A day later, the council stood assembled once again. This time, Grey Worm was among those sitting on the dais, watching the assembled priests. Dressed in eye-wateringly crimson robes, the Red Priests stood in a loose circle, surrounded by guards of the Fiery Hand.
At the head of the group was a tall, powerfully built man with tanned skin, white hair and the eyes of a fanatic, who gripped his staff of office as would a pikeman facing a cavalry charge. A sheathed longsword hung at his belt. Tattoos of flames covered his bronzed face, as they did several others of the delegation.
They were even more diverse than the crowd Tyrion had seen in Volantis: men and women both, some fair-skinned, others shades of brown, one black as coal, and even a woman with the almond eyes of Yi Ti. The High Priest of Volantis had apparently gathered envoys from everywhere in Essos the cult of R'hllor held sway. Finally, Beric Dondarrion stood somewhat apart from the others.
The tall priest stepped forward, rapping his staff on the flagstones once. His voice boomed out, and was probably audible from several corridors away.
"To Bran the Broken, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, the Three-Eyed Raven from High Priest Benerro, Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom, First Servant of the Lord of Light, Slave of R'hllor:"
"Greetings."
There was a pause, possibly for the priest to catch his breath, although Tyrion suspected the man was the type who could go on for hours. Why did the Essosi insist on hauling so many titles along with them?
"We are sent, by the will and command of High Priest Benerro, Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom-"
There was some fidgeting in the audience as they realized the priest really was going to recite the full list of his master's accolades. Tyrion caught Beric's eye, who shrugged in a long-suffering manner.
"-First Servant of the Lord of Light, Slave of R'hllor, to bring you aid and succor against the Abomination who threatens the just rule of R'hllor, Lord of Light, Heart of Fire, God of Flame and Shadow!"
There was a silence, although it could be attributed to the audience trying to stop their ears ringing. Finally Bran spoke, in that same monotone that removed all emotion from his voice, looking at the priest but seeming to stare far beyond him.
"We thank you, and welcome your aid, your reverence."
"I am Parltro, majesty, a humble servant of R'hllor, Lord of Light, Heart of Fire, God of Flame and Shadow. We are at your service, to purge the encroaching Filth from our world!"
Tyrion spoke up, as much to ask a question as to stop the priest from getting overworked. His face was beginning to match the shade of his tattoos.
"You mean the Wolf?"
"The servant of Unclean gods from without! He is indeed the wolf at the door, the Aberration which must be cleansed, lest his corrupting touch wither and befoul all that is Pure and Good!"
"Then... his gods are real? We thought... well..."
"His gods are Lies, who burn in the sanctified presence of R'hllor, Lord of Light, Heart of Fire, God of Flame and Shadow, and thus they have chosen the west to make their entry into this world, where His influence has yet to spread."
There was implied criticism in the priest's words. Tyrion hurried to speak before he could further explain it was the Westerosi's fault for not worshipping his god that the Wolf had made such progress.
"And what... kind of gods are they? From what he said, they aren't too different from the ones we know."
The priest spat his next words, as if even acknowledging such gods was a blasphemy in and of itself.
"False gods, mere demons masquerading as divinities of war and pestilence, of vile lusts and treachery, who would see this world become their plaything for all time! But as lies make men mighty, so too do they grant false power to this interloper. Decay, trickery, rage and base desire are his to command, though he shall not prevail against true Devotion!"
Tyrion sat back. That the Wolf served a god of war was obvious, betrayal as well, and he remembered with a shock the diseased warriors the Wolf had brought to Winterfell. And there had been that conversation about the fertility goddesses in the south...
Jon spoke up.
"How can we stop him?"
"Through fire we shall burn away his falsehoods. Through Faith we shall dispel his lies! And through steel we shall cut short his life, and with it, the hold his gods have on this world."
"But..."
Tyrion hesitated.
"He seemed intent on getting us to fight him. Aren't we playing into his hands by giving him what he wants?"
The priest struck his staff on the ground again, raising a finger into the air.
"Arrogance shall be his ruin! His gods reward carnage, and so he thinks to elevate himself in their eyes by amassing as many victims as he can. Through his bloated pride does he sow the seeds of his own downfall!"
That at least was in accordance with the barbarian's personality.
