Serpent's Reach, Northeastern Yi Ti
314 AC
From then on, all Duncan could do was sit tight and wait in his place of refuge.
He did not look out into the courtyard again, not even as day passed abnormally swift into the night. Only listening half-heartedly to the thrush of wind outside his shelter and the quiet chattering of the patrolling guardsmen. Neither, Mormont found, that he could go back to sleep.
Not that he wanted to, anyway.
More whispers on the wind. Not just the guards. But something else. Something familiar. Too familiar.
The moon briefly shone through the crack in the wall next to him. And with it, the voice came once more.
"...give… in…"
Mormont ignored it. Or he tried to.
There was also still the unsettling case of what had transpired in the courtyard earlier. The more Duncan thought about it, the tenser he became.
One moment, the merchant was alive; the next, he was gone. How was that even possible?
It wasn't right. Not even close to the same thing as a man getting skewered with a spear, or having his throat slit with a dagger.
No… the way the merchant had 'died' had been…
Unnatural.
Had the man simply died? Or had he been… taken?
Taken. Was that the right way to put it when someone had been unalived in an instant?
Regardless of the answer, Mormont knew that one thing was for certain. The men holding this accursed fortress were wrong. They were remorseless, brutal, and wicked. And he knew that, if Suara or Mobu had seen what he seen, they'd agree with him as well. This simply had to be the work of the Church of Starry Wisdom.
Mormont knew that he should've been proud. Should have been elated that he'd even been correct in his analysis. Knowing full well that he'd accomplished something by helping the YiTish authorities locate the source of a serious threat to their Empire. But he wasn't. How could he be? Not when the situation itself was so clearly wrong in all the ways that mattered. Whatever object the robed man had used to take the merchant away… it was wrong, too.
Whatever it was, it had sucked out all light, all sound. Even the memory of it made the air feel heavier. Almost like it shouldn't exist. Like it didn't belong in this world.
Pull yourself together, Mormont! He scolded himself as he swallowed down a gulp. You've got a job to do, Mormont. And a simple one at that.
Mormont forced himself to be ice-cold as he finally shifted uncomfortably in his spot.
Even from within the shelter provided to him by the stables, he'd been able to spot several rotations of guards slowly making their way about the courtyard. Roughly every quarter of an hour, a pair of them would enter the yard. They'd circle the yard and then exit it, though each rotation seemed to take a different path out of the yard. All of that was just from what he'd been able to see through the cracks in the wooden wall panels of the stables. Only a few men from the garrison had visited the stables throughout the day. They'd either come to collect tools downstairs or to check on the horses. Nothing to worry about.
Leave once one of the patrols leave the courtyard, Mormont decided as he looked out through the crack in the wall. All he had to do was to leave the barrel containing the Chimera's Breath in the stables, then steadily make his way back to the wall and reconvene with the others.
The moon had come out to play then, rising well above the fortress. A curtain of wind howled outside his shelter. It was time to go.
Mormont shifted underneath the mound of grain sacks and between barrels. Cautiously, he broke through it just enough to raise his head and get a good look at the second floor of the stables. The wooden floorboards wheezed quietly. The walls and roof creaked from being battered by the wind. But nothing more. Nobody was there.
Sure that he was in the clear, he stood up completely to his full towering height. Many of the grain sacks covering his head fell to the top of the mound below his waist, and not for the first time that day, Mormont began to feel the cramps in his limbs. His knees and feet especially.
"Son of a whore…" he cursed quietly, soldiering on with the temporary stinging sensation. After a few moments of shaking his legs, he felt the blood flow come back to them. He found the strap connected to the Chimera's Breath barrel in the pile below him and yanked it upwards. Satisfied, he slowly began to lumber through the mound and made for the stairs. Mormont carefully made his way down to the first floor. Once at the bottom of the staircase, he took yet another full look around the stables and was again satisfied with the knowledge that he was completely alone- except the horses, naturally.
He had until midnight. A few hours from now, judging by the position of the moon outside. Still, getting back to the ramparts early couldn't hurt.
