"Marvelous. Truly marvelous."
"Thank you, my lord."
Felix Hotherys held up the hand dragon and inspected it.
It was a beautiful thing, carved of oak, imported from the west, and with a metal pipe produced from the finest steel, Braavos had to offer.
Inscribed into it, was the symbol of their city, the canals, and the crossed anchors above it.
It was wondrously made, but how nice it looked didn't matter much for Felix.
What mattered was that it had performed the demonstration just fine.
Over on the other side of the room was a breastplate, with a caved-in chest.
"It didn't actually go through." His first sword noted sourly.
"It just made a massive dent, and then bounced off." He pointed to the remains of the bullet that had skidded across the ground.
"Yes, but that is hardly the fault of our dear maker here. We knew the powder we make isn't as strong as the golden Companies version. That is simply something we have to work on."
Felix turned back to the maker, who was quite nervous.
"I wish to commission some 7000 of these. They must be made as quickly as possible."
The maker, the one the new hand dragon maker guild had chosen to represent them, swallowed.
"How… How much time do we have to finish them?"
"4 Months at maximum, but the Quicker they are finished the better. If you need more men to do it, I can arrange something for you."
He did in fact need more men, but Felix just nodded and agreed. He'd arrange all the manpower the man needed to get this done.
Just like he had done with the newly minted Sea Dragon Guild, who was responsible for the new, wondrous kind of siege equipment.
It had taken a while before they had managed to figure out the formula for The Blackfyre Powder, but eventually, they had managed to get a list of the kind of supplies they bought, and after much, much labor and experimentation, they had begun to hammer out the recipe for the powder.
He had no doubt the rest of the free cities were doing the exact same thing. Which made time of the essence. For whoever managed to strike first, if he struck hard enough and before the others were ready, would win this race.
The race for who would be the next great power in Essos.
In the south, the powers that were were worried about the threat the group the Silvertongue was putting together.
He was not. He knew most of the players involved in the drama one way or another, and he knew all their ambitions.
The Blackfyres, Saan, the Silvertongue, and the Ebony Prince wished to go home, the Nine Eyes wanted to break the slave trade, while the rest just wanted kingdoms of their own. Those might cause problems later down the line, but so long as this worked, he wasn't too worried about it.
He had a list over which countries the band wanted and lusted after, and Braavos wasn't on that list.
Of course, he couldn't just let them run around without preparing Braavos for a possible war.
But to do that, he would need resources.
And so, the free city of Braavos would take it's mantle as the great power of Essos, and build an empire.
While the thieves and Mercenaries spent years conquering unstable Kingdoms, Braavos would carve out an Empire of their own. One that would be stronger, richer, and far more stable than any of theirs.
In one, quick, lightning campaign, they would conquer Lorath, then swiftly move on to Norvos, and then on Qohor.
Using the Blackfyres' very own weapons to do it nonetheless.
They would turn their republic from a free city to the ONLY free city left. They would go from a republic to a Freehold. An empire that would in time take control over all the lands of Western Essos.
After all, Monarchies were an unstable, fragile type of Government that lived and died with their dynasties.
A republic though? It would live past and beyond him, and his dynasty if needed.
Braavos would be there as the alliance of Sellswords broke down, and their short-lived Kingdoms died with their founders.
The broken and desperate masses would need good, strong, lawful government, and Braavos would provide.
In time, Braavos would achieve the dream of Volantis and all the other Free cities. The great crab game of international politics would finally end with one Victor. Braavos, the great and wonderful, who freed the slaves, and cast down the Slavers.
And he, Felix Hotherys, would be remembered forever, as the man, who established the Great Freehold of Braavos. And led his country to it's inevitable grand destiny.
With sea Dragons, he could break their walls, and with Hand Dragons, his armies would smash them on the field.
Yes, he really should be thankful for the Blackfyres providing him with this glorious opportunity.
