Chapter 24 – The 26th day of July, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest
Ser Kevan Lannister was ushered into the Archon's palace at nightfall, for the magisters had stopped trusting the day.
Forty years had passed since his last visit to the city, when he had been but a spry youth of sixteen, newly knighted after the fighting in the stepstones. The War of the Ninepenny Kings had seemed such a grand adventure at the time, but now it seemed distant, almost like a pleasant dream he'd once had. Tyrosh itself looked much as he remembered it. The great black walls of fused stone, surpassed in size and grandeur only by those of Volantis. The great lighthouse that was the Bleeding Tower, four hundred feet in height, again surpassed only by its counterpart in Oldtown. The banks and trading cartels around the harbor that liked to brag they rivalled their Braavosi counterparts.
He passed the many shrines and temples that lay along the Dragon Way, some separated only by an alley and a stone's throw from the city's pleasure houses. Slaves outnumbered freemen three to one. On the surface, the city looked almost ordinary, as if the Stranger's Ring had never appeared, and the sky not come to teem with such bad omens. But he sensed this was an illusion. The tension was there if you looked for it. The slave markets were half empty. The constant stream of new arrivals out of the Disputed Lands had stopped practically overnight, like shutting off a tap. Even those flows from the Stepstones or the Basilisk Isles had slowed to a trickle. No wonder the magisters were in uproar.With the collapse of a dozen wars, their business model was already in ruins. Unless we can manage to start a new one.
Kevan had few qualms about doing just that. He only had to consider the state of his own family. Lancel, his eldest, was dead, beheaded on the steps of the Red Keep by the king's own justice. Willem was a prisoner, first of Robb Stark then (if the rumours could be believed) ransomed by the flying men and now in their clutches, lost somewhere through the Ring. Martyn, his twin, a lad of fourteen, marched off the war with his cousin Jaime. Only Janei, a babe of three, was safe, and then perhaps not for long.
Dorna had already emptied their manse in Lannisport and fled for the safety of the Rock. His wife always kept a candle burning for him and for each child when they were away. He had married a pious woman, and she prayed for them seven times daily. Tywin would keep them close, he knew. The two brothers had relied on each other for forty years, but he feared there were feats of which even his brother was incapable. Deep Den and the Golden Tooth…the old strongholds of the west would not hold out forever, and the Ironborn were already roaming offshore. The Rock would soon be under siege. And then none of his kin would be safe.
The journey from Lannisport had been three rather uncomfortable months. A pair of swift merchenters, the Lady Alicent and the Myraham had been hired to ferry him, the archon's brother and all their retainers down the west coast. They had parted from the Ocean Road just south of Crakehall, staying out of sight of land for eight long days, navigating by the sun and stars. Just when Kevan was starting to despair, a rocky headland had loomed on the horizon with the next dawn. The captain did not take long to recognize it, and announced they had passed Bandallon, the seat of House Blackbar, a dozen leagues behind. This had been a great relief. Between them and Oldtown were only houses sworn to the Hightowers.
Six days later they had passed Blackcrown and the Singing cliffs, before entering Whispering Sound. He had visited Oldtown on half a dozen occasions, but he had never seen the city mobilizing for war like this. They were boarded at the harbor by a party led by Ser Gunthor Hightower, the third son of Lord Leyton and now commander of the city watch (after the dismissal and exile of Ser Moryn Tyrell). Kevan, with Jollo Mallorys in tow, had been escorted to the Hightower by Gunthor personally. It was said Lord Leyton had not descended from his chambers in a decade. After the effort of climbing all the stairs, he could understand why. His knees had ached for days.
The lord himself received them in his solar. He was past sixty. His beard and hair rapidly turning grey, but Kevan was relieved to see his mind appeared sound, and there was a steely resolve under his frail physique. He greeted them warmly.
"Seven blessings to you ser, and to you, magister."
"Seven blessings to you, my lord."
"The archon brings his greetings, and his thanks, good lord" Jollo replied.
They were introduced to two more of his children. Malora, his eldest daughter, and Ser Humfrey, his youngest son.
