= Chapter 33 =
The rustle of parchment. A quiet whisper at the edge of the huge table. The Hall of the Naval Court had quietly accommodated a dozen lords and royal officials and now all these people were deciding the fate of one of the captains of the Royal Navy - Bennis Rogway.
The hall appeared to be set up not far from the chambers of the Small Council. A spacious room whose walls were decorated with the heraldry of famous 'nautical' houses like the Redwins or the Manderleys. Each Master of the Ships left here an object associated with his house. There were statuettes of a seahorse, hanging ornamental pearls of grapes, or even a painting of a lion looming menacingly on the edge of a cliff.
The only thing Theon didn't notice was the Baratheon thing. Whether it was a quirk of Stannis Baratheon's or Aegon's desire to scrub the stag dynasty from the pages was unknown.
- Bennis Rogway,' Dickon Tarly said in a heavy tone, reading what the named man had said during the interrogation, 'he refuses to admit his guilt, though many of the sailors and even his XO have confirmed it. Lord Greyjoy, are you sure this man is guilty?
- Lord Deacon,' Theon looked at Tarly, sitting at the head of the semicircular oak table. Harsh brown eyes stared back at him, and the thin scar on the bridge of his nose was no longer even, so tense had the Lord of Horn Hill become.
A strong chin, brown hair, a pleasant oval face - even the scar did not spoil his masculine beauty. With calloused hands, he continued to pore over the parchments containing the lists of charges and confessions of Ser Bennis Rogway's unwitting accomplices.
A petty knight appointed captain under Velarion.
He survived the King's first purge when the Lord of Dritfmark was scandalised. He also survived the purge that Greyjoy had cautiously initiated after his first few months in office.
A man of unprecedented cunning and exorbitant stupidity. Theon had even considered keeping the remarkably eloquent and dodgy Rogway and recruiting him, for Velaryon's star would certainly not rise in the capital for another decade.
But Bennis Rogway was misunderstood even by the Greyjoys - he didn't want to... work? He was content with the current state of affairs - his own ship was the last one left in a particularly disgusting state despite its benign appearance, and all checks or attempts at framing the knight had been deftly dodged and avoided. But to mend his ways and catch the wind of change was not something he was eager to do.
Theon didn't wait for Rogway to realise anything - he simply sicced the guardians on Rogway's ship, the Crowned One, and prevented the knight from twisting the wind by arriving with them.
He had enough sins - stealing, eternal absences during important meetings of captains, constant bringing of whores to the ship, stealing royal supplies supplied to the ship, so the sailors had to make do with less. Rogway was taken into custody, and Theon initiated another sea trial, with the Keepers of the Ships as the accuser and the Master of the Law, Deacon Tarly, as the judge.
Such a thing as the presumption of innocence has never been heard of in Westeros. Oh no, the principle of original guilt reigns on this continent as well as in the world at large. The people of this world have not yet grown to such a thing - and will they ever?
- Guardian Osbert, you have examined the ship for irregularities - what do you say? - Tarly addressed one of the accusers.
- My lord,' the former merchant's son replied, 'I beg your pardon for my impertinence, but everything is set out in the parchments before you.
Lord Tarly could not hide his irritation on his face, causing both keepers to tense for a moment. Theon tried to smile relaxingly at the two royal officials, but it did more to intimidate them than to lighten their heavy moods.
The second keeper of the ships nervously touched the brim of his blue caftan and awkwardly adjusted his thin cap of fine linen. Brian, as much the son of a merchant as his colleague, could sense the air of dislike that the noble lord of the Spaceland felt for them. And felt a pressing, incomprehensible dread at the sight of the man that had kept his heart and mind in constant fear for the past months.
A man who knew all of his hidden secrets... and had not failed to use it to his advantage. And to keep Brian from running away, from getting scared, from turning himself in, he'd had a mistress, and then a wife, a Northerner who'd confessed to him that she was from Stoneshore, the westernmost part of the North.
