Nitocris I
Fear Not Little Pharaoh, I Am With You
Nitocris of Mereen groaned, the movement of the ship beneath her waking her from her slumber, the constant swaying of the wooden vessel keeping her from whatever good rest she might have hoped for. As she felt the rolling motion once more, she was forced to open her eyes, and saw that she was still inside the cabin of her brother's sailing ship. She placed her hands to her face, and proceeded to wipe at the lower parts of her eyes, trying to push away the sands of the night. It took only a moment, but soon, she could open her eyes, and see the cabin freely. She laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment, before shaking her head.
'Such a strange dream,' she thought. She was always on a boat, a long flat one, going down an unfamiliar river. Unlike the river that bordered Mereen, this one was wide, and blue. The waters were clear, so much so that one could look down and see the river bed beneath it, and the bright healthy fish that called that river their home swimming to and fro through the water. On the side of the river, there were shots of bright green reeds, taller than men, covering the banks. On the sides of the bank, mighty crocodiles sat and baked beneath a warm and inviting sun.
Nitocris was always standing at the front of this boat. The boat itself was a long barge, and yet, where slave oarsmen should have sat, there was no one. And yet the oars themselves continued to dip and weave into the water, propelling the barge further along the great river. The speed of the thing was unimaginable, cutting through the water, with the destination only known to the wood, barge and oars alike, itself.
Nitocris herself stood at the front of the barge. She wasn't wearing the traditional Mereen tokar, but rather an almost scandalous pair of white fabric covering her chest and her crotch. Her head was adorned with a large golden headdress, covering her head, and snaking down to form a sort of necklace around her neck. On top of the headdress was a golden jackal staring out towards where the boat was going.
And as the dream continued, the sun was setting, slowly, down towards the river. And yet, instead of shrinking beneath the horizon as it sank, it began to get closer, and larger. And larger. And larger.
And then the boat came to the sun itself, sitting at the end of the great river. The sun just sat there, and the barge slipped forward, the oars never slowing in their rowing. The barge would then touch the sun, and suddenly, the river was gone, and the barge was instead rowing through the night's sky. The oars would continue to row, moving and pushing the stars and moons out of the way, as the boat continued forward.
Finally, the oars pulled up, and the barge slowed as there was no more propulsion pushing it forward. The ship would soon come to a stop. At this stop, was a large set of scales, with two beings looking down at her. On the one end, was the man with the head of a long beaked bird, a scroll in its hand. And on the other, was a monstrosity, a demon, with the long head of the crocodile, the front paws and chest of a lion, and the hind legs of a hippopotamus. The thing seemed to pant as it looked at her, hungry.
The bird-man would point at the scale, and Nitocris, understanding the order, would shove her hand inside her chest, and pull out her heart. She would then place the heart on the scales, and then wait. The bird-man would pull up a feather, one that she had originally been meant for writing, and place it on the scale opposite the heart. And then the scales would shiver and quake, jumping back and forth as the heart and the feather were weighed against one another. All the while the demon crocodile stared at her, hunger and hatred in its cold eyes.
As she stared at the weighing of her heart, Nitocris would begin to shake. She knew, if it went wrong, the demon would eat her. First her heart, then her. There would be nothing left, and she would disappear down the monster's gullet, to be digested for all eternity. As the weighing began to slow, the fear would begin to overwhelm her…until she would feel a hand on her shoulder. She would then hear the words that had punctuated so many of her dreams since she had been but a small girl.
Fear Not Little Pharaoh, I Am With You
Then she woke up. She had never managed to turn and see the being who had said that to her. All she knew was that it was a comforting feeling, enough to give her some comfort in the face of the monster planning on devouring her. She always wished to see the face of the man who had promised to protect her, but it was denied to her.
'So strange,' she thought, again taking in the room she had been given on her brother's Felucca, one of the finest boats in all of Slaver's Bay, 'What could it mean,' she rolled onto her side, 'I suppose that even sleeping on a boat will not give me the answers I seek,' she sighed, looking around at the room, 'Excellent room though it may be.'
The thing was covered in expensive silks and cushions from Qarth and the Free Cities, sweet smelling perfumes wafting through the wood to keep the rotten smell of the sea from her delicate nostrils, and there was even a mirror, a massive, expensive thing, something that even most of the wives of the the other Great Masters could not say to have, especially on a ship such as this.
'Of course, most don't have a brother as great as I do,' Nitocris thought, pushing herself from her bed, and continuing to rub her eyes as she sat down in front of the mirror. She looked herself over, and sighed, 'You aren't getting younger, are you?'
