When the dragons came rushing down, the colors before human eyes seemed to grow richer, for every dragon was a fusion of several shades: black and red, emerald, bronze and black, cream and gold. The deep blue sky was clear as a mirror, broken only by the dragons' shadows as they rose and fell, diving low or soaring high.
To be honest, Dragonstone's salty air was not especially suited to human living, but before the miracle of the dragons, everyone was willing to linger and watch a little longer. These were the true kings of the sky, the power and authority that ruled the heavens.
Anguy the Archer, Lothor Brune, and Robar Royce guarded Gendry's side, while Qyburn and Ser Barristan stood beside him. The women remained in the center of the courtyard, following the dragons' flight with their eyes: Daenerys, Brienne, and Dacey.
"Prince, aside from the team gathering intelligence, there is a separate group responsible for searching for dragons and dragon eggs, and another dedicated to watching and dealing with sorcerers," Qyburn said.
To deal with mages, Gendry had the red priestess, Qyburn, and later, Marwyn the mage. As for the red priests of Volantis, though they also proclaimed him the savior and swore to serve him to the death, Gendry still reserved some trust. For the search for dragon eggs in Westeros, he already had a suitable candidate in mind.
Gendry saw Lothor and the others waiting on the far side. "Ser Lothor."
Lothor, clad in black armor and a golden cloak, came over. "Prince, Ser Barristan, Maester Qyburn."
"I have an important task for you," Gendry said to Lothor. "Assist Maester Qyburn in searching for intelligence and traces of dragons and dragon eggs."
"As you command, Prince." Lothor was a little older than Anguy and the others, and he had chosen to serve as deputy commander of the King's Landing Guard. Loyal, reliable, and quiet, he was well suited to this sort of work.
Ser Barristan would have been a good choice as well, but his duties were too heavy, and he was growing old. This task ought to belong to someone younger and stronger.
"As you command, Prince," Maester Qyburn said with a nod. Though he was old, slightly hunched, and many wrinkles gathered around his blue eyes, there was still strength and conviction in him. The so-called science of the world was not the whole truth, and magic was returning. "If word spreads that dragons have appeared, dragon eggs will become even more precious."
"At present, the only Iron Guard is John Strong, the Mountain's body with Khal Zekko's head. There are far too few suitable choices. My current research has shifted toward identifying special bloodlines and their abilities. I will present you with detailed materials afterward," Qyburn said quietly.
There were indeed very few suitable vessels for black arts like the Mountain. First-rate and beyond-first-rate warriors did not grow in every field, and the Mountain had been born with monstrous gifts. The original Khal Drogo, Bloodbeard, and the others had all been killed by the Storm.
There had been one suitable candidate in the Battle of the Blackwater Rush. Khrazz, the "Heart-Eater" of Yunkai, had been a superbly skilled and extraordinarily fast pit fighter, fast enough to astonish Ser Barristan. He had been the quickest. But Khrazz, too, had died miserably.
"You have worked hard, Master Qyburn."
"For the glory of the Storm," Qyburn said solemnly.
Gendry entered the center of the courtyard and stood with Daenerys and the others.
The dragons had already plunged down from the heights, carving beautiful trails through the sky. They still needed harsher training. A dragon's growth had to be accompanied by the baptism of spears and arrows, teaching it to adapt to war. As dragons aged, their scales grew thicker and harder, granting them stronger protection.
Unless they were struck in vulnerable places such as the eyes, dragons recovered very quickly.
...
Sunlight shone upon the southwestern corner of Westeros, a region of great wealth. Oldtown was among the richest places in the known world. Two great houses dominated this area: House Hightower of Oldtown and House Redwyne of Green Court.
House Hightower held a great C-shaped domain. The lands directly under the Hightowers were Oldtown and its surroundings. At the mouth of the Honeywine, where the river flowed into Whispering Sound and the Sunset Sea, stood Oldtown, the oldest city in Westeros, a place of prosperity and wealth. It was also the southern end of the Roseroad, which linked Highgarden and King's Landing. The five lordly vassals beneath House Hightower held the other lands. Such a thing was hard to imagine elsewhere: one lord possessing such rich and vast territory. It spoke clearly to the strength of the Lord of the High Tower.
