Mortarion remained alone inside the command tent long after darkness settled across the camp.
The map of the known world covered most of the table before him.
Four gold dragons held its corners flat, their stamped faces glimmering beneath the light of a single oil lamp.
Slaver’s Bay occupied the centre of the parchment, with Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen marked along its coast.
Farther west lay Volantis, the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea.
Beyond them waited Westeros.
That distant continent remained the true destination.
Mortarion had not forgotten the mission given to him by Death.
The Dance of the Dragons would not begin for many years, yet its foundations were already being laid.
Rivalries grew inside the Targaryen court, ambitions sharpened, and questions of succession waited beneath the appearance of peace.
When King Viserys died, the realm would tear itself apart.
Dragons would burn armies and cities.
Noble houses would destroy one another over rival claims, while the royal family reduced its own strength with every battle.
The war would kill thousands directly and condemn many more to famine, disease and lawlessness.
Beyond the Wall, an even greater enemy waited.
Mortarion had been sent to reduce the destruction of the civil war and prepare the living for the dead.
Neither task could be completed from a temporary camp in Slaver’s Bay.
He needed influence in Westeros before the Dance began.
A dragon and ten thousand Unsullied gave him strength, but strength alone would not grant legitimacy.
If Mortarion sailed into Westeros and demanded land, every lord would see him as an invader.
Even those who feared Anaxion would unite against him if they believed he intended to replace the existing order.
Conquest remained an option, though it did not need to be the first.
Land could be inherited as easily as it could be seized.
Mortarion was sixteen, carried the appearance of High Valyrian blood and commanded a dragon large enough to rival the greatest beasts of House Targaryen.
Once he possessed a credible family name and reputation, marriage could open doors that an army would otherwise have to break.
A noble house with an unmarried daughter might see an alliance with a dragonrider as irresistible.
A house lacking a male heir might value Mortarion even more.
Through marriage, he could gain lands, incomes and recognised authority without spending years besieging castles that might later be required against the threat in the north.
Mortarion had no romantic ideas about the arrangement.
Marriage was another form of alliance, more permanent than most and often more dangerous.
The wrong wife could bring troublesome relatives, disputed claims and political obligations.
The right one could provide an established seat from which Mortarion might influence the coming war.
He did not yet know which house would prove suitable.
That decision belonged to the future.
Before considering marriage, titles or Westerosi politics, Mortarion required a way to move his army.
Ships were now his greatest urgency.
Ten thousand disciplined infantry were formidable upon land, but they remained trapped in Slaver’s Bay without transport.
Anaxion could carry Mortarion across the sea, though the dragon could not move soldiers, wagons, livestock and a year of provisions.
A fleet would give Mortarion freedom.
With enough ships, he could travel towards the Stepstones, Volantis or Westeros without depending upon another ruler’s permission.
His army could be moved whenever the political situation changed.
Supplies could arrive by sea, and the gold within his treasury could be exchanged across several ports rather than concentrated in one market.
Ships would also allow Mortarion to investigate the Stepstones.
Prince Daemon Targaryen’s war against the Triarchy was nearing its conclusion.
The islands were poor, but their location between Westeros and Essos made them valuable.
Mortarion did not necessarily need to conquer or settle them.
A friendly port, leased harbour or alliance with whoever controlled the sea routes could serve his purposes without burdening him with barren territory.
He had no interest in building a kingdom simply for the sake of saying he possessed one.
A ruler who spent all his strength defending worthless land had only conquered a prison.
Mortarion’s ten thousand Unsullied already provided enough military power for the present.
Their lack of cavalry and dedicated archers made the army incomplete, but expanding it immediately would create further demands for food, pay and equipment.
He would not hire soldiers merely to increase his numbers.
Any men added to his force had to provide a capability the Unsullied lacked and demonstrate enough discipline to justify their cost.
Experienced sailors, shipboard fighters, engineers and scouts would have value.
Exceptional archers or cavalry might also be considered if Mortarion encountered a company worthy of trust.
Until then, the existing army was sufficient.
Ships came first.
After that would come a secure harbour, information about Westeros and the creation of a credible lineage.
