~~~~~~~~~
Essos, Meereen
1st Moon of 58 AC
~~~~~~~~~
The dry wind of the red sand desert blew from the east, but in the streets of Meereen, the air smelled of baked brick, cooling ash, and the unmistakable stench of dried blood that three days of scorching sun had failed to erase. Three days had passed since the sky was dyed black and blue over the Yellow City. Three days in which the shadows bound to the wooden beams erected along the course of the Skahazadhan River ceased their writhing, turning into an absolute silence that served as a warning to anyone navigating the waters of the bay.
In the vast gardens of the Great Pyramid, the crunch of heavy scales against stone preceded the arrival of the wind. Endaxia descended upon the highest terrace with a contained impact. The great beast of bronze and gold folded its rough wings, exhaling a blast of heat that shook the lemon trees planted in marble pots.
Upon its back, Caspian unhooked himself from the leather saddle. His eyes, cold and calculating as ever, swept across the immensity of Meereen's horizon before resting on the two women waiting for him beside the terrace arches.
Aerea took a step forward, her Valyrian steel armor clean and gleaming at her side. Rhaena remained half a step behind, arms crossed, maintaining a composure that reflected a strange mixture of caution and majesty.
"You took longer than I thought," Aerea said.
Caspian unbuckled his helmet and held it under his arm, letting the evening breeze ruffle his hair laden with bells. A faint smile of satisfaction crinkled the corners of his eyes as he looked at her.
"There were too many palaces to burn in Qarth before flying west," Caspian replied, stepping forward slowly as he unfastened his iron gauntlets. "I see you didn't need my help to break open this brick shell. The northern walls seem to have suffered the wrath of a very impatient god."
"Balerion was hungry for glory," Aerea said, tilting her chin up. "I wasn't going to wait for you camped outside more walls when I could tear them down."
Caspian paused in front of them and directed his gaze toward Rhaena. The Blue Queen did not lower her eyes. There was something different in the mother's posture; the shadow of fear regarding the crown that had haunted her since Westeros seemed to have dissipated beneath the fire of the battlements.
"Essino informed me upon my arrival that Dreamfyre bathed the walls in blue fire during the assault," Caspian said, dipping his head slightly in a gesture of genuine respect. "The Dothraki say the battlements melted until they looked like glass. Fine work, Queen Rhaena."
Rhaena let out a measured sigh, though a slight curve of her lips betrayed her pride.
"I was not going to allow a few wretches with crossbows to take my daughter's life while I watched from the clouds," Rhaena answered in a dry tone. "If my daughter is going to burn the old world to build her own, I will not stay in the rear sewing banners."
Caspian let out a deep laugh—a laugh that echoed off the brick walls of the terrace, breaking the tension of the journey.
"The world trembles when dragonesses choose to fly together," he said, turning his attention back to Aerea. "The city is surprisingly quiet. Down in the markets, I saw thousands of former slaves distributing grain from the royal granaries. There are no uncontrolled pillages, nor fires in the common dwellings. Caqokko and his men maintain a discipline that borders on unbelievable for a horde of more than half a million riders."
"We gave them freedom, not just violence," Aerea explained, walking toward the edge of the balustrade to gaze at the grid of streets. "The former slaves are no longer market flesh. I granted them the right to occupy the overseers' houses and manage the workshops. The Dothraki patrol the main avenues to prevent surviving mercenaries from attempting to reorganize, but the pits have been sealed forever."
Caspian stepped up beside her, leaning his forearms against the warm stone. He looked toward the river line, where more than a thousand wooden posts rose like a forest of dark shadows against the sunset sky.
"I saw the Skahazadhan road upon my arrival," Caspian remarked, keeping his tone neutral. "An impressive sight. More than a thousand timbers lined up from the River Gate to the hills. Essino told me the judgment was swift."
He turned his head to lock his gaze on the young Targaryen.
