Chapter 25: An Interesting Acquaintance

291 AC. Astapor.

Gardens near the Pyramid of House Targaryen.

“And Zirarro makes the most delicious crabs! You absolutely must try them, Visy,” the little silver-haired girl finished her tale of her journey.

“I will, I will,” I chuckled, ruffling Daenerys’s hair, which made her pout like a chipmunk.

“Stop it! I am a perfectly grown-up lady now,” she stamped her foot, adjusted the locks cascading over her light blue dress, then put on a sly little face and concluded, “You have gravely insulted me, brother! I shall forgive you if you promise to take me for a walk and show me the legion’s castrum! Zirarro told me about it,” the little imp declared brazenly.

“Very well, we'll take a walk in a couple of days,” I smiled, glancing at the young woman in an open yellow dress standing nearby.

“Dany, let's go. Didn’t you want to see your respected elder brother’s dragon? He’s already eaten and is sleeping outside the city walls now,” her companion said softly, but with an amusing accent.

“What are we waiting for then?” the little minx fluttered, dashed out of the arbor, and was about to run towards her palanquin, but she turned back for a moment and waved her hand, “Bye, Visy! See you this evening.”

Watching the departing Daenerys, who was joyfully skipping past the rose bushes and peach trees, I looked at the back of Mae, who was following my sister.

The YiTish, the brother and sister of the Fen clan, had honestly been forgotten by me in the turmoil of the past few months. So when Veela, at a regular council meeting, inquired about where I should settle my new vassals, I didn't even understand who she was talking about for a few minutes. Once I recalled them, I summoned Liao, Mae’s older brother, to my study. As it turned out, the YiTish had been waiting for my further instructions all this time, and since none had come, the brother and sister had simply been training, learning the language, and finding out exactly whose vassals they had become.

I provided Liao with several books on magic, those treatises that I later intended to donate to the library of the yet-to-be-created magical organization in the service of the Empire. Mae, meanwhile, continued to train with her naginata-like weapon and began practicing air magic under her brother's guidance. When my sister arrived in Astapor, I assigned Mae to Dany. She serves as a kind of older friend who, in the event of an attack, could also slaughter a dozen enemies with wind blades and shield the young Targaryen with air shields.

“The High Priestess of the Harpy,” announced one of the four Praetorians guarding my peace.

Looking down one of the paths leading to the arbor, I saw a woman approaching me, wearing a golden mask on her face. She was accompanied by two priestesses in black robes and silver masks.

“Emperor Viserys Targaryen,” the delegation bowed low.

“High Priestess Radaghra Izhaar,” I nodded.

With a wave of my hand, I dismissed my bodyguards, watched the priestesses in dark robes follow the warriors away, and gestured toward the wicker chair opposite mine.

“Please, be seated, esteemed one. Was your journey easy?” The woman adjusted the orange hems of her dress as she carefully sat down in the offered seat.

“Easy, but tiring. I confess, I have never been fond of travel. But for your sake, I endured the hardships of the long road and arrived in Astapor,” the priestess replied melodiously.

I surveyed the figure of the woman who was already two centuries old, letting my gaze linger on the decolletage where flawless white breasts were visible, and I chuckled.

“Let’s say this meeting was necessary for both of us, though perhaps more so for the servants of the Harpy.” I picked up a clay jug from the small table and began pouring three-century-old wine into two goblets.

“Is that so? Has the Emperor ceased to require the support of the Harpy’s temples?” After looking around the garden and ensuring we were completely alone, the priestess removed her mask, revealing her face.

Fiery red hair cascaded in curling locks over delicate shoulders, plump lips the color of ripe cherries, piercing green eyes, a neat little nose, and freckles covering snow-white cheeks and high cheekbones. Yes, this woman was beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful I had ever seen in my two lives.

“Your aid in suppressing civil unrest and your intelligence in Yunkai and Meereen are indeed valuable. But you ask for far more than you give,” I answered, mastering a slight infatuation and maintaining a cold mask of indifference on my face.

“Excellent wine,” the priestess smiled, sipping from her goblet and seductively licking the ruby droplets from her plump lips. “Are our agreements still in force?”

“Yes. You shall receive five cups of my dragon's blood and a portion of the books on magic.” I swirled the tart wine in my mouth and leaned back in my chair. “As for religion... in my Empire, worship of any god is permitted.”

“Any?” Radaghra Izhaar raised a red eyebrow. “Even R’hllor and the Black Goat?” the priestess smiled with a touch of irony.

“Gods, yes, but not demons,” I returned the smile.

“Demons?” the priestess asked, slightly surprised.

“The Seven, the Fourteen, the Harpy, the Old Gods… none of them demand human sacrifice,” I began to explain my stance. “Yes, some of these gods are offered criminals as sacrifice, but that is more a tradition and an execution on a feast day, rather than a mandatory rite. In the Valyrian Empire, live sacrifices will only be permitted in the form of animals. I will not allow people to be cut open on altars.”

“And the Red Priests of R’hllor sacrifice only humans, and they regard other faiths with anger and hatred. And you, as a true Dragonlord and the Valyrian who resurrected the Valyrian Empire, are the defender of the faith in the Fourteen Gods of Old Valyria,” the woman nodded and took a drink from her goblet.