Mortarion looked towards the black stone seal resting near the edge of the table.
The Sphinx of House Belaerys had survived the Doom alongside Aurion’s armour and crown.
Those relics could support a claim of descent from the ancient dragonlords, though Mortarion had not yet decided whether to use the Belaerys name directly.
Claiming to be Aurion’s descendant could create questions he was not prepared to answer.
A forgotten branch of the family offered greater freedom, allowing Mortarion to choose a new name while claiming Belaerys blood through an ancestor.
Whatever story he created had to survive examination by maesters, nobles and other Valyrian houses.
A dragon would persuade many doubters.
The armour would persuade more.
Yet Mortarion wanted a claim that remained believable even when Anaxion was not present to silence questions.
He rolled the seal between his fingers before placing it beside the map.
Astapor would be his first test.
The city possessed a harbour filled with trading vessels from across Essos.
Its markets sold timber, sailcloth, rope, tools and human expertise.
Captains, navigators and shipwrights could all be found there, either working freely or waiting to be purchased by wealthy masters.
Mortarion did not need Astapor’s land.
He needed access to its harbour and merchants.
Amicable relations would serve him better than conquest.
Burning the city might provide immediate fear, but it would destroy the very ships and trade connections he required.
Seizing Astapor would also force Mortarion to govern a hostile population and defend the city against Yunkai, Meereen and anyone else threatened by his arrival.
He had neither the time nor the desire to become trapped in Ghiscari politics.
Trade was cleaner.
The Good Masters could make money from Mortarion, while he acquired ships and information.
Their greed would encourage cooperation as long as they believed friendship remained more profitable than hostility.
Mortarion intended to make certain it did.
He examined the route between the camp and Astapor.
The journey required nearly two days by ordinary travel.
Anaxion could cross it in a small fraction of that time, but Mortarion did not intend to fly directly into the city.
Appearing above the walls would cause panic and place every archer and siege crew on alert.
It would be more useful to land beyond the city and approach with a small escort.
Anaxion would remain close enough to be seen.
The Good Masters needed to understand that Mortarion came peacefully by choice, not weakness.
He began making a list upon a clean piece of parchment.
The first requirement was ships capable of carrying men.
Merchant cogs would transport soldiers and supplies, while galleys could protect the convoy and manoeuvre during battle.
Mortarion needed to know how many were available, their condition, their crews and the price required to purchase or hire them.
The second requirement was sailors.
Ships without experienced crews were floating coffins.
The Unsullied could be trained to fight upon decks, but navigating coastlines, reading weather and managing sails demanded years of experience.
Shipwrights and carpenters would also be necessary.
A fleet constantly required repairs, especially during long journeys or military campaigns.
The third requirement was information.
Mortarion wanted current maps of the coast, shipping routes and ports between Slaver’s Bay and Westeros.
He needed to know who controlled the Stepstones, which cities traded with Astapor and how merchants reacted to the conclusion of Prince Daemon’s war.
He also required information about Westeros itself.
Death had given him knowledge of history and possible futures, but not every change occurring in the present.
Traders might know which noble houses sought alliances, what rumours surrounded the royal court and whether the appearance of a new dragonrider had already been reported.
Mortarion’s flight over Astapor would not remain secret for long.
A creature the size of Anaxion could not be hidden.
By the time Mortarion crossed the Narrow Sea, King Viserys and the Targaryens might already have heard stories of a silver-haired rider emerging from Old Valyria.
That could become an advantage if handled carefully.
It could also bring riders from House Targaryen searching for answers.
Mortarion finished the list and set down his writing tool.
He would visit Astapor within the next two days.
The longer he waited, the more time the Good Masters had to invent their own explanation for his presence.
Fear encouraged imagination, and imagination could turn a potential trading partner into an enemy.
Mortarion preferred to control the first conversation.
At dawn, Blue Bat entered the command tent.
Mortarion gestured towards the empty seat across from him.
There is more to discuss than can be covered while you stand at attention.”
Blue Bat lowered himself onto the stool.
His posture remained rigid, though he had begun responding more naturally to Mortarion’s expectation that officers participate in planning rather than merely receive orders.