She had just turned thirty years old, and yet, even as the only daughter of the house of Tihxs, and only one of two children, she had somehow never been engaged to be married. It wasn't as though no men had desired her, Men from House Zhak and House Pahl had attempted to court her. Rather, she had simply preferred to support her brother in his endeavors.
'And oh, it seems those endeavors had been quite fruitful,' she thought smiling, as she picked up her Tokar, and began to tie the silk fabric about her figure, and shook her head, 'After all, that is why he and you are aboard this ship.'
She smiled to herself, and then looked over at her sleeping cot. She looked over the spread out set of blankets and sheets, and shook her head. She might have wanted to go back to sleep, but better to get moving and prepare for the coming day. After nearly two weeks of sailing upon the waters of Slaver's Bay, they were coming up to their destination. She twisted away form the mirror, and marched over to the door out of the cabin.
She was met with a burst of senses. The sun fully hit her eyes, and she had to hold up her hand to keep it from temporarily blinding her. Her nose smelled the salt of the sea itself, digging into her nostrils. And her skin shivered as the brisk sea air slammed into her. As she shook her head to regain her footing, she heard the sounds of feet marching up beside her.
"Good morning mistress," Nessi, one of her hand slaves, with tanned skin and tied back red hair, bowed as she approached Nitocris, "I was told you wished to sleep for another hour or so," her eyes flicked up, trying to gauge Nitocris's mood, "Is there anything wrong? May I be of any assistance?"
"Ummm," Nessi had been one of her closest hand slaves for nearly a decade now, and had always known the best way to treat Nitocris's desires. To follow the basic outline of responsibility, but to allow some leeway so that Nitocris could enjoy herself when it was not serious. This was about to be serious, so Nitocris finally sent back, "No, I shall be fine. We should be landing soon, and it would be better that I am awake for the arrival," she looked up a level, at another door, this one even larger than the one she had come out from, "Has my brother woken?"
"Yes mistress," the girl shook her head, her eyes pointed more towards the front of the ship than the upper door, "I believe he is at the bow of the ship," she pushed her hand forward, "Your brother seems to be watching as we come to port."
"Excellent," Nitocris smiled, "Clean my room while I am speaking with my brother. I must consult him on our plans for the nonce."
"Of course mistress."
Nitocris swerved along the deck of the ship, passing both freemen and slaves alike, as she climbed forward towards her brother. All aboard this vessel were Tihxs retainers or property, and all of these were by right, owned by her brother. One of the Great Masters of Mereen, Yemsaf had risen far despite only being thirty-five, having taken over as head of the family from his father Pepi. And, as Nitocris finally made it to the front of the ship, she smiled as she saw him standing at the bow of the ship.
Yemsaf was fairly tall, at least a head higher than Nitocris herself, and was broad shouldered. Like her, he wore a tokar, but whereas her's was beautiful white silk, his was black, with dozens of gold and silver threads sewn through it, causing his robe to shine as the sun hit it. His head was completely shaven, a way to hide the early baldness that Nitocris had taken advantage of to mock her elder brother. He was looking out onto the horizon, to the landmass they had been traveling for the past weeks to, and his face was covered in concentration.
"Brother," she announced, and Yemsef turned on his heel, looking over at Nitocris as she joined him on the bow of the ship. His deep thought seemed to dissipate for a moment, and he smiled at her as she made her way up to him. His face had been handsome, before the scars from his experiments had left him with a long burn mark along his left eye down to the tip of his throat. Still, she had long ago become accustomed to his wounds, "How much time before we make landfall at New Ghis?"
"It should be in a few hours," he said, his eyes monitoring the growing specs on the horizon. Yemsaf had been one of the few of any of the great families to attempt to study mystic arts, mostly through his attraction to alchemy, and in particular, the desire to create gold from other elements. The failure of his largest attempt was what had scarred his face, and ultimately caused him to become more of a recluse in Mereen society, a status that Nitocris had followed him in.
Despite that failure, however, he had managed to make several strides with other goals, in particular in medicines. Even though he would always prefer to study his magics and magecraft, he was an excellent apothecary, the best in all three of Mereen. Mixed with the Tihxs already established massive reserves of wealth in slaves and property, it had made him one of the most respected and honored men in the whole of the city. Whenever a sickness passed through the city, plague or fever or rot, it was Yemsaf of Tihxs that would be called to determine the cause and to find the treatment.
Which was why he and Nitocris were now on this voyage to New Ghis. The Tyrant of the city, smallest of the heirs of Harpy, had sent forth an invitation some months ago, calling for the great and the powerful to arrive in New Ghis for a conclave. The exact purpose had not been spelled out, but the announcement had been that it had been done in the name of "Grazdan the Great".
