= Chapter 28 =
The morning sun illuminated King's Landing, forcing its inhabitants out of bed at the earliest possible moment and hurrying to get things done before noon. The poor and vagabonds flocked closer to the place where the important event had been organised. But the formation of Gold Cloaks that had fenced off the area in advance prevented them from getting there, much to their dismay and disappointment.
Foreigners from Mira or Volantis asked their city friends in bewilderment, 'What's going on?' and received a laconic but self-explanatory answer: 'The Royal Tournament!'.
Mounted troopers of the very latecomers crowded the city gates and streets - knights of the border or knights with coats of arms and lands, not every one of them could get to the tournament. The king had imposed certain restrictions and requirements in advance, which mainly concerned the equipment and the number of participants. As well as the presence of a squire and a good horse. No less important was the height of the knight's nobility - mere vagrant mercenaries were not allowed in.
Dozens of tents - square and round - crowded the places close to the ring, many emblems rippled the eyes: the Royal three-headed dragon of the Targaryens, the griffin of Lord Hand, two crossed warhammers over the white cross of the Rickers, three red chevronelles of Rosby and even a splashing silver trout of Tully.
Squires ran like mad in the middle of the tents, knocking down sometimes even their older fellow knights, the sounds of hammers or horse neighing were drummed into their ears. People threw luxurious blankets or fluffy tails of beasts over their horses.
The knights themselves flaunted their luxurious casual robes among themselves. When the time came, they would put on their armour to knock their former companion off his horse and get one step closer to the coveted goal of a hundred golden dragons. Their poorer counterparts had only to look on enviously and trust in their fighting skills.
Theon sat on the high dais, not far from the royal one. He was seated among the members of the Small Council and the most powerful and wealthy lords of Westeros who wished to come to King's Landing.
- 'Lord Edmure,' Greyjoy greeted the red-haired man with a relaxed expression. Tully tensed slightly when he saw the Sorcerer of Pyke beside him.
- Lord Theon,' Tully replied in a less than welcoming voice, 'I didn't expect to see you here.
- Did you think I'd be out in the ring?
The Lord of Riverrun chewed his lip.
- You're a good archer, aren't you? I think you could shine in front of the royal court.
- Eddard Stark once told me that competing in tournaments shows your enemies what you're capable of. That's why he never took part in such events, and I'm taking his advice.
- My late brother-in-law was a man of unprecedented qualities, more suited to a glorious knight than a Northerner,' Edmure replied, but without the strain in his tone.
- I agree with you completely, my lord,' Theon said, thinking of Lord Stark... and Robb. His mood crept rapidly downward and his face hardened.
Greyjoy had been in the capital for a month now, and in that time he'd done a lot of things, small and large.
He'd had to initiate maritime trials, with Greyjoy as prosecutor and the Master of the Law and the Guardians of the Ships as presiding officers. Several captains caught in the act were tried. As it turned out, the appointment of a new master over the ships didn't scare them too much, and they were hoping for the friendship and help of Auran Velarion.
Except that the Lord of Driftmark had better not appear in the city at all. And he realised this perfectly well, having shut himself away in his fiefdom and lost all influence in the city.
The captains were condemned to death. They refused to wear the black cloaks of the Night's Watch, as few wanted to freeze on the Wall, a member of an Order whose purpose was already unknown. The Wildlings had not been seen beyond the Wall for a long time, and tales of the Other were compared to myths of grunts and snarks.
The only one who kept the Watch alive was the Keeper of the North, which raised questions not only among the king's courtiers, but even among his own vassals.
New men had to take the place of the condemned - and Greyjoy didn't like them - loyal to either the King or the Hand. Only the XOs were lucky - they too had to be hanged for their co-operation, and he managed to sneak one of his own men in.
Reading the reports of the masters of the ships, Theon found old records from Robert Baratheon's time. Thirty hanged captains in Stannis Baratheon's entire tenure was an impressive figure. In ten years Velarion had hanged only three.
In a month, five galleys had been brought into relative order - rams, boards, sails or gunwales, holds and cabins. The ship's keepers, Ser Manfrey Krechtschet and Quarleston Grey, could not complain about the terrible repairs. Aegon was pleased when he heard about it, and Greyjoy clearly sensed that the king's favour had grown a little more. At the very least, the king had made a few hints during common meals.
