points, personnel composition, and final outcomes. Third, a guide."
"A guide?"
"A man who has truly entered Valyria and returned alive." Nahalo's expression grew serious. "At least, that is what he claims."
Viserys and Arthur exchanged a look. This sounded somewhat unbelievable. Based on the original story he knew, only two people were mentioned who entered Valyria and returned without immediate catastrophe: Euron Greyjoy, the Crow's Eye of the Iron Islands, and Archmaester Marwyn of The Citadel.
"Where is this person now?" Viserys asked.
"In the slave camp outside the Black Walls." Nahalo said calmly. "He is an escaped slave who fled three years ago from my competitor, General Naharis of the Tiger Party. Naharis claims this slave was part of his expedition ten years ago, went mad after experiencing certain things in Valyria, killed two guards, and escaped. I managed to hide him because I knew that someday, someone would need what is inside his head."
"Can I see him now?"
"Of course. But I must warn you, his condition is very unstable. Sometimes he is lucid, able to speak Valyrian clearly and describe the sights within the ruins. Other times, he is completely mad." Nahalo paused. "Furthermore, he demands to be locked in shackles made of valyrian steel, claiming it is 'to prevent what is inside from escaping.'"
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