But he knew perfectly well that, despite her northern roots, his wife was in the service of the Man with the Dreadful Eyes.
He knew and kept silent.
Guardian Osbert, unlike the other, was too honest - and so Greyjoy did not even need to force him into this court. A hint or push aside to keep him out of it was enough.
King Aegon made a dangerous mistake when he wanted to mix petty knights, merchants, and scholars among the officials.
The son of a merchant or a blacksmith could never stand up to a knight or a lord without a powerful patron behind him.
The son of a hereditary steward is insignificant before the High Lord and any other powerful lord from any kingdom.
The law must be filled with power to act, but it always fails before a greater power.
- I want to hear everything from your lips,' Tarly pressed, and Keeper Osbert at once told of all the minor and major irregularities on the ships, even recounting all the complaints of the sailors who felt that the winds of change had touched them as well.
- I fully endorse all that Guardian Osbert has said before,' Brian said humbly, wiping his sweaty forehead, either from the heat or the constant urge to run out of the room, 'but if you are in doubt, M'lord, we can certainly get other ship's keepers involved or you can take care of the matter yourself.
Lord Tarly thought briefly - he was too busy assembling royal detachments for the 'march' of justice on Trident. And the crimes were too numerous and extensive to fabricate in any way - it was easier to kill.
Not the least of the arguments in this case for Deacon Tarly was that he knew perfectly well whose man Rogway used to be.
- No, the honesty, and fairness of the guardians of the ships should not be questioned. The King had chosen the right and loyal men.
- Lord Tarly, there is a problem - Bennis Rogway has demanded a trial by combat,' Greyjoy interjected, 'It is not in my power to give him permission or refusal - only yours or the King's personally. But I will not disturb His Majesty's peace for such a small matter.
- Refuse! - Tarly stamped the parchment with a sentence pressed into the document, -Only lords have the right to demand such a thing unreservedly. Bennis is but a petty knight without land.
- Forfeiture of the office of captain and death sentence by beheading... seems to be the... ninth edict.
- Eleventh,' Theon kindly corrected the Master of the Law, 'there are too many thieves and scoundrels in the Royal Navy.
In the last year, the Greyjoys have initiated twenty-four sea trials-a huge number, a new record!
Not even under the harsh Stannis Baratheon had so many been punished in ten years.
Not all have lost their heads, but every man who's been through a trial is no longer a captain.
- And who do you put in their place? - Tarly asked with cautious curiosity.
- Men of experience and loyalty to the crown.
- I believe experienced,' snorted Lord Horn Hill, 'but loyal?
- Do you doubt the loyalty of the captains of the Royal Navy? - Theon glanced at Tarly, who preferred to back away.
- No, but as Master over the Law I had to ask.
- You are a good and just man, Lord Tarly,' Greyjoy informed him in an ingratiating tone, 'but leave the loyalty of the captains to the crown in my question. The King looks at every list of candidates.
The question has been put to rest.
- Give Rogway a chance to confess before he dies,' Tarly instructed the ship keepers, 'and let our executioner, Lucas Codd, sharpen his axe well. I think if Lord Greyjoy is so scrupulous about experience and loyalty to the king, he'll have more than a few foolish heads to chop off.
The Keepers of the Ships bowed one last time to their superior in the official hierarchy. Then they bowed to Greyjoy before leaving the Seamen's Courtroom. The servants and guards left on Lord Pyke's orders.
Theon was left alone in the room.
Leaning back in the padded seat, he stared at one of the painted columns with a pensive and vacant gaze.
The Red Castle was seething with passions, and all the servants were bristling with the wrath of the king. An ambassador of a foreign country had died in the king's private residence! And no one doubted that he had been murdered. But by whom? For what purpose? Who benefits?