Nitocris winced, just as she had done before when she had first seen the message. It had been a scandal as soon as it had arrived, one that had angered the entirety of Mereen's upper society. It was the height of arrogance for some upstart politician from the whelp of Grazdan's empire to declare himself speaking for the founder's legacy. From what she had heard, there was also uproar in Astapor and Yunkai, Mereen's sister cities. There was not a high level master who had not been personally insulted by the usurpation of their founder's name by the whelp.
Yet, they were all coming. Some to seek the Tyrant's contrition. Others to openly laugh in his face. Still others, merely eat and drink off the wealth of the tyrant, for the conclave's provisions were to be provided by the city of New Ghis.
Say what you will about the Slave Masters of Slaver's Bay, they knew a good deal when they saw one.
"So strange to be coming here now," Nitocris offered up, trying to serve as a sketching board for her brother to draw up his ideas, "Why would New Ghis call us now. It is not as though there has been some great build up in their Legions," she, like all members of the slave cities, refused to allow them the title of Lockstep, "What makes them think they have the right to dictate to us subservience?"
"I don't know," Yemsaf continued to stroke his chin, "And that worries me," he looked back over his shoulder towards the island, "I feel there must be some kind of trick up their sleeve. Something they are planning," he looked to his sides, and pointed to another ship coming up alongside them, "There is one of the nephews of the head of the Pahl clan," he then pointed to the other side, and several other ships coming up along starboard, "There is Hazkar and Loraq," he stared at them, "They seem to be bringing up some Unsullied on all the ships."
Nitocris focused on the Hazkar ship, and did see the unmistakable shields and spears of the Unsullied aboard the ship. Not too many, but at least a few dozen. Her eyes drifted to the other ships, and she saw more and more of these eunuch warriors dotting the brows of the ships. Altogether, from the ships around them, there were Unsullied.
"The Masters are preparing for a fight?" her brother nodded at her question, and then paused at her follow up, "Then why didn't we bring any?"
"I felt that it would be a waste of resources," he finally answered, "If they are so confident in their plans, they will have been preparing for an entire army of Unsullied, not a few hundred who have never practiced combat with one another before," he shook his head, "Even after all the training we implement with those Eunuchs, they still have to have time to build comradery between each specific group."
"You can't remove their full humanity," Nitocris admitted, groaning a bit, "Even with all they go through."
"No," Yemsaf placed a hand on Nitocris's shoulder, and looked her dead in the eye, "We will be arriving shortly. The Conclave will start this afternoon, what with the Mereen delegations arriving today," he let out a short breath, and then his eyes looked away, "Whatever you do, be careful, and follow my lead when we head in."
"Of course brother," Nitocris nodded, and her brother then smiled at that affirmation, and then let go over her shoulder. She turned back towards the rest of the boat, "I'll go get ready with Nessi, so I can be well dressed for entering New Ghis," she began to burst off down the side of the ship, back towards her room. She heard her brother's laugh behind her as she ran.
"Don't work too hard on that," he declared, his voice carrying over the tumult of the soon to be docking Felucca, "We don't want these upstarts to think we respect them or anything. Or let some of these vermin steal something valuable!"
For all of her pride in the greatness of Mereen, even Nitocris was in awe of the amount of activity that flowed through the streets of New Ghis. Unlike the bricks of Mereen, Yunkai and Astapor, the streets and buildings were made of great stone slabs. These stone slabs were a mix of white and gray, and they were clean. There was none of the waste that often would gather in Mereen's streets. And these streets were clearly marked, with the right side people going towards the center of the city, and the left side coming out of the center, towards the port. There were even little areas, where streets met, where carts and people could change direction, unlike the chaotic movement that she had often seen in her home city.
Along these stone streets were many stone buildings. These stone buildings were filled with openings that lead to small shops on the bottom floors of two to three story buildings. And in these buildings, it was hard not to spot almost anything one could imagine. There was simple stores for fruit, pottery, fish, fabrics and other things that one might find in any port city in the world. But there were also more exotic stores, Exotic monkeys and lizards from Sothoryos, silks from Yi Ti, stuffed seals and carved whale bones from Ibben. Those and more could pass in but a half mile walk up the causeway toward the center of New Ghis.
And that was ignoring the slave pavilions and shops. There were massive courtyards where newly caught slaves from the whole of the world could be bought and sold for an extreme profit. One look could show Brindled Men From Sothoryos, the long people of Leng, and even the so-called free men of the Lands of the Sunset, and then buy them. Then, there were places that used slaves, in particular, Nitocris couldn't help but twitch a bit as she looked in one, Pillow Houses.
Slavery was part of all cultures. Nitocris had known this since her first steps. A servant, carrying a jug, had bumped into her, and knocked her down. That careless girl had been taken out back and whipped thrice for daring to harm a child of the great house of Tihxs. Places that claimed to be free were merely deluding themselves of their condition, or were hypocrites that did not recognize their own bindings. Yet, she could not find it in herself to accept the pillow houses as anything but a gross over reach. Slaves were meant to work. Not to be fucked.
