Quills and ink might stand for precious knowledge, but they were hollow and dull. In the Long Night, only wine and women were real. Even among Maesters, there were plenty who did not keep to the rules.
Armen frowned. "Lord Leo, we're still companions."
"Buy me a cup of Arbor gold, frog. Maybe then I won't tell my father about that toast of yours. I'm sure he'd be eager to show loyalty to the new king. The Storm is a generous king. I still have one silver stag left, but I don't intend to spend it on wine."
Lazy Leo Tyrell shrugged, and Rosey darted over to him like a happy little doe.
The serving girl had dimples when she smiled. Her eyes were light brown, her breasts were not large but still noticeable, and she had her share of charm. "Would you like ale or strong cider?"
"Thank you for your generosity, little girl." Leo took a silver stag from his clothes, tucked it into Rosey's bodice, and fondled her a few times. The serving girl thanked him over and over, her eyes fixed on him. A low-branch rose was still a rose.
"Go on, Rosey. I'm going to talk with my companions." Leo grinned and sent Rosey away. "Luck was against me at the checkered hazard table today, and then I put my last silver stag on a woman. So, what are you lads eating?"
Alleras glanced at Pate and saw a wounded, broken face. "Women love a handsome face. An old truth. Poor Pate."
"Stew," crippled Mollander said. "We're eating stew."
"Then you must be full. I had roasted trout with onions and lemon juice. A fine meal, though it cost a pretty penny. I had red wine too." Leo looked at Alleras. "A child of a great house ought to be generous, Sphinx. I know you have coin. Buy me a drink."
"I am not a child of a great house, and I only buy drinks for friends. As I've said, my mother is a trader." Alleras refused with a smile. He said only what should be said. There were mysteries everywhere here.
Malice and drunkenness flickered in Leo's light brown eyes. "Your mother is just a monkey from the Summer Isles. As long as there's a hole between her legs, a Dornishman will mount her. But don't be angry. You may be black as soot, but at least you bathe, unlike our freckled Pate, who smells like a pig farmer."
Leo even waved toward Pate.
"I want to pour this wine all over him," Pate thought. He wanted to smash the cup into Leo's face, but he had not gone completely mad.
Pate did not dare offend Leo. His father was Ser Moryn Tyrell, commander of the Oldtown City Watch, and his cousin was Mace Tyrell, Great Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South.
Alleras's smile faded as he looked at Leo. "You should apologize."
"Should I?" Leo said. "My throat is so dry. How am I supposed to apologize?" He was still the same, handsome and vicious.
"What sort of people does the Citadel accept these days? Black dogs, Dornishmen, not to mention pig boys, cripples, and halfwits." Leo looked at them with contempt. No wonder so many lords looked down on the Citadel. The ones left here to become Maesters were all men who could not become knights, thrown into the Citadel in a heap. Nobles with connections never stayed long. They came to gain knowledge, not to serve the realm.
"Every word you speak shames your house," Alleras told Leo. His mouth was truly poisonous. "And it shames the Citadel."
"Really? Then buy me a drink at once." Leo laughed.
Mollander, humiliated, glared at Leo. "I'll tear your tongue out."
"Then who would talk to you about dragons?" Leo shrugged again. "Back then, fat Illyrio gave the Storm, Gendry, three fossilized dragon eggs. There's a red comet in the sky. Maybe those three eggs hatched."
"Three?" Roone said in surprise. "But how can fossils hatch dragons?"
"Nothing is impossible." Leo looked at Roone. "You fool, can you not even count to three? At this rate, you'll never become a Maester."
"Don't bully him," Roone's companion warned.
"You wouldn't understand even if I told you. You are people of the dust. As for me, I may soon be kin to royalty."
"You?" Alleras looked at Leo, puzzled. "Renly Baratheon has gone to The Wall to chew ice. Your family has nothing to do with the blacksmith king."
"That much I cannot explain. All I can tell you is that a great figure of our house will send his daughter to court." Leo snapped his fingers smugly.
"The Rose of Highgarden?" Alleras's bright eyes sharpened as he considered the words from Highgarden. "Entering court only means becoming a lady companion to the future queen. Hmph."
"A lady companion can have a love story too. If the king has dragons, any risk is worth taking. That is all I'll say. The rest depends on the future."
"How could there be dragons?" Armen still shook his head. "You haven't been bewitched, have you?"
"Fine, I'll tell you. All of Qarth is talking about it. Why did the Red Comet come? Legends are becoming real, and dragons will dance again. Marwyn the Mage supports that claim too."
Armen curled his lip dismissively. "Marwyn cannot be trusted. Archmaester Perestan never pays him any mind."
"Archmaester Ryam thinks the same," Roone said.
Leo yawned. "There is water in the sea, the sun is hot, and pets in pens hate watchdogs." He had given everyone nicknames. The watchdog was Marwyn, while the pets were the Citadel's Maesters.
Alleras almost laughed, but Leo was not wrong. Leo was cruel, but he also doubted the Citadel. Marwyn was like a watchdog, always sniffing, always aggressive, utterly different from ordinary Maesters. His life was different from theirs as well.
Armen looked at Leo. "Marwyn is beyond saving. He believes in every strange old tale and tells plenty of them himself. I see you are much the same."
"Hmph. You're wrong. Do you know that a glass candle is burning?"