“In essence, correct. And why would I want aggressive and uncontrollable fanatics nearby?” I said reasonably. “They might even declare me Azor Ahai, the chosen champion of R’hllor,” I smiled ironically.

“What did you say?” The priestess flinched barely perceptibly, her emerald eyes fixing on my face with a hard stare. “Azor Ahai was chosen only once, during the time of…”

“...the Long Night, yes, I know,” I nodded, interrupting the priestess, which earned me a look of displeasure and a wrinkled nose.

“Then why do you believe he will be chosen again?”

“Did the gods of Valyria not bestow power and knowledge upon me for a reason? Surely not only for the sake of resurrecting the Valyrian state and erecting temples.” As I spoke these words, blue flames danced on my palm, and for a moment, the pressure of my magical might spread around us, comparable in strength to the priestess's own.

“So young, and already stronger than me, who has amassed power for two centuries.” The Harpy's priestess did not bat an eye at the display of power and thoughtfully bit her nail. “Power, a dragon, long-forgotten knowledge, and your hint… is the Night King coming?”

“Yes, the Night King has either awakened or will awaken soon. We have at least ten years before his active campaign begins, and in that time, the Empire must possess the strength capable of destroying him and the army of the dead.”

At the end of my speech, the woman froze for a moment, and her eyes glazed over with a red film. Her pupils dilated, her magical aura increased tenfold, and the woman cocked her head like a bird.

“These words are serious, little fledgling,” a deep voice spoke from the entity possessing the High Priestess's body, and her lips twisted into a harsh sneer. “How can you prove them?”

“I swear by my magic and my very essence, he who is known as the Night King shall soon awaken or has already stirred from his sleep. Fire and Blood be my witnesses.” The blood in my veins heated, and fire briefly flared around my figure without harming the chair.

“You do not lie. Or you believe your words to be true,” the Harpy in the priestess's body bared sharpened teeth in a semblance of a smile. “My servants will help you. If the whole world turns into a kingdom of cold and death, my devotees will also perish, and I along with them.”

With these words, the priestess’s body slumped back into the chair, the sense of something powerful and dangerous having vanished, and Radaghra Izhaar gasped convulsively. Wiping beads of sweat from her face, she managed a strained smile and drained all the wine in her goblet in one gulp.

Silently, I refilled the ruby fluid for the priestess, to which she weakly nodded, and I too sipped the tart drink.

“I heard what my Lady said,” Radaghra spoke, having calmed down a little. “I shall give you all the aid I can.”

Pondering for a second, the woman shot me a glance from her cunningly glittering emerald eyes and licked her lips alluringly.

“Shall we sleep together?” she offered, reaching for the ties of her dress.

“Right here?”

“Yes,” Radaghra replied succinctly, exposing her snow-white breasts with their perky, cherry-red nipples.

Silently, I stripped off my tunic, pulled the squeaking priestess to me, and pressed a passionate kiss onto her lips.

Burning off stress after a conversation with an actual goddess is certainly not a bad idea.

******

I surveyed the Praetorians, who stood around me in a group of four. I settled more comfortably on the sandy training ground and tightened my grip on my sword’s hilt.

“Begin,” Zirarro announced loudly.

Two steps, raising the shield to block a blow. The sword rang, deflecting the attack of the second warrior. My steel-shod boot slammed with a clang against the opponent's armored shin.

“The Pit!” was all the Praetorian managed to curse before my shield crashed into his helmet.

Dodging to the side, I glanced at the three remaining standing opponents and channelled magic into my sword. A scarlet flash illuminated the training hall’s arches, and an arc of fire slammed into the Praetorian’s shield. The scutum glowed with silver runes on its surface and extinguished the flame, but the warrior was still disoriented.

“Fork,” another Praetorian commanded, raising his shield and rushing straight at me. The other two, without hesitation, began to circle me from the sides.

I surged my magic through my body, making my muscles swell with strain. A step to the side, a powerful shield-on-shield impact. The opponent staggered and began to fall, but my sword sped after him. The helmet, briefly flashing with ignited runes, nullified most of the impact, but an unconscious body already lay on the sand.

A premonition of danger stung my back, but I merely smirked beneath my helmet’s visor and received the blow of the fighter directly in front of me on my shield. A sword scraped my back with a clang, but I only swayed, then spun and delivered my own strike.

The strip of metal met a Praetorian scutum. A quick step to the side, the shield flew at one enemy, and a jet of flame shot from my freed hand at the second. Both covered themselves with shields, and the magical runes saved their owners.

“Boar,” one of them grunted, to which the second silently nodded. Both simultaneously struck their chests, shattering red glass beads. Blood magic, honed within the amulets, greedily soaked into the warriors’ bodies, and they charged forward, their speed three times greater than before.

A fountain of mana surged into my head directly from the center, weaving into the pattern of Consciousness Acceleration. A second flow of magic formed a net of dozens of runic symbols and enveloped my entire body, forming the Blood Burst spell. The leather wrap on the sword’s hilt squeaked under the strain.