Still, she pushed the thoughts from her head, making sure to follow her brother and the rest of the entourage of their house as they made their way to the inner city. And as they went further, they finally came along an even larger road, one that seemed to be one of the main veins of people. Unlike the previous roads, these were made with brick, but like the previous roads they were clean, contrasting once again with the busy highways that cut through Mereen between the Pyramids of the Great Houses. Nitocris was almost glad to be here, rather than hostin a conclave, for part of her knew that the men of New Ghis would be able to sneer at Mereen's dirty roads with actual justification.
Along the main causeway they had arrived on, the buildings got even larger. While there were still shops, they were now placed alongside temples with massive statues out on the front, massive banks that had men discussing business outside them, and theaters, with rudimentary drawings on the front, showing dozens of possible plays that were taking place inside them. The crowds were still here, but the greater space allowed Nitocris to see the people moving in and out more easily. She could see instead of the Tokar, the men and women seemed to wear loose fitting robes, with sashes around their bodies, with a few out of the crowd having more colorful sashes, indicating their ranks in comparison to those around them.
And she also saw their legionnaires. Unlike the Unsullied, they were wearing heavier armor, with thin plates placed one over the other across their torso, and greaves covering their shins and forearms. Since they were also not slaves, they were less at attention, many standing around in sets of four alongside the banks and temples, providing a presence of peace that, obviously, the Slaver Cities could never entrust to Eunuch Slaves. Nitocris almost supposed having these citizen soldiers act as guards made theft and murder less likely in the open day time, and with them being free, they could converse on a level manner with the citizens going about their business.
"Look," Nitocris returned her attention from the people around her group, and suddenly to where one of her brother's house slaves pointed. About a quarter mile away, there was a massive circular courtyard, with stone sidewalks being filled with small planters filled with trees and small obelisks shooting out of the ground. And atop the obelisks were small flags, all with a green hew and the familiar symbol of the harpy.
And in the middle of this massive courtyard was the largest building she had seen in New Ghis. It was a massive building and its round shape led Nitocris to realize that this must be the great fighting pit of New Ghis. The thing was at least ten stories tall, and was as wide as ten blocks of the street. Even Daznak's Pit, impressive as it was with multicolor benches, was smaller than this one. As they approached the Greatpit, as she knew the citizens of this city called it, she noticed that there were openings along the walls of the massive building. On the bottom, there were gates, like for entrances. But the openings on the higher levels were each filled with a massive statue of a harpy, standing vigilant, its eyes peering down to the road beneath it.
"They certainly don't do anything by half measure," she heard her brother say, and Nitocris had to agree.
"For a whelp of a city," Nitocris offered up, and then, she heard laughter burst out from the party. Best to remind themselves of their superiority before dealing with these upstarts. If they came into the conclave with any less than the proper amount of indignation, if the impressiveness of New Ghis's city distracted them from their impropriety, then they would not be able to come at them with full force for their arrogance in claiming the mantle of Grazdan. This was not a time for sightseeing.
It was time for action.
And yet…Yemsaf himself did not join in the laughter. His eyes were too busy flicking around the streets as they passed. At first, Nitocris wondered if he was beginning to be overwhelmed by the sights of the new city, even though he had never been one prone to awe. But no, as she followed his eyes as they made their way past the great pit of New Ghis, she saw that his eyes were always focusing on one thing. The Legionnaires that were standing about. As he did so, she began to wonder what he might have seen, and gently pushed her way up the entourage until she arrived next to her brother.
"Do you think the soldiers here are watching us?"
"No," her brother stated, "And that is what worries me," he continued to walk forward.
Nitocris did her best to maintain pace with her brother as they made their way past the Greatpit, and towards a hill. From this angle, she could see a long walkway running up from the third level of the pit to a massive Pyramid on top of the hill, the only Pyramid in the whole of the city she had seen thus far. Unlike Mereen, where Pyramids were the residence of the mighty families and the rest of the residences were more modest, most of the residences in New Ghis were more like average housing, only with larger homes for the Greater Families. It made it hard to distinguish at a glance.
As they made their way up the hill, Nitocris finally saw another large round building, though this one was fully enclosed, unlike the pit. In fact, the large circular building was actually surrounded by a massive rectangle that was held up by major columns that lead into the main pit of that building. Like the Greatpit itself, she could see another long stone building leading from this massive, strange building, and into the tall pyramid on top of the hill.