It was one of those incredible small, but important windows, where the one who grabbed the opportunity first would triumph. The small window before these weapons became commonplace, and everyone had adapted.
Any of the free cities would have done the same of course. If he did not lay his foes low, then Lorath, Norvos, or Qohor would do it to Braavos instead.
And once he had liberated the 3 eastern cities, he could begin to prepare. In the worst scenario, he would have to face the Mercenaries in battle. But he could do that if he had the resources of the north behind him.
But he doubted it. They would have their hands full trying the futile and widespread conquests for years to come. So long as he played his card right, and didn't do anything stupid, like getting suckered into a war to defend any of the invaded countries, he would have years, and years to prepare, stabilize and build.
And why would he do that, when he could sit on the sidelines and watch their nations collapse on their own?
I
Daemona had a maiden's heart.
Oh, she handled it better than most women might have, Haegon would give her that, but he saw how she glanced at the bodies as they walked past, and how she desperately tried not to hurl up her insides from the sheer butchery of it all.
The Golden Company had had their fun of course, but they had been relatively restrained about it all. Some rapes, but mostly it had been plundering.
Most of the other companies had followed suit.
Not the men of Tom the spotted Butcher. They liked to kill just for the pleasure of it all, and 7 out 10 of every dead body in the city, were their work.
He did not balk at it. This was war, and unlike Daemona, he had grown up seeing this kind of sight, time and again. Dead bodies in the thousands, children, men, and women of all ages.
The only thing missing was the survivors being lined up for slavery.
That was not the way they would do it anymore in Essos. How Silvertongue had managed to make the kings agree to that, he had no idea. He thought it had something to do with them planning to kill all the Slaver masters in Slavers Bay, but why that would lead to all of the rest deciding that slavery wasn't worthwhile he had no idea.
Not that he minded, but he just didn't see how one would lead to another.
In practice here and now though, it meant that all the men and women who might have survived as slaves, instead got the sword, as there was little worth in keeping them alive.
They must have killed… What, 10-12 000 people here? He wondered how many of those would have survived as slaves if that had still been on the table.
As it was, they trotted their way through the city past broken doors and blood-soaked streets. The smell of maggots had just begun to set in, and the dead bodies they did see weren't exactly pretty to look at.
Still, he had seen this before, if rarely as such scale. So, as they trotted over the dead, and his companion grit her teeth, and looked like she was sick, he wore the same smile he always did.
This was war. It was no point pretending it wasn't brutal, ugly, and cruel. You couldn't put a bow on it to pretty it up as Daemona had doubtlessly done in her mind.
Women were not built for war. However brilliant a mind the Gods had seen fit to bestow on her, her heart was too fragile for war and butchery, just like all of her sex.
She would need a strong, capable man to lead her armies, and crush her foes.
And if that just happened to be him, then what was wrong with that? Royal blood flowed both their veins. They were as good a match as any.
"Are you… Feeling well your grace?"
The question came from Arthur Reyne, speaking softly like he was a singer and not the butcher of men that Haegon had grown up with.
"Yes." Daemona said, curtly and with a clear implication for Reyne to drop it.
He did, though he could tell on the man's face that he was rather troubled and somewhat regretful.
He should be. If he hadn't married 3 Years ago, he might have ended up as king. Alas, he had thrown away that opportunity for a pretty face and a warm bed.
I
Tom drank some good, cold beer. He had managed to find an ice house in one of the richer Buildings, and now was enjoying the rare luxuries that such spoils provided.
It was rare you found Ice. Rarer than gold and silver, which you always found during a sack.
As he drank, he looked at the bodies the men were throwing into the sea.
They didn't have enough wood for mass burning, so it was bags of rocks tied around them.
They took them out some couple hundred meters, then dumped them in the sea.
Thankfully, he had a Myrish lens on him, so he got a good look at it all.
The men who were doing the dumping were Lyseni men from Saan's fleet.