"Stannis has turned to dark forces" the old lord warned, gesturing to letters on his desk, reportedly sent by his agents in King's Landing and elsewhere. He launched into a lengthy explanation. "This witch on his council says her god summoned this ring, but that is her smokescreen…" he concluded. "She summoned it herself, and now calls upon these flying men to do her bidding. She started by burning down the Great Sept and all inside, and Oldtown will be next if we do not stop her. The Most Devout are in agreement."
Kevan had heard many theories by this point, and this one seemed as good as any. He glanced at Jollo. "Perhaps that is so, my lord. No man seems to know how this was done."
"If any could do it, it would be her. Even in Oldtown we hear whispers of the shadowbinders of Asshai, those who make a deal with the Stranger, in return for some great power. Some wish for beauty, or eternal youth, or for revenge…the power to destroy their enemies. Perhaps this Red Woman asked for all three." He fixed Kevan with a look. "I heard you and your brother held parley with these men, once."
Ser Kevan grimaced. "Ser Barristan sought parley on their behalf. They wished for us to return to Casterly Rock. Fortunately, my brother did not listen. Otherwise we would have lost Myrcella as well, and all would have been lost."
"May the father have mercy on our good queen" Lord Leyton said piously, raising a hand over his heart. "It is a pity. Perhaps Robert's cause was just, as usurper of the mad king, but clearly it runs in the Baratheon nature. Now Stannis tries to do the same. May the father judge him harshly, though I hope the mother's mercy may still fall on Barristan Selmy…A once good man. He has been seduced by lies. He will meet a sore end, as Robert did, and Renly and Eddard Stark. Everywhere these 'flying men' go…there is chaos, and all those who choose to serve them are struck down before long, that much becomes clear. Now they have made a dark lord out of Stannis, but he too will fall, so long as good men hold true."
Kevan bowed his head. "I cannot express in words how grateful we are for your help, my lord. My brother sends his warmest regards, as does the queen. Without House Hightower, we would be besieged on all sides, and all hope of victory may have faded by now."
"Your words are kind, ser, but we are merely performing our duty. The Targaryens are gone, and if the Baratheons won't protect the faith, them someone must. House Hightower have long been its guardians, and I will not be the one to shirk that responsibility." He raised a frail arm to Ser Humfrey. "Let him accompany you, ser. You should go to Lys first, to my daughter. She has shamed us with her actions, it is true, yet her sins pale against this menace. She will aid you in your journey."
They had discussed their plans late into the night. Jollo Mallorys dithered a while, preferring to sail direct for Tyrosh. But by this point they had word of the bulk of the royal navy departing Blackwater Bay, and Kevan was not eager of meeting them along some anonymous stretch of Dornish coast. Ser Gunthor had hit upon a suggestion. Several swan ships lay at anchor in Oldtown at any given time, and could outrun any Westerosi galley with fair winds. This suggestion they had quickly accepted, and within two days they had transferred the chests of gold and silver and other precious goods onto the Red Saffron. Their parties had merged, and they set sail with all haste.
From there it had been well over a month's sailing, much of which they spent becalmed in great anxiety. They had again steered well clear of the coast. At one point the captain reckoned them to be a hundred leagues south of land. They had no company but clouds, excepting a school of dolphins that appeared off the bow one morning. Both crew and passengers, Westerosi, Tyrosh and Summer Islander, gathered to watch and laugh at the visitors, even throwing them a few precious fish from their stores. Before long they were watching them leap away, absent a care in the world. Kevan found himself in admiration.
This time he was certain they were lost, and doomed to drift at sea until thirst or hunger or some great storm would take them, but rocks had once again appeared on the horizon one morning, and two days later they were disembarking at Lys. Kevan bid farewell to the captain, grateful, even if the man had demanded thrice his usual fee for such a dangerous passage.