A swan ship from the Summer Isles entered Whispering Sound. Its prow was shaped like a flying bird, and its billowing white sails were very beautiful. The lookouts in the crow's nest watched the sea carefully. The archers of the Summer Isles were eager and ready. Their great goldenheart bows shot farther and truer than the purpleheart bows of Dorne, and few dared trouble a swan ship.
The black-skinned captain, Qo, saw a castle on the cliffs and knew they had reached Three Towers. Oldtown was not far now. As the ship continued onward, Qo saw lovely fields and peaceful villages. War seemed to have nothing to do with this place. Merchant ships and fishing boats came and went.
"It is still peaceful here." The black-skinned captain was quite pleased. War had swept across eastern and northern Westeros and western Essos. Fortunately, the lands of House Hightower had remained at ease.
The swan ship sailed on toward Oldtown, but on the morning of the second day, they encountered men who came to inspect them.
Beside a busy fishing village, an oared warship emerged from the mist and rowed slowly toward them. Her figurehead was a slender maiden, her body covered with leaves, brandishing a spear. The name Huntress was carved into her hull. A moment later, two smaller oared boats appeared on either side of her, like a pair of greyhounds following close beside their master. To Qo's relief, in addition to House Hightower's stepped white tower banner topped with a beacon, the ships also flew the golden stag-and-dragon banner. House Hightower had always known how to follow the wind.
"Forgive us," the captain of the Huntress said apologetically, then requested permission to board and inspect the ship. The captain was tall, and the edge of his ash-grey cloak was trimmed with flame-red satin.
The captain's ship drew alongside the swan ship, then pulled in its oars. Amid shouted orders, the crossbowmen of Oldtown faced off against the goldenheart bowmen of the Summer Isles. The captain boarded with several knights, nodded to Qo, and began inspecting the cargo. Qo gave his consent.
"Thank you for your understanding," the Oldtown captain said. "I truly appreciate it, but you should understand our difficulties. War has swept through half the world, and this little peace did not come easily. Better safe than sorry. Whether it is Ironborn or some other bastard, we have to be careful. If they slip into Oldtown and set fire to the docks or something else, it will be trouble."
"I think you worry too much," Qo joked. He also knew the language of Westeros.
The Oldtown captain shook his head. "You don't know how large this war has become. The Battle of the Blackwater Rush darkened the heavens and shook the earth. King's Landing burned inside and out. The Volantenes gathered a pack of slave masters to fight the Storm, and in the end they were all but wiped out. The Lannisters burned the Blackwater and still could not hold King's Landing. Now King's Landing has fallen, and Malaquo and the tyrant Magister of Lys are dead. But the war is far from over. The Ironborn are ravaging the North, the Lion still fights like a trapped beast, and Volantis, Lys, and the others will not wait quietly for death. Oldtown is too fine and too rich. Someone will always try to profit from the chaos."
"Praise the Storm. He is a good man who frees slaves. Praise Jaananda Qo. We need not become slaves," Qo said.
The Summer Islanders had endured nearly two centuries of shame as slaves, until a warrior named Jaananda Qo appeared. This princess of Sweet Lotus Vale, who had once been enslaved herself, united the islands and ended the slave trade. The Summer Islanders spent nearly a generation fighting the war called the War of Emancipation, finally winning under the rule of Jaananda's daughter and successor, Shatana Qo, known as the Arrow of Xhal.
"Ironborn are born raiders. They love to strike from the sea, steal gold and women, then flee far away. As for Volantis, Lys, and the rest, they are also a rotten breed who delight in stealing slaves."
"You still have the Redwyne fleet," Qo said.