My muscles exploded with the power surging through them, and the Praetorians and I became entangled in a dance of steel and magic. Hundreds of strikes, hundreds of blocks and dodges, the clang of steel hammered into my ears, and before my eyes flashed only the silhouettes of swords, shields, and opponents.

A mistake. A small one. The blade of the first warrior passed dangerously close to my left flank, and my iron-gloved hand simply gripped the caught blade. I pulled sideways, and the sword broke in half from the monstrous blow of the second warrior, whose sword was blocked by a strip of metal. Both were momentarily confused, and that marked the end of our confrontation. A moment later, both warriors were lying on the sand.

“Haaaaa!” I exhaled, cancelled the spells, and swayed tiredly. Yes, although my mana reserve is simply monstrous and my body grows stronger every month due to the magical infusion of Avero, mid-tier peak spells are still difficult. Glancing at the healers and servants already bustling around the defeated warriors, I sheathed my sword, handed my helmet to one of the servants, and walked to the corner of the hall, sitting on a squeaking stool by the table with drinks, where Zirarro was seated.

“Y-e-e-s,” the Ghiscari drawled, releasing a cloud of fragrant smoke, and set the hookah mouthpiece on a golden tray. “Those Dragon’s Fury amulets are something else.”

“In battle, those glass beads could accidentally shatter from an opponent's blow. I'm still struggling with the mental activation of the amulet, but artifact crafting is clearly not my strength. I need to establish a Tower of Mages like in Old Valyria and recruit apprentices.” I popped a juicy fig into my mouth and continued, “It won't do for a ruler to be forced to engage in craftsmanship, sacrificing matters of state in the process.”

“I fully agree there,” Zirarro nodded, then asked the question that has been plaguing me for a decade. “Only, where are we to find teachers?”

“Well, for a while, I can teach the most capable students blood magic and pyromancy to replace me as instructors. Liao will take on the burden of teaching aeromancy for the time being, and the Harpy’s priestesses have already promised to provide female teachers.”

“It's not much,” Zirarro mused, knowing full well that Liao and I are still learning ourselves. “And speaking of the Harpy’s priestesses… I heard you had a wonderful time in the garden yesterday.” The Ghiscari put on a sly face and quickly ducked, letting a small fireball pass over his head.

“Constant vigilance!” Zirarro boasted, lifting his nose proudly, cautiously watching the slowly flying flaming ball.

“What about the fleet?” I changed the subject, not wanting to discuss my amorous adventures.

“Twenty warships and ten merchant vessels have been laid down in the shipyards; three galleys, battered by a pirate attack, will soon be back in service,” one of my two admirals reported.

“We need to form separate fleets and finalize the naval code. You’ll handle that perfectly,” I shifted a problem from one sore head to a healthy one.

“So while Narvos is chasing down ships with sellswords sailing for Meereen and Yunkai, I'll be bogged down with paperwork,” the Ghiscari grimaced with annoyance, to which I heartily snorted. “You shouldn’t have ignited my sister’s passion for martial arts.”

“But she insisted herself!” the captain exclaimed, insulted in his best feelings. “'Uncle Zirarro, please teach me how to fight! Pretty ple-e-ase!'” the sailor mimicked the little minx.

“Yet Narvos stoically rejected her plea, and you couldn’t resist and started teaching her swordsmanship,” I countered, at which Zirarro na Zakloz sighed mournfully.

“They’ll be as good as new by morning, Your Grace,” the Maester informed me with a bow. Watching the Praetorians, who were already limping out in the company of a couple of healers and servants, I nodded graciously at the man with the bushy, oak-bark-colored beard.

“Thank you for your help, Maester Aemon.”

“Serving the Targaryens is my duty,” the learned man replied habitually, bowed once more, and followed his apprentices.

Maester Aemon was one of my mentors alongside Willem Darry and was one of the few who left his native Westeros accompanying the young Viserys and the newborn Daenerys. Over the years, the Maester had aged; his skin was full of wrinkles, and his eyes had faded. But the Dragon's Life potion, made from a liter of dragon blood and the lives of fifty notorious criminals, had done its work. Just a month ago, the decrepit man looked and felt only forty.

Willem Darry drank the same potion. He had already grown a beard down to his navel and braided it into a thick pigtail, which shone with gold from the noble metal threads woven into it. The bald-headed Legate, who had shed a good twenty years, now enjoyed the company of a couple of concubines daily and drilled the legionaries even harder during exercises and training.

None of my other most loyal and valuable vassals required the rejuvenation potion, and Avero had recently begun looking at me with clearly unkind intentions. And I, wisely deciding that being barbecued did not appeal to me, have put a stop to potions based on dragon blood for now.

“When are you planning to hatch the eggs? Daemon and Daeron are already impatient, and Princess Daenerys has exhausted everyone in the pyramid with the question. Soon she'll start pestering innocent city folk!” Zirarro, who had become Dany’s fencing teacher, snorted.

“After the victory over the armies of Meereen and Yunkai. In the current conflict, young hatchlings requiring their master’s attention would only hinder the Reraxes brothers, and I won’t leave Dany alone with a dragon in Astapor,” I smiled, remembering my restless sister.