'I wonder what the spies sent to spy on the guardians of the ships will be able to find out? Secret perversions or bribes, perhaps?'.
How soon he would pick up the clues to the ship keepers, Greyjoy did not know - but if he failed, he would have to proceed more slowly.
The first knights to appear were unremarkable - one of the Freys, another a knight of the bordure whose name was unknown. An unlucky relative of Lord Gemini's was knocked from his horse, eliciting hooting from the admitted townsfolk standing in the specially fenced seats.
- This warrior has a strong grip,' Edmure remarked, 'and a good horse. He looks like a knight of the sword.
- Ser Patrick, if I'm not mistaken? - Theon said, 'I see you've taken a fancy to the knight. Would you take him into your service? Tully tried to hide his interest.
- No. But it's rare to see such a level in a travelling Sire,' he said dismissively.
Greyjoy's pale brown eyes glittered strangely.
- There is a certain amount of truth in what you say, my lord, but do not forget that sometimes Duncan the Tall appears among such vagabonds.
The Lord of Riverrun remained silent. And further excused himself with unimportant phrases. Theon wondered what he needed in the capital, but the clue was too obvious. The conflict with the Arryns over Harrenhal had been going on for a year now, and the king had taken no decisive action.
Edmure's patience had finally run out and he had decided to come in person rather than send loyal men. And a tournament in honour of the princes' eighth birthday is a good enough reason for the others.
'It's doubtful the king will do anything at all. The wedge between Trident and the Vale is more favourable to him than ever. And the Tully's relations with the North are not favourable at all. The alliance of grandlords that nearly drove the Targaryens into oblivion is no longer possible today.'
During the second duel, their hands dried up again and along with the bad mood, came irritation. Everyone gasped when they saw the graceful and brilliant Garlan Tyrell, the formidable fighter and brother of Lord Highgarden. Harry Rivers rode out to meet him.
The bastard brother of Lord Hendry Bracken was not impressive in his ornate armour, but he looked a serious and dangerous warrior. Tyrell found an opponent to match his skills.
Six lances were broken by the knights, and on the seventh run Rivers was struck down. The people cheered, and chanted Ser Garlan's nickname: 'Gallant!' or 'Steady Shield!'.
Edmure, sitting nearby, wrinkled his nose at the defeat of a relative on his wife's side. Tully had married Barbara Bracken a few years earlier and the latter had already given him a sturdy son named Tommen after one of his ancestors.
Greyjoy was keeping a close eye on the situation in his neighbouring regions. And the Riverlands, as one of the most important, was prioritised alongside the West and the Outlands. Despite its formal cohesion, Trident could not boast of prosperity and military might before the War of the Five Kings.
And the Twins have become too powerful despite the long winter and the past war. Their alliance with the Starks makes them almost equal to Riverrun. In the next war, the Tullys stand a good chance of feeling betrayed by a powerful vassal.
The heralds sounded, announcing the third duel, and then the fourth. A slight wind picked up, causing hundreds of banners to flutter, and a roar of joy filled the stands as Ser Ser Serwyn Hastie fell to the ground and the King's Guardsman, Ser Duckfield, raised his spear hand in triumph.
Sixteen bouts were fought before the King personally announced the end of the first day of the tournament and the beginning of the evening feast. Greyjoy seated behind the high dais could only ignore the many curious stares. Many lords and knights came from the other fringes - Dorne, the Stormlands, the West or the North. And everyone was eager to see the new member of the Small Council, who was unexpectedly an Ironborn.
The princes of the blood performed before the princes of the blood, each performing more than the other, trying to outshine each other with originality and egregiousness. The people who had come to the tournament were enjoying themselves as much as the children - only a few were indifferent.
The king swivelled his eyes thoughtfully around the evening feast, while the queen shared smiles and nods of approval with the crowds of lords and courtiers.
The next day's tournament was marked by Ser Duckfield's victory - seven mounted skirmishes and the King's Guardsman's opponent, Ser Garlan Galatny was knocked off his horse. The people went into a frenzy - sounds of cheering or disappointment rang out across the field until the heralds quieted the crowd with harsh and loud trumpets.
