Chapter 37: Planning

Year 291 after Aegon’s Conquest.

Essos. Slaver's Bay. Yunkai.

I didn't stir until two days had passed since the battle for Yunkai. I woke in a spacious, lavishly appointed chamber; the shutters were open, framing a view of the evening city rising upon its hill.

My body still ached in places, and though my magical focus had restored itself, I wouldn't risk weaving any spells in the immediate future.

Rising from the bed in nothing but my smallclothes, I walked across the plush carpet to the window. Inhaling the fresh evening air, I looked out over Yunkai. The height of the pyramid I now occupied afforded a magnificent vantage point.

One of the greatest cities of Slaver's Bay, Yunkai was a sight to behold. Built upon a hill, its tiered architecture gave it the appearance of a massive, multi-storied wedding cake. Buildings of yellow and red sandstone, several stories high, were often adorned with frescoes or intricate carvings. The less fortunate citizens built with mud bricks—a mixture of clay, reeds, and dung. Respected craftsmen, officials, and middling merchants preferred fired brick; the tiled roofs of their dwellings stood in stark contrast to the flat or thatched roofs of the poor.

Closer to the pyramids at the very crest of the hill lay the manors and palaces of the Wise Masters and their kin. Not every aristocrat was so monstrously wealthy as to erect a gargantuan stone monolith and then pay for its upkeep and a colossal staff of servants. Even so, the homes of the affluent pleased the eye with high walls of expensive orange brick, white columns, marble accents, lush gardens, and the sapphire blue of pools and fountains, which from my height looked like colorful dots merging into whimsical patterns.

Above the city walls, banners featuring the three-headed red dragon on a black field snapped in the breeze; through the streets, squads of legionnaires in crimson cloaks moved on patrol. Judging by the throngs of people hurrying to workshops or the harbor, crowding the markets, or hauling freight on carts pulled by donkeys and mules, the populace seemed little troubled by the city's conquest. It was hardly surprising. Most of these people cared little who sat atop the pyramids in the heart of Yunkai. They worried more about what they would eat for supper, whether the price of wine and grain would rise, and other mundane concerns. I suspected many Yunkishmen even welcomed my victory, for the taxes I had introduced in Astapor were far lower than those levied by the Wise Masters. Moreover, a segment of the aristocracy, judging by the internecine slaughter, had been quite willing to become part of a grand Empire where taxes were lighter and oppressive laws fewer. Had I sought to abolish slavery entirely or raise taxes tenfold, then yes, these masters would have fought desperately to the end. As it was, nearly half of the city's elite had bared their own steel to support my host.

The window of the pyramid looked directly toward the main city gates, which were currently shrouded in scaffolding; it seemed I had indeed damaged the locking mechanism. To my great relief, Yunkai had not vanished in a conflagration; only a few blocks and scattered buildings were blackened by soot, and active repairs were already underway there. Wagons laden with stone and timber were being brought in, alongside carts of provisions for the builders, as hundreds of figures busied themselves with the work. It was clear that during my temporary absence, no major blunders had been made, which was a comfort. Behind me, the click of an opening door reached my ears. Turning, I met the gaze of a young servant girl in a light, near-transparent toga.

"My Lord," she said, bowing immediately. "Allow me to help you dress."

"Better you fetch Willem and the Reraxes brothers. And yes, send word to the kitchens, have them bring breakfast for four directly to this room. I am ravenous."

In half an hour's time, I sat with my guests, solemnly sipping Yi Ti tea and eating porridge enriched with butter, honey, and fresh berries. Darry, who had never developed a taste for the drink of the "squint-eyed, mewing runts," preferred good old-fashioned milk.

Willem was, as ever, dressed in a military fashion, or at least what my old world would have called military, accounting for the different cuts favored by soldiers in this era.

My mentor’s clean-shaven pate shone, and he sported a thick braid in his beard. He had picked up the Essosi fashion of scenting his facial hair with a bit of aromatic oil; because of this, a faint, refreshing scent of pine resin and cloves lingered in the air. His linen tunic had a triangular neck opening and was embroidered along the hem with silver thread; a brown cloak of fine wool was draped over his shoulders.