Duncan looked to the horses then. There were only five of them housed in the total of twelve stalls, but even then, he disliked that they'd get caught up in this. Horses were wonderful animals. He approached the one nearest to him. The long face hadn't shied away from him, and so he patted the old boy on the ridge of his nose. "Sorry about this, boy." Duncan said.
As much as he desired to keep them safe, he knew he couldn't compromise himself by letting out a bunch of horses who would probably just head back inside anyway.
You've got a job to do, Mormont told himself.
Too right.
He went ahead to the other side of the stables and looked around. Immediately, he found a wide worktable; next to it were several barrels, larger than the one he held currently. Excellent. After shuffling them around quietly, Mormont looped the Chimera's Breath barrel off his shoulders and placed it down next to the table. He removed the harness from the thing and tucked it in next to the workbench.
So that's that, he thought. His part of the plan was over. All that was left was to get back to the wall and climb down to the lower battlement to meet with Suara and Mobu.
Well, easier said than done.
Mormont approached the door and looked through the narrow crack under the outer latch.
There were still some glimpses of laternlight from what he could see. The distant pacing of footsteps as heeled boots met stone. Bickering voices that were muted by the wind. And…
Silence.
No, not silence… but something else. It was like… like there was a loud noise that, for some reason, he couldn't quite hear. A sort of heavy aura that seemed to congeal in his immediate surroundings.
The more he tried to listen to it, the more it seemed to evade him.
What was it?
He looked on as the orange lantern light faded out from view. It was then that he carefully lifted the inner latch to the door and pulled it open, but only slightly. Just enough to glance out around the courtyard.
It was all clear.
Duncan slipped out, feeling the cold air brush against his face now. He quietly shut the door and lowered the latch, then knelt as he padded back the way he came.
Last lap. Last lap. He might as well have been able to see the steps he'd taken beforehand. The shadowy stone stairwell leading up to the eastern wall far ahead of him was easy enough to make out. All he had to do was stay clear of any wayward patrols and make his way over to it.
After that, he and the others would blow this place sky high. He'd meet up with Mao, get his reward, and maybe also indulge himself in the other pleasures that Yi Ti had to offer.
Perhaps more of Mao's baijiu and a few of those YiTish women he so enjoyed. Do some exploration. See the Emperor guiding his people in real time. Go home. Back to his people. Back to his family.
Back to Lyarra.
All of them were practically a hop, skip, and jump away.
Mormont found himself grinning at the thought, despite the sinister atmosphere of the fortress he was currently in.
You're in the home stretch now. Finish it, and you get to go home.
He heeded the stern, cool voice in his head and made his way to the outer edges of the stables. Briefly, he peeked around the corner and saw the orange flicker of lantern light and two armored men casually strolling along the cleared paven stoneway. They were just a few paces behind the well. Mormont waited for them to pass and then crossed over to it himself. Crouched down, he took cover against the short, circular stone wall and glanced back where he'd come from. Another patrol had strolled into the courtyard behind him, towards the far end. Not nearly close enough to spot him. Good.
Mormont inched around the curve of the well. The patrol heading behind the stables hadn't turned back. And as he narrowed in on the stairway leading up to the wall, he looked out further to the right and saw yet another patrol, perhaps thirty feet away, heading in his direction.
He ducked down again and held still. Mormont quickly lost sight of the guardsmen circling the inner courtyard and steadied his breath. All he could do was wait as the two guards by the stairs slowly walked along the base of the outer wall.
Come on… One of the slow bastards laughed at something the other said. They were taking too long!
Their armor clinked and shifted as they went by. Mormont glanced out at them as they went, not taking notice of him in the least. And once they were about twenty paces away, he took his chance.
Mormont left the cover of the stone well and made for the staircase leading up to the guard tower. Even once he reached the stairs, he noted that no one had seen him. And so he made his way up the steps one by one, keeping his head down. Once he was at the top, he scanned down the length of the wall again. From what he could see of the rest of the fortress battlements… A few other lights were dotting the wall. Not close enough to see him, though.