An unusually beautiful wreath of various flowers fell into Queen Daenerys' hands, for which Ser Duckfield received a favourable glance from the woman. 'Ser Duckfield!' - the people shouted and Theon did not hear mockery in that nickname. More like respect for the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
'I wonder where Varys unearthed such a man? Or was it done by Aegon himself with Connigton?'.
Duckfield was far too good for the son of a simple blacksmith from Spaceland. Such unusual skills couldn't just appear out of nowhere... and serving as a mercenary in Essos wasn't exactly conducive to learning mounted combat.
'Perhaps in ten years I've got the hang of it.'
The Blood Princes personally presented the Victory Wreath to the Lord Commander. Ser Duck proudly placed it on his head and promised not to take it off for weeks. To which one of Aegon's sons chuckled and gave the man a warm smile.
'So the Lord Commander is quite close to the royal twins,' Theon chuckled, not the least bit surprised by such a thing.
Once again, the king announced the evening feast. Not wanting to be bored, Theon struck up a conversation with Julian Swann sitting next to him:
- 'Merchants,' said the Lord of the Stone Helmet dismissively, 'are too dodgy, too cunning, and no honour - only a lust for profit and gain! And now they can gather in packs, and by the king's will they can be called guilds. What could be worse for a lord than a mob of merchants who want to rob him of everything? Huh, just two such mobs!
- You don't like merchants? - Theon asked quietly, 'Have they done you wrong, my lord?
- Dislike is an understatement, Lord Greyjoy! I have a special hatred for them of late, which I used to pour out on people who raised arms against me or the Dornish! But, Seven help me, merchants have proven to be far worse than every goatfucker. Only a Dornish merchant is scarier!
Greyjoy held back a small smile. The vintage lords' hatred of Dorne was well known in Westeros. Such hatred could be levelled at the entire west coast of the continent towards the ironborn.
- 'You are right about some things, my lord,' Theon agreed easily, 'but if there is a force that cannot be defeated, why not negotiate with it? Merchants are as important a part of the kingdom as artisans or septs. Julian Swann blinked in surprise.
- Lords should only negotiate and eat with their own kind or with people with good ancestors, but not with black-footed nobles! And how can we communicate with them! Disgusting people who don't want to make fair treaties!
Theon nodded sadly, as if he understood the sorrow of the lord before him. Sometimes the arrogance of some aristocrats amazed him. Seemingly shallow people, they displayed an inordinate bluntness about some fundamental things. But that has been the way of Westeros since ancient times, and every man of high birth absorbs these prejudices from childhood.
And prejudice builds up, rots and takes on an ugly form over the millennia. If there were progress in this world, this long-standing festering wound would have opened long ago under the pressure of circumstances, time or progress.
It is frightening to imagine what the consequences will be when it does open. It will be good for the continent if this opening comes from the top, not from the bottom of society...
During the conversation bards began to perform. The already tipsy people listened to the songs with faded interest - they were more interested in table talk and the continuation of the feast, but not in the mournful voices of the singers.
At the end of the feast the winner was Nimena Bitter, the Dornish woman from Sunspear. Julian Swann cursed foully at this.
Theon preferred to change the subject of merchants and Dornish to something mundane-how the winter went, how many peasants died, and what was going on in that crazy Essos.
With drunken gait the lords, accompanied by their retinues, began to disperse to the castle, the city brothels, or their personal estates in the city. The King and Queen had long since left the party and now people had the opportunity to return to their fiefdoms and homes.
Theon himself returned to his manor at about midnight. He didn't feel like sleeping at all. He had been needing less and less sleep lately, which had its advantages.
For example, he could think a little more about his plans. Or he could do the not-so-pleasant job of sorting through the papers of past Masters of the Ships. And there were many, from Aegon the Conqueror to his descendant, Aegon the Restorer.
It was only after several hours that he extinguished the last of the candles and fell asleep, his mind drifting into the dark depths of the ocean.
The next day, a delegation of interesting people arrived to see him.
- Sit down,' Greyjoy said graciously, looking at the three men before him. Each of them was different in appearance and build, but each had the same look of a burly peddler. Oh how those looks reminded him of the enterprising 'businessmen' from his past life.