"There are four such corridors," Nitocris turned to see her brother, who seemed to notice her questioning of the design, "That Pyramid is always given to the Tyrant of New Ghis, who rules the city for three years," he pointed up at the massive pyramid, "While there is a palace in there, it is also filled with administration and councilors who allow the business of the city to continue to run," he then pointed back at the long stone buildings connecting the pyramid to both the GreatPit and to the new building, "The four corridors lead to the Greatpit, the Slavehold, the Grainhouse," and his hand moved to the strange mixed circular and rectangular building, "and the HighForum. That is where the high families gather to discuss the politics of the city," his frown deepened, "And where we shall be entering for the Conclave itself."
It had only taken a few minutes for the Tihxs to make it inside the HighForum. The rectangular building with columns had been very open, mostly serving as a courtyard for the different parties of individuals to gather. Nitocris had quickly been able to recognize the individuals who had arrived from Mereen, and it hadn't taken long to understand that the men and women wearing Tokars that she personally didn't recognize were from Yunkai and Astapor.
Unlike the atmosphere outside the HighForum, however, there was nothing but a dark mood inside the massive building. The dozens, if not hundreds, of slave masters from the three Slaver Cities were muttering among themselves. While Nitocris could here some general business being discussed, slave contracts and the like, and could also see some familial gatherings, what she primarily sensed was barely restrained rage.
"These upstarts think they have the right to call us her-" one man from Yunkai declared.
"The streets are so clearly being manipulated for an impression," a woman from house Reznak of Mereen, scoffed, "No city can keep their streets that clean constantly. I bet forced all their slaves to come and clean the streets of this section of the city to make it appear better than it really is."
"The charge for those Leng slaves was insane," two men of Astapor nodded to one another, "It was outrageous to charge that much. I'd get twice as man-"
"You can feel the anger here," she commented to her brother. He himself was looking around, observing the mass of Masters discussing their plans before the Conclave began in a few moments. Yemsaf didn't say anything for a moment, before shaking his head, causing Nitocris to blink for a second, waiting for him to respond. Finally, he turned around, and made for Nitocris to lean in next to him.
"It's not anger," he whispered, "It's Envy."
"Envy?" Nitocris whispered back.
"Yes," Yemsaf waved his arm towards the men of Astapor, "They are upset because there are better more exotic slaves here than in their home, it's why they are being charged so much," then to the woman from Mereen, "and I highly doubt that after a massive cleaning meant to hide the filth of the city, the city would allow that many people and carts into the streets, with all the waste that naturally arrives," he shook his head, "Even the anger at the call of the conclave…"
"But to use Grazdan's name for this," Nitocris quickly interjected. Even she, a woman outside the inner workings of politics, had felt insulted by the use of the great founder's name by the Tyrant of New Ghis.
"Yes, it is a transgression," Yemsaf nodded at that, but then added, "But what really irks every high master and politician of the Slaver Cities isn't that New Ghis is reaching for a title it has no claim to," he then looked up at a nearby statue of a Harpy, staring down patiently at the crowds of people conversing with one another, "It's that it is closer to that title than any of the other Slaver Cities. More than Astapor. More than Yunkai," he paused, before sighing, and looking back at Nitocris, "More than even Mereen."
Nitocris nodded. Now that she thought about it, none of the cities of Slaver's Bay had been as clean and dynamic as New Ghis had been as they had entered. For all their wealth, for all the history. For all the slaves that filled those places, none of them were bustling with the amount of traffic from outside traders that New Ghis had been. None of them had the vast amounts of wealth from surrounding territories that New Ghis had. None of them…none of them were as great now as New Ghis was.
And the Masters of the Slaver Cities knew it.
TWEEEEP
The conversations of the many masters came to an end, as they turned to see a man, a slave if one could guess from his plain tunic, holding a whistle between his lips. The man stopped, and then stepped aside, as a tall man with a short gray beard, one who wore clothes of the upper rings of New Ghis, stepped forward. His back stood straight, his eyes sweeping across the members of the Great Houses, and he smiled.
"Fellow Heirs of Ghis!" he declared, throwing his arms out wide, "Welcome to the Conclave of New Ghis!" Though the crowd only glared in response, he continued as he had been being cheered by the throngs he was speaking to, "This is the greatest day for our people since the Dragon Men burned," he continued despite the silence, "Please make your way into the rotunda, there have been seats marked for the mighty masters of all of our sister cities."
"Yo-" one of the people behind Nitocris began, before closing his mouth. Nitocris could imagine the rage in her compatriots' hearts. New Ghis had never been granted any recognition as a sister of Mereen or the other Slaver Cities. It was just one more presumption of the upstart against them.