Not that that mattered anymore! He prepared himself mentally for the descent down to the battlement below and made for the crenellation opposite of him. And-
Thwump!
Even over the bluster of the howling winds, Duncan had heard it. He hadn't been prepared for the door to the guard tower on his immediate left to open up and crash against stone. A man stepped through, he appeared to be fiddling with his latern when he suddenly snapped to attention as soon as he looked up and set eyes on Mormont.
Something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.
"Aaaaah!" The guard shouted out something, some phrase in YiTish, with a snarl and made to draw his sword.
Duncan instinctually went into action. He lunged forward and made to close the distance. He dwarfed the YiTish in size and in strength, and so he managed to ram him with his right shoulder and push him into the wall.
The lantern clattered onto the stone floor of the castle wall. The guard drew out a gleaming tongue of white steel, but Duncan managed to catch the connecting wrist just in time. He pinned the YiTish against the wall with the weight of his body while he tried to wrestle away the other man's dagger. As soon as he did, a pair of armored hands began to scrabble and claw at his face and neck.
BOOM! He exhaled sharply and nearly fell backward as his face exploded with fresh, stinging pain. The cold wind made it sting that much more.
Something hot was leaking from his nose now. Tears were welling up in his eyes in response. Still, Duncan ground his teeth as two more fists pounded into his abdomen and neck, respectively. He managed to reach for the knife on his belt, drawing it and bringing it up underneath the guard's left shoulder.
The knife sank easily into soft, tender flesh, and Mormont knew he'd hit home.
The YiTish gasped sharply but somehow continued to pelt him with punches and kicks. Again and again and again, Duncan endured them, knowing it would all be over swiftly.
And sure enough… the blazing fire behind the YiTish's eyes had died away. The raging flurry of blows had suddenly become less… energetic. Then they started to bounce off him harmlessly. And then finally… they stopped altogether.
The guard breathed shallowly as he fell limp. Duncan lowered him to the ground gently and let the man slump up against the door. It-
BANG! The door to the guard tower on the opposite end of the section of wall had shot open. Four men ran out towards him with swords drawn and spears at the ready. Voices shouting and yelling close by. Pairs of armored boots clamored as they quickly made their way up the stairwell right behind him. They must've heard their comrade scream!
Mormont turned and ran inside the tower behind him. Immediately, he entered a square box-shaped room. A long wooden ladder jutted out of a hole in the floor and led up through the ceiling. A torch burned brightly to his right, illuminating the room and the table and two chairs below it. Mormont made for the door on the opposite side of the room leading out to the wall. Just a few feet away, he reached for the latch and-
BAM! It, too, had thrust open, revealing another pair of guards. They didn't hesitate to rush after him.
Shit, he turned and went for the ladder, just fast enough to avoid one of the questing blades lunging for him. He leapt down the hole, not even stopping to place his hands on the handles of the ladder itself, and found himself hurtling down into the dimly lit void below him.
The fall had been higher than Mormont expected. He twisted around mid-air and hit the ladder on the way down. He spun, and his back crashed against a table. CRRK! The flat top broke his fall and shattered into splinters… then he finally crashed hard against the stone floor with an audible THRUMP!
"Grrrgh…" Duncan groaned in a daze. Everything was spinning and spinning now, but he knew he had to move.
He turned over and shakily sprang to his feet. What seemed like dozens of voices rang out on the floor above him. Orders being issued, most likely.
Mormont looked around and made for the door. Ignoring the fresh pain that shot up through his arm and backside, he yanked it open and ran out into the night.
Things were bad. But if he was going down, then he might as well make it hard for the opposition. And at the very least, ensure these sallow-skinned bastards didn't find out where he and his fellow operatives had stashed their climbing gear.
The voices behind him got louder suddenly. Even with his blackened garments, they'd still seen him!
Duncan shot past the well he'd gone by almost minutes earlier. Pairs of boots rushed down stone steps behind him. They were coming.
He made a straight right turn and went behind the stables. Distracting them long enough to clear them away from the exit point.