"But where the wolf expects lambs to be slaughtered, he shall find rams, fierce and sharp-horned, ready and willing to sacrifice their lives to end his. We cannot fail."
Samwell spoke up, with more than a little timidity.
"Can... we expect help from the Seven? And the Drowned God? Or th-"
The priest pointed his staff at Sam as though designating a heretic to a mob for stoning.
"Words of fools and ignorants! Only through the purity of our Faith and unquestioning devotion to R'hllor, Lord of Light, Heart of Fire, God of Flame and Shadow can we prevail! By His grace we shall be victorious!"
Samwell shrunk down in his chair. Jon spoke up before his friend could make another unfortunate comment.
"So we can count on your help. Good. What else can you tell us of him? When does he plan to return?"
One of the priests spoke up, perhaps to give his superior time to draw breath, or perhap he too wanted to get to the point directly.
"This we do not yet know, but we shall begin our supplications at once, and will share the wisdom imparted to us by R'hllor, Lord of Light, Heart of Fire, God of Flame and Shadow."
The audience ended with some measure of hope restored. Bran charged Tyrion and Samwell with collecting everything they knew of the Wolf or other supernatural events in recent memory, Davos with repairing and strengthening the royal fleet, and finally Grey Worm, Jon and Brienne with readying their armies.
Akkarulf breathed heavily as the Silence finally emerged from the hellish border-realm. More than one of the daemons had survived his arrows and had to be finished off with axe and sword, and half a dozen crewmen had been taken or fallen overboard, a fate worse than mere death. He better understood the Wolf's complaint that the Silence lacked oars, the Seafang had been able to make far more rapid progress when the rowers were motivated by sheer terror.
The ship had emerged relatively low to the ground, the sail swelling in the wind, and he looked over the prow at the vista below.
It was the most desolate and barren landscape he had ever seen, all rounded hills and craggy cliffs, with long stretches of naked rock around them. Far away he saw something shimmer that could have been water. The air was muggy and hot, but despite the sun which beat down mercilessly his shadow was as weak as on an overcast day.
His eye was drawn to the only unnatural thing in sight, an immense structure built next to an enormous pit. A pyramid of black stone which dominated its surroundings, all around which smaller buildings were clumped, some sporting smoke-belching chimneys, others tall, twisted turrets, all enclosed in a massive wall. The entire fortress bristled with watchtowers, and as Akkarulf squinted, he realized with trepidation that many of the figures patrolling the wall were not men. They seemed too small for the distance that separated them, but at the same time too broad by half.
A strong stench like a hideous mixture of tannery, fish market and an apothecary's store struck his nostrils as the wind shifted, now coming from the stronghold. For an instant he thought of the dungeons of the Dreadfort. He coughed.
"What is this place, yarrl?"
Hearing nothing in response, Akkarulf turned to see the Wolf looking down, clearly looking for something. The giant's fevered expression convinced him that asking a single question would be suicide.
At last the Wolf seemed to find what he was looking for, grabbing a rope and tying it securely to the railing without a single word. He pulled a dragonglass axe out from the sacks, then looped it to his sword-belt and slid down the rope with all the agility of a lifelong sailor.
Akkarulf watched the Wolf land and immediately head for a patch of cliff that looked no different than its surroundings. Then he stood still, but seemed to be talking to thin air. Perhaps he was conducting some arcane ritual, for Akkarulf saw the Wolf produce the dragonglass axe. He held the axe to his head and placed it on the ground, making striking gestures over it with both hands. Soon a thin wisp of smoke wafted up.
Made nervous by the choking atmosphere, Akkarulf looked back at the fortress. Their arrival did not seem to have been noticed. He saw ant-like figures swarming near the pit, which might be a mine of some sort.
The entire ship shook from side to side. Akkarulf turned back to the fore, where he saw the Wolf climbing back up with a single hand, holding something in the other. As he pulled himself over the railing, he saw that it was a fragment of bone, yellowed through age and harsh weathering. There was a cut alongside the Wolf's face that had not been there on the way down.
The Wolf called out again in the daemon tongue, and the Silence turned towards the fortress. The giant looked marginally happier as he put the bone in a pouch on his belt, enough that Akkarulf risked repeating the question.
"Where are we, yarrl?"
"The Dark Lands. That's Dronangkul over there."
