Balerion flew from south to north, returning to Gohor in less than half a day.
Instead of flying straight back into the city, however, he descended onto a stretch of tidal flats to the south.
Tiny turtles rolled happily through the mud in every direction.
The instant they saw the dragon land, they buried their heads in the muck.
This was where the Upper Rhoyne met the Little Rhoyne, the very source of the Rhoyne itself.
The waters teemed with fish and shrimp. In the past, fishermen had gathered here in great numbers, and a bustling riverside market had sprung up around them.
Ever since the Old Turtle and his descendants had moved here, Viserys had declared the entire area protected.
No unauthorized person was permitted to approach.
When the fishermen learned that the River Elder intended to make this place his home, they had volunteered to relocate.
Even so, Viserys was not the sort of feudal lord who regarded common lives as worthless.
Though the fishermen had voiced few complaints, the Crown still compensated every family for the move.
Before long, the River Elder sensed Viserys's arrival.
His body, as massive as a great ship, slowly climbed from the river.
Balerion beat his wings and landed before him.
"Garin is dead."
The words emerging from the dragon's jaws were rough and strange, but they were clear enough for the River Elder.
He nodded.
"This was never your fault. With his temperament, he would never have abandoned Chroyane."
Before the assault on Pentos, Viserys had invited Garin to leave Chroyane and come to Gohor.
The prince had refused without hesitation.
He had faced three hundred dragons and an army of a hundred thousand without retreating.
There was no chance he would flee now.
Still, Garin's death had not been meaningless.
By forcing R'hllor to intervene personally, he had compelled the god to expend his strength.
For at least the next six months, R'hllor would be unable to unleash divine power capable of directly influencing the course of the war.
"What do you intend to do now?" the River Elder asked. "How will you face what is coming?"
Over the past decade, sustained by the faith of Gohor's people, he had steadily grown closer to becoming a true god.
If Viserys fell, however, all those years of effort would come to nothing.
Viserys gazed eastward.
"I've decided to wipe out slavery and the slave-owning class from this world."
His voice was slow but unwavering.
Originally, his plan had been to reclaim the Iron Throne first.
Afterward, he would spend at least another decade gradually centralizing the power of the Westerosi nobility before turning his attention toward the Free Cities.
By overthrowing slavery, House Targaryen would establish a new source of legitimacy.
That path would have avoided creating too many enemies at once.
Even if he had openly proclaimed himself the liberator of every slave from the beginning, victory would not have been impossible.
As Clinton had once concluded during his strategic assessments, Gohor's current strength was sufficient to defeat its enemies one by one.
But circumstances had changed.
Now the entire world had chosen to march against him.
There was no longer any reason to conceal his intentions. He would raise that banner openly.
Perhaps its effect would not be obvious at first.
But so long as he did not collapse immediately, even a prolonged stalemate would be enough.
The countless slaves who formed the majority of the world's population would see who was truly fighting for them.
After all, slaves were not born in chains.
Among them would inevitably be men and women of talent, courage, and vision.
Those people would become his allies.
The River Elder had lived for more than ten thousand years. He understood that Viserys no longer possessed a better alternative.
"If you've already made your decision, then allow me to help."
"Help me?"
Balerion turned his head.
Golden eyes reflected an endless sea of Bonecrushers.
There were tens of thousands of them.
The largest were about the size of the stone lions Viserys remembered from his previous life.
The smallest could fit inside an ordinary fish tank.
Aside from the single horn growing from each head, they looked almost exactly like turtles.
The vast procession slowly made its way toward Gohor.
"If anything approaches with hostile intent, they will warn you."
The River Elder spoke calmly.
Watching the endless tide of turtles, another idea immediately came to Viserys.
They could serve another purpose.
They could steady both the army and the people.
Recently, rumors had begun spreading throughout Gohor that Viserys was a man abandoned by the gods.
Fortunately, not long ago countless people had witnessed him emerge alive from the flames and hatch three dragons.
For the moment, the rumors had gained little traction.
That would not last forever.
Once the war truly began, people would inevitably wonder why the entire world had united to attack Gohor.
After all, some legendary conquerors had faced six enemies at once.
Viserys was facing sixteen.
The difference was considerable.
With these little mascots scattered throughout the city, morale would remain steadier.
They would help keep the people united while he focused on dealing with R'hllor's schemes.
The little creatures moved at an unhurried pace.
Viserys returned to the Dragon Palace and ordered soldiers to escort them into the city.
Hundreds of thousands of Gohor's citizens crowded onto the walls to witness the astonishing sight.
The outermost Meraxes Wall served more as a thoroughfare than as a true defensive fortification.
Ordinary people were allowed to walk upon it.
"The Bonecrushers are attacking the city!"
"Don't be ridiculous. This is the River Elder's blessing!"
Immediately, great numbers of Rhoynar and Rhoynar-Andal citizens dropped to their knees in prayer.
Many Andals did not share the same beliefs, but they watched the spectacle with amazement.
When they learned that Viserys himself had brought the creatures here, their attitude became noticeably more respectful.
The endless procession of turtles soon caused traffic throughout the city to grind to a halt.
Before long, everyone had heard the news.
Tyrion, now appointed by Viserys as director of the Grand Theater of Gohor, hurried outside as well.
A unicorn turtle the size of a wagon was slowly making its way toward the domed theater.
"Director," his assistant said in amazement, staring at the enormous creature. "Just look at that horn. It's enormous."
"What? Thinking about climbing on top of it?"
His assistant laughed awkwardly.
Tyrion never missed an opportunity to make an indecent joke.
The giant turtle slowly reached the theater entrance.
Without hesitation, it crawled into the fountain beneath the front steps.
After leisurely swallowing several goldfish, it closed its eyes and settled in for a nap.
The theater was not the only place chosen.
Other unicorn turtles wandered into the arena, the archery grounds, public squares, and street corners, where they simply sat down and refused to move.
Soon afterward, royal officials spread throughout the city.
"His Majesty has declared that these Bonecrushers will protect us from disaster. There is no cause for alarm."
With the Crown's endorsement, the people's initial fear quickly gave way to curiosity.
Life in Gohor was prosperous.
Many families even brought out strips of dried meat and other treats to feed the creatures.
Just as Tyrion was preparing to wander the streets for a closer look, a Dragonrider arrived with a summons from the king.
"Director, His Majesty requests your presence at the Dragon Palace."
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