These were the questions Aegon was pounding into his head, demanding that his Master of the Whisperers find any thread that might lead to the real culprit. But so far it has been futile. All the castle guards were on heavy watch, allowing only trusted men, officials, or important guests like Lord Fossoway through.
The Volantian Embassy quickly realised what was going on and made no complaints. At such a difficult time for their city, they could not afford to quarrel with distant Westeros. It would be a disaster.
The King paid the virus for the murder according to Volantine law, smoothing the situation.
Negotiations continued - Aegon had given formal consent and was now negotiating the price of the 'honourable' aid. Connigton had been right about something - the Volantians had begun haggling before the army and flotilla had even been assembled.
A few weeks ago Theon had sent Cicero to the Summer Isles to recall the Iron Fleet and summon them to King's Landing. And now an armada of nearly a hundred warships sailed through the endless expanse of the South Sea.
The King summoned a certain number of knights and soldiers from each royal vassal. And requested a symbolic summons from the High Lords. However, the Spaceland and the West did not receive the summoning of banners - nor did Trident.
Robert Arryn wrote that he could not send much help - his lands were suffering from the Highlanders.
Jon Stark has promised to send six hundred fighters from the Northern Mountains. Dorne will send slightly more.
The main backbone of the aid to Volantis was promised to consist of four thousand men of the King's Domain, three thousand Stormriders, and the Ironborn in the form of the Iron Fleet.
Such an unusual fighting tandem Westeros had not yet seen in its memory.
Another five ships from the Iron Fleet, instead of going to the Harbour, rushed to the Iron Islands. To sail toward the Far West.
Greyjoy blinked, stumbling across a printed seahorse on one far column. Another of the king's headaches was Velarion.
For months now, he had been unresponsive to demands to report to the capital. Questions about him were piling up and even Daenerys could no longer save her supporter. The Queen did not like the ballistae that Greyjoy provided.
To put it mildly, the Mother of Dragons hated them with all the passion of a mother for a weapon that took her child's life - and it didn't matter that the final blow had been struck by Grigor Clegane with a Valyrian blade: Ice.
The creak of a steel-padded door was heard. Silent, cautious footsteps, rustling in my ears.
Greyjoy slipped his hand into his water glass and looked away from the column, staring at Ser Eustace.
Always tired eyes, a simple aketon of no outstanding colour and a short cloak. Occasionally the Master of the Whisperers wore a short blade on his simple belt, showing everyone what class this unimpressive and strange man was from.
- To what do I owe this honour, Ser Eustace?
- I happened to see the Keepers leaving the Seamen's Court... but I didn't see you, Lord Greyjoy. And you were the one I was looking for,' he admitted, sitting down at one of the empty seats opposite the lord.
They were separated by a round, oak table filled with half-empty bowls.
- Why?
-I want to speak to you face to face. Oh, fear not, my lord, there are no foreign ears here...only your own.
Theon stared at the Master of the Whisperers. His head rumbled with the unbreakable connection to him. No pain, no discomfort... just a strange, inexplicable sensation. The taste of whale oil, fresh, heady blood, and tender raw meat was on his tongue.
Eustace swallowed, feeling the gaze of the Master over the Ships on him. But he did not flinch, nor did he give his face an expression of slight fear.
- I am listening, Ser Eustace.
- Who are you, Lord Greyjoy? - Who are you?' he asked, leaning a little closer.
Theon didn't answer.
- You know, I assumed I'd see a cunning and cruel lord. A thug who had tasted his first kill at a young age. A sorcerer who possessed knowledge unknown to the common man. I was right about everything... and wrong at the same time.
- And who do you think I am, Ser Eustace? - Theon asked calmly.
- You are a deeply unhappy man. Your eyes are terrifying, but at the same time they are as dead as a fish's. Your movements are calm, measured - there is never a sense of life or desire in them. You do not drink, you do not suffer from horrible habits, and you have no perversions. You have no love for anyone - not even your children or your wife. You have no mistresses or even close friends.