Mortarion turned the map so the commander could see it clearly.
“Our army cannot remain on this plain indefinitely.
We have enough food for a year, but every day spent here consumes supplies without improving our position.”
Blue Bat studied the parchment.
“Do you intend to take Astapor and use its harbour?”
“No.
Conquering the city would force us to govern it, and I have no intention of wasting time defending a place that is useful only as a market.
I would rather allow its masters to maintain order while we purchase what we need.”
“The Good Masters may refuse to sell enough ships to transport the army.”
“They might, although merchants rarely refuse profit without a reason.
We will determine what they possess before deciding how to proceed.”
Blue Bat looked towards the western side of the map, where the Narrow Sea separated Essos from Westeros.
“Will the army cross the sea?”
“Eventually.
Westeros is where my greater purpose lies, but marching there immediately would be foolish.
We require ships, crews and a destination willing to receive us.”
“Could the dragon not force a lord to surrender land?”
“Anaxion could burn a castle, but ashes produce little income.
I do not need to destroy a noble house if I can bind it to me through marriage or alliance.”
Blue Bat considered the answer before speaking again.
“Would a Westerosi lord willingly give land to a foreign dragonrider?”
“A lord with an unmarried daughter, no sons and dangerous neighbours may consider the arrangement a blessing.
An ambitious lord might see my army and dragon as a path towards greater influence.
Fear will play a part, but fear does not need to be the only reason.”
Mortarion placed one finger upon Westeros.
“The ruling houses there understand bloodlines and inheritance.
If I arrive with a credible Valyrian ancestry, wealth and enough military strength to defend an alliance, I will possess something many houses want.”
“You have not chosen a family name.”
“Not yet, and I will not select one until I understand how my claim will be received.
A poorly chosen lie becomes a chain around the speaker.”
Blue Bat looked towards the Belaerys seal.
“You could use the name upon that stone.”
“I could, though the name belongs to a family that vanished during the Doom.
Claiming it directly may invite questions from those who know more than the Good Masters.
It is better to remain simply Mortarion until I decide what history will serve me.”
Blue Bat nodded.
“What does Astapor provide beyond ships?”
“Information, maps and access to merchants.
We may acquire shipwrights, navigators and interpreters there.
I will also inspect any soldiers offered for hire, but I do not intend to enlarge the army merely because men are available.”
“The army lacks cavalry and true archers.”
“It does, but ten thousand additional mouths already consume enough provisions.
I will take specialists if their quality justifies the cost.
I will not collect mediocre soldiers simply to make the formations appear larger.”
Blue Bat appeared to approve of that reasoning.
“Our infantry can defeat most armies in a direct engagement,” Mortarion continued.
“What we lack is movement beyond the battlefield.
Ships solve the greater problem.
Cavalry can wait until we possess land and supplies capable of supporting horses.”
A guard entered the tent and lowered his head.
“Master Mortarion, the western sentries have observed riders upon the ridge.”
Mortarion turned towards him.
“How many riders have been seen?”
“Seven.
One carries a white cloth beneath the point of his spear.”
Blue Bat rose from the stool.
“The Good Masters have sent someone to speak with us.”
“So it appears.
Have twenty soldiers meet them beyond the outer camp.
They are to be escorted here with their weapons sheathed, but they are not prisoners unless they behave like enemies.”
The guard departed.
Mortarion replaced the Belaerys seal inside its small iron box and closed the map.
Blue Bat waited near the entrance.
“Should Anaxion be moved farther from the camp?”
“No.
The dragon will remain where the visitors can see him.
They should understand what stands behind my offer of friendship.”
Mortarion placed his helmet over his head.
The crimson lines across his armour appeared faintly beneath the morning light entering the tent.
Dreaded Deliverance rested across his back, while the Valyrian steel dagger remained secured at his waist.
He did not need a crown.
The armour and dragon would speak loudly enough.
The visitors arrived within the hour.
Seven men rode between two files of Unsullied.
They wore light bronze armour over red-brown robes, while curved swords rested at their hips.
Their horses had been bred for heat and distance rather than battle.