They were welcomed in Lys, and quickly escorted to the manse of Tregar Ormollen. Kevan had not seen Lynesse Hightower since the tourney at Lannisport ten years earlier, when Ser Jorah Mormont had won every tilt in which he rode, and ended the day winning her hand. She was close to thirty now but her looks had not yet begun to fade. Blonde hair and cream coloured skin. Yes, she has the Hightower look. Indeed, she could almost pass for a Lannister.
She had received them warmly enough, and they spent three nights at her manse, recovering. Ser Humfrey spoke with his sister, while Kevan and Jollo discussed politics with Tregar and the other magisters. News and rumours were swapped from west and east. Harrenhal had been razed to the ground by the flying men. The Dothraki had been repelled before Pentos when they summoned a rain of cursed fire. More red priests had arrived in King's Landing and proclaimed Stannis the true king. All of the free cities were hiring mercenaries and recruiting fresh levies. There were rumours Braavos was planning a march on Norvos, unless Myr and Tyrosh could strike north first.
In the end, Tregar had eagerly provided them with another pair of ships, and they had sailed north. They spent another fortnight winding their way through the Stepstones, until a trio of Tyroshi galleys met them one morning off the coast of the Disputed Lands. The captains greeted Jollo warmly, and soon their journey was nearing its end.
He had spent the last few days at Jollo's manse. The magister was unmarried, but that had not stopped him from acquiring half a dozen concubines and fathering at least ten children. The manse was crowded with servants and mewling babes, and every night they feasted and drank, celebrating their master's return. Kevan was given a comfortable room and ate beside the magister at meals. Even his knights and retainers were given more comfortable quarters than they were used to in Lannisport.
There were times he almost felt at home, until he saw the tattoos on the faces of the slaves, and the strange gods honoured in the manse's shrine. Valyrian gods. Syrax and Vhagar, Vermax and Shrykos. He knew the names best from the Targaryen dragons, though with most he did not know what they were the gods for. A god of the sky. A goddess of the hunt. Deities for the harvest and the sea and for beauty. The freehold had worshipped a polytheistic pantheon, and most of its children still clung to that faith. Kevan could only wonder at this. How could you keep worshipping gods that had turned on you? Reducing your land to ash and bone?
He was disturbed too, when Jollo took the liberty of picking out a woman for him. Ser Kevan found her waiting in his bed one night after a particularly drunken supper. He had to admit, the magister had picked well. A pretty blonde, with the Westerosi look, no older than twenty and thin as a willow. For a moment he found himself thinking of his niece, of Cersei, newly flowered. He felt blood rushing to places it had not rushed in some time, but he hesitated. He had sat on the end of the bed and they had talked.
Her name was Jeyna and she spoke the common tongue. He asked her where she had come from. She knew very little. It seemed her mother was a 'sunset woman' taken in a raid on a passing ship many years earlier, then branded and set to work in the city's brothels. Soon she had been with child, and her daughter had eventually grown and taken up the same trade. He asked her if she would choose to do something else if she could, and the girl had shrugged. 'We eat well every night. Our bellies are always full in the pleasure houses'. She was glad she had not been born a boy. After her, her mother had twin boys. A few years earlier some magister had taken them to go fight in the Disputed Lands and she had never seen them again.
She had asked about his family in turn, and he had told her, of the son he had lost, of his own twin boys and the dangers they faced. She had held his hand and stroked his hair while he talked. He had even shed some tears, which he chastised himself for later. Tywin would never have cried, especially not in front of some whore. In the end he had dismissed her and gone to bed by himself. He would remain faithful to Dorna. His wife was what he clung to most in this world, in times of peril more than ever.
Now he was being quietly ushered into the palace. Everyone there seemed subdued, as if merely raising your voice could bring down the wrath of the flying men from another world. They passed through iron studded doors and down dark stone corridors, filled with tapestries of dragons and monsters and doom. Jollo met him at the doorway, clasping his hands over his own, and Ser Kevan and Ser Humfrey were quickly led into the archon's private chambers, though it was more of a palace in and of itself.