He was silent, not wanting to interrupt Eustace's monologue.
- How could such a man have come to be? What circumstances pushed him down the path of loneliness, callousness, and cruelty? You were raised by the noblest man of your youth, Eddard Stark. I know you were quite friendly with his crowned son, Robb Stark. But was it a true friendship?
- Careful, Ser Eustace. You're treading on ground that could suck you down like a quagmire.
The Master of the Whisperers instantly changed the subject.
- Who are you, Lord Greyjoy? A mighty lord, a warrior, a commander, a sorcerer, a schemer? Or maybe those are all just roles you play. Maybe you're just going with the flow, living in the moment. And then it hit me. The thought was so ingrained in my head that I couldn't give it up. You're an Idea man. Broken, tired, rejected. I don't know what it is, but it is certainly a great one.
Ser Eustace fell silent, exhausted, and left his chair, stepping closer to Theon.
- 'I will not ask you what this Idea is. I won't ask you because I know you won't answer. But you know, I like riddles - and I don't mind getting a clue.
- That's a lot of revelations for you, Master of the Whisperers.
- You're a clever man, Lord Greyjoy. I don't see the point in playing with you here and now.
- You want a clue? - Greyjoy ran his index finger over the rim of the cup a few times, gazing at the man standing before him. 'Are you so obsessed with finding out who I am? Or maybe you're just playing around?
- They call me the Strange One,' Eustace grinned, 'but you're the only strange one here, my lord. And I'm really curious.
- I'm a shard.
- A shard?
- Chewed up, broken, regurgitated - a shard of two eras. A remnant.
- I'll remember your answer, Lord Greyjoy.
- But that's not the only question you want to ask me, is it? - Greyjoy stared at Eustace's face, a mixture of determination and frustration for a moment, 'Go ahead. There's a reason you started this intimate conversation here in this hall, isn't there?
- I see you as an ally, Lord Greyjoy. You don't think in terms of temporal gain for your family or your own good. No, no, you're a true statesman.
- Do you want an alliance?
- I do. The King and Queen will leave King's Landing for Volantis. I, you and the Small Council will remain here alone, ruling in the name of the royal family. And no doubt Aegon's many enemies will take advantage of that.
'Not Daenerys.
- I am ruler of a kingdom that the Targaryens have long considered a headache for their state,' Theon remarked, 'and you choose to ask for my help? Can't you rely on the wisdom of your Hand or the help of the king's many supporters?
- Hand? - Lord Connington is wise, but he acts and thinks like an ordinary Westerosi - he can't use a dagger and poison, though he can cut a man in two with his sword. All that interests the Lord of the Stormlands is the false ideal of a long dead man and the weight of many grudges.
- Dangerous words. You don't expect me to run to the Hand's chamber after our conversation?
- You are a slow man,' Eustace said, 'too calm for the hot blood of the Iron Islands, and you will not run to report. You yourself must realise that the Lord of Storm's End is reigning as Hand for his final years.
Theon remained silent again, continuing to watch the Master's emotions over the Whisperers. And they were almost nonexistent...
- With Aegon and Daenerys gone, the capital will be flooded with spies, assassins, and poisoners, my lord. Aegon has reunited the Seven Kingdoms, but he has not yet cemented them - and so the interests of many powerful families and ambitious adventurers could bring it all down.
- Only you, Ser Eustace, can fight such personalities.
- Yes, but I'm sure your help will be invaluable in this struggle. Ed the innkeeper at the Salt Fish, a small harbour tavern, Gid's whore from the Iron Islands, or rather Lordport, who works in a brothel on Silk Street, Brij the simple fisherman who informs you of unusual movements and conversations in the Fish Market. I could pronounce many more names, but even I am sure the list is incomplete. Nor that you can name a dozen of my spies and spies to my face.
That's right. Theon could name more, but he won't tell Eustace. Why should he, when it's obvious to both of them?
