When Spartacus returned with the grim report—that every manor house was a pyre and every granary a heap of ash—Hidolf Heidel did not rage. He collapsed. He slumped onto the dirt of the Lango Highlands, his spirit as broken as the charred stalks of wheat he had hoped to harvest.
"Stand up!" Spartacus growled, hauling him upward by the tunic. "You are our leader! The men are watching!"
"You don't understand!" Hidolf screamed, shoving the gladiator away. "We will never have true freedom! Don't you see the golden shadow over us? The Dragon Prince didn't burn the masters—he burned the bread. He wants us to be his hounds. He wants us to hunt for him, kill for him, and come crawling back to his hand for every scrap of meat!"
Hidolf saw the cold geometry of Aegon's trap. They were free of the collar, but they were now slaves to their own hunger, and Aegon Targaryen held the only key to the larder.
Spartacus narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. "Then stay here and weep like a girl. Go back to Tyrosh and beg the Archon for a new chain. But I did not bleed in the pits to die in the dirt because a dragon made it 'difficult.' I will seek my freedom even if the path is paved with fire. I will not give up hope."
Without another word, Spartacus turned his back on the man who had led them out of the city. One by one, the rebels followed the gladiator. They had tasted the iron of war and the sweetness of the open air; they were willing to die on the road to liberty, but they would not rot in despair.
Only eight hundred men remained behind with Hidolf—the loyalists who believed their leader would find a third way.
Hidolf sat in the silence for a long time before he finally raised his head. "Spartacus is right. We cannot give up. I will go to Bloodstone. I will see Aegon Targaryen face-to-face."
"It's a trap, Hidolf," his lieutenant Tansmann warned. "He'll kill you or put you in a cage."
"If he wanted me dead, he would have burned me in the pass," Hidolf said grimly. "If he wants to use us as a tool, he must maintain the tool. I will secure our supplies, or I will die trying to look a king in the eye."
Hidolf left the command to Tansmann and Andres, taking only ten men. They made for a hidden cove where two longboats had been cached for a rainy day. The journey to Bloodstone Isle would be long and perilous, but Hidolf Heidel was no longer running from his fate—he was rowing toward it.
Bloodstone Isle
While the rebels starved, Bloodstone feasted.
Aegon sat at the high table with Kraken Hightower, the air filled with the scent of roasted boar and the rowdy songs of the Reach. Below them, the "proletarian knights"—the landless second sons and desperate hedge-swords—toasted their new Lord.
"You're a generous soul, Aegon," Kraken chuckled, leaning in. "Three silver stags for every pirate head? If the corsairs knew their skulls were worth that much, they'd be cutting their own throats to collect the bounty."
Aegon laughed, though there was little warmth in it. "I need the manpower, Kraken. I have a duchy to build and a war to win. You've brought me exactly what I lacked: blades and bodies."
"And more are coming," Kraken whispered. "This is just the first wave. The Lannisters, the Reynes, the Brackets, and even the Strongs have formed a secondary fleet. But it's not just soldiers, Aegon."
Kraken gestured to the crowds below. "The Seven Kingdoms have seen a long summer. The land is full—too full. Every minor lord has ten sons and a thousand tenants he can't feed. For them, the Stepstones aren't a war zone; they're an escape valve. They are sending you their 'surplus'—entire families with no land of their own, looking for a fresh start."
Aegon's eyes sharpened. He understood the game perfectly. The great lords were solving their own overpopulation problems while simultaneously winning his favor. They were trading "excess" peasants for political influence.
"It's a masterstroke," Aegon admitted. "They clear their fiefs of potential rebels, and I get a population of loyalists who have nowhere else to go."
"Exactly," Kraken said, raising his glass. "My father—your grandfather, Otto Hightower—understood this before the first ship even sailed. He is many things—arrogant, blunt, and perhaps too clever for his own good—but he knows how to balance a ledger."
"He prepared a list, didn't he?" Aegon asked, his lip twitching with a mix of respect and annoyance.
"He did. A full account of every family name, every tenant, and every bushel of grain being 'donated' in your name."
Aegon thought of the messages he had sent to Otto through Alicent. The grandfather and the grandson were finally trading in the same currency. In the flickering torchlight of the banquet, the lines were being drawn. Between the "Greens" in King's Landing and the "Greens" on Bloodstone, it was becoming clear who was truly playing for the throne—and who was merely holding a seat.
30+ chapters are available now and daily updates! @[email protected]/Authorzero
P@treon access is now just $9.99!