As soon as he cleared the corner, two more guards were already running towards him with spears, picking up their pace the moment they set eyes on him, too.
There wasn't anywhere else to go. The narrow passage he'd found himself in didn't afford him many options. Attempting to scale the wall itself would take too long, as well.
No, no, no, no! It wasn't supposed to go like this! He wasn't supposed to go out like this!
Killed at the ass end of nowhere? Dying unceremoniously in some foreign wasteland?
The realization, the knowledge that a likely undignified end was waiting for him -no! It was coming at him with full force now.
Mormont had drawn his sword well before the two in front of him had already closed the gap. Fighting off a spear with only a longsword innately put one at a disadvantage, and only the most well-trained swordsmen would be able to do it with relative ease. While Duncan himself could manage it, two spears were facing him now. He sprung into action and went on the offensive- immediately going for the one on the right. The iron spearhead that came his way would've gone right into his abdomen, just under his sternum, but he'd quickly shifted to the side and turned the flat of his blade under the shaft, flicking it upwards.
The shaft split apart instantly- the other spear came for his jugular. He barely missed it by a few inches and stepped forward, redirecting his sword up and driving it underneath the first guard's shoulder.
"Uuuaaahh!" The guard screamed out and fell to the ground, while Duncan withdrew the now bloodied longsword and squared off against the second guard.
He would've stepped forward to close the gap…
The chance never came. Something blunt and metallic hit the back of his head.
Darkness greeted him like an old friend.
A field of shimmering auroras in a darkened sky.
A great beaming star of green, a mock imitation of a sun.
A horizon full of mountains reaching thousands of feet in height, impossibly high.
A flat snow-torn landscape, destitute of natural life.
A stygian city far out in the distance.
A meteor falling from the sky.
A woman sitting on a throne, wearing a golden crown bearing a shining purple jewel. All around her was a gleaming court, the people around her having adoring smiles as they looked up to her.
A young man holding a bloodstained dagger.
A room stained red with blood, bones, and bodies and organs spread around a lone figure kneeling in the center of it all. He tore and chewed on a lung with such vigor and eagerness.
A drum. Many drums. Doom, doom, doom, doom, doom, doom, doom.
A man sitting on a throne- the same one who held the bloody knife- now having assumed his own golden crown, one not with an amethyst, but a dark red orb.
A large, rough, chunky, oily black stone cupped in his hands.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
A black stone.
"...Wake."
A golden orange glow.
Nice and warm and toasty. Just like home.
"Errghhhh…" Duncan slurred drunkenly. He felt a firm vice grip his right arm and then his left. The thing that had been pressing against his face had left him then, and he felt himself rise away from whatever it was.
Raising his head only brought more stinging, more buzzing, more pain. Duncan didn't bother trying. He just wanted to shut his eyes and go back to sleep.
Very suddenly, his chin had been seized by what he figured was a hand, and his head had been raised sharply upwards. Probably Aunt Maege getting up to her regular inspections. She always liked to make the rounds with him and his siblings when they were younger.
Something… something had come to his ears. Some sound. A noise. Words. Yes, words! Someone was speaking, he knew… but he couldn't quite understand it.
Was Aunt Maege whispering with Mother again? They liked to do that. It was strange how well those two got along. They might as well have been mirror opposites of one another. His mother was prim and proper like a Southern lady, while his aunt was even more brash and uncouth than the average Northerner.
The same hand suddenly let go, and Duncan let his head fall.
Thwap! Thwap! Something hit him hard in the face. Why was Aunt Maege hitting him? He'd woken up early, hadn't he? He was ready for his lessons with Torwyn, not his siblings! They were lazing away in bed!
With each impact against the side of his skull, he gradually started to come to. One by one, it had all come back to him.
The stables. The robed man. The death of the merchant. The guard he killed. Then, him being caught. And now-
Long hall. Tall ceiling, perhaps forty feet in height. Wide double doors on either side. Thick wooden pillars painted in red lined the edges of the room itself. The heads of bearded dragons dot the archways in between them. A large dais opposite of him, a large wooden throne coated in gold paint, sat in front of a great hearth that roared with fresh flames. There was a small podium sitting next to the throne itself.
