A/N: Chap 11 review responses are in my forums as normal. Thank you all for reading.
Chapter Twelve: Priestess of the Damned
The tidal plains in the delta of the River Rhoyne provided a safe place for her men to disembark and stretch out their kinks. They were far removed enough from the monsoon season not to be concerned with flooding.
With food coming in by the barge-full and four dromonds being donated to her cause, she should have been happy. As long as they left before the rainy season brought flooding, she would be fine in that regard.
The problem came with a series of barges filled with starving, beaten, often wounded or sick slaves. They were shipped over by the hundreds in all their abject misery. And in their midst, Taylor spotted a young YiTish woman wearing a flaming red robe cinched at the waist with a length of rope who carried all of her possessions in a small bag that hung from that belt.
"A priestess of R'hllor," Quaithe said as she and Missandei left the Saduleon to tour the Unsullied. The attrition rate so far accounted for two hundred twenty-two men and boys dead of disease or accident. Ser Jorah was busy working with Rezhal and Groleo coordinating the movement of thirteen thousand men onto the flood plains, while at the same time incorporating the five gifted Volantine dromonds and their crews into their fleet.
To the priestess's credit, she was guiding the slaves from the barges to dry spots where they could sit. She turned to see Taylor and Quaithe and bowed her head, but did not stop her work.
"You shouldn't have offered to take the slaves," Quaithe noted.
Missandei looked scandalized that Quaithe would say something like that, only to be confused when Taylor said, "Yeah, it probably wasn't a good idea. I just really hate the idea of slavery. How can a city call itself free if most of its population are slaves?"
"I find that freedom is a relative term, Aeksiae. The life of a slave in Volantis is not so different from the life of a smallfolk in Westeros."
"Could a slave of Volantis decide to leave home and seek their fortune in another city? Or make open their own business?"
"No. But that would be difficult for a lowborn of Westeros as well."
Taylor considered the fast-increasing crowds. "We're going to need help with this. Missandei, I need you to fetch a hundred Unsullied. I don't care which units, to help set up food kitchens for the freemen. Ser Jorah should be able to get food redirected."
"Yes, Aeksiae." The girl turned and ran back to the nearest squad of soldiers.
Quaith smiled behind her mask. "Her reading and writing are both coming along well," she noted.
"She's having trouble with math," Taylor said. "But her grasp of language is very good. Okay, let's do this." With her game face on, Taylor walked right up to the priestess. "What's your name?"
The Priestess turned calmly, and only then did Taylor see a tattoo of a flame on her right cheek. "I am called Zhan-Li, Holy One."
"Zhan-Li, are you staying with these people, or do you plan to return to the Temple?"
The woman blinked her eyes, as if the thought had not occurred to her. "I am a slave like them, Holy One. I was imprisoned and condemned to die as well, but the Lord of Light saw fit to deliver me to you."
The woman had a faint miasma of dark side energy around her, but not nearly as strong as what Taylor felt from the Warlocks. If the priestess had power, it was not strong. "If you will remain, Zhan-Li, I would prefer you call me Your Grace, Queen Rhaenys, or Aeksiae."
The priestess looked to Quaithe. "Aeksiae is a good word. If it pleases you, you shall be Aeksiae to me."
"Good. Now, we need to start making sense of these crowds. Keep families together. Any single women or children, place over there. Any single men, opposite. And anyone in urgent need of healing, send to a tent I'll have set up shortly. I've sent for men to begin preparing food. Get as many of these people as you can to help you."
Missandei returned with a squad of Unsullied, all kitted up as if ready for a fight. Taylor wasn't surprised to see Grey Worm led them. She motioned to the plain filled with gathering slaves. "We need these people fed. Eventually I wish for them to do the work themselves, but right now they need help. I need you and your men to work with Missandei there to get these people food."
The Unsullied looked confused for a moment, before overcoming their hesitation by snapping to attention. "It shall be done, Aeksiae," Grey Worm said.
The day went by in a blur. Under a large canvas tent, Taylor took up healing once more. With Quaithe and a few Unsullied, she set down some guidelines as she had several iron pots set to boiling.
"These are your rules," she said loudly to her impromptu medical staff. "Wash your hands in warm water between each patient. Do not get blood from one onto another. Do not get their blood or any other bodily fluid in your mouth, nose or eyes. If you have a cut of your own, return to your other duties. Any open wound you treat needs to be washed with hot water, boiled wine and clean linen. If you recognize the symptoms of an illness that is incurable, separate them from the rest in the second tent."
