“The Unsullied will send five of our finest warriors, my lord.” Silver Scorpion, commander of the Unsullied, spoke before anyone else could.
Aslan Londer rounded on him.
“Silver Scorpion, the Silverblood Legion hasn’t spoken yet.
What are you doing?”
“The Unsullied are better suited.” Silver Scorpion did not back down.
“The Silverbloods trained under the old master, yes.
But in intensity and magical tolerance, the Unsullied surpass them.”
“Prove it.”
“Silver Scorpion is right.” Lancel Vale agreed with the eunuch warrior.
“When Astapor trains Unsullied, they give the recruits a drink called courage wine.
It’s called wine, but it’s a poison mixture.
It does increase their tolerance for magic.”
“Nightshade, bloodfly larvae, black lotus root from Slaver’s Bay.
And secret formulas from Asshai’s poisoners.” Zethar Shadowweaver knew the toxicity of those ingredients.
“The slavers of Astapor use them to deaden the Unsullied’s bodies.
I support the commander’s recommendation.”
Beside him, the poison apprentice Tigaro pulled out a small notebook and wrote down the recipe Zethar had just listed.
“The Silverblood Legion is the soul of House Valezeth.” Aslan Londer pointed at his own chest.
“At the very least, I should serve at your side until death.”
“Valar and Raymond will go with me.” Lancel nodded at Aslan, signaling it was settled.
“The prophecy demands it.
The three of us share blood.
With them near, my magic will last longer.”
“Then you need more people, brother.” Valar said.
“Raymond needs protection.
And we can’t drag him too deep into the ruins.”
“I can handle it.” Raymond protested.
“I’m twelve.
You were both twelve when you followed Father against the Dothraki.
Why can’t I go deep into the ruins?”
Lancel grabbed a handful of his brother’s hair.
“Since you said it, Ray, you’ll come with us into the ruins.
Don’t cry when we get there.”
Raymond’s face broke back into a grin.
“Tigaro, young Adams, and I will remain aboard the Silent Lord.” Zethar Shadowweaver rose and volunteered to stay behind.
“The boy and I can guarantee your rear holds as steady as stone.”
Lancel nodded his agreement.
The two were poison specialists.
Their martial skills were lacking.
Guarding the ship suited them.
“Aslan, Amos, Sebastian.
You’ll take one boat with the chosen Silverblood brothers.” Lancel began assigning positions.
“How many Silverblood brothers should I bring?” Aslan needed the number.
Fifteen slots total.
The Unsullied had already claimed five.
Lancel’s young inner circle would take six.
That left four for the Silverbloods.
“Lynn shares my blood.” Lancel had removed the magical factors from Lynn’s blood with his consent, but the bond of bloodline could not be easily severed.
Lancel’s blood magic could work directly inside Lynn’s body without external aid.
“He doesn’t need the potion to activate the protective runes.”
Lynn Valtaken had learned his true origins after Lancel took him in.
But he was a precocious, clear-eyed boy.
Princess Senira’s bloodline was no blessing for him.
He had begged Lancel to use blood magic to dull his heritage.
Now, at least, he didn’t have to worry about his blood.
And he kept the privileges of being Lancel’s kin.
“Nor do I need the lord’s potion.” The red priest rasped, his voice still thick.
“The Lord of Light’s power is very active here.
I can use magic to protect myself.”
That freed up Lynn’s and the red priest’s slots.
Aslan promptly assigned them to Silverblood warriors hungry for glory.
Lancel did not stop him.
He trusted the Silverbloods’ loyalty.
They were the “household guard” his father had built from the ground up.
Nearly every Silverblood soldier had drunk a beverage mixed with Lancel’s blood.
The drink did no harm.
It only deepened the bond between Lancel and his army.
Those soldiers would naturally accept Lancel’s leadership, grow close to him, and obey his blood kin.
“Lynn, you’re with Argo and Hoffer.
Stay close to us.” Lancel swept his gaze across the assembled men.
Everyone stood at attention.
With all personnel assigned, the Silent Lord, screened by the Weeping Boy and the Marlin, broke from the planned route and sailed toward the Smoking Sea.
They dropped anchor only at the edge of the Valyrian peninsula.
The large ships lowered small boats covered in painted runes.
The runes, vivid red threaded with silver, glowed faintly when they touched the waters of the Smoking Sea.
Something beneath the surface seemed to lift the boats.
Even without oarsmen, they shot forward.
“Lynn.” Hoffer, the golden-eyed boy in gleaming chainmail, edged closer to Lynn, who was studying the water.
“Something feels wrong.”
The sea was foul and murky, as if boiling.
The air stank of sulfur.
Hoffer might not see it, but Lynn could just make out shadows moving beneath the surface.
He was certain Lancel could see them too.
“Hoffer, stay sharp.” Argo still wore the traditional Dothraki manner, no armor.
His bare torso was painted with silver-and-red patterns.
The patterns glowed faintly.
Hoffer hurried back to his position and kept watch over the sea.
The two small boats sailed on at steady speed.
“Brother, do you see that?” Valar tightened his grip on his spear, eyes locked on the water.
Lancel’s hand rested on the sword at his hip.
A plain Valyrian steel blade, Black Widow.
The longsword had no ornamentation. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
It was solid black, like night.
House Valezeth had once possessed a magnificent Valyrian steel sword called Silverblood as its ancestral weapon.
But Emperor Orion had taken it with him.
After his spectacular disappearance, the family was left with a single Valyrian steel blade: the sword of the wife Orion had left behind in Qohor.
“I see it.” Lancel could not describe the sight.
Across the filthy water, shadows twisted into writhing human shapes.
They seemed to beckon people into their embrace.
Or to herald something.
He saw fragments of the visions from the fire ritual.
Strange sounds echoed in his ears again.
This time, he could not make out a single word.
Raymond felt something similar.
He saw more than Valar, but lacked Lancel’s sensitivity.
The moment they entered, Raymond had shut his eyes.
The boiling sea suddenly bulged.
A vast black shape rose beneath the surface, then slowly sank back into the deep.
It seemed not to notice the two small boats at all.
Only then did the men lower their weapons, tension bleeding from their shoulders.
The Valyrian peninsula loomed closer.
The boats found a suitable landing.
The men disembarked in groups of three, scanning in every direction.
This place had once been a harbor.
Now it was a scorching hell.
Black mist and crimson liquid everywhere.
The collapsed buildings were unrecognizable.
No sign of life.
The party advanced cautiously inland.
At first, it went smoothly.
They crossed the ruined harbor without incident.
They passed toppled towers.
Then they walked past a tower reduced to rubble.
The golden-eyed boy Hoffer suddenly raised his spear and thrust into the shadows.
A piercing shriek tore through everyone’s ears.
Lancel drew Black Widow without hesitation and slashed.
No blood.
Only a molten, burning liquid.
The thing hidden in the dark slowly rolled into view.
A piece of a body.
Unidentifiable.
“On guard!
On guard!” A Silverblood soldier’s scream was cut short.
Something in the shadows punched through his chest.
His iron armor tore like paper.
Rustling sounds rose from the darkness.
The shapes slowly revealed themselves.