The King of Winters

Chapter - 81

When Braavos heard of what happened to Myr the Sealord must have known what was coming to him as well. Instead of bringing Fire and Blood to the island, Rhaegar extended the hand of friendship one which the Braavosi were quick to take upon. After all there is no trade to be done with dead men.

"Even if I give you my ships and the ships of all my friends, you'll have no crew to sail them. The justice of your cause means naught to the common men of Pentos. Why should my sailors care who sits upon the throne of some kingdom at the edge of the world?"

"We will pay them to care."

"They don't love your gold enough to embrace death when they could earn more than that in my trading galleys without the risk of dying."

"Sellswords and sellsails can always do with more gold."

"That they may do," Illyrio acknowledged, "but so much of your gold will be wasted on the likes of sellswords and sellsails. They will turn back and run at the first sight of the Dragonslayer, if not before that. They will care more about your gold than your king's protection."

That annoyed Jon Connington more than anything. It was as if the man had already made up his mind to not lend any support to King Rhaegar. He was evading any offers Jon had made him and found issues with all. "If you wouldn't help, perhaps I should leave and ask for the help of Volantis?"

Illyrio gave a languid shrug. "They will give you nothing but flattery and lies. Volantis would never raise it's sails unless there is something in it for them. Unlike with Pentos or Tyrosh or Braavos your King has done nothing for the triarchs. The Seven Kingdoms mean nothing for Old Volantis."

Perhaps I should burn Pentos down and put Volantis in its position. Then they would be more than willing to help us out against the false King. "Perhaps I should just make an example out of you to these great magisters," Jon said impatient. "King Rhaegar never tolerates betrayal. Keep off from your word and I promise you that you will reap the rewards. When we finish with the traitor in the Seven Kingdoms, we will come for you with Fire and Blood. The dragon does not forget."

That seemed to amuse the lord of cheese no end. He slapped a meaty thigh and said, "You Westerosi are all the same. You sew some beast upon a scrap of silk, and suddenly you are all wolves or dragons or eagles. I have no doubt you have met a real dragon, my friend. They are big enough to drape cities with their shadows and breathe fire. Do you think our noble King Rhaegar can do either of those?"

The lords of the Seven Kingdoms did make rather much of their sigils, Jon had to admit. But he would not let this cheesemonger mock his King in front of him. "No, he couldn't" he conceded. "But he has the necessary dragons under his command to do that for him."

"And still the Born King is very much alive and he is winning victories in the lands ruled by King Rhaegar and his dragons."

How are these stories getting across the seas so fast? The Hand of the King had no answer for that. The magisters of Myr had known it as well and so did the Archon of Tyrosh. And now the Pentoshi magister as well. He had to turn the tide soon enough or else he might lose the chance to set sail in the waters he has hoped to take. If they know we are losing they would not be so willing to help us. "For now," Jon said. "And with the help of the traitors. We will deal with him in short time with the dragons and with your help it would be much more quicker."

"There are those in Westeros who would say otherwise," Illyrio said. "Even here in Pentos there are those who say that killing the dragons was merely a good beginning."

They had best not say it in his grace's hearing, or they will find themselves armed and armoured to go do the job themselves. Jon took a deep sigh and looked up at the magister. "You had best be careful what you say of the royal family, magister. It is high treason to even talk of such things."

"What is treason to one king is the show of devotion of loyalty to another. In Pentos we have a prince, my friend. He presides at ball and feast and rides about the city in a palanquin of ivory and gold. Three heralds go before him with the golden scales of trade, the iron sword of war, and the silver scourge of justice. On the first day of each new year he must deflower the maid of the fields and the maid of the seas." Illyrio leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Yet should a crop fail or a war be lost, we cut his throat to appease the gods and choose a new prince from amongst the forty families."

The Lord Hand was unamused. "Remind me never to become the Prince of Pentos."

"Are your Seven Kingdoms so different? There is no peace in Westeros, no justice, no faith ... and soon enough, no food. When men are starving and sick of fear, they look for a saviour."

He had the truth of it, Jon knew at once. The best part of the Seven Kingdoms might have broken into two factions but the smallfolk cared not for who sit the Iron Throne. The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends. It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace. They never are. "We could make Rhaegar that saviour with your help," Jon said. "If you could lent your support."

Illyrio opened his arms. "I could give you the ships and the food, but you should look for soldiers elsewhere."

You will get no help in this city, Lord Hand." Illyrio Mopatis took an onion between thumb and forefinger. "Each day you spend here wasting your time on finding sellswords and sellsails lets the Dragonslayer move up against your king little by little and the Targaryens hold on the Iron Throne slipping away slowly."

There was wisdom in those words, Jon thought. He was getting no help from Pentos, only wasting his time. He was getting more convinced of that than the day before. The Prince of Pentos saw no farther than the walls of his city as long as there was something in it for him.

"What do you suggest?" Jon asked.

"Get your ships and change course for Slaver's Bay."

Jon was not certain he liked the sound of that at all. Everything he'd ever heard of the flesh marts in the great slave cities of Yunkai, Meereen, and Astapor was plainly unacceptable and detestable. "What is there for us in Slaver's Bay?"

"An army," said Magister Illyrio. "One that would be much more stronger and fiercer than any sellswords I could buy for you. If pit fighters are much to your liking you can buy hundreds and thousands out of the fighting pits of Meereen . . . but it is Astapor where the real prize stands. In Astapor you can buy Unsullied."

"The slaves in the spiked bronze hats?" Jon had seen Unsullied guards in the Free Cities, posted at the gates of magisters, archons, and dynasts. He knew what they were made of. But the notion of bringing a slave army into Westeros didn't sit well with him. "Why should I want Unsullied and any slave army? King Rhaegar leads free men into battle, not slaves."

"Slavery is forbidden in Pentos, by the terms of the treaty the Braavosi imposed on us a hundred years ago. Still, it's almost as if there are five slaves for every free man in the city. And we use the unsullied to guard our homes as well." Illyrio gave a ponderous half bow. The fat man's eyes glittered like the gemstones on his fingers. "It seems to me that his grace lacks for free men to do his battles," Illyrio said. "Else you wouldn't be here now. Besides he had made common cause with the wise masters before."

That Jon Connington could not deny. His king's friendships had extended so far to the east that he meddled with the slaver cities and it's masters as a result his involvements across the Narrow Sea. The unsullied who tore down the walls of Myr had acted under his commands.

Illyrio tore a chunk of a black bread and put it inside his mouth. "If it's any comfort for you they would not be slaves once you buy them off from the slavers. They would be free men, as free as any sellswords you could get. Only these would fear neither dragons nor dragonslayers."

That. . . could work, Jon Connington knew. The magister was not as devious and gluttonous as he had thought him to be. Illyrio was clever, he will give him that. "That could work," the King's Hand said.

"So that's it," the magister slapped his large belly and laughed heartily. "I could give you my wealth to by the Unsullied and the ships to get them back onto Westeros. Between the Unsullied, the sellswords and our combined fleet we should be able to deal with the Dragonslayer with ease."

Jon could not join onto his happiness and laughter for he was too bothered by the notion of what Illyrio Mopatis was going to ask in return for his help.