The King of Winters

Chapter-87

No, he had no idea of that, but he was not about to say that to his men. These men are not from here and they wanted to get back to their home as quick as they can. "Soon."

"We have to get back soon or we might not get back at all," Rykker said. He was wearing a silver mail, heavy and stained with blood and smoke at the chest. He was not wearing any plate now on the ship, but was always ready for a fight with a hand on his sword. Jon's own kit was back in his cabin. There was no need for steel in the company of friends. Or so he hoped.

"Soon," he told them, pushing his fiery red hair out of his face. Jon preferred to spend most of his time with his own men or the other Westerosi in the company. There were other Westerosi in the company, but not many, and he was tired of hearing the foreign languages. "We will make it back soon."

Later that day, freshly garbed and cloaked once more, Connington made an inspection of their camp and sent word to Illyrio and his friends and all his captains to join him for a war council. The Essosi took their time and it was about an hour before they could arrive at his place. Eleven of them assembled in the huge cabin of the Sea Dragon: Jon Connington and Illyrio, good master Kraznys from Astapor, great master Reznak from Mereen and wise master Grazdon from Yunkai. It had taken weeks for Jon to learn their names and he still couldn't manage to learn past a dozen of them. Each of the masters brought their own commanders as well. Yurkhaz zo Yunzak came with Grazdon, Supreme Commander of the Armies of Yunkai. An unsullied in a spiked bronze hat named Grey Worm came with Kraznys of Astapor. Reznak of Mereen was accompanied by Oznak zo Pahl, a callow youth armoured in scales of copper and jet and a pink-and-white silk cloak flowing from his wide shoulders. The lance he bore was fourteen feet long, swirled in pink and white, and his hair was shaped and teased and lacquered into two great curling ram's horns. And lastly the three triarchs of Volantis, tigers all three of them who were more interested in battles and wars than all the others from the east present in the pavilion combined. They owe their seats to King Rhaegar and Jon hoped they better keep their word for all the ends he had gone to put them there. At no time has more than one tiger been named triarch, until Jon had changed it with a couple of daggers in the dark for the elephants who weren't interested in wars.

Magister Illyrio had good tidings even before the Hand of the King started to speak. "Word's reached the camp from Kasporio and Groleo. The way is clear for us to cross and reach ashore to King's Landing." He turned and looked at Jon. "If the winds are good we would be at the city in three days."

At last. He had been waiting for so long to make it back to Westeros. "And what of the rest of the fleet from Volantis?"

"The damned Volantenes are taking their pleasant time to creep onto our positions," said the Tattered Prince who came with Illyrio. "I'll wager you that we've got lads scattered all over from Lys to Volantis." The soft-spoken, sad-eyed Pentoshi nobleman led his company Windblown for Pentos. His hair and mail were silver-grey, but his ragged cloak was made of twists of cloth of many colors, blue and grey and purple, red and gold and green, magenta and vermilion and cerulean, all faded by the sun. When the Tattered Prince was three-and-twenty, as Illyrio told the story, the magisters of Pentos had chosen him to be their new prince, hours after beheading their old prince. Instead he'd buckled on a sword, mounted his favorite horse, and fled to the Disputed Lands, never to return. He had ridden with the Second Sons, the Iron Shields, and the Maiden's Men, then joined with five brothers-in-arms to form the Windblown. Of those six founders, only he survived.

"You need to understand shipping elephants from one side of the world to other takes time," a triarch said. "And most of the company's horses are loaded within our ships as well."

"It's for the better," said Jon Connington. "If we should come upon any enemy fleet or a storm, part of our strength will be unhindered. I expect ravens would soon fly north when they see our fleet in the shores of King's Landing. It would be best if the messages they carry off to Andrew Stark speak of some garbled account of sellswords from the east. Stark would not even see our true strength and we could surprise him when he least expects it."