- You benefit from being part of the Seven Kingdoms and you know it. Your expansion on the Summer Isles, the protection the Targaryens give you from the vengeance of the Common and the West. So reciprocate the Iron Throne and he will not forget it.
Greyjoy smiled. For the first time he managed it without strain - kindly, businesslike, and pleased. He held out his hand in an offer of a handshake.
Eustace was at his side in a sneaky movement and completed the handshake with the same smile. As soon as their palms made contact, his smile became strained and anxious.
Wet hands were the first thing Ser Eustace thought.
It was only afterwards, looking at Lord Greyjoy's face, ordinary but eerie and terrifying, that the thought flashed through his mind - was he making a mistake?
Is he not making a bargain with the Unknowable?
The darkness that came from the north covered the great city of High Trees. Temples were burning, mighty ships were sinking, the wide streets of the ancient capital of the Ij Kingdom were drowning in blood. The royal palace of Mankul was burning in ruins, and the heads of the entire dynasty stood on the highest, destroyed tower. The Panangaad River was filled with monsters in human hide and skin.
Tentacles covered the entire Archipelago, slowly sucking at the earth and pulling everything of value from the depths. A new shadow emerged in the distant east, burning with hatred and madness, with a black blazing heart in its chest.
The arrow flew like a star across the continent, scaring and delighting with its radiance.
Beasts clashed on another land, lions, griffins, dragons, eagles and wolves, krakens, toothy fish and snakes. All of them intertwined into one huge ball, tearing chunks of flesh and fur off each other, howling, tooting and moving their limbs.
She shrieked, flinging the roaster away. The metal made contact with the stone and created an eerie ringing sound, drawing the attention of all the priestesses around her.
- High Priestess,' her daughters ran up to her with concern in their voices. Aya and Gaia, black-skinned and tall twins, wearing short ivory-coloured ceremonial robes.
Their nervous and sweaty faces stared at the frozen mother they dared not call by her name, even in their private apartments. They were all priestesses of Bokari, the goddess of death, who was highly revered on the Summer Isles but could never match the popularity of the goddess of love.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling her entire body drenched with sweat and simultaneously frozen by the inexplicable cold whose echoes the priestess still felt.
Amigdola, the High Priestess of Bokari felt fear for the first time in decades, an insistent and unbearable fear.
- There is no cause for concern! - She looked into the eyes of her daughters, whom she had personally dedicated to the goddess of death, and said, 'Tell my sisters to leave me alone.
All the priestesses left the main hall a moment later, leaving Amigdola alone, amidst the fragrant fumes of the candles and the mighty, towering statue of Bokari.
With a graceful movement, she lifted the brazier, which mysteriously went out. What was this, an accident or a sign from her goddess?
With deft fingers the woman picked up a jug filled with life - animal blood mixed with milk - and tipped it over her muscular and tall body, washing away the sweat and the cold. And then the jug of plain water came into play, making her clean of all the curses and horrors she had seen.
- Oh, Deadly One, what did you want to tell me?! - she exclaimed, turning to her Mistress.
The statue remained silent. The majestic Bokari stared at her with eyes of black stone, clad in armour and holding a bifurcated, spiked sword.
The dark vaults of the temple pressed down on her. Everything here was either black or white, the colours of the goddess of death. The place smelled of bloody 'iron', an unpleasant cinders mixed with the luscious smell of scented candles.
Any unprepared person who entered here would instantly run back out with tears in their eyes and a whooping cough in their throat.
She listened, frozen in a kneeling position. Neither the cold stone nor the strange sluggishness in her body would give her cause to insult the one she had worshipped all her life.
Seconds turned into minutes, and they became hours. Smoke, viscous and thick filled the whole vast room, and she fancied that black eyes glittered.
Had she imagined it?
For a moment she clung to the floor, only to rise abruptly with realisation.
The vision she had seen was a warning! A signal. A DADA.