The man carrying the white cloth rode at the centre.
He was narrow-faced and approaching middle age, with dark hair arranged in carefully oiled curls.
Gold rings decorated his fingers, and the quality of his clothing suggested that he was more than a common scout.
The riders became visibly uneasy when Anaxion lifted his head.
The dragon rested near the river, one wing spread across the grass.
Smoke escaped from his nostrils while his molten-green eyes followed the approaching horses.
One mount tried to turn away.
Its rider struggled to keep it beneath control.
Mortarion felt amusement and hunger move through the bond.
He sent a firm warning in response.
Anaxion remained where he was.
The visitors dismounted before the central rise.
Their leader handed his reins to one of the others and approached Mortarion with measured steps.
He bowed, though not deeply.
“I am Malko mo Zheran, and I speak on behalf of several Good Masters of Astapor.
They have sent me to learn the intentions of the dragonrider who has raised an army near their roads.”
Mortarion studied him through the narrow opening of his helmet.
“You have spent two days watching this camp.
What intentions have your masters imagined for me?”
Malko glanced briefly towards the rows of dark tents.
“They have considered several possibilities.
Some believe you came to attack Astapor, while others believe you are a sellsword captain seeking employment.
The presence of your dragon has caused greater disagreement.”
“I am neither a sellsword nor an enemy of Astapor.”
“That answer will please many within the city.”
“It should please all of them.
I came here seeking trade, and men who wish to trade should not waste time preparing unnecessary wars.”
Malko allowed himself a cautious smile.
“Trade is a language Astapor understands well.
What goods does a dragonrider require?”
“Ships are my greatest concern.
I require vessels capable of carrying soldiers, supplies and animals, along with experienced crews willing to serve for more than a single voyage.”
The direct answer seemed to surprise Malko.
“You intend to move the army by sea?”
“I would not be searching for ships if I intended to leave them tied to a harbour.”
Malko lowered his head slightly.
“Astapor possesses merchant vessels, galleys and smaller coastal ships.
Some belong to the Good Masters, while others are owned by foreign captains.
Mortarion removed a gold dragon from a pouch at his waist and held it out.
Malko accepted the coin.
He examined the three-headed dragon stamped upon one side, then turned it to reveal the face of King Viserys.
“Westerosi gold,” he said.
“It is not common in Astapor, but merchants will recognise its value.”
“I have enough to pay for what I require.
Your masters do not need to concern themselves with that.”
The choice of words immediately sharpened Malko’s interest.
Mortarion continued before the man could ask how much gold remained in the camp.
“I also require maps, navigators, shipwrights and reliable information about the ports between Slaver’s Bay and the Narrow Sea.
Anyone recommended to me must be competent.
I have no interest in buying men simply because someone wishes to empty a barracks or prison.”
“Astapor can provide skilled slaves in every trade.”
“I asked for skilled people.
Their legal condition can be discussed when I meet the masters.”
Malko studied Mortarion more carefully.
“You do not approve of slavery?”
“My approval is irrelevant to the purpose of this meeting.
I care whether a man performs the task for which he is chosen.
A sailor terrified of punishment may work, but one who expects wages and advancement often works better.”
It was not morality that guided Mortarion.
It was usefulness.
Malko appeared to understand the distinction.
“The Good Masters will wish to receive you inside the city.”
“I expected they would.
I will visit Astapor in two days with a small escort.”
“How many soldiers will accompany you?”
“Fifty Unsullied will be enough.
The remainder will stay here beneath Blue Bat’s command.”
Malko looked towards the army commander, though there was nothing in Blue Bat’s clothing or equipment that made him stand apart from the nearby soldiers.
“And the dragon?”
“Anaxion will carry me to the outskirts and remain beyond the walls.
He will not attack unless the city gives him reason.”
Malko glanced towards the immense beast.
“I am certain the Good Masters will order their soldiers to remain calm.”
“Do more than advise calm.
Tell every archer and siege crew that loosing a single bolt towards Anaxion will end the meeting before it begins.”
The Astapori representative swallowed.
“I will make the warning clear.”
Mortarion removed his helmet.
