Daenerys Targaryen Stormborn, the Breaker of Chains, held court amidst the plaza atop the Great Pyramid of Yunzak in the city of Yunkai. From here she could see all the city below, spread about below her like a table set for a feast. The Yellow City, Yunkai was called. The Queen of Cities. Braavos had been called that too, though it seemed almost ridiculous to compare the two. If Yunkai was a queen, she was an old and withered Queen Dowager, a city that had seen its prime a thousand years ago and had nothing but regret and crumbling yellow stones to show for it. Try as the Wise Masters might to paint and whitewash their pyramids, they could no more hide the decay than face powder could undo old age.
"My Queen," Jorah stated, his manner uneasy. "My queen, we must speak of what is to be done with this city, we must-"
"I have already spoken of these things, Ser Jorah. We will leave the city in the care of the Black Eagles."
"My Queen," Jorah repeated, "This woman, she is a sellsword. A sellsword of Volantis who claims to be from some distant unheard-of land. What she says of slavery and of your ideals, and of believing in you, these are all lies."
"And who else should I leave in charge of this city?" Daenerys asked. "You?"
Jorah bowed his head. "My place is by your side, my queen, for as long as you will have me. But my advice remains unchanged. Leave this entire conquest behind you. Take what gold you can and buy ships to take us home."
"And my answer to you remains the same. Until we can provide for all these former slaves, all these who call me mother and depend upon me, we will not leave Slaver's Bay."
"My Queen, I..."
His voice trailed off as Edelgard stepped out from behind a column. The sellsword wore black and gold plate armor with a cape of red streaming behind. The armor consisted of interlocking plates after the fashion of Westerosi armor but had been formed to match a woman's shape. Daenerys wondered if she might commission such a set for herself, once they had arrived in Mereen.
"Speaking ill of me to the Queen again, Jorah?"
Jorah's expression turned so sour that Daenerys wanted to laugh, but she restrained herself and instead said, "Ser Jorah is my most trusted advisor, Edelgard. He has my permission to speak his council frankly… permission I also extend now to you, as Captain-General of the Black Eagles."
"Queen Daenerys," Edelgard stated, bowing her head slightly. "As you know, I and my Eagles have not slept since we took the city yesterday. I can happily report that the city is wholly yours." She produced a satchel from her side and spilled the contents onto the floor below, a rain of golden brooches, each shaped into the form of a hawk's talons. "The commanders of the Yunkish army call themselves the Honored Hawks, and before yesterday each of them bore a brooch like one of these. Other than the five Hawks who fled with Grazdan, every commander has surrendered his brooch or had it taken from him. The gates are yours, the pyramids are yours, and the Second Sons are yours as well."
"You give us brooches and say you have accounted for the officers," Jorah replied hotly, "But what of the Wise Masters themselves? We executed a score of the Masters yesterday, but there are others you are hiding. Where is Yezzan, where is Mallazza? Where is Paezhar?"
"In custody."
"'In custody in their palaces, surrounded by all their comforts?" Jorah laughed and turned back to Daenerys, "My Queen, consider: These Wise Masters, they are not allies except of convenience. They hate each other, as much or more than they hate you. This sellsword means to keep her favorites among the Masters alive while we kill all their rivals, and then when they are gone, she will put them back into their lofty positions and enslave all those you have freed."
"If the Queen wishes to execute Yezzan or any of the others," Edelgard said, her lips curling into a slight frown, "I have no opposition to the notion. They're relics of an outdated way of life. I merely thought they would be more useful alive than dead, on account of how easy they are to control. Malazza is a young, brash fool, Paezhar is proud and stupid, and Yezzan cannot move from his rooms without twelve strong men to carry him."
"And how do you find these Masters 'useful'?" Jorah was pacing now, circling the sellsword like a cat circling a mouse. "What would you do if the Queen were to call these Masters for execution now?"
"My Queen, is there anything you require of me?" Edelgard said, staring straight ahead as though Jorah did not exist. "My forces and I are tired."
"You have done well," said Daenerys, smiling despite herself. "And justly deserve your promised reward." Jorah bristled at that, but Daenerys ignored him. Edelgard had upheld her end of the bargain handsomely. Who could argue otherwise? But beyond considerations of payment and service… the woman intrigued Daenerys. Given control over a great city, what would she do? What could she accomplish?
"Is there anything more you would wish to ask of me?" Dany tried to appear aloof, disinterested, but in her heart, she knew that she would answer almost any request in the affirmative. Jorah's eyes looked up to judge her.
"I ask for no favors," Edelgard said, sighing. "I have everything I want. If there are concerns as to my loyalty to your cause... A few hundred of your Unsullied would help me hold the city, and you could put them under the command of someone you trust. I could send a few of my captains with you to assist you, and also to act as… well, as hostages if we are being completely blunt."