"That is true, but the enemy is cunning. We have no choice but to be careful. Large ships are not as nimble as pirate ships. If the Triarch of Volantis continues to support the war, then the hostility between Slaver's Bay and Westeros will continue, and the Redwyne fleet will be drawn into it. Oldtown will have to rely on itself."
"Who governs Oldtown now?" Qo asked curiously.
"Lord Leyton's children have always handled it. Lord Leyton and the Madwoman are up in the tower studying books of magic. I hope they can summon an army from the bottom of the abyss. As for Lord Leyton's children, they manage Oldtown. Baelor is counting and building ships, Gunthor oversees the harbor, Garth is choosing recruits, and Humfrey may have gone to Lys to visit his whore of a sister and borrow some ships there. If the winds stay favorable, and if Lys's bloody game of power can calm down a little. They have lost too many people, after all. Rhaen killed the other Magisters, and then Rhaen himself died on the banks of the Blackwater Rush."
"Lord Leyton's children are excellent. Oldtown should be safe."
"Excellent? Lord Leyton's children are indeed excellent. One can praise them that way in peacetime. But war is war, the cruelest game in the world," the Oldtown captain said sharply. "I pray they can cut off enemy heads with longswords like the Storm and win every battle. But I dare not hope for that. They have fine bearing and know how to dress, but they may not understand war. They rarely leave Oldtown. The city's prosperity has worn away their will."
The Oldtown captain left the swan ship and wished them a pleasant journey.
The Summer Islanders arrived in Oldtown on a bright morning. The mist was not too thick, and Captain Qo could see the beacon on the High Tower.
The Oldtown fleet was not equal to the Redwyne fleet, but it was still sizable. The Glory of Oldtown was the largest, with four banks of oars.
"Stop. I need to board this ship." At the dock, Ser Gunthor Hightower, Leyton's son, came aboard in person. He wore a silver cloak and grey glazed scale armor. Ser Gunthor had studied for several years at the Citadel and knew the tongue of the Summer Isles.
"Good morning, Captain." Gunthor and Captain Qo entered the captain's cabin. Captain Qo wore the bright feathered cloak he only donned when going ashore, while the soldiers of the Oldtown garrison boarded the ship for inspection.
"You have come from far away. Have you heard anything interesting?" Gunthor asked.
"Interesting? Not much. The whole world is full of war and horns, riots, killing, and bloodshed. The coup in Lys, the Tiger Party's resurgence in Volantis. Volantis joined Lys and Slaver's Bay against the Storm and his two daughters, and slaves are rising up everywhere. Is Westeros not at war as well?" Captain Qo replied.
"Well, the split among the daughters," Ser Gunthor said with a laugh. "Have you been to Qarth?"
"Qarth? Not this time," Captain Qo said. "It is too far, and Slaver's Bay is raising armies. Everything is in chaos. But I did hear an interesting thing from a Qartheen captain. Qartheen merchants say the red comet is a sign that dragons have returned, and the warlocks of Qarth are quite certain of it. Somehow this rumor has spread through Qarth. The Qartheen say the dragons are probably in the hands of Gendry the Storm and Daenerys the true dragon."
"Dragons." Gunthor savored the word. "It seems other merchants have heard the Qartheen spread the same tale. But how could dragons appear again in this world?"
"The red priests of Volantis say the red comet lights the Storm's path, and those who die fighting for the Storm will ascend to heaven. If there are dragons, they would surely fight for the Storm too. Besides, he has the last true dragon girl in the world," Captain Qo stressed. "The red comet is the bleeding sword. The Storm is chosen by the gods."
"Well then. Legends of dragons, monsters, and saviors. I wish you a pleasant journey." Gunthor Hightower left the ship and continued his inspections at the docks.
How many people had now spoken of dragons appearing? Gunthor's heart grew heavy, and his throat seemed to tighten. The devotion and superstition these people held toward the Storm frightened him.
The great Storm, the undefeated Storm, and also the steel Storm. Yet a young king like that was often the strongest and most domineering of all. Would he fail to notice the silent Hightower, the High Tower that had chosen silence in The Reach? In these troubled times, where should Hightower go?