Despite this, the crowds of Masters began to pile through the openings into the large circular part of the GreatForum. At first, there had been a bit of a crowding issue, with too many trying to force their way in with others at the same time, however, after only a bit of work, the Masters made their way down into the great circular hall, that honestly reminded Nitocris like a pit. There were dozens of circular rows of carved stone benches, upon which sat hundreds of small red cushions. As she and Yemsaf made their way down the stairs, Nitocris looked around the rather confused crowd, and then looked back.
"Where are we supposed to sit?" she asked.
Yemasf strained his eyes throughout the Rotunda, and then, he spotted something. He pointed downward, and to the left. Nitocris followed him as he descended, and they quickly found themselves on the second row above the bottom, clearly an honored spot. She was about to ask her brother why they were supposed to sit on this row, when she looked at one of the cushions. Stitched into the cushion was the name of the house of Merreq. Slowly, she joined her brother, as they passed five cushions for Merreq, then four for Uhlez, before finally arriving at two for Tihxs.
"I believe that the main members of the Great Houses are to sit down here," Yemsaf looked back up at the rest of their entourage begin to just take seats above them on the higher levels, "So as to allow them to speak more directly with those they consider the players of Slaver's Bay's politics."
Nitocris pressed the cushion with her finger. Her brother's paranoid must have rubbed off on her to suspect something made of silk and feathers, but she was not a fool. That they had exactly the amount of cushions for each major house, as she saw the heads of the houses slowly take up the exact number of cushions that had been assigned to them, meant they had been being watched. And that meant, if it was necessary, they could become targets of these whelps.
Yemsaf took a second to check his to, before shaking his head, and sitting down. Nitocris, seeing her brother's surrender to this hospitality, joined him, and sat down as well. As she did so, she at least could smile slightly. At least these cushions were comfortable.
It would be another few minutes before everyone had sat down. Once that occurred, they began to talk again among themselves, but it was more subdued, likely because they were all with their own families.
'Perhaps that's why they are doing so,' Nitocris considered, watching the different families whisper among themselves, 'To try and kill any planning among the different houses for a unified opposition to their plans,' she then looked over at her brother. He was focused on a large opening opposite of them, right past a small wooden stand where she supposed a speaker would normally give their speeches from. It was the only opening on the ground floor, and, if Nitocris had to guess, actually lead to the causeway to the Tyrant's palace, 'Which means our opponent shall be coming through there soon.'
Then, they heard trumpets. Two dozen men marched out from the tunnel Yemsaf and Nitocris had been focusing on. They wore white tunics, though around their necks were large steel circles indicating their status as slaves. The blew from golden trumpets, and marched out from the tunnel, forming two lines that extended to the center of the Rotunda.
After them, emerged eight girls, all with white long dresses, and each of them also having large steel neck braces, indicating their slavery. They danced down the lines of the trumpeters, tossing purple tulips around them, before splitting off into groups of four, extending the line further as they continued to throw out the flowers.
And then, he appeared. There was a massive crowd of those who were clearly not slaves, with one man in particular in the lead. His face was tanned, with Red, curly hair covering the top of his head, though it only came down to the top of his ears, the rest of his face shaved clean. He wore a full armor set, though unlike the legionaries out in the open, his was sculpted to be a muscled chest. Beneath the armor was a strange purple robe, the purple fabric seeming to flow around his body, carrying on the wind. He smiled brightly as he entered, making sure to catch the nearest flower out of the air, and held it up to the sky. He then bowed dramatically, all before the Masters of the Slaver Cities.
"Welcome to my city! To New Ghis!" he declared, his voice booming, and for a moment, Nitocris nearly felt herself pushed over from the force of the voice. She could see a few of her fellow citizens of Mereen reacting like her. After the announcement, she pushed herself back up, and stared at the man. And her eyes widened.
One of the man's companions, fully cloaked, was whispering in the Tyrant's ear. Then, the Tyrant pointed towards the section of the Rotunda she was sitting in. The figure nodded, and the man smiled. The man took a moment to stare towards where she was sitting, and Nitocris couldn't help but almost feel as though he was looking directly at her. She quickly shook this from her head, however.
'Why look at me?' she thought to herself, 'I have no public life. I am only here because of my brother,' she glanced her eye over to Yemsaf, who was staring directly at the Tyrant standing in the middle of the great circle, 'If anyone should be gathering attention for a politician this high, it should be him.'
"My guests," the man they had been watching walked into the center of the room, to the wooden stand, and began to speak. Nitocris could barely believe she could hear him, what with how far away he was from her. It made her marvel further at the level of architectural ingenuity that was being shown by the creators of the GreatForum to allow speeches to be heard so far away from the speaker, "Today, as you all have been informed, is a great day."