Grey Worm had been standing quietly to the side for now but at the mention of his forces, his eyes rose to meet hers. A moment of understanding passed between them and then he nodded slightly in acquiescence.
"But of course," Daenerys said, looking back to Edelgard. "Yunkai must not fall back into the hands of the Wise Masters."
She had no desire to repeat the mistakes she made in Astapor. News from the Red City had followed them to the Yellow City, and little of it had been good. The Council she had placed in charge of the city had proved weak and easily divided. The city had already fallen. Cleon ruled the city now, claiming that the priest, healer, and scholar Daenerys had left in charge had meant to turn the city over to the Good Masters. This message confounded her, as she had thought that she had killed every last one of the Good Masters.
Regardless, Yunkai would be different.
She had to believe that.
The Grand Archives of Qaggaz lay in the bowels of a lesser pyramid. The chambers were long and low and sunless, lit dimly by candles set upon the reading tables. Scribe slaves toiled endlessly here in the gloom, writing missives, copying letters, and cataloging the flow of goods. Flayn resisted the urge to yawn. They had been pushing hard for more than a full day at this point, and now Hubert wanted them to tour the Archives? Some part of Flayn felt resentment at that. Some part of her wished she could lay down and sleep... but another part of her felt the urgency, the need to set the city in order as much as possible. Everyone was doing their best, and she was determined not to be left behind.
She had Linhardt with her at least, and he had an uncharacteristically happy and energetic demeanor. If that was because he was in a new library, or because he had been secretly napping throughout the whole day previous, she could not tell. Either way, she was glad to have him by her side.
Her other companion, she appreciated less. He had introduced himself as Tekl, the Humble Hand of Qaggaz, and Flayn had the disturbing impression that the man had not been outside in the sun for years, possibly decades. He had a long, sallow face framed by hair that had gone white ages ago. Flayn had been given to understand that he was the most senior of the slave-scribes, a sort of senior archivist.
"This is the Great Chamber," he stated, his voice dead and without enthusiasm. "Qaggaz controls the docks, and as we serve…" He sighed. "As we serve Captain-General Edelgard, who rules from the Great Pyramid of Qaggaz, we keep track of all that comes in and out of the city. Wine, spice, silk, dyes, grain… every pound of every good worth tracking is tracked here."
Flayn and Linhardt had led a force to secure the Archives on the night they took the city. Hubert had stressed that the records here would be critical to keeping and running the city efficiently. Flayn had not known why the records were so critical, but she had no desire to question Hubert's strategy, so she and Linhardt had taken it. It had honestly been a simple task. The scribes resented their presence, but they had not resisted actively.
But still, Tekl and his slave-scribes resented their intrusion. Flayn could feel their eyes on her, eyes filled with anger and fear. Guards had been posted at every corner of the great chamber,
"But this is not merely a place of business, correct?" Linhardt asked. "There are other records here? Rare tomes? Excerpts of old lore?"
Their guide sighed. "Lower down. I imagine you are looking for goods you can sell? Even our rarer books will sell for little, I am afraid. Many of the oldest are also the least valuable. Books of sorcery that never yielded any use to those who attempted them. Histories neither true nor entertaining… We can-"
"I have no intention of selling any books," Linhardt replied, his tone almost offended. "I wish to read them. Or have them read to me if I do not know the language."
Tekl turned and regarded Linhardt with a raised brow. "You fancy yourself a sorcerer, Captain?"
Flayn almost laughed. Throughout the day men had been running and shrieking in terror from the simplest of magic, but somehow the story had not spread to this sheltered clerk. It was not funny, not really, but she laughed anyway.
"Well," Linhardt began, "I am not familiar with your terminology. I am a student of-"
Flayn interrupted him by drawing forth a spell. Only a touch, only the smallest fraction of her power, but in the dim light of the archive-room, the glow of her weakest spell might as well have been a flare, turning the whole of the chamber green and casting shadows across every wall.
All movement on the floor of the Grand Chamber halted, and Flayn felt every slave-scribe turned to gawk at her.
Tekl staggered back. "You… you both are… what are you?" Flayn laughed. She could not help herself.
"We are both mages," Linhardt sighed, dispelling Flayn's spell. "Or sorcerers. Whichever you prefer. As I stated earlier, Captain-General Edelgard is aware of the importance of what you do and would like your work to continue smoothly. We will be overseeing your work, but we are also here to further our studies."
Unstated was the hope that they would uncover some explanation for the terrible magic that had brought them here in the first place, some explanation for how they might go back. If she were honest, it was a fool's hope, and Flayn feared that they would not achieve it within any of her friends' lifetimes… but she would help them as best she could for as long as they or their children lived.