Torches had been lit on each wall, but the black stone made the room seem darker than it was. He saw magisters and sellswords, priests and merchant princes, representing at least six cities. The archon sat in an elaborate chair that was scarce less than a throne. There were a dozen representatives each from Lys, Myr and Volantis, fewer from Norvos and Qohor. He passed a cluster of pirate lords who supposedly ruled their own rocks in the stepstones and maybe paid homage to Tyrosh on occasion. Represented too, were at least a score of mercenary companies.
A herald announced their arrival over the general murmur of conversation, and they were escorted to a pair of seats down a long table. He heard other names being mentioned. Gylo Rhegan of the Long Lances. Bloodbeard the Red of the Company of the Cat. The Tattered Prince of the Windblown. Mero of the Second Sons. Prendahl na Ghezn of the Stormcrows. Lysono Maar of the Golden Company…Ser Kevan found his ears pricking up at that last one. He had hoped for the commander, which he knew to be Harry Strickland. He supposed the man must still be in Myr, his current employers.
"Good magisters, knights and lords, captains and soldiers of fortune" the Archon began, when all seemed to have assembled. Kevan's High Valyrian was rusty, but Ser Humfrey must have been a more diligent student than him. The young knight whispered a translation in his ear when needed. "We are gathered today to discuss a grave matter…To defend ourselves against the great menace that has emerged on the far side of the sea. This plague…of men and monsters, Hōzalbori, with which we have been cursed." He looked around the room, staring at each man in turn. "I fear, perhaps, we have not been in such peril since the gods of old brought down the Doom on our forefathers…"
He went on at some length, picking out several men of distinction, some of whom rose to speak for a few moments. Soon, it was Kevan's turn. "From across the narrow sea, we welcome Ser Kevan Lannister, brother to Lord Tywin, old lion of the rock of gold. Uncle of the true queen Myrcella. We welcome too Ser Humfrey, son of the Lord Hightower of Oldtown. They seek alliance with Tyrosh and the Free Cities against this foe."
Kevan rose, as a hundred pairs of eyes turned to him. He had practiced this part, at least. "My brother sends his greetings, as does the queen" he pronounced carefully in High Valyrian. "We seek the aid of the mighty magisters to return her to her rightful throne and close this Sunset Ring for good. We bring all the gold of Casterly Rock and the Hightower, and the prayers of millions in the sunset lands." He bowed gently to the archon and resumed his seat.
Three magisters from the Conclave of Myr rose, demanding an immediate march on Pentos. Their counterparts from Lys pledged three hundred ships to send men by sea. The envoy from Volantis rose and promised a hundred thousand men, and hinted at great weapons of war being brought from the east. A blue-lipped warlock from Qohor claimed that the glass candles were burning once more, and he had seen terrible visions of fire and death in the flames. A pair of bearded priests from Norvos proclaimed the Sunset Ring to herald the end of days. They promised them victory if every man whipped himself bloody and repented for his sins, then removed their hair shirts to show the raw scars that crisscrossed their pale backs.
As the hour grew late drinks and supper were served. Hundreds of slaves entered, carrying a feast worthy of a royal coronation. The gathering broke up into a dozen different clusters. Kevan, with Humfrey by his side, allowed Jollo to introduce him to the archon personally. They discussed the proportioning of ships. Myr wanted every available galley to attack Pentos. Tyrosh and Lys were more supportive of Myrcella's cause, but had been arguing over who should be the one sending ships across the Narrow Sea. The issue was unresolved when several men approached them. Kevan turned, recognizing the Westerosi features.
"Ser Kevan. I am honored to meet you. I am Ser Laswell Peake."
Kevan nodded, examining the man's fine attire, and the golden rings on his arms. "House Peake of Starpike? I am familiar with them of course."
The brawny knight cracked a grim smile. "Once we owned much more than Starpike" he replied. "My great-grandfather ruled Whitegrove, before the usurper took it from him."
Ser Kevan paused, for a moment thinking of Robert, then realized he was about a century too late. Daeron the Second he meant, the Targaryen king of a hundred years earlier, when his half-brother Daemon had rebelled, starting the line of the Blackfyre pretenders. The Golden Company had tried to take Westeros three or four times since, depending on how one counted the rebellions. He wondered if he had met this man's father or grandfather on a battlefield in the Stepstones once.