"Tell me, Aerea... whose idea was it to crucify every single Good Master and Great Master of Meereen?"
Aerea did not blink. She held the gaze of the man who had unified the hordes of the Dothraki Sea with absolute firmness, without a trace of guilt or doubt.
"It was mine," she answered in a calm, decisive voice. "Essino told me you didn't believe in living enemies who beg for forgiveness while hiding a dagger behind their back. I asked him what you would do, and he gave me the answer. I decided that if those men had built their wealth by nailing thousands of children and slaves to the roads to terrify their rivals, they should die on the very same wood they crafted."
Caspian observed her in silence for three long seconds. Then, a broad, fierce smile spread across his face, and he laughed again, this time with genuine satisfaction.
"You did well," Caspian said, giving her Valyrian steel pauldrons a firm pat. "You did exactly what needed to be done. Mercy toward tyrants is nothing more than cruelty toward the weak you intend to protect. Had you left a hundred of them alive, in six months they would have financed the Sons of the Harpy or bought assassins in the Free Cities. Now, Meereen knows who rules."
"And Qarth?" Rhaena interjected from behind, stepping forward. "What remains of the City of Wonders?"
Caspian's smile turned cold, almost distant.
"Dust and ash," he replied with indifference. "The Queen of Cities no longer exists. The Thirteen, the Tourmaline Brotherhood, and the Ancient Guild of Spicers tried to hide behind their walls, but Endaxia leaves nothing half-burned. Qarth has ceased to be a threat to our plans in the east."
"Then the road to the south is clear," Aerea murmured.
"For now," Caspian nodded. "But the world is vast, Aerea. And while we focus on destroying the foundations of Essos, there are shadows moving in the corners where dragonfire has yet to reach."
Thousands of leagues to the north and east, far beyond the jagged peaks of the Mountains of the Bones and the frozen plains bordering the edges of the known world, stood the legendary City of the Bloodless Men.
Hidden in a valley forgotten by the maps of the Maesters of the Citadel, the city was built not of bricks or clay, but of a white, translucent marble that seemed to absorb the moonlight without reflecting it. In the central plaza, where not a single blade of grass grew and the air remained utterly still without the faintest whisper of wind, a dome of pale stone sheltered the Great Council Table.
Seated around the obsidian table were seven figures. Viewed from a distance, they looked like statues carved from pure alabaster. Their skin possessed a crystalline paleness, almost transparent, where not a single blue vein nor the pulse of blood could be discerned. Their eyes, empty and cold, had irises of a grey so pale they bled into the sclerae. They wore linen robes dyed in dark shades that contrasted violently with the cadaverous whiteness of their faces.
"The news from Slaver's Bay has crossed the peaks," one of them said, his voice a raspy whisper that produced no echo in the chamber. "Meereen has fallen. All three great strongholds of the flesh trade are beneath the rule of the fire serpent and the savage from the west."
"It is not just Meereen," another figure interjected from the shadows of the background, his skin seeming to glow beneath the faint light of the vegetable oil torches. "The reports of the night runners confirm that the great pyre of Qarth has been lit. The City of Fury is no more. The trade of the Jade Sea has come to a complete standstill."
"That alters our supply quotas," a third murmured, his long, slender fingers tapping silently on the obsidian. "The shadow warlords relied on the flow of slaves from the lower cities to maintain the excavations at the borders of Yi Ti. Without the ships of Qarth and the markets of Slaver's Bay, the labor force in the mountain passes will drop by forty percent before the changing of the season."
"Does that affect our direct interests?" asked the principal figure at the head of the table.
"It affects the speed of our pieces," the first replied. "But the conqueror king believes he is cleansing the world of tyrants. He does not know that every city he burns destabilizes the balance that has kept the eastern kingdoms asleep for millennia. He is a blind instrument, driven by a force he does not comprehend."
At that moment, the heavy carved bronze doors of the hall swung open with a metallic screech that broke the dead silence of the room.