Silver hair fell around his pale face, while violet eyes met Malko’s stare.
The man’s attention moved between Mortarion’s features and the black rippling steel of his armour.
“You are Valyrian,” Malko said.
“I carry the blood.”
“From which house?”
“For now, you may call me Mortarion.
My lineage is not a matter I intend to explain through a messenger.”
Malko bowed more deeply than before.
“The Good Masters will be eager to hear whatever you choose to share.”
“They should be more eager to prepare information on their ships.
I want the number of vessels available for sale or long-term hire, their carrying capacity, condition and crews.
I also want to know which captains regularly sail towards Volantis and the Stepstones.”
“That information can be gathered.”
“Then gather it before I arrive.
A meeting that provides only food and flattery will waste everyone’s time.”
Malko closed his fingers around the gold dragon.
“You speak plainly.”
“Plain words prevent expensive misunderstandings.” Mortarion gestured towards the coin.
“Keep that and show it to the masters who sent you.
It proves that I am prepared to trade.
It does not prove how much I possess, so advise them against inventing numbers.”
Malko smiled carefully.
“Merchants always invent numbers.”
“Then yours should invent sensible ones.”
The conversation had eased enough for the scout’s shoulders to relax.
The threat of Anaxion remained obvious, but Mortarion had given him something useful to carry back besides warnings.
Malko bowed once more.
“I will tell the Good Masters that Mortarion of Valyrian blood seeks friendship, ships and trade.”
“Tell them that I seek an amicable relationship because Astapor possesses things I require, while I possess gold they desire.
That is a foundation both sides can understand.”
“And if they refuse?”
Mortarion looked towards the city’s distant direction.
“Then I will take my gold elsewhere.
Astapor is not the only port in Essos, and merchants who allow fear or pride to overcome profit rarely remain wealthy for long.”
Malko appeared surprised by the absence of an immediate threat.
Mortarion did not need one.
Leaving Astapor without his gold would punish its masters more effectively than empty boasts.
Volantis, Yunkai or another port might provide what he needed if the Good Masters proved unreasonable.
Anaxion rose behind them.
The horses recoiled as the dragon stretched his wings, casting a shadow across the edge of the camp.
Malko looked back towards Mortarion.
“I believe Astapor will prefer to trade.”
“So do I.”
The riders were given water before being escorted beyond the sentry line.
Mortarion watched them leave until they disappeared behind the ridge.
Blue Bat approached once the visitors were gone.
“You allowed them to believe we may trade elsewhere.”
“We can trade elsewhere.
Astapor is convenient, not indispensable.”
“Will fifty soldiers be enough for the visit?”
“If the Good Masters intend treachery, five hundred will not save me inside their walls.
Anaxion is the stronger guarantee.”
Blue Bat looked towards the dragon.
“What should I do if you do not return?”
“You will wait until the fourth sunset.
After that, you will move the army away from Astapor and preserve it until you understand what occurred.
You will not throw ten thousand men against the walls out of anger.”
“Would the dragon attack without you?”
“If I am killed, I doubt anyone in Astapor will be capable of stopping him.” Mortarion replaced his helmet beneath one arm.
“Select fifty soldiers who remain observant without breaking formation.
I also want two officers who can remember the layout of streets, gates and harbour facilities.”
“You intend to inspect the city while trading.”
“I intend to understand every place I enter.
That does not mean I intend to conquer it.”
Blue Bat inclined his head.
Mortarion looked towards the distant coast.
The coming visit would determine how quickly he could begin assembling a fleet.
It would also reveal whether the Good Masters were useful partners or greedy fools blinded by the belief that every man possessed a price.
Mortarion did not need Astapor’s soldiers.
He did not need its lands.
He needed ships, crews and a path towards the west.
Once he possessed those, the temporary camp would no longer be a prison.
Westeros remained years away from its civil war, but Mortarion intended to arrive long before the first dragon took flight against its own kin.
By then, he would have a name the lords recognised, a fleet capable of carrying his army and enough influence that marriage or alliance would place lands beneath his control without requiring him to burn them first.
Astapor was not the beginning of his kingdom.
It was only the harbour from which his greater plan would sail.