Nothing changes from world to world.
- My lord,' one of them began, carefully hiding his inner state, but still showing nervousness, as the trio sat down. He was a little plump, wearing a dark green velvet doublet and a puffy hat made of the same monkey hair. Greyjoy was even surprised to see the merchant wearing this headdress and more importantly, what material it was made of!
'Has it become fashionable for rich merchants, or is he just casually trying to suck up to me? I am the main supplier of this wool.'
- We were very excited when we received your unusual invitation. We are honoured.
The merchants didn't really understand why he'd invited them. They speculated, but to know for sure? The merchant who spoke, Willis Fur (the latter was a nickname), was the representative of all the merchants from Steel Street. Accordingly, the other two were representative of the rest of the neighbourhood.
- And I am glad you have accepted my invitation on behalf of your guilds,' Theon smiled politely and pointed to the table in front of him, 'I think you've had enough of Westerosi food for a while, so I've had the pleasure of serving you the specialities of the Summer Isles and Essos.
The representatives looked at each other and, without saying anything, began a silent meal. Theon himself ate little and only from the plates that were reserved for him.
One of the merchants had been foolish enough to take some from there and regretted it immediately; the spiciness of the dish made him nearly choke and suck on the wine.
- My chef cooks for me personally, and it's a special dish that many people won't be happy with,' he explained, his mouth tasting only a small amount of the flavour of what was laid out in front of him.
'Not much spice at all,' Lord Greyjoy said, a little saddened, 'the cook must have skimped on the salt and spices. What a wretch.'
- I think we've had enough, my lord,' Willis Fur hinted in a not-so-subtle way, 'no doubt many of the dishes are new to me, and they taste delicious.
- Well, if you've had enough, we can get down to business! I think I should start off by saying that our interests are in some ways... related. The merchants, though they had eaten their fill (as Theon had hoped), stretched out and looked at him with interest.
- I mean those scoundrels who interfere with your trade in the Narrow Sea,' he added. 'They are called by the honourable word smugglers, but I will tell you this: they are scoundrels and must be hanged, as my king, Aegon the Sixth of his name, commands me.
The merchants cheered at such words.
- And I would like to offer you... co-operation in this matter - my business is to catch the scoundrels who are bothering you and me, and yours is to help you do it.
- My lord, what sort of co-operation are you talking about?
- The simplest of cooperation. The smugglers have become so bold that they're robbing your guild ships instead of shipping them. They've been catching them in very convenient places, haven't they?
- You speak rightly, My Lord.
- What if I told you I could catch these scoundrels if you let my men be your sailors and captains for a while?
- You want to lure the smugglers by taking our cargo ships and putting your men on them, my lord. Such a thing is not decided by our names - we are merely representatives.
- That's right, that's right,' Theon nodded in agreement, 'and I want you to take my suggestion to the guild leaders. And I'd like to hear back as soon as possible-my honour won't allow me to think about what those scoundrels are doing in the Narrow Sea.
Theon hid a grin, noticing that the merchants were a little embarrassed at such words. They sounded too sincere, even for skilled deceivers and experts in the hearts of men. How convenient to control one's emotions against the biological processes of the body.
- And tell your heads that such brazen and unscrupulous scoundrels can only be caught by even more brazen and unscrupulous... people who know the sea like the back of their hand.
It suddenly dawned on them that the man in front of him was not some lord of the Stormlands or the Expanse. It was very funny to hear such a thing from practically the lord of all the pirates of the Sunset Sea.
It was funny enough to make you want to clench your teeth and press your hands into the armrests of the padded chairs.
Their conversation didn't stop there - Theon's offers didn't end with helping them catch the smugglers. They discussed the shipments of wood, fruit and jewellery that the ironborn ships could bring back to trade in King's Landing. The merchants had a vested interest in this.
The deal promised considerable profit for him.
When the representatives left he stared thoughtfully at the dish.
'Smugglers are indeed a problem. The last Master over the Ships spoilt them too much. Didn't realise that a tame rat could bite back if given too much carrot and not enough stick. And so it was, and now they are plundering the ships of Driftmark and smuggling bad things to Velaryon Island.