He could tell several of them looked disgusted as they threw bodies of women and children overboard.
They held to a code on the seas, and so they thought themselves better than him and his men.
They might rob you, but if you surrendered and didn't make a fuzz, they wouldn't kill you and they would even be polite about it.
Such good folk.
"Father?"
He turned around to find his Son walking up to him. He motioned for his guards to step back to leave them room to talk and knowing the drill, they did so without complaints.
"Yes, Robert?"
"Silvertongue has assessed the losses, and he says the total losses were so small he doesn't need us for the assault on Tyrosh. He wants us to remain behind and instead prepare for the assault on the stepstones."
He nodded.
"He does not trust us to contain ourselves when we take Tyrosh."
The younger man looked rather uncomfortable.
"Yeah?"
"Well… We didn't have to sack it this badly. It wasn't exactly a brutal long and bloody siege here."
"True. But I figured since this might be the last time the men would get to loot and plunder with abandon, we should let them have their fun." He motioned out over the broken and bloody city where fires had only now begun to go out.
"We aren't going to get to do this anymore you realize? Burning, killing, sacking, raping. All the things that make warfare fun. It's all going away, and in it's place, we get a crown and the boring-ass work of ruling a kingdom. We have to show "restraint" from now on."
He looked out over the city and noticed one spot where a soldier had dashed someone's head against the wall, leaving blood and brains on it as a stain. He had done that a lot of times. It was fun, but it left such a mess on his clothes. It was the same reason he preferred body blows with his mace. It left much less of a mace, while still producing the same results.
"Sure the men might get to go out and help the rest of the Kings, but you and I are gonna be stuck in Myr, quite possibly for the rest of our lives."
Robert scowled.
"If you don't want the crown, why did you agree to this alliance?"
He shrugged.
"Eh, I'm old now. Not gonna be that much longer until I can't lift a mace anymore. If I'm gonna die, I might as well do with a crown on my head, and surrounded by beautiful women, and not on the field where some random kid runs me through with a pike. And besides…" He eyed the boy. "You're the one who's going to do all the real work anyway boy, so why not be king? I get to whore and drink myself into an early grave, while you get to play the dutiful, royal prince."
Robert shrugged nonchalantly, in an annoyed matter, but Tom saw through the facade. He knew his son well enough to see the lust in his eyes.
The boy WANTED this. Far more than he did. Tom wasn't exactly sure what the boy wanted with the throne, but he didn't really care. If the boy wanted the power a crown brought so much, who was he to deny him?
He was certainly committed to the idea, having married into the Silvertongue's own family just to make sure ties remained good between Myr and Tyrosh.
Also, there WAS a reason he was doing this. Not that the kid needed to know that one.
Once when he had started out in this job, his old company had been hired by a merchant prince to kill one of his rivals.
They had then been stiffed on payment, afterward, then chased off by actual Myrish Soldiers who couldn't be seen killing a merchant, but who could very much be seen trying to murder the guys who had killed him. That little episode had gotten a lot of their company killed and had gotten him a bolt in the ass as he rode away.
No one remembered it anymore, being just a small, insignificant little episode in the grand, and ever-changing tapestry that was the politics of the free cities.
He, however, had not forgotten it.
He had not forgotten the laughter of his fellow men as they removed the bolt from his arse. And he had not forgotten almost dying from infection from the wound.
He had made a point of following the merchant prince who had stiffed them from payment, even 30 years and 4 different companies afterward.
He had never become Myr's Grand Prince, but he was still alive, and the head of his rather wealthy family.
Tom would have his revenge upon the man, for that humiliation so many years ago. And hey, if the entire Nobility of Myr died with him and all their wealth became the property of the new king, that was just another great bonus as far as Tom was concerned.
As a last Hurrah, he would get to kill a few hundred people, and his newly freed slaves turned soldiers and farmers would laud as a glorious him for it.
That was a pretty good end to a long and gloriously bloody career.