His overgarment was sleeveless and unbuttoned, reaching only to his knees, ensuring Darry felt no heat. Loose trousers of the same brown wool tucked into low boots with cavalry heels completed the image of the old warrior. The only things distinguishing the Legate from a common wealthy knight were the Darry coat of arms on his breast, a rich martial belt with gold and silver plates, and the hilt of his sword set with a large ruby.

Daeron had not strayed far from Darry in his choice of attire. His short crop of silver-white hair harmonized with a white vest and a beige tunic. His face, with its sharp and somewhat coarse features, was complemented by a neat beard and a pair of scars on his cheek and forehead—reddish lines standing out against his tanned skin.

Daemon, however, stood out. This dandy had seen fit to array himself in a true toga with a red border embroidered in a gold pattern. A massive fibula of the yellow metal, a pair of rings set with emerald and sapphire, and a chain completed the look of a wealthy and influential politician from somewhere like Volantis, where old Valyrian traditions held sway. His silver hair was braided and pinned into an elaborate coiffure with several ornamental needles.

"Where on earth did you dig up that look? Yi Ti hairstyles combined with massive gold jewelry and a Rhoynish belt with a copper buckle, that’s the era of the tyranny of the Reanor Triumvirate. You never much cared for those books, and historical records that old,at least eight hundred years, are quite rare," I remarked, unable to resist as I poured myself a second glass of spiced hot wine.

"What?" Daemon asked blankly. Then, looking himself over with a new perspective, he muttered somewhat sheepishly, "I saw a fresco on the fourth level of the pyramid. A dragonrider was depicted exactly like this."

"Pff!" Daeron clapped a hand over his mouth but couldn't help himself; he burst into loud laughter.

"Hey! What’s so funny?" Daemon tried to protest, knit his brows fiercely.

But this only triggered a fresh wave of laughter from us.

"Whew," Daeron wiped away a tear. "I didn't know, brother, that you were so fond of finery. You should have said something; for your name day, I’d set aside a fine horse harness, not a bolt of Yi Ti silk. Now I’ll have to run about the merchants," he sighed mockingly.

"I... you...!" Daemon sputtered with indignation, but he too succumbed and roared with laughter.

So, trading jests and jibes, we finished our simple breakfast and turned to conversation, sipping watered wine with spices and accompanying the tart drink with candied fruits, fresh oranges, and apples in honey. The latter were a traditional delicacy in the warmer regions of the Seven Kingdoms, and Willem loved them even more than the exotic desserts of Essos, for which men in King's Landing pay silver, or even gold.

"The dragon is eating meat like fifty knights at a feast, as usual. If Reraxes took to drinking wine as well, I dread to think how many barrels he’d empty in a sitting," Darry grumbled.

"Considering how much the dragon helped in taking Yunkai and crushing the Dothraki horsemen, it’s a fair price," Daemon disagreed. "Now, if only we had at least three masters of the skies..." Reraxes glanced pointedly in my direction, to which I only smirked.

"As soon as we return from the campaign, I’ll help you and your brother hatch a pet each."

"Eh, alright, alright. I hear you," Daemon raised his hands in a defensive gesture and smiled. "Let’s discuss our plans for the immediate future. The city won't starve; a couple of aristocrats have already secured a large contract to import grain, and the legion will be provisioned within five days. Most of the food will travel the road leading to Meereen, so we could march the army as early as tomorrow and resupply the baggage train as we move toward the third city."

"Convenient," Daeron nodded approvingly.

"You think so?" Daemon grimaced. "You have no idea how much effort it cost me to find merchants and messengers with fast horses, those who know the land well and are willing to work for something other than their own weight in gold. Goods will be purchased in the villages on Yunkish lands bordering Meereenese territory and brought to the towns situated along the main track."

"Aye, Daemon was running yesterday as if a pack of great asses were chasing him," Darry chuckled. "And you should have heard the flowery way he haggled with the merchants..." Willem took a sip of wine and wiped a drop of red liquid from his mustache. "But overall, he did well. Organized it all properly, even if he did press some of the Dothraki scouts into service for the task. I think if you don't blunder at Meereen, we might trust you to lead an army yourself."