The conclusion was simple enough. He was in the main keep.
One glance to his left and then to his right. Two guards were holding him up by the arms. Both of them held tight enough to his biceps that he was close to losing feeling in them. For what purpose, Duncan didn't know. He should be long dead by now. That's exactly what he would've done in their position. Deal with the intruder first; ask questions later.
The flaming pain in both his nose and the back of his head soon followed his immediate memories. So had the lurching stinging he felt in his spine and shoulders. One of those things was not at the angle it should have been.
It was his nose. That bastard of a guard must've broken his nose in the struggle.
Despite the headache that was now setting in, Duncan forced himself to be ice-cold. The pain didn't matter.
Right now, he needed to play for time. Escape, as desirable as it might be, likely wasn't going to happen. He wasn't about to assume the competence of these cultists. Not now.
And he didn't even know if he was the only one who'd been captured. But if he was, then he needed to stave off whatever this was long enough for the Chimera's Breath to go off.
Then, and only then, it would all be over.
Not like they'll understand what I'm saying anyway, Duncan snorted. What at all were the chances these cultists understood the Common Tongue?
At least it'll make for a short conversation.
KRRRRRRRRRRRLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG!
He gave a startling jolt as the castle gong had been rung. It was significantly louder than it had been earlier that day. More than enough to expound his current headache.
The tall twin wooden doors to his right had opened. Out came three men. Three men whom he easily recognized.
Two bodyguards dressed in ornate plate armor, both of them wielding pikes. With the third man walking between them.
He did not wear the same golden silk garment bearing patterns of black flowers and snakes. Now, the man wore a pure black robe that reached down below his feet, covering his legs entirely, as he glided toward the center of the hall. Whoever this man was- either Tsai Na or the Yellow King- he looked alien, even for a YiTish. There was the same narrowed slant of the eyes, the familiar long stringy black beard attached to a pointed chin. Yet his hooked nose that tilted downwards seemed to indicate Essosi blood. From Slavers Bay, likely. The unhealthy sallow skin that sagged slightly also pointed towards that conclusion as well.
This man was… off.
Duncan felt cold. Unnaturally cold. It was like all the heat had been sucked out of the air just from the tall man's presence.
The robed man did not address him or look at him initially. The two guards holding Duncan up had already stood to attention, the one on Mormont's right speaking YiTish. The guard then paused, glancing briefly down at Mormont with a murderous glare before finishing his report.
Not too happy that I killed one of your friends and maimed another, I suppose.
Pressure. There was a sudden, almost hidden pressure that Duncan felt right then as he glanced back at the robed man, who had stepped forward, finally seeing him for the first time.
Duncan matched his gaze and immediately wished he hadn't. It wasn't immediately obvious, but when Duncan looked, he noticed that the robed man's eyes didn't bear any color. Blue, brown, green, nothing. They were black.
Just… black.
Mormont knew there was something deeply wrong about those eyes and about the owner of them. Something unnatural. Something inhuman. The more Duncan looked into those pools, the colder he felt.
The robed man opened his mouth. Duncan was more than surprised as he spoke in Braavosi.
Despite his pedigree, Duncan had never paid much attention to the use of Valyrian languages. It wasn't exactly practical where his life was concerned, at least not yet. In hindsight, it definitely would've helped, but none of that mattered when he could swing a sword or make off with some tavern wench for the night.
Still, he vaguely understood bits and pieces of the bastardized dialect of High Valyrian being directed at him now. Only small words here and there. It wasn't enough.
The tall man did not seem bothered at all by Duncan's silence. If anything, the leader of these detestable sadists looked even more curiously upon him. More determined to figure out exactly what-or who-Duncan was.