The Summer Isles were no longer at peace. The Iron Men, that had previously turned their eyes only to the western islands of savages and barbarians, that still worshipped only the Great Wolf, began ravaging the wealthy coastal cities of Hualano, Ombora, and Jalu.
The long peace had not been good for her fertile homeland. Kings were mired in squabbles and quarrels, and priests and priestesses in intrigue and backstabbing amongst themselves. Her cult has always stood apart from all this - Death does not need power.
Death needs only peace.
And for centuries, the Bockarie Cult had remained silent, intervening only when an event affected them.
But now?
Amigdola could see exactly where things were headed. It wasn't just the Iron Men who had begun arriving on the Summer Isles. Following them came white-haired people, with cold hearts and beautiful eyes.
How many Summer Islanders had become slaves in the last few years, how many had entered the velvet houses and palaces of their masters?
And how many men have disappeared into the dark mines of distant islands filled with iron?
The Iron Men grew bolder and began to build forts on the fringes of the Archipelago, imposing tribute on many western tribes.
Several kings have tried to fight back - Koj has been sacked and is no longer a significant force, the Kingdom of Ij is weakened and embroiled in war with the Kingdom of Abja, whose king cherishes the ancient grudges and ambitions of his ancestors more than anyone else in the world.
But there was another attack - cannibals from the east began to come in waves to Jalu and the Western Islands, slaughtering whole tribes and villages.
Something had to be done.
Amigdala already knew what.
- Raigunid!
At the loud call, the small iron doors immediately opened and the steel-clad commander of the Temple Guard entered the hall.
- Send messengers to the king of Ijah. Send messengers to King Fudu and Abja. Send messengers to Ombora and Jala.
- High Priestess,' the commander marvelled, remembering to kneel, 'this is...
- Have them report that the High Priestess of Bokari is demanding Peace on all the Evergreen Islands and calling for a Great Death Ritual!
- As you command, High Priestess,' Raigunid bowed his head obediently.
The Great Council was disrupted by one of the kings and Ulaano was unable to fend off the Men-at-arms. Jalu is divided and now the kings and chieftains are scheming there. Rising star Prince Jalabhar Xo is scaring everyone around him and a new war will start there. Omboru is silent, sluggishly fending off the attacks and ravages of the pirates.
The Western Isles have always been weak, but now they are nothing serious.
The Great Death Ritual will make everyone finally wake up and pay attention. The Death Cult has always been treated with wariness, despite its neutrality. They were the only ones with much power - every temple had temple guards, and every Bokari priestess could easily change her tunic and dress into armour with spear and bow.
The Commander went to equip the messengers, while the High Priestess left the temple, accompanied by her daughters and several other junior priestesses.
The temple of Bokari sat on the highest hill, far from the ancient and great trees whose shadows covered the entire city. Built of sand and clay, wood and stone, the building was second only to the Royal Palace of Manculus and the Temple of Meibra in scale.
- 'High Priestess, Tafari of Koj has been alerted to your visit and is eagerly awaiting you,' one of Meibra's younger priestesses informed her.
'Eagerly,' Amigdala took great pains not to grin contemptuously. Priestesses of Love preached freedom in voluptuousness, and were themselves willing to give themselves to anyone.
Perhaps such lasciviousness was the reason for their elevation. But it is their elevation that has caused the weakness of today and the horror that is going on around them.
The Tafari of Koj is no doubt now wondering what the High Priestess of Bockarie wanted with her. And in all likelihood has already put a price on every offer.
Amigdala will not stand for the price. If need be, she's willing to defile her own body as well - Tafari's passion and lust are well known. It was not for nothing that she took with her the youngest priestesses, the most beautiful, strongest and tallest. Including her own daughters.
Inside, she felt the fire of determination. A fire of passion. And something else - unexplainable, unbridled. A power that reeked of cold and death.
Lost to humans millennia ago, a lost inheritance.
Magic.