A man crossed the threshold. He wore the fine garments of a wealthy Qartheen merchant—golden silk embroidered with silver thread—though the robes were partially torn and coated in a thick layer of ash and dried mud. His face was that of a man from the south: dark skin, sharp cheekbones, and a beard trimmed in the style of the merchant princes who ruled the spy networks of the Free Cities.
The seven council members did not flinch. None reached for a dagger or raised their voice. They simply observed him with their crystalline, pulseless eyes.
The newcomer stopped three paces from the edge of the obsidian table. He breathed heavily, exhausted from the long journey through the hidden passes. He raised his right hand with trembling fingers and gripped his jaw tightly.
With a swift, tearing motion, he pulled upward.
The tissue of the dark skin ripped away with a wet sound, peeling off his face like a mask of stale leather. Beneath the fallen disguise, the true skin did not bleed. Not a single drop of red fluid welled up. The skin revealed beneath was pale, translucent, and gleaming like frozen snow under the moon, uncovering the sharp cheekbones and lifeless grey eyes characteristic of the inhabitants of the City of the Bloodless Men.
The man tossed the remainder of the human skin to the stone floor with contempt, rubbing his pale cheek with the back of his hand.
"You arrive sooner than expected," the lead figure said in a monotone voice, showing no surprise at his emissary's transformation.
"The wings of the bronze dragon are swift, but the shadows of the hidden passes are swifter," the newcomer replied, his voice shifting instantly from the warm cadence of Qarth to the cold, raspy tone of his true race. "The attack on the conqueror king was executed precisely as designed."
"And it failed, I assume," the figure on the right remarked.
"Of course it failed," the emissary answered, letting out a dry laugh that seemed to chill the room's air. "No conventional poison nor common blade of steel could have pierced the guard of the man who unified the Dothraki Sea. We expected him to survive. That was the cornerstone of the move."
The emissary took a step closer, resting his bare, pale hands on the obsidian table.
"Thanks to that assassination attempt, the king did not hesitate," the emissary explained with a spark of cold satisfaction in his grey eyes. "He flew straight to the east. Qarth has been reduced to ashes and smoldering ruins. The city's nobility has been entirely eradicated, and with them, the last great fleet that held control over the southern straits."
"And the dragons?" the first figure asked.
"The dragons of Essos are now trapped in their own war of conquest," the emissary stated. "Caspian Darkwood and his queen have become shackled to the rule of Slaver's Bay and the reconstruction of a shattered empire. They will be far too busy consolidating their power over the broken foundations of the free cities to look toward the far east."
The emissary paused, looking at each of the council members.
"Should the legions of Vask of Yi-Ti come to require the aid of the dragon lords, or should the princes of the west seek an alliance with the forces of Xandar, Caspian will not be there to answer. The commercial and military barrier that protected the central kingdoms has collapsed. Qarth no longer exists to close the pass."
"Many lives of our network in the City of Wonders were lost in the pyre," the figure on the left noted, bowing his head. "Fifty of our own were burned in the cellars of the House of the Undying."
"They were an acceptable price," the emissary declared with absolute coldness. "Qarth was merely a piece on the board, an instrument meant to be sacrificed to force the conqueror king's march toward the outcome we chose. Their sacrifice to our cause will not be forgotten in the annals of our city, but their end has fulfilled its purpose with flawless precision."
The figure at the head of the table stood up slowly. His dark robe fell in rigid folds over the white stone.
"Then the path to the borders of Yi Ti is clear," the council leader said, raising his translucent hands toward the room's dome. "The fire kings believe they have won a war against the old masters of flesh, unaware that they have merely cleared away the pieces preventing our true lords from advancing."
He stared intently at the emissary who had just shed his human skin.
"The sacrifice of Qarth has set the countdown in motion," the leader concluded. "Prepare the supplies in the caverns and dispatch the messengers to the shadows of the peaks. We may begin the next step of our plans."