A brief pause as those black orbs inspected him, looked him over again. And again. And again. And-
"Hmmm…" The robed man hummed then, now bearing a cheerful smile that didn't meet his dark eyes. "You are not Braavosi…"
What the…
"You are Westerosi!" The tall man beamed. This man had a perfect command over the Common Tongue. Like he'd grown up in Westeros or the Free Cities, speaking the language from his early days. Not at all in the stilted, yet coherent fashion that Suara or Mao did. "What a find, indeed! I have not set eyes on your countrymen in many years."
Duncan started to feel that chill enter his bones.
Play for time, he reminded himself. Play for time.
"You're Tsai Na, I presume? Or the Yellow King?"
Those black eyes only bore into him further. Like a predator inspecting its prey before the final killing blow. "Tsai Na and the Yellow King are the same." The monarch gave him a disturbingly compassionate smile. "And you, my son, have found him. You… must be the laowai in Xi Mao's employ who I have heard much of."
Shit. That wasn't a good sign.
"Shi who?" Mormont asked dumbly.
"Please, my son…" The Yellow King shook his head as if he were hearing out the pleas of a child. "You know of whom I speak. It is very much in character for our esteemed 'Imperial Fleetmaster…'" The title had been said with no small amount of mocking. "...to send others to do his work for him. That he would hire a capable laowai such as yourself to seek me out… is quite believable."
Duncan stayed silent. It was the only card he had to play.
It didn't seem like the Yellow King knew about his fellow operatives. Not yet at least. Hopefully… Mobu and Suara were getting ready to blow this blasted fortress sky-high.
At least there was that.
The Yellow King casually inspected his long nails then, breaking away from Duncan however briefly. "My son… any and all attempts to fool me will end in failure. Your immediate future is not a bright one. Please… do not make it any bleaker for yourself."
Please… Felt like there had been a hint of sincerity there.
Was it to be death, then? Or torture. Probably the latter. It wasn't much of a surprise, going off what he'd seen in the courtyard earlier. Oh well.
It would be a pain, but Mormont wasn't about to give up Mao. Not a chance.
"Well," he started, ignoring the massive lump in his dry throat. "Let's get this over with then. Because I'm not telling you anything."
Best to get the bandage off now rather than having it be drawn out.
But the reaction he got from the monarch- who was far taller than him- was not what he'd expected.
Tsai Na returned his attention to Duncan. Those beady black orbs for eyes swallowed him up now. Drinking him in. The monarch frowned. "My son…" he started. Very slowly, very carefully, the Yellow King knelt in front of Duncan. His expression was one of tender care. Almost like the mad bastard was comforting him over a mistake he made, letting him know that everything would be alright in the end.
It was patronizing to the extreme. Tsai Na was chiding him for getting caught. And it infuriated Duncan more than anything.
"Know this, my son…" He stared Duncan in the eyes. "I am not interested in your reason for being here. I do not care to know the objective Xi Mao gave you, whether simple observation or assassination. What you know does not intrigue me so," the madman said as he touched his jagged finger to the front plate of Duncan's skull. The nail was long and cold and sharp. "Who you are, however, does."
It was then that the Yellow King rose to his full towering height and gently placed his hand on Duncan's shoulder. Even through the heavy fabrics of the suit he was wearing, Duncan could feel just how cold the monarch's palm really was.
It shouldn't be like that. No one was cold like that. But he was.
The Yellow King flashed Duncan one last fatherly smile and then broke away. He looked to the two guards holding Duncan and spoke to them in YiTish, giving their new orders.
Immediately, they both threw him violently down onto the cool wooden floorboards. Mormont never got to see the Yellow King sweep away with his bodyguards trailing close behind him. As Duncan tried to post himself off the floor, he was kicked hard in the side, with an armored boot stabbing into his gut.
"Grrragh!" He gasped and fell back to the ground.
More boots came raining down on his back and neck. Even when they turned him over, they stomped on his arms, chest, and face. Duncan tried to protect his face, but it was no use. Footsteps echoed towards him. More guards suddenly joined in, and when Duncan managed to look up above him, he saw the gleaming blade of a drawn knife.
And what followed next… was one long scream.