The sick and wounded came, then, by the hundreds. Far, far more than could be treated. What followed was the same horrid math Taylor had to use back in New Zealand. It wasn't just life or death, it was actually deciding who died, and who lived. Worse yet, she wasn't allowed to make the decision as a 19-year-old modern American using modern American morality and ethics.
No, she realized the morality of her new society early on when Quaithe quietly took away a hobbled, starving toddler to the incurable tent so that Taylor's table could be filled with a wounded man that had the potential of fighting in the future.
Endbringer triage. Cure the capes actually doing the fighting first, then civilians.
In a way, Taylor found herself depending on Quaithe. The masked Shadowbinder ended up performing the triage herself, bringing to Taylor those she could cure who could make the greatest difference to their cause.
Even so, not all could be cured.
Fortunately, most just suffered from malnutrition that Grey Worm and his men were even then helping to resolve. But many were suffering from intestinal parasites, ticks, lice, fleas, infected spider bites, snake bites and a whole host of illnesses that resembled things out of history books. If she had penicillin tablets, she could cure half the people there.
She didn't.
"You grace?"
Blinking tired eyes, she looked up to see Ser Jorah holding a bowl to her. "You've not eaten all day."
It shocked her to see stars shining over the dim torchlight of Volantis. Even in the largest cities, the light was not enough to obscure the stars.
The woman she'd healed of what felt like TB climbed off the table, her face flushed and her hands shaking as she prostrated herself. "Blessed Aeksiae, thank you!" Quaithe came and gently led the blubbering woman back out into the fields where the other freed slaves slept.
Rather than take the bowl, Taylor walked to one of the cauldrons of boiled water, used the dipper, and washed her hands as best she could. When she dug into her meal, it was to find a thick seafood chowder filled with vegetables, shellfish and a type of wheat noodles. "Thank you."
She climbed up onto her own table and looked around the tent. Quaithe was again proving her worth by ushering the last of their patients out. The two Unsullied who helped were given their own heaping bowls by their fellows from the food kitchen and collapsed into cross-legged positions to begin eating voraciously.
Quaithe joined her momentarily. Taylor met the woman's eyes. "You did great today."
The Shadowbinder bowed. "I did nothing, Aeksiae. Even in the deepest of my studies, I never knew any Binder or Master who could bring healing as you did today."
Taylor sensed a presence just outside the tent. Zhan-Li.
"That's because the magic and the gods of this world are steeped in darkness," Taylor said between bites. She spoke as much to the priestess as her friend. "Life is a balance. Life, death. Love, hate. Light, dark. But even those claiming to be of the light on this world stink of the dark. Darkness cannot heal. Only when there is a balance can we find peace in ourselves and healing to others. And...we have incoming."
"What...?"
Temeraire landed at the mouth of the tent, startling the two Unsullied there. The dragon had grown during their voyage to the size of a large mastiff, with a wingspan of seven feet. Elliot and Saphira were right behind him. Taylor hastily finished. "Yes, yes, I know. I've been ignoring you. Let's go play." She placed her bowl on the table. "Children," she said lightly to Quaithe. "So demanding."
Elliot was jumping up and down as Taylor stepped into the night. She saw the priestess of R'hllor walking quickly back to where the other slaves had gathered of the night. They didn't have tents for them, unfortunately, but the night was warm and humid enough Taylor didn't have to worry about hypothermia.
She spent another two hours running across the plains with her dragons flying after, or hunting in the marshes for the massive Volantine frogs or catfish as big as a man's leg. Needless to say, Taylor slept very well that night.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
.
Despite her best efforts, over a thousand of the freed slaves died of their wounds or illnesses by the time Taylor hit the end of her allotted two days in Volantis. The very young and very old were the predominant victims. Of the three thousand that remained, only eight hundred men and boys were old enough or willing to fight. The rest were women and children.
If she had the materials, she'd put a crossbow in the hands of every woman there. But weapons and material were scarce enough that only those who could make the most of them got weapons or armor.
She took them all anyway, putting them on their own ships away from the single men. In a world that did not view rape as a crime, she had no intention of having co-mingled ships.
The Volantine dromonds she was gifted with were actually better-made ships than the hulks she obtained from Slaver's Bay. They were almost as large as the hulks, with both fore and aft castles for fighting.
The only reason she didn't set them to pirating was because the crews were not her men. She was grateful to the Volantine Triarchy, but she trusted them about as far as she could throw one of their ships. She had no doubt the captains of the five donated ships would turn on her if she asked him to attack his own. After all, the ships were on loan to her, not given outright.
So as the dawn of the third day arrived, she ordered her army to board their various ships, now filled with new food supplies, and continued on their voyage westward.
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Two weeks into the trip from Volantis, Groleo spotted a sail on the horizon. By this time, the man no longer begrudged Taylor's presence on his aft castle. After all, it was the best place for her to watch her dragons as they flew around the boat.