The manoeuvre he had devised could easily have failed. There are definitely moles in the Guilds who, unknown to him, manage to quickly pass messages and give up routes. The merchants of King's Landing had changed them many times. They've taken a detour through Dragonstone.
However, in case of failure, he could always just wipe out the villains without a fuss. He had already identified some of their bases, some of them were supposedly located in certain territories, and finding them would not be a problem for the ironborn.
No one expects your ship to be followed by something that the human mind can't fully comprehend, right? Nor would the smugglers of the Narrow Sea expect such a thing.
- My lord,' a cautious voice interrupted his musings. Theon tore his gaze away from the unfinished Summer Isles pig and stared at Torrone, the captain of his guard in the city.
- Is there something wrong?
- There's a definite doubt in the direction of some of our fighters. Started acting strange and trying to sniff out your movements.
'Took a long time to recruit. Or were we being cautious?'
-I understand,' he nodded, 'Take these men down and don't put them in any more important positions. Then show me these ones so I know their faces. And don't show your suspicions under any circumstances, Torrone. Let them think they remain unsolved.
There was no point in guessing who had recruited some of his fighters just yet. Theon guessed that if he reached out there, he would immediately run into a lot of... spiders. There are a lot of people interested in the new Master over the Ships.
After all, a lot of money is now starting to roll in here in King's Landing and the lion's share of that money comes from maritime trade.
'It's going to be an interesting game.'
Running into monsters in strange skins running out of the forest, screaming all over the island and armed with strange weapons was not in Quor's plans.
They had landed in the hope of burning to the ground another village of Letnians, but ended up running into a squad of Spotted Men, the ugly humans from the neighbouring continent of Sotorios.
Broad, with huge muscles and faces covered with white spots like hogs, they wore thick black skins and fought with stone tools. Strong and fierce, but it was not enough to defeat the steel-clad ironborn.
The crossbowmen had time to fire only one volley, and the first three of the savages were blown away by the bolts. After that, spears and swords came into play.
- Makai Aku! Makai Aku! - screamed the bastards, piling on the wall of shields. Kuor's men shuddered, retreated a few steps... but stood firm against such a powerful onslaught.
Spears were thrust out, piercing the weak points of the savages, crossbowmen reloaded and fired deadly projectiles from small gaps between the shields.
A face too ugly to be mistaken for human appeared in front of Quor, standing in formation. The bastard spat at him, and that was the last thing he could do - his sword stabbed into his unprotected chest.
- Go! Spear thrust!
The solid blast of the long guns forced the Spotted One to retreat.
- Spear thrust!
Another solid action and now the spotted men dared not approach. Some began to circle round them, but the next command prevented them from doing so.
- Bolts!
The shields rose for a moment to show the freaks a couple of dozen crossbows aimed at them. Tight clicks went up and a volley of bolts felled the dozen savages who had not expected such a thing. There were unpleasant howls of the wounded and dying.
The freaks were not going to retreat and fought to the end.
The formation collapsed when the ironborn tasted victory and rushed forward.
Kuor had to run ahead of them all. The savage in front of him was knocked over by the impact of his shield. Before he could recover, he was hit in the belly by a spear, and his tough stone skin was no help.
Before he could recover, he was shoved aside by another spotted man. He shouted something in his own language, and made a horrible face that looked something like glee. But there was a sudden squawk, and a raven swooped down on the savage from above, and a red-haired wolf bared its teeth at his side.
He had only to thank his pets, and finish off the spotted one.
When it was over, they began to count the wounded and dead. They had lost less than ten fighters, while they had slaughtered at least a hundred savages.
'Still, we could have lost less without breaking formation,' Quor thought angrily as he looked around at the pile of corpses stacked in one heap. Somewhere off to the side the ironborn were burying their fallen by dipping them in water, 'this needs to be addressed... we'll have to break a couple of rampaging ones to instil discipline.'
Looking at the burning corpses of the spotted ones, he could only crinkle his face at their ugliness. And there was nothing to take from the savages - only the unusual skins of unknown animals were worth anything. But they preferred to burn them with the corpses - he remembered how one of the ironborn captains had taken their skins as a trophy. And half his crew died of a terrible disease within a couple of weeks.