Gunthor looked toward the towering High Tower in the distance. What exactly were his father and eldest sister studying? In this age of turmoil, were such illusory things more important than Hightower's future?
The beacon still burned atop the High Tower. Since ancient times, the blazing fire at the tower's peak had guided those lost in the mist, illuminating the road ahead. It was the tallest building in the world, even higher than The Wall.
At the top of the High Tower, books and scrolls lay everywhere. Some were spread across the table, while others had been thrown onto the floor.
The light came from a tall black candle in the center of the room. The black candle stood three feet high, slender as a sword, its spiraling edges sharp as blades, flickering faintly with black light. A dragonglass candle.
"Did you see anything?" Leyton Hightower asked. He was an old man. Years of seclusion and study had made him look somewhat worn, but he had not entirely lost the handsome foundation of his features.
"No, Father. But the candle has lit, which means magic has returned," the Madwoman Malora Hightower replied. She was a tall, beautiful woman with long silver hair, but her bearing carried a touch of madness, as if she had sunk too deeply into sorcery and scholarship.
The Madwoman stared intently at the candle on the table. Its flame was very strange, white as new snow, yellow as molten gold, red as blazing fire, yet the shadow it cast was black beyond black, like a hole in the mortal world.
"Did you see it in the fire? Are there dragons by the Storm's side? Stories of dragons have already spread through Qarth. A terrible age is coming again," Leyton said anxiously. "If it is true, that would explain why the candle has lit again. The return of the magical tide. The revival of magic."
"I cannot see the Storm. And there are mages around the Storm as well," the Madwoman said, shaking her head. "The Storm was not meant to be the protagonist. The Prince That Was Promised is someone else. It is the Storm's power that has thrown everything into disorder."
"But he is winning," Leyton said, eyes wide. "He defeated Renly, Tywin, and Stannis. Those Ironborn and slave masters are no match for him either. Even if there is still a Prince That Was Promised, what use is he? The blood of House Durrandon is no ordinary thing."
"The Unfixed One, the one who has disrupted fate." Malora rested her hand against her chin. "That is not something I can foresee."
"Very well. Suppose, I only mean suppose, he truly has dragons," Leyton said. "Then we must prepare to welcome the next conqueror."
"It is not that simple." Malora shook her head with certainty. "Young dragons, newly hatched dragons, are not invincible. We have dragonblood too. Perhaps we can send someone to take a look."
"That bit of blood is too thin. I do not trust the Hightowers of the branch lines. Besides, if this matter is exposed, we will be ruined beyond recovery."
"Even so, we have a countermeasure. The stone colossus will hatch," the Madwoman suggested.
"No. That is our last card," Leyton said flatly. "Only death can pay for life. If we sacrifice a great many people, what meaning would there be in summoning it?"
"A few blades of grass. If they die, they die. In winter and darkness, perhaps the survivors will suffer even more. Everything is for the family, for tomorrow, Father. I warned you when I foresaw the long winter and the Long Night," Malora said with a laugh.
"Very well." Lord Leyton's force of will seemed to wither at once. His daughter had a gift for magic and was obsessed with it day and night. Father and daughter had influenced one another, but was such a daughter a blessing or a curse? At that thought, Leyton felt the faintest trace of regret. But he could not regret. The Long Night was endless. Where was even a thread of hope to be found?
"I will rest for a while." Leyton rose and went to the small room on the lower level, while the Madwoman remained where she was.
Malora stared into the candle's flame and murmured to herself, "I did not see the Storm, Father. But I saw someone else. The power of the Kraken. All blasphemers. Who will be the one to win?"
Malora watched the vision in the flame. She saw a tall, twisted thing with one black eye and ten long arms, racing across a sea of blood.
But the vision vanished in the blink of an eye. Malora only sensed the blood-sea Kraken's unprecedented savagery and cruelty. The blood-sea Kraken would bring slaughter, death, and the end to the world.
***
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