"It is good to meet you. Once, I think, we were enemies."
"Before my time" the knight replied smoothly. "But we are all familiar with House Lannister, and your brother's reputation. I came here with my own brothers." He turned and introduced them as Torman and Pykewood Peake, who both nodded at Kevan in turn. The Golden Company was probably the largest sellsword company in all Essos, and Ser Laswell introduced him to several more of their members. There were several bastard knights, a Rivers, a Flowers and a Stone. Most were Westerosi, but of most interest to him was their leader here. "Lysono Maar" Ser Laswell introduced, "our company spymaster."
The man approached, dipping his head to Kevan in turn. He could tell at a glance he was Lyseni, so strong were his Valyrian features. He almost looked a woman. "Ser Kevan. It is an honor."
"The honor is mine, ser" he replied automatically. In truth, he had never heard the name before. "I am familiar with your captain. Harry Stickland, is it not? I hoped he would be here."
"Captain Stickland remains in Myr, preparing the company for battle" the lilac-eyed spymaster confirmed.
Ser Kevan frowned. "Then is the company to march north?" he demanded. "Has this already been decided?"
"It is the intention of the Conclave" Lysono replied. "The Golden Company has the finest warriors to be found in either Westeros or Essos. It is the wish of the Triarchy that we lead the attack north."
"With all due respect to the great magisters, I think this is a mistake" Kevan replied. "There are twenty other mercenary companies that could lead this attack. The Golden Company are well known as exiles from Westeros, and the sons and grandsons of exiles. Where will they fight hardest, fighting in Essos, or in their lost homeland?"
Lysono dipped his head. He glanced around the room, to be sure they were not being overheard. "Some have discussed this possibility. Until your arrival, I could not be sure that another offer of employment would be extended."
"Then be unsure no longer. The queen has sent me precisely to make that offer. Stannis, this new usurper, has marched west on Casterly Rock. King's Landing is open to attack from the east, though this won't be the case forever. It would be better to strike sooner."
Lysono considered this a moment. "The company would need ships, at least a hundred, to move west."
"The archon has assured me such ships will be available" Kevan replied. "May I ask how many fighting men you have?"
"We are ten thousand strong, ser" Lysono replied. "Including two thousand riders, five hundred of them knights. Black Balaq commands a thousand archers, and we have two dozen war elephants. No cavalry in the seven kingdoms could withstand them."
"I have heard as much" Ser Kevan admitted. "The company has a fierce reputation. Still…" he made a show of shuffling his weight from one foot to the other. "You must be aware that Stannis calls on dark forces. The red priests, and whatever horrors they have summoned through this Ring…"
Lysono Maar cocked an eyebrow. "You believe the red priests summoned these Hōzalbori?" He shook his head sadly. "No, they do not have this power."
Ser Kevan kept his face neutral. "I have heard a many different things…may I ask what you believe, ser?"
The spymaster frowned, seeming to give the matter serious thought. "I believe the gods play japes on us all, Ser Kevan. My ancestors were humble farmers, tending to their sheep, until the gods blessed us with dragons. Or cursed us, if you prefer. With their power we conquered the world, until we grew too proud and they struck us down again." He paused a moment. "Now they play another jape. Exactly what it will be, no man knows, but everything the gods do serves a purpose. Usually, it is to punish the wicked, and to reward the just and humble."
"Do you consider yourself a humble man?" Ser Kevan was compelled to ask, glancing up and down at the man's garments. Half the ladies in Lannisport did not dress so richly.
Lysono Maar smiled now. "Perhaps not, ser." He leaned in slightly. "But I do believe our cause is just."
Kevan took this proclamation as a good sign. He lowered his voice slightly, glancing around the room. "It is my understanding that the Golden Company has never broken a contract?"
"No" the Lyseni replied. Another pause. "Then again, no king or queen of Westeros has ever invited us home…"