- Let's go to that village. I don't think there's anything left of it. But it's worth a look,' he said to his own and a couple of dozen islanders set off into the interior of the island.
After breaking through small but dense tropical forests covered with numerous lianas, they finally came upon a small village of the Letnians. And what they saw they strongly disliked.
- The Drowned God,' Bart Long-Eared, one of his trusted fighters on the team, exclaimed in amazement, 'is...
Blood. There was blood everywhere - frozen, fresh, in huge bowls placed at the strange wooden idols i n the centre of the village. Blue intestines hung like garlands around and on the idols, the rotting heads of former residents stacked in strange ways.
But not just heads or entrails, limbs and many internal organs were strewn all over the village. A horrible stench invaded the pirates' nostrils, and half the squad emptied their stomachs onto the bloody ground at once.
- They hung them out to dry,' said one of the old warriors grimly, 'it's cannibals, lads. Look, there's a wide stump over there, covered in blood and flesh. They've been butchering the poor things in full view of everyone.
Turning his gaze to where the warrior was pointing, Quor spat in disgust. As soon as he saw the eyes or the guts of the stump, he wanted to repeat the feat of half his squad. But he restrained himself.
The women and children of the spotted men noticed them. The village was in a frenzy, some of them grabbing the stone weapons or pouncing on them with their fists. They spared no one.
- Kill everyone - children, women and old men,' Kuor ordered, taking a certain pleasure in chopping off the head of a child of seven. A people like the Spotted Ones must not settle here in any way. Or exist.
Some fled into the forest, but the crossbowmen shot them in the back and then finished them off with merciless blows to the heads. As soon as the last inhabitant fell, they burned the village, gathering all the corpses of the spotted ones in a pile.
- I don't know who chased them out of their lands, but I wouldn't want to face that,' Bart muttered, cleaning his blade, 'if even those fierce bastards got through...
Gerik, one of the crossbowmen, spoke up:
-"Shall we search the entire shore of the island, Captain? - He said to Quor, 'I'm sure we'll find the boats that brought the spotted ones here.
He wondered. On the other hand, he was not likely to find anything interesting in those boats. He'd seen them before, hordes of them sailing towards the Evergreen Archipelago. But his intuition, be damned... something told him to follow Gerik's advice and search the entire shore.
- That's what we'll do,' he nodded, 'the island is small, a couple of hours should be enough.
Back on the shore, back to his ships, he divided the men into fives and sent the four squads in opposite directions, instructing them to return in a couple of hours if they didn't find anything. Time endured.
Suddenly, in the distance, he saw a small shadow in the sky. Curie immediately cackled unhappily. He was not happy about the local weather, and now his old foe had shown up.
After a couple of minutes, a multicoloured haze of flowers landed on his shoulders and a small roll of parchment fell on his calloused hand. Cicero made a satisfied sound and yelled:
-H-Have found a fool! With a w-w-w-with a crow on his shoulders!
'Another assignment from the teacher? Or just a message?'.
He was reminded of the original purpose of coming to the Summer Isles. His teacher had loaded his ships with gold, silver, and swords of the finest steel in Pyke. All this goodness travelled with him, to the Evergreen Archipelago, but not for the Gothlanders.
When he landed in the north of Hualano, the Fudui people welcomed him warmly. The inhabitants of the northernmost kingdom were suffering from a brutal war with their powerful neighbour, and it was a war they were beginning to lose.
This set of circumstances displeased the Sorcerer of Pike. And so, gold and silver flowed through loyal, free captains like Quor. If that fails to turn the tide of the war, then the Ironborn will intervene themselves. It wouldn't be hard to defeat these savages.
So, he decided to plunder some of the savage Letnians, only to stumble upon the spotted cannibals.
Opening the roll and quickly running his eyes over what was written, he smiled.
- Hey, Bart, call the boys off. Send someone after them. I don't care about the spotted ones' boats. We've got a much more fun adventure ahead of us.
Cicero, having accomplished his task, flapped his wings and flew away. Probably to Gotland.
- Where? Bart didn't understand.
- King's Landing. My master, Lord Greyjoy, is calling me to his service in the capital.
Quor smiled contentedly again. He was definitely interested in what the Lord Warlock had written.
