A hot wind blew through Volantis. The city was damp and sweltering, enough to leave a man drenched in sweat. A thick stench hung in the air, a mixture of fish, flowers, dung, rot, and decay.
Volantis stood in the southeastern corner of the Free Cities, east of the Disputed Lands, at the mouth of the Rhoyne, the Free City closest to Valyria. Volantis called itself the Queen of the Rhoyne and Mistress of the Summer Sea. The city occupied the entire river mouth, stretching from both banks toward the inland hills and marshes like a pair of thick, wet lips, rich, overripe, and rotting with decadence. Ships from all over the world gathered here.
Volantis was also a sweet city. Vast fields of beets grew around it, and almost every dish contained them. Its local specialty, cold beet soup, was thick and rich, like purple honey. Even the wine was said to be sweet.
"The great Triarch Malaquo approaches! Make way!"
"The great Triarch Nyessos approaches! Make way!"
Two lines of twelve Unsullied spearmen in splendid armor and tiger-skin cloaks appeared first. Then the two Volantene Triarchs' elephants advanced with raised heads toward the harbor. The Triarchs' elephants were massive gray beasts covered in exquisite enameled armor, which clinked softly with each step. On each elephant's back stood a tall tower, where a Triarch sat. By Volantene custom, Triarchs were so exalted that during their year in office, their feet could not touch the ground.
"Make way!"
"Make way!"
The Unsullied spearmen kept shouting at the sailors and slaves around them, clearing a path. Some maesters estimated that Volantis had one free citizen for every five slaves. The crowd parted on every side. Sailors and slaves were easy to tell apart, for the slaves all bore tattoos. Some had blue feathered masks inked across their faces. Some had lightning bolts running from forehead to chin. Others had leopard spots, a coin, a skull, a water jug, and more marked on one cheek.
The native Volantenes and foreign shipowners considered walking beneath their dignity. The upper classes traveled by palanquin, or at least hired an elephant cart. The Triarchs rode in elephant fortresses.
Malaquo was a tall, gaunt old man, but he was still a Tiger. Nyessos was fat and powerful, a successful slave trader.
The Tigers were Volantis's old nobles and warriors, who believed the world should be conquered by force. The Elephants were mostly merchants and lenders, who believed the world should be conquered through trade. In the three hundred years after the end of the Century of Blood, the Elephants had controlled the Volantene government, holding at least two Triarch seats.
"How did your operation in Lys go?" Triarch Nyessos Vhassar asked.
"A complete success, Nyessos. Lys has been dragged onto the chariot by Rhaen, but this is only the first step in restoring our former glory," Malaquo replied from the other tower. "The Lyseni are nothing but bed slaves and whores. The news of the Breaker terrified them. Without us, Rhaen would never have dared act."
"We were once Valyria's eldest daughter, but our strength is gone," Nyessos Vhassar said to Malaquo Maegyr. "The wars of centuries past thinned our people. Many districts fell into ruin and returned to the marshes by the water. Now half the fountains have no water, and the other half have become stagnant pits or dried-out basins."
"So it is only natural for the tiger and the elephant to join hands against the stag and the dragon," Malaquo said. "In this age, money can buy men's hearts, but only iron and blood can make them submit."
"Volantis, my great mother, has been sinking for four hundred years since that defeat." Malaquo looked toward the harbor and saw merchants from Oldtown and King's Landing gathered with their counterparts from Braavos, Pentos, and Myr. There were hairy Ibbenese, milk-pale Qartheen, coal-black Summer Islanders in feathered cloaks, and even masked shadowbinders from Asshai by the Shadow.
The elephant fortresses moved slowly forward. The Triarchs also saw the heads hanging from iron posts at the harbor, with plaques beneath them listing their crimes. Some had killed kin, some were slaves who had risen against their masters, and some were Storm spies who had tried to incite rebellion.
"I must act," Malaquo thought uneasily. "I don't know how many angry slaves still remain in Volantis."
The two Triarchs' procession soon reached the naval harbor. Malaquo was about to lead the great fleet to war. Nyessos also boarded the warship to bid him farewell. Both men walked across luxurious carpets, for Triarchs could not step directly onto the earth.
"Once I set sail, Volantis will be in your care," Malaquo said to Nyessos.
"I will see to it." Nyessos nodded. "My wealth comes from the slave trade. That Baratheon bastard and the True Dragon Princess are my sworn enemies."
"The Storm should never have interfered with the slave trade. He is far too arrogant. The slave trade is not only a matter for Slaver's Bay, nor only for Tyrosh and Myr. It is the heart of the world's maritime commerce. And the Storm has dared to stop it," Nyessos said angrily.