The moment he said it, silence fell around them. Everyone froze. Roone looked blank. Mollander burst out laughing. Alleras's eyes widened, Armen shook his head, and Pate listened intently.
Glass candles were an open secret of the Citadel, but no one had ever seen one burn. Legend said they had been brought to Oldtown from Valyria a thousand years before the Doom. There were four of them in all, one green and three black, all long and twisted.
...
"You saw wrong," Armen said. "How can Dragonglass burn?"
"I knew you wouldn't believe me, but I saw an obsidian candle burning with my own eyes," Leo said. "Its light was strange and bright. It never flickered, and it cast strange shadows."
Armen shook his head. Pate did not want to believe it either. "That thing is called Dragonglass."
Only Alleras looked deeply troubled. "If true dragons have come back into the world..."
"Dragons, and darker things," Leo Tyrell said. "The grey sheep shut their eyes, but the watchdog has found the truth. Ancient powers have awakened, and shadows are stirring. An age of wonders and horrors is coming. An age of gods and heroes." He stretched, wearing a lazy smile. "In my view, that deserves another round."
"It's still early. Then we'll drink a little, to thank you for showing off in front of us," Alleras said.
Laughter and merriment rose in the tavern as Alleras bought them a little Dornish wine. After a few cups, everyone drifted away. They were different people to begin with, and only Alleras had barely held them together at that table.
"Let's go. Next time, I think you'll see a different Rosey. I'll teach her a lesson."
Pate's face fell completely. Alleras felt a little sorry for his companion. "He doesn't even have a copper to buy wine. He won't have a golden dragon for that girl."
"Come on, friend. The old man needs you when he goes to the privy. He's so confused he doesn't even know who he is," Mollander said.
Everyone left the tavern. Pate's heart ached. He did not want to miss any chance at gold.
On the second floor of the tavern, an alchemist who had been drinking watched them leave. The alchemist wore an unremarkable brown hooded traveling cloak.
Beneath the hood, he looked like an ordinary man, with an ordinary young face, plain and forgettable. He had full cheeks, faint stubble, a pale scar on his right cheek, a hooked nose, and neat, thick black curls.
"I want news of him. I want to meet him. I will pay. Pate, the farmer's youngest son," the alchemist said to Rosey, then tossed down a silver coin. "Arrange a meeting for us."
"Pate?" The girl pouted. "He's a farmer's son, and terribly stupid, my lord. He serves a senile old man. Lord Leo is a Tyrell, Alleras is young and handsome, and Armen has four links. They're all more interesting than him."
"Arrange it, and this one is yours too." Another silver stag appeared in the alchemist's hand.
"Gladly."
...
Alleras turned and crossed the terrace, his footsteps falling on the old, weathered wooden bridge. Tonight's drinking had not been wasted. He had learned enough.
Now it was time to see Marwyn. Alleras walked toward the Citadel. Oldtown truly was a beautiful city. Alleras began to listen to its music, layer upon layer, and each time it soothed him.
The first sunlight pierced the eastern clouds, and the morning bell of the Sailor's Sept rang at once, echoing across the harbor. A little later, the Lord's Sept joined in, then the bells of the Seven Shrines sounded from the gardens across the Honeywine, and last came the Starry Sept.
Beneath the bells there was chanting. Whenever the first light of morning appeared, the red priests gathered outside their plain temple by the docks to welcome the rising sun.
"Oldtown is like a trumpet," Alleras thought. The shape of the city was strange and marvelous.
West of the Honeywine stood the city hall, splendid as a palace. Upstream, the domes and towers of the Citadel rose on both sides of the river, linked by stone bridges winding among the houses. Downstream, beneath the black marble walls and arched windows of the Starry Sept, clustered the homes of the richest and most devout.
Farther away, the Honeywine widened and finally flowed into Whispering Sound. The High Tower stood at the river mouth, its beacon blazing at the summit like a burning sword, dazzling to the eye. The High Tower was built upon the cliffs of Battle Isle, where, according to legend, a Hightower had slain a dragon and settled there.
"Find the Mage." Alleras went straight to the island. No boat was needed to reach the Isle of Ravens. A weather-beaten wooden drawbridge connected the island to the eastern bank. The rookery was the oldest building in the Citadel.
"You've come?" Behind the oak-and-iron door, Marwyn looked at Alleras without the slightest surprise.
The candle truly was burning in that strange way, twisted and narrow as a sword. When the door opened, wind came in, but the flame did not flicker, and its shadow was black as a hollow void.
"You knew I was coming?" Alleras asked.
"The candle saw it. You came, but I must run." Marwyn chuckled. "You have good talent, boy, and you are not the sort who truly wants to become a Maester. You are curious. Curiosity is a virtue, but beware the men of the Citadel. The curious cannot be trusted."
"Why must you run?" Alleras asked, puzzled and startled.
"I'm going to serve the Storm and the true dragon. If I'm late, I'll miss it. The crows of the Citadel will send their own people, but I want to see the miracle."
"You also believe it is dragons?" Alleras asked.
"There is no mistake. Red is the color of dragons and fire. Born amid fire, the world is about to become an age of madness and legend," Marwyn said.
"I have the highest hopes for you and Leo Tyrell. You two have not been made fools by all this learning. But listen to me. Oldtown is no good place. When the time is wrong, run."
***
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