"But it is such a great day because their have been so many terrible days before this," his face had fallen, his eyes downtrodden, "It is said that, by our reckoning, it has been five thousand years, perhaps to this very day, since Old Ghis was burned by the sheepmen's pets," for a second, he stopped, and his eyes seemed to gleam, "Five thousand years of humiliation."
He slammed his hand into the stand, and for a second, Nitocris thought the wood would buckled underneath his strength. The rage in the man's eyes was apparent for her to see. This Tyrant still took the destruction of Ghis by the Dragons of the Valyrians personally, even if all the dragon lords themselves were long dead.
"Five thousand years, of wallowing in the dirt and mud," he continued, throwing his right hand into the air in a rage, "Five thousand years of letting those overgrown lizards fly through the sky that had always been the rightful hunting ground of the harpy!"
He was almost spitting in rage now, and Nitocris almost felt like pulling back. THen, however, the man seemed to pull himself back, and readjusted his body language so he was standing up tall. Nitocris looked, and saw one of the men of Uhlez laughing. She could almost sense some amusement from the rest of the Master's at the Tyrant losing his cool. Her brother, on the other hand, seemed to be sweating, his hands shaking.
"But, you see, my friends…no, my brethren," the Tyrant continued, his eyes now again locking onto the stands of Mereen, so much so that again Nitocris couldn't help but believe he was staring at her, "We have been delivered opportunity!"
"The Doom of Valyria was punishment for those upstart shepards!" he declared, pointing his hand to the sky, "Our enemies, our oppressors, our masters," she could hear an indignant grumble from the Masters around her, "They burned, to fire hotter than a dragons. And they continue to burn, suffering for all eternity."
"And yet," he stopped, and raised a finger, "This occurred four centuries ago, some twenty generations," he then began to turn around, and look at all the different parties from the different cities. Nitocris, focusing on him, saw something strange when her turned towards the delegates from Astaopr. At the back of his sculpted armor, was two large holes right along his shoulder blades, as though something was meant to go in there, "And what has happened during those four centuries?"
The room was silent, as the Tyrant turned on his heels, looking at the delegates from each of the three Slaver Cities.
"Nothing," he spat, "Absolutely nothing."
His eyes then flashed, and he began to twist erratically, "No, worse than nothing," his hand waved out wildly, "In the past four centuries, not only have we, the heirs to the great Ghiscari Empire not attempt to reclaim our rightful place as Lords of all, we allowed that title to go to the horse riders, the Dothraki!"
"They ride across the grasslands, with their horses and their khals, and they do so without fear," he then roared, "And we just sit in our walls, and let them do so. Do we have no pride!"
"But all is not lost," he continued, his smile growing wider and wider, "Today marks the one year anniversary of a discovery that shall allow Ghis to be reborn, stronger than it ever was," he threw his arms out as wide as he could, "Join us, Masters of Yunkai, Masters of Astapor," he seemed to wave his hand directly at Nitocris, and she suddenly felt something crawl up the back of her spine, "Masters of Mereen. Join us, and we shall be forged anew."
"And by what right do you call us here?" the Tyrant turned, and stared at a very fat man from Astapor, with a long red beard and chortling jowls, "What right gives you the ability to declare the rebirth of Ghiscari Empire."
"Why," the Tyrant laughed, though even from this distance, Nitocris could tell the laughter did not extend up to his eyes, "The right of Grazdan the Great."
"Ha," the fat man laughed, waddling down the stairs, and walking directly up to the Tyrant who had only a moment before, been standing alone near the stand, "Grazdan the Great," he repeated, "You little upstarts think you are worthy heirs of Gradan the Great," he waved his hand out towards the rest of the Rotunda, "Pathetic. Your city is a whelp. A child born from the the dying womb of the old empire. This New Ghis wasn't even a village when the Dragon Lords burned away the old empire, and yet you think you have the right to declare yourself our equals?" The room was again filled with laughter, as the Masters, Good Wise and Great, all began to join in the mockery of this little upstart.
"No," the Tyrant replied, "I believe we have the right to call ourselves your betters."
The laughter died.
The fat man's arm shot out, and grabbed the Tyrant by the throat. The men of New Ghis almost seemed to jump, but the Tyrant raised his hand, and they withdrew. The Tyrant looked the fat man directly in the eye, and then, despite the chokehold, spoke.
"You are Kraznys mo Nakloz, correct?"
"Wha-" Kraznys tried to tighten his grip around the Tyrant's neck, but Nitocris could see sweat begin to develop on his head. Slowly, she could see the Good Master of Astapor begin to shake, as he looked up, and asked, "Why? Why can't I choke you?"