Saduleon was the lead in their fleet. It was marginally faster than the dromonds, which Taylor kept around the hulks in an escort position. Which meant they were in the best position to spot the ship first. The pirates in the area had learned from others' mistakes and no longer bit when the Saduleon sailed alone.
"Lyseni," the captain said as soon as he saw their flags.
Taylor sensed no danger in the Force. When they drew closer, they saw that the ship was tacking into the wind, coming about to match their course and heading. Like everything on the water, it was a slow and ungainly process.
"It's Ser Barristan," she said.
Word of the new ship reached under the deck. Ser Jorah came from below. Missandei had never left the deck, though she stayed close to Taylor in case her queen needed her.
The whole process took almost an hour before the two ships reduced their sail enough to allow a dingy to bring the old knight aboard. Taylor didn't try to hide her relieved smile to see the older man well.
"Success, your grace," were his first words, his eyes gleaming proudly. "But there will be a cost."
"There always is."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
It was a difficult decision sending Ser Barristan alone to Lys. But the more she learned about the Disputed Lands, the more she realized she couldn't just park an army there to prepare for the invasion of Westeros. The three cities of Lys, Tyrosh and Myr regularly hired mercenary armies. One, Wilis Toyne's former Golden Army, boasted 10,000 veteran soldiers with elephants and siege engines. They were the largest, but far from the only.
It was like a giant game of football, in which the star players would switch teams at a moment's notice if the pay was good enough. And the one thing that would unite three sides of a war is for a fourth side to come in and make a nuisance of themselves. From what Taylor understood, there were no less than fifty thousand combatants in the Disputed Lands at any given time.
Nor were they idle. "The First Magister received word of fighting near the Tree of Crowns even as we spoke," Ser Barristan said, affirming that Taylor did not want her fledgling army blooded in another city's conflict.
"So, what are the terms?"
"Lys will support our cause by gifting us five galleas with crews and a hundred men each if we secure Torturer's Deep, a Harbor on an island just off the Gray Gallows, one of the larger islands of the Step Stones. They will pay you one hundred thousand gold dragons, the same they would pay for a year's service of the Golden Company. And we may stay in the harbor as long as we need to prepare for our greater mission, turning it over to the Lys's control after."
He pointed to the map. The island was mid-way between Essos and Dorne, an ideal strategic position from which to invade Westeros. "There's a catch," she said. "There has to be. The harbor's controlled by Myr or Tyrosh, and we'll get involved in the war?"
"Not as I was told, but I can't deny the possibility, your grace," Barristan said. "But even if not, it will not be easy. From what the Lysene told me, the harbor is held by twenty ships and over five thousand men, pirates all. Ironborn, Free Cities men, even Seven Kingdom's men. Summer Islanders. They've been plundering trade between the Free Cities, Summer Island and Westeros, taking advantage of the Seven Kingdoms civil war. And on that note, I do have news."
"They're all dead and they're asking me to come take over?" Taylor said hopefully.
Quaithe managed not to snicker. Missandei hid a smile, still unsure it was okay to laugh. Barristan just sighed. "I wish it were so. The King of the North has been held up at Riverrun and is quickly losing men. While King Joffrey is to wed Margery Tyrell. That will secure him the men and lands of Highgarden, and with Highgarden, the entirety of the Reach."
"Which gives the Iron Throne time to consolidate their control and marshal their forces against Stark," Taylor noted.
"Aye. It's already begun."
Taylor regarded the map. Across from Barristan, Ser Jorah said, "In truth, your grace, there was no hope of securing a base without blooding the men."
Taylor waived the concern. "I'm not worried about blooding them. I'm worried about the Lyseni lying to us to get a step ahead in their war with the other cities. The Stepstones are disputed territory, just like the actual Disputed Lands, right?"
"None of the cities fight too hard over them," Barristan said. "I made my name on the Bloodstone during the War of the Ninepenny Kings."
Nodding absently, Taylor studied the maps. "Then we continue on toward Lys for now. But I would like to talk to some of the newer members of our crew."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
Taylor found the man she was looking for on the Maiden's Bane, the first pirate galleas they took south of Valyria. On her orders, he had been transferred like the rest of the surviving crew off this pirate ship to ensure there was not any large group of gang-pressed pirates on any one ship.
The man stood out for two reasons-one, he had heavily tattooed, almost pitch black skin that gleamed with sweat as he worked. Two, he was over six feet. He wasn't slim. Men his size were not slim and cut in a world without free time enough to weight lift obsessively in the gym. Rather, he had a reasonably controlled but round belly and biceps of greater width than Taylor's thighs.