"Mm-hmm. I already have a whole chest of letters from the magisters of Lys pleading for aid. Rebellious Tyrosh and Myr have already reclaimed a fifth of their former territories and won two out of five sea battles. The sellswords on both sides are roughly equal in number; their 'kind' neighbors have played a nasty trick on the Lysene traders by lending the rebels mountains of silver," I noted. "But it's too complicated there; we need to think long and hard. For helping the magisters, we’ll get a 'big thank you' and be shown the door. If we try to conquer those lands, we’ll just be throwing hundreds of thousands of gold dragons and thousands of legionnaires' lives down the privy. The rest of the Free Cities would unite against a rising predator—history has seen many such sorry examples."

"But with an army like this and a dragon..." Daeron began, but Darry cut him off.

"...we would become beggars and lose both. You know well enough, war is ruinously expensive; equipping and feeding our host is no small feat. If not for the rich plunder of Astapor and Yunkai, we couldn't have paid the legionnaires or bought food. And then there is the fleet. In wartime, the cost of an army climbs even higher. Nor should we forget the distances. To transport the army, all the supplies, gear, horses, and the siege train currently being built in Astapor would require hundreds of galleys and far too much time. We wouldn't be given that time; they’d strike the landing on the shore and tear the army apart piecemeal. War at such a distance, surrounded by enemies who, believe me, would be half of Essos... it’s a poor investment, as the moneylenders say."

"Let’s set that topic aside," I said, waving a hand.

I had already turned over a dozen variations in my mind and found no optimal solution. "What concerns me far more right now are the Dothraki. Those plains-dwellers are no fools; they won't step into the same gopher hole twice. They’ll split the khalasar into small bands and harry the host with hit-and-run attacks; more than likely, they’ll raid the baggage train relentlessly. If I have to take to the sky on the dragon for every little raiding party, Reraxes will eventually tire, and then the lovers of mutton and horse milk will simply fall upon us with their entire horde."

"Why would those savages attack us at all, let alone use the tactic of a thousand cuts?" Daeron raised his eyebrows. "One of the larger khalasars essentially ceased to exist after going against us, and the Dothraki are very superstitious and respect strength. I don't think any horde will be tempted by our baggage train and the legionnaires' expensive armor at the risk of losing everything. More likely they’ll go raid Lhazar or the Free Cities again."

"Meereen is in deep trouble right now. Tolos, Elyria, and Mantarys won't send reinforcements, they wouldn't make it in time even if they wanted to throw away their warriors’ lives for a losing side that can't pay its contract. The Meereenese have even fewer troops than Yunkai had, as the bulk of the surviving sellswords came here, to the closer city. Their only options are to surrender and haggle for better terms, or to shower all the nearby khals with gold so they’ll bury our host under a rain of arrows," Daemon countered.

"Hmm." Darry stroked his beard and twirled a mustache, gazing thoughtfully out the window. "Their arrows fly further than our pilums, and we simply haven't enough cavalry to cover every possible point of attack. An infantry charge against Dothraki who haven't yet formed up won't work either; the khalasar would simply split, and a man on foot cannot catch a rider. Perhaps it is better to seek parley with the khals? We’ll have to deal with them one way or another, the plains are right there, and I’d prefer to avoid future raids on our cities and villages."

"What reason would they have to parley?" Daemon grimaced. "Savages only respect strength. A man who prefers dialogue over battle is a coward to them, someone to be robbed and sold into slavery. Besides, it’s much more profitable for them to raid and trade slaves than to live in peace. What goods can they offer us? Only horses, livestock, and wool. Good trade, no doubt, but far more gold is found in trading our people and sacking settlements. Nomads are like pirates; they want as much as possible, and they want it for free."

"Parley is only possible when both sides desire it. And the nomads will only desire it after a bloody defeat. Even then, they’ll play the peaceful sheep only until their children grow tall. Then those sons will mount their horses, take up their bows, forget their fathers' defeat, and come again to tear at the lands bordering the plains," Daeron shook his head. "And there is no destroying the locusts. Try to find riders in the vastness of the Dothraki Sea, you’d only exhaust the army for nothing. Besides, as soon as one khalasar falls, another will take its place; there are surprisingly many of them in the grass sea."

"If we cannot go by land, we shall go by water," I declared after a few minutes of pensive silence, a cunning smile playing on my lips under the curious gazes of my companions.