The Wolf looked unimpressedly at the fortress, calling out an order. A marauder emerged from the Silence's hold, clutching a scrap of parchment. Akkarulf recalled that the man had been specifically made to remain inside at the beginning of the voyage by the Wolf.
"Get one of the arrows, Akkarulf, you're about to earn your keep."
"Arrows, yarrl? Wouldn't the scorpions be better for the towers?"
The Wolf grinned.
"Bloodthirsty little savage, aren't you? We are here to propose a fair and honest trade, not smash down the doors! Besides, we don't have the men or the engines for it. I was here once, they've probably tripled the guard since."
Akkarulf picked up his weapon, while the Wolf and the marauder bent over the parchment, the crewman scratching on it with a quill. Apparently satisfied, the Wolf sent the marauder away and gave the parchment to Akkarulf, now covered in dots and angular symbols that meant nothing to him.
"Wrap this around the shaft, and make sure it stays on."
Akkarulf tied the message to the arrow.
"Can you send it into the fortress from here?"
Akkarulf gauged the distance, then shook his head.
"We'd need a lot more height for that, yarrl. It wouldn't even clear the walls from here."
The Wolf nodded, and motioned Akkarulf over to the prow. He spoke to the figurehead in a hiss, and the Silence slowly rose up.
"Say when."
Akkarulf waited for the queasy yet strangely enjoyable feeling of weightlessness in his gut to subside. He saw the walls slowly shrink as the ship lifted skywards.
"Now."
As the Wolf snarled the order to the dragon's head, Akkarulf strung the greatbow, his divinely-strengthened arms easily bending it near double, before nocking an arrow and sighting along the shaft.
"Where to, yarrl?"
"Best not to upset them by killing something they find expensive. Aim for one on the walls, but don't wound or kill him, or I'll kick you over the side to apologize in person."
"Yes yarrl."
Akkarulf could tell the Wolf was absolutely serious, even when jesting. He strained the bow to its limit as he sought an appropriate target. One of the guards on the wall held a curiously misshapen stick, flared at one end, and wore a helmet with bull's horns on either side. The rest of the abnormally short warrior was covered head to toe in armor. Little risk of a dragonglass arrow penetrating it, but no archer ever fully trusted his arrow to strike true.
"Got one..."
He loosed. The shaft buzzed away, and Akkarulf watched it fly, snickering when it struck the helmet's oversized horns, spinning the helmet but not the head inside. The Wolf laughed as well.
Akkarulf strained his eyes to make sense of the commotion below. The guard he'd targeted had picked himself up, another pointing at his helmet. The guard took the arrow out and unrolled the message. Barely a moment later he was running for the main building, while the remaining guards started manning the wall scorpions, pointing in the direction the arrow had come from.
"I think they've seen us, yarrl."
"I should hope they did. Get me the dragonglass now."
Akkarulf produced the first sack. The Wolf uttered an inhuman sound, and the Silence changed course, passing over the cliffs until it hovered over the lowlands, sinking to keep at the same height. Massive bolts longer than a man flew towards them from the walltowers, but fell far short. The Wolf sneered.
"The fleshcrafter made better bolt throwers than that. What is their engineering coming to..."
There was a sound of thunder and a bright flash from several of the walltowers. Akkarulf jumped, as did the Ironborn crewmen, but the Wolf and his outworlders seemed perfectly at home with it.
"What the hell was that, yarrl!?"
"The weapons of cowards."
Once the ship hovered near a hill of mine tailings, the Wolf lowered the sack onto it with a rope. The ship rose again and now headed away from the walls as Akkarulf noticed activity near the fortress gates.
"We're not waiting for them?"
"Prey avoids a watched trap, Akkarulf. Besides, the message I gave them said we'll be back in a few days, more than enough time for them to consider the bargain. I don't doubt that they'll be willing, it's the price that the little bastards will haggle over."
Akkarulf looked back, where riders were swarming around the hill where the Wolf had dropped the sack of dragonglass weapons.
He squinted. It might have been the combined effect of the strange air and the distance tricking his eyes, but the soldiers gathered around the hill seemed to be painted a dark green, and were not of the same shape as the armored ones guarding the wall.
"Back to your post now, the daemon sea calls."
The Wolf roared out, and the Silence entered the border-realm once more.