"Poor Nyessos. Without the Three Daughters, our business has suffered badly. Without slaves, our lives can hardly continue. It is the same within the Black Walls. The nobles are frightened even by the sound of a slave sharpening a knife in the kitchen," Malaquo replied. "Look across all Volantis. It is slaves who grow our food, clean our streets, and teach our children. It is slaves who guard our walls, sail our warships, and charge into battle. Now all those slaves have turned their eyes westward, waiting for the bright and glorious savior, the Storm, that so-called Breaker. The old nobles cannot tolerate this. Even the city's poor cannot bear it."
"Let us join hands. Volantis is calling for war now. By the next Triarch election, the other one will certainly be cast aside," Malaquo said.
"Let us hope so." Nyessos laughed loudly.
Malaquo lowered his voice. "What worries me most are the followers of the Red God and those restless slaves. They must be handled with great care."
"If the red priests had any sense, they would mind their mouths and tongues," Nyessos said unhappily. "Benerro spouts his twisted heresies without restraint. Every night, thousands of slaves and free citizens listen to him, gathering in the temple square. Benerro says the bleeding sword has appeared and will cleanse the world. He says if we persist in opposing the Storm King, the whole city will be burned to the ground."
"Why not simply kill him?" Nyessos asked.
"There are many followers of the Lord of Light among the Tiger Cloaks. I cannot order them to attack the red priests," Malaquo said quietly.
"Perhaps we can use Sellswords," Nyessos suggested.
"Hmph. Those men love only gold, and their mouths cannot be trusted. Do not go too far," Malaquo said. "Besides, the fugitive slave masters from the Twin Cities and the envoys from Slaver's Bay are scattering gold everywhere. Perhaps their stories will please the citizens more."
"Very well, I understand." Nyessos nodded.
The Storm's enemies had also invented all sorts of horrifying tales in Volantis. They said Storm Gendry was cruel and bloodthirsty, that anyone who defied him would have his limbs hacked off and be left to die slowly. They said he was a Warlock who traded flesh and blood for power, that he had cursed his father Robert to death and meant to kill the king's legitimate children. They said he was consumed by lust, that he violated the poor noble ladies of the Twin Cities without restraint to satisfy himself, and once he tired of them, he would kill his playthings or give them to the Hound.
"There is no need to dwell on Benerro. Once I win this war, all slander will vanish like smoke," Malaquo said. "They are fighting at King's Landing now, but I will strike straight at the deer's nest."
"What? Not Tyrosh or Myr?" Nyessos widened his eyes. "The distance is so great. How could that be done?"
"No." Malaquo shook his head. "We already lost the war of the Century of Blood. Now only by killing the root of the trouble can our war be won quickly. Once the Storm is dead, all waves will fall silent."
"But that is too risky, Malaquo. The distance is too great. Why not use our old methods, split the navy and army for a joint assault, and strike Tyrosh, Myr, and the Disputed Lands first?"
"Under ordinary circumstances, it could not be done. But the will of the gods will give our fleet smooth winds and calm waters." A red priest appeared behind Malaquo. He was short and fat, with sharp features and skin as white as milk. His cheeks, chin, and bald head were covered in flame tattoos.
"A red priest?" Nyessos was shocked. "This man dares disobey Benerro's orders?"
"Honored Triarch, I am Moqorro, an exiled red priest," Moqorro said. "The bleeding sword flies high in the sky, but every man reads the Red God's prophecy differently. The Storm is no savior. He is a tyrant who blasphemes against the gods and would force even the gods to bow to him. You and I both know the Baratheons carry the blood of Durrandon, and Durran was a blasphemer."
"Bring him up," Moqorro called.
Nyessos stared in astonishment as flames rose. A half-naked man had been bound to a mast on the ship.
"What is this?" Nyessos asked.
"A few gifts we offer the gods in exchange for the north wind that will carry us swiftly forward, Lord Triarch," Moqorro said.
"Who is this man?" Nyessos asked curiously, watching the poor wretch scream in the fire.
Moqorro smiled mysteriously. "Originally, he was only an ordinary slave. But he is also the bastard son left behind after a member of House Rowan indulged himself. These Westerosi bloodlines possess uncommon power. I searched for a long time before I finally gathered enough sacrifices."
Nyessos watched the flames grow. The half-naked man began to scream as tongues of fire licked his thighs, his cries growing louder and louder. The wind carried the smell of burning flesh and the shrieks of a living man.
Nyessos' face turned ugly. He was frightened. Malaquo, however, remained calm and composed. He was a ruthless commander.
"Good. The strong wind will come soon. We set out at once," Moqorro ordered.
"Then I wish you smooth sailing, Triarch Malaquo," Nyessos said.
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