He started when she climbed aboard the galleas, evidently remembering how she dealt with his captain and crew. Her ever-present but unnecessary guards nodded to the other Unsullied on the ship as Taylor made her way to the former pirate.
"You're called Black Toraq?"
"Aye, you're grace." The man made the Common Tongue sound lyrical, rather than the mish-mash of First Man syntax and Andal vocabulary it was.
"I learned you were the First Mate of your ship. The captain was your friend?"
"Cap'm was a fool, your grace," Toraq said. "Told 'em not to attack your ship. Word tell came of a fleet from Slaver's Bay. Hungry young queen be wantin' ships. Told him it was a trap. Didn't feel right. Wind tasted wrong. Cap'm told me to give up my share o' gold if'n I weren't a fightin'."
She stepped to one side to better look at the tattoos on the right side of his face. "We're disrupting the rest of the crew. Come with me, Toraq. I'm sure the captain has some ale he can spare."
The captain, one of Groleo's more experienced and trustworthy men who was more than happy for a chance to command, was equally happy to give her his cabin with a tankard of ale. For propriety's sake, Taylor took her guard with her as they settled around the captain's cramped map table.
"Lys has offered us ships and money to sail to Torturer's Deep and take it on their behalf," Taylor said. "What does the wind taste like for such an enterprise?"
"Tastes like magister's a'laughin', pardon your grace."
"Because it's held by Myr or Tyrosh?"
"Both and neither, your grace. They're Tyroshi or Myrish ships. Tyroshi or Myrish crews. Under pirate flags. Thirty ships strong. Five, six thousand men. They raid the Seven Kingdom or Lyseni ships, leave the Myrish or Tyroshi ships alone. In a few years, it'll be Lys and Myr 'gainst Tyrosh, then Lys and Tyrosh 'gainst Myr. A game. Dice."
"With you and yours as the dice," Taylor summed up.
The main drained his tankard. "Just so."
It was tempting to give the man her trust. But all it took was a skimming of his surface thoughts to know that he would beat her down and rape her right there in the office if he was given the slightest opportunity. The captain she killed was his friend, and he hated her for the death. If he thought, even for a moment, he could get away with it, he would make her suffer. Toraq was not a nice man; he was a pirate by choice and trade.
She tossed him a Qartheen copper. "You've done well, Toraq. You may go."
He touched the coin to his forehead in thanks, and then left. Behind her, Gray Worm cleared his throat and revealed that he, too, was a good judge of character. "A bad man, Aeksiae."
"Even bad men have their uses, Gray Worm," she agreed. "But yes, he's not you or your brothers. He's not someone I can trust." She stood up and smiled at her Unsullied. "Have you ever wanted to be a pirate?"
Sadly, Gray Worm, like other Unsullied, was conditioned to be unable to smile. "I do not know, Aeksiae."
"Well, you're about to find out."
~~Quintessence~~
~~Quintessence~~
"You can't trust any common sailor," Ser Barristan said when she presented her plan. "Your grace, the man saw you kill his captain!"
"He did. And the entire conversation he wanted to gut me," she said. "And that was the nicest thought in his head. He wasn't lying though. Trust me, Barristan. I know when a man lies to me. Lys is trying to use us as a sell-sail company to clear out their enemies for them."
It actually made Taylor sad to see Barristan's disappointment. She knew he worked hard to get that agreement with Lys. He was a good, trusting man who believed the Lyseni magister's word was good. He did this because his own word was good.
"What made you think to ask this man, your grace?" Ser Jorah asked.
"They're offer of gold," Taylor said. "Because the moment they pay us, we're they're employees. And if we accept the gold and fight for them, we're no better than sellswords ourselves."
"I failed you, then," Ser Barristan said.
"Failed me?" Taylor reached across the map table in her room in the Saduleon and took the old man's calloused hand. "Ser Barristan, you did perfectly. You negotiated in good faith with untrustworthy allies. And because of you, we know where we're going to sail."
The man looked confused, but only for a moment. "You mean to take the harbor regardless."
"I do. I'm going to claim it for Westeros, and when we open negotiations with Dorne, I'm going to ask that Prince Martell take over the administration of the Stepstones on behalf of the Iron Throne. Right now, Dorne is our most important possible ally. Even if Prince Doran doesn't accept me as his niece, he might accept me as the best chance to accomplish his goals. Which is why you're not done with your mission, my friend."
Ser Barristan met her gaze and nodded. "I know Prince Doran. He is a good man. His brother is a viper at best, but Doran will at least hear my words."
"Set sail tomorrow," Taylor asked of him. "Tonight, rest."
"I shall, Your Grace."