The Lango Highlands were a tapestry of wealth—hundreds of fertile estates, olive groves, and golden wheat fields that fed the bellies of Tyrosh's elite.
But as Aegon circled on Sunfyre, he wasn't looking for a feast. He was looking for a leash.
Supporting a rebel army was a delicate alchemy. Give them too little, and they die; give them too much, and they become a rival. Aegon's solution was surgical: he would provide the iron for their hands, but he would burn the bread from their mouths. By systematically incinerating the granaries and the standing crops, he ensured that the rebels could win the plateau, but they would immediately look to the sky, starving and begging for his next shipment.
Control the water and the grain, and you control the soul of the revolution.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, bloody shadows over the peaks, Hidolf Heidel stood atop the Lango Mountain Road. His rebels had finally broken the pass. He left a thousand men to hold the bottleneck and led five thousand able-bodied fighters onto the high plains.
They were desperate. Their bags were empty, their bellies cramping.
"One more push!" Hidolf roared, his voice cracking with exhaustion. "The manors are just ahead! Roast meat and fine wine for every man who reaches the gates!"
The promise of a feast drove them forward, but when they reached the first great estate, the cheer died in their throats.
The manor was a pillar of fire.
The scene was a chaotic nightmare. Slaves had already risen within the walls, butchering their masters and dragging the fine silks into the dirt. But the granaries—the most precious prize—were roaring infernos. Rebels were brawling over chests of silver coins while the very food they needed to survive turned to ash beside them.
"Idiots! Half-witted curs!" Hidolf screamed, rushing forward. "Drop the silver! Put out the fires! Save the grain!"
"Spartacus!" Hidolf barked at his lieutenant. "Take your gladiators. Break the skulls of anyone looting. Find out how this fire started!"
Spartacus, a mountain of a man clad in mismatched iron plates, moved with the grim efficiency of the pits. His squad quickly hammered the riot into submission. He dragged three bleeding, grinning men before Hidolf.
One bald man, clutching a stolen flagon, looked up with a glazed stare. "Who are you to stop us? I just bedded a lady of the house. I'm a lord now!"
Hidolf didn't waste words. He nodded to Spartacus, who delivered a gauntleted punch to the man's gut so hard he vomited gold-tinted wine and half-digested olives onto the cobbles.
"Tell me," Hidolf hissed, grabbing a shorter man by the tunic. "Why is the grain burning? Did the masters set it?"
"No... no, master," the man stammered, his eyes wide with terror. "It was the Golden Dragon. It came from the clouds before we even reached the gates. It didn't burn us—it burned the fields. Then it burned the silos. Then it struck the main house. It was gone in the time it takes to drain a cup."
Hidolf's grip tightened. His face went pale, his lips trembling. "You mean... the dragon deliberately targeted the food?"
"I... I don't know if it meant to," the man whispered. "But the fire hit the wheat first. Always the wheat."
Hidolf felt a cold pit open in his stomach. Panic, a feeling he hadn't succumbed to even during the worst of the mountain siege, began to leak into his eyes.
"Spartacus," Hidolf whispered, his voice shaking. "Take the riders. Check the next three manors. Now!"
Spartacus saw the fear in his leader's eyes and felt his own heart hammer against his ribs. He galloped across the plateau, hitting estate after estate.
The result was a carbon copy of the first.
Everywhere he went, the story was the same: the masters were dead or fleeing, the slaves were rioting, and the food was gone. The golden wheat, the drying corn, the storehouses of salted pork—all reduced to smoldering black heaps.
Spartacus looked up at the darkening sky, finally understanding the "True King's" mercy. The dragon had cleared their path, yes. It had broken their enemies. But in doing so, it had ensured that the five thousand men standing on this fertile plateau were now entirely dependent on the man who sat on the golden beast.
They had won the highlands, but they had inherited a desert. And the panic in Hidolf's eyes was now burning in his own.
30+ chapters are available now and daily updates! @[email protected]/Authorzero
P@treon access is now just $9.99!