"You are like your city," the Tyrant declared, not even bothering to move a muscle as his opponent's hand was still around his neck, "You are rich, and wealthy, and own many slaves. But you are fat, and weak. A puss filled maggot devouring the last shreds of carion from a long dead corpse," he then raised his hand, and held it in front of Kraznys, "You will serve as an excellent example of what happens to tumors that must be removed from my empire!"
He snapped his fingers.
And then there was a burst of white feathers from the Astapor seats. Nitocris looked over, and saw around a dozen of the cushions had exploded from the row that Kraznys had been sitting on. The feathers began to twist in the wind, as though there was a gust of wind surrounding those twelve or so Masters of Astapor, 'Were those all of the representatives of Nakloz?' she asked to herself, but soon, she felt her conscious thought recede.
Because that was when she began to hear screams. Horrifying screams from in the feathercloud. She began to see the feathers twisting back faster and faster. And instead of the pristine white they had been previously, they were now yellower, almost as though they were made of a metal. And alongside that new, brass color, was a spray of red that began to be kicked up alongside the screaming.
After but a minute, the cloud of now metallic feathers lifted into the sky, and Nitocris nearly vomited from the sight. The bodies that had belonged to the Masters of House Nakloz were cut to ribbons, with scars and slashes covering almost every inch of their bodies. Their clothes were in tatters, their flesh almost sheared from the corpses, and their eyes, those that remained, staring off in unfathomable pain.
"Wh-" Krasnys's face was shaking, looking back at the members of his family. Tears began to drip down the sides of his face, the horror of his compatriot's deaths piercing his heart. Then he heard a whistle, and returned his attention to the man's whose neck his hands were still around. The Tyrant again raised his hand in front of the fat man's face. The fat man shook his head desperately, and began to try to speak up.
"And, to kill the biggest maggot of all," the Tyrant snapped his fingers before another word came from Krasnys, though, and that action made sure there wouldn't be any more words after that. The feather storm, once fluttering in the air, swooped down, and snatched up the Good Master, and carried him up into the air, right above the Tyrant's head.
"AAAAHHAHHHAA!" Krasnys screamed, but it was too late, as the feathers began to rip into him. Yet unlike before, the screams did not die quickly. For a solid minute, the fat man screamed as the cloud tore him asunder, his flesh likely being flayed from his body. Nitocris barely could contain her horror, as she saw pieces of the man be ripped off from among the shadows of the cloud.
And more terrifying of all, was the blood. Blood began to pour from the cloud, a light drizzle of crimson covering everything beneath it. And directly beneath it, was the Tyrant, standing there, bored, looking over the rest of the crowd of Master's, playing with his hand. He would look up after a moment, and Nitocris felt their eyes connect. Whatever doubts she had had before died a horrified death, as the mad man gave a small wave towards her, smiling mischievously, like a cat with a rat.
FInally, Krasnys stopped screaming. The Tyrant one last time snapped his fingers, and suddenly, the body was tossed out. Or…whatever might have once been called a body. It was mostly just an unrecognizable mass of meat and bone. Nitocris only avoided vomiting because the terror she felt looking at the man who had just caused such carnage. ANd what was happening behind him.
For the cloud of feathers was no longer a cloud. They were being swept behind the man's back, and she felt her heart sink to her gut as she saw that the feathers were now clumping together along the man's back. Her suspicions were confirmed, when the feathers had so coagulated, that they stuck out behind him, forming great, beating wings, the brass color of the feathers themselves and the blood of the men he had killed causing the wings to shine in a bright crimson. Like the legendary wings of the harpy.
"For you see, I do have the right to call us your betters," he said aloud, and no one rose to object again. Nitocris could feel the terror radiating from everyone in the room, including her brother, "I have the right to call this conclave!" he then turned around, his wings flapping slightly from his movement. Nitocris could see the hooded figure that the Tyrant had previously spoken to laying against the wall of the rotunda, hands behind his back, "I have the right to use the name of Grazdan the Great!"
He then beat down his wings, and flew high into the air. He hung over all the Masters of Slaver's Bay, and stared down at them, judging them for their sins. Their lack of ambition. Their laziness. And as he did so, she could feel the rage bursting through his chest, and he shouted a great declaration.
"I am Grazdan the Great!"
And then, he began to float down from the sky. After a moment, he glided down, and Nitocris nearly let out a scream. She only didn't seek to run away from a mix of fear, and the hand of her brother landing on her shoulder, holding her in place so as not to provoke her own possible death.
For the man calling himself Grazdan the Great landed right in front of her. The armored Harpy Man raised a hand to her face, and rubbed her right cheek, a hunger in his eyes as he looked at her. Nitocris, for all that she was a grown woman, had never felt so small, so vulnerable in her whole life. Grazdan knew this, and he smiled.
"But, if that is too long," he said aloud one last time, a final declaration of his intent, "You may simply call me, Ruler."