Tekl bowed deeply. "My apologies, Maegi. I had not… understood. You will require us to…" a tight, pained smile stretched across his face. "You will require us to assist in your research?"
"Naturally. We don't wish to disrupt your normal activities, but we will require ink, paper, and access to your scrolls. And beyond material needs, we'll also need assistants, translators..."
"Blood?" Tekl asked.
Linhardt's eyebrows shot up. "No! But it's extremely interesting that you would expect us to ask for such a thing!"
-
Yezzan Mo Qaggaz sat in his quarters, slowly sweating to death. The Wise Master of Yunkai looked like a bloated corpse on a good day, but today was not a good day. With less than a third his usual retinue of servants, he had been left to sit in his filth, sweat, and piss soaking into the cushions he reclined upon. He must have been a massive man in his youth, she realized. Even now, reclining on his cushions he did not need to look up to meet her gaze.
The purple-haired servant from earlier, the one named Sweets, remained by Yezzan's side as Edelgard entered, dark-circled eyes glaring down at her with naked hate. There would be many like this one, she realized. Slaves who had profited from the old system as much as their masters had. She understood their loyalty, even respected it to an extent, but the old way had to go, had to be burned away so that the new could flourish.
"Have you come to kill me?" Yezzan asked, almost without interest.
"I've come to make you an offer.".
"An offer?" Yezzan laughed without mirth. "What can you offer a dying man? What do I care if I live or die?"
"I do not mean to threaten you with death. You are more useful alive. Many of your former slaves remain loyal to an extent, and so long as you live as my captive, that loyalty is mine to command. But I have come to offer you a more active role. As you know, the Dragon Queen intends to leave me as Governor of Yunkai, and there are some matters on which I could use your advice."
The words felt like blasphemy on her lips. By rights the entirety of the old caste should have been swept away, made to beg on the streets with those they despised. But Yunkai was too large, too expansive for any one person to command. She had always known she would have to make compromises, and she had worked with worse than the Wise Masters. For her purposes, Yezzan was essentially perfect. Of all the Wise Masters, he was the most capable and the easiest to control. Even better, if the obese man seized a measure of power back to himself, he would not live for long and he had no clear successor.
Yezzan regarded her with suspicion. "You want me to explain the politics of my city, to tell you where the richest treasures are stored, what treaties we have with our neighbors..."
"I can rule without you, but the people will suffer less if the transition is smooth, and I can make your days pass more comfortably than they otherwise would."
Yezzan's great yellow eyes sparked with something then, something like defiance. "Do you think me soft? I have been dying for as long as you have been living, enduring great pain every day of my life in hopes that the morrow would bring some new, wonderful thing… but should I live longer, all I should see is Yunkai's end. There is no pain that would be worse to me, than being a part of the destruction of my city.
"I was not always so large, so pathetic. You are destroying everything I worked to uphold, and I will not be a part of it."
Edelgard laughed. "You are viler than I had thought! I destroy nothing but the chains that hold back your people."
"Phah! It is like reasoning with a child. Chains do not hold us back. They hold us together, hold us up. Slavery, I do not care for this thing in and of itself. It is nothing to me. But why is it that you think slavery persisted here in the bay of Ghis? It is because men require order, require direction, to survive. Valar Doheris, they said in Valyria. All men must serve. You and your Queen, you claim to be heroes, saviors, but all I see are tyrants who seek to lead my sheep astray with false promises of freedom."
Edelgard closed her eyes, willing herself to be calm. The day had been long and she was too tired to deal with ignorant, close-minded, fools. But what else had she expected? Yezzan the Great had been born to luxury in the Bay of the Slavers, raised to believe his rightful place was at the pinnacle of creation. He claimed to be a man of many travels, but how far had he gone? Volantis? Lys? He might have traveled a thousand miles and never seen a kingdom of free men. She wished she could show him Enbarr or even Fhirdiad. Show him the clean streets, the frescoes, the Cathedral of Seiros...
No. She would show him a people without chains.
She met his eyes with her own. "To hell with your chains," she said, "Humans do not need them. They are not sheep, are not cattle. Look around you. Do you consider your city wealthy? Prosperous? You ask me why slavery has persisted so long here? I might ask you the same question, as the buildings of the city crumble into ruin around you. Yunkai is as much a corpse as you are, and nothing but the most drastic of changes can save it."
Yezzan blinked, his mouth opening slightly. "You truly believe this," he said, his voice uncertain.
A snarl of anger raged through her. "Did you think me a liar? I will drag this sorry excuse for a city into a golden age and I will make you live to see it. I won't let you die until you admit the idiocy of the outdated system that you have profited from for so many years now."
Yezzan's great mouth closed, and he blinked again. "If that is truly your goal," he said, his voice hoarse, "then I should love to see it."