Chapter 226: The Man Targeted by the Faceless Men
"Oh!" Ian rose from his chair as though genuinely startled. "I sincerely apologize for the oversight, Lord Emmund. I wanted to build a legion in the tradition of the ancient Ghiscari because I admire that culture deeply. It never occurred to me that giving slaves such a title would tarnish the honor of the Old Empire's legacy."
"An honest mistake, then." Regos Emmund exhaled slowly. He hadn't expected this — that the man who had awakened a dragon, commanded eight thousand Unsullied, and turned two thousand Dothraki slaves into cavalry would be this reasonable to deal with. More importantly, the man apparently held genuine admiration for Ghiscari heritage. "Now that we understand each other, would you be willing to change the legion's name?"
"No." Ian shook his head.
Regos Emmund's expression darkened instantly. Didn't you just apologize? Didn't you just call it an honest mistake?
"I'll need a reason, my lord," Emmund said, composing himself and forcing a thin smile.
"If I change the name, I won't have a Ghiscari Legion anymore. I've told you I admire the culture of Old Ghis. Having a true legion is something I've wanted since I first read about the Old Empire."
"A legion composed of slaves has no right to carry that name," Emmund said firmly.
"Then give me one that isn't." Ian smiled.
Emmund blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said — if New Ghis can provide me with two legions composed of free citizens, I'll rename the slave formation immediately." Ian spread his hands. "The name would belong to the real thing."
"Are you serious?"
"Hear my terms before you decide."
Emmund glanced at the Unsullied standing along the walls and swallowed whatever he'd been about to say. "Go on."
"I want to hire two Iron Legions of New Ghis. I'll pay full market rates for their service."
"And where would you use them?"
"The Lhazareen territories."
Emmund's expression shifted toward dismissal. "That region has nothing worth taking."
"The Lhazareen are a pastoral people — peaceful by nature and badly mauled by the Dothraki over generations. Conquering them won't require much. The land itself is more valuable than it looks. With my current forces and two New Ghiscari legions alongside them, I can take and hold the entire region."
"Even granting that," Emmund said carefully, "the Dothraki have been raiding the Lhazareen for generations. You'd be buying yourself an endless harassment campaign the moment Drogo or another great Khal turns his attention south."
"Have you followed what happened in Pentos?" Ian asked, not answering directly.
"Khal Drogo sacked it. Your queen was his intended bride before the assassination of King Viserys changed that arrangement. You fled the city."
"Exactly. When Drogo learns that Daenerys is here in Slaver's Bay — and he will learn — he'll ride for Astapor. Meereen and Yunkai sit north of us on his path." Ian paused to let that land. "Do you think he'll leave them untouched on his way through?"
Emmund was quiet.
"I intend to meet Drogo's khalasar in the Lhazareen and stop him there. That protects Ghiscari civilization from the same fate as Pentos." Ian leaned back. "Think of it as New Ghis paying for its own defense at a discount."
"This is... not something I have authority to decide," Emmund said slowly.
"I know. Don't answer me now." Ian waved a hand. "Send word to New Ghis and have someone with that authority make the trip. And while you're at it — extend the same invitation to Yunkai and Meereen. I'd rather have this conversation once, with everyone present, than three separate times."
Emmund nodded, his expression unreadable. He had arrived expecting a simple diplomatic protest and was leaving with considerably more to think about.
After the New Ghiscari delegation left, Ian spent a long moment at the window.
Since Daenerys's dream, he had spent a full week combing Astapor through the eyes of his hawks and cats, questioning gate guards and port officials, turning over every corner of the city for any sign of the Shadowbinder. Nothing. It was as though the masked woman had never set foot in Astapor at all.
The absence bothered him more than a sighting would have.
In the original story, the Shadowbinder had approached Daenerys openly — a face-to-face meeting, physical and direct. This time she had come like smoke, slipped a dream into Daenerys's mind, and vanished. Why the change? Two explanations presented themselves and neither was entirely comfortable.
The first: Ian's presence made the Shadowbinder feel threatened. She couldn't approach Daenerys openly without going through him, and she wasn't willing to do that yet.
The second: his presence was an active problem for her plans, and she was trying to work around him entirely — reach Daenerys without his knowledge, influence her without his interference.
He didn't have enough information to choose between them. He filed it and moved on.
The other thing his city-wide search had turned up was considerably more immediate.
"You've got nerve," Ian said, looking at the man tied to the chair in front of him, "coming to Astapor to try your luck."
He nodded to one of the Unsullied, who reached over and pulled the cloth gag from the prisoner's mouth.
Ian had found this one in a dockside tavern, quietly working the room — asking patrons about Ian Darry, Darren Grafson, and the Red Priestess Celia. The questions were careful and indirect, but not careful enough. Ian had been wearing cat's eyes when he'd caught it.
He'd spent the next three days following the man in cat form, watching him circle the pyramid, observing entry points, testing sightlines. Looking for an accomplice. After three days Ian was satisfied there wasn't one, and he'd sent Yara to collect him.
"Anything you'd like to explain?" Ian asked pleasantly.
The prisoner looked around the room — Unsullied at the walls, Yara by the door. "Are they all yours?"
"Either Unsullied or people I'd trust with my life," Ian said. "Say what you came to say."
"I'm here to surrender." The pretense dropped out of the man's voice entirely. "I need your help. Please."
"You understand the situation you're in," Ian said. "You've been watching my pyramid for three days. Why would I help someone I don't know and have no reason to trust?"
"Because I'm out of options." The man's voice had gone flat with something past desperation. "I finished last in the sixth month settlement. The Faceless Men have been set on me. There's less than a week left in the month."
Ian stared at him for a moment, then swore under his breath. "You've been marked by a Faceless Man and you walked straight to me?"
"I had nowhere else to go."
"What exactly do you think that does to my situation? You've led whatever's following you directly to my door."
"I've been careful. I didn't come straight here — I spent two weeks making sure I wasn't being followed before I crossed into Slaver's Bay."
"Two weeks." Ian's expression was not reassuring. "Against a Faceless Man."
The prisoner didn't have an answer for that.
"Here's the honest version of this conversation," Ian said, settling back. "From a purely practical standpoint, I should hand you over or finish this myself. A player one step from elimination isn't worth much to protect and potentially costs me quite a bit."
"Killing me gets you almost nothing," the man said quickly. "I have three points. You'd gain four, maybe a few attribute points on top. That's all."
Ian frowned. "Three points. How have you been alive this long?"
"I was always in the bottom rankings but never the lowest. Every month someone else finished below me." He exhaled. "I kept waiting for my luck to run out. Last month it did."
Ian studied him.
A player with three points and no resources, marked for death, who had somehow identified Astapor as his best remaining option and spent two weeks working his way here without being caught. Either very lucky, very careful, or both.
"What's your class?" Ian asked.
"Merchant."
Ian was quiet for a moment. Then: "You have a name?"
"In the game? Parro."
"Alright, Parro." Ian leaned forward. "Start from the beginning. Everything you know about the other players, their positions, their resources, their plans. That's what you're trading for my help. If what you know is worth protecting you — we'll talk about what that looks like. If it isn't—" He left the rest of the sentence where it was.
Parro nodded, slowly, the way a man nods when he understands that the terms aren't negotiable and that this is still the best offer he's going to get.
"Where do you want me to start?"
"Wherever the information is most valuable," Ian said. "You figure that out."
(End of Chapter)
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