When Viserys saw hundreds of mercenaries throw down their weapons, he knew the battle was won.
He tilted his head slightly. Mathos understood at once, stepping forward with ink and parchment in hand.
"Send a raven to Lothan. Tell him to clean up the mercenaries on his side and capture Qyburn alive. I need him."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
Qyburn looked out over the battlefield filled with screams, dust, and chaos. He felt certain he would gain a great number of fresh experimental subjects.
Years ago, he had been expelled from the Citadel for his research into live dissection. He had lost his chain and been cast out entirely.
That was why he had joined the Brave Companions. These men's moral standards were so low that even among mercenaries they were considered depraved.
Copper-brothel addicts, blood-sport enthusiasts, killers who murdered simply for pleasure.
Compared to them, Qyburn often felt morally superior.
He and Lothan stood together on a high ridge. Because of the distance, neither knew what had happened near Viserys.
Then Qyburn noticed a raven delivered to Lothan by one of his subordinates.
'The Rhoynar use ravens?' He blinked, confused—then realized that the man delivering the raven appeared to be a maester.
He approached to read the message, but Jorel and several Rhoynar soldiers blocked his path.
Their cold eyes watched him without emotion.
"What are you doing?!"
Qyburn panicked. An instant later, Jorel pressed a spearhead to his throat.
"Your commander has surrendered. Give yourself up." Jorel said coldly.
"What?!"
His mind went blank—then clarity struck like lightning. The Targaryens and the Rhoynar had coordinated to eliminate the Brave Companions.
Grinding his teeth, Qyburn glared at them and said, "You colluded with the Targaryens to ambush us. Aren't you afraid of Braavos' retaliation?"
Jorel snorted.
"Braavos? No one tells Gohor what to do anymore. Your life is one the Targaryen king specifically wants saved. Best not speak too much, or I won't guarantee your safety."
"The Targaryen king? Viserys?"
Though stripped of his chain, Qyburn always carried himself as a cultured man—very different from the thugs around him. But today's turn of events left him utterly lost.
Why would Viserys take interest in him?
No one would answer that for now. He was locked into a prepared cage with no further explanations.
Arthur personally took Vargo captive. After cutting down that twisted priest Yigo, the Targaryen and Rhoynar forces both ceased fighting.
Except the BraveCompanions, there were no losers in this war.
Lothan and Tina, the last surviving Rhoynar elders, gathered their trusted followers to meet Viserys.
Oberyn, carrying the Prince's Spear, guided them. Of course, the spear itself was held by Gorys. No one else was allowed to touch it.
The two armies, now united, marched together. The earliest Rhoynar followers told the newly joined ones about Targaryen policies.
The tax system was entirely different, but anyone who calculated it noticed something immediately: the Targaryens demanded only one-third of what the Elders had taken.
And on top of that, hard work could earn them even more.
Most important of all, without internal strife and territorial divisions, huge stretches of land previously wasted as neutral zones were now free.
By next planting season, these would become new farmlands.
The Rhoynar of old Gohor had also built a canal linking the Upper Rhoyne and the Little Rhoyne, but the long years of conflict had blocked it.
Once external threats were eliminated, Viserys would reopen the canal.
That would create even more fertile land.
Viserys had lost fewer than a hundred men. Even his guards—who had fought the fiercest combat—had only thirteen wounded.
Their armor was the thickest, their weapons the best. It was no surprise no one had died.
Lothan's casualties across the entire battlefield were under a thousand.
The losses were so light that one might think it had been a stampede rather than a battle of tens of thousands.
But Viserys took no pride in this.
To Braavos and Pentos, a united Gohor under one ruler was unacceptable. They would come eventually.
Once they needed a reason, they would find one.
Viserys planned to travel to Volantis as soon as possible to bring the fleet into the Rhoyne. With the fleet secured, their armies could no longer threaten him.
He needed to go—otherwise even Davos would not be allowed into their harbors.
Nearly a hundred ships couldn't simply sail into Volantis without strict oversight. Even trade had to happen outside their ports to satisfy them.
The fifty older ships and modified merchant-galleys Viserys provided Freygo earlier had been taken straight from the Braavosi coast.
More importantly, he would bring Lothan with him.
Passing by Nasar, he wanted Lothan to see firsthand how he spoke with the Old Turtle (Moyatis).
This would strengthen Rhoynar loyalty.
A spear was not enough to win hearts.
On the walls of Vhagar Hall, Oswell waited with anxious eyes. This was their stronghold in Gohor—more important than Dragonstone for the moment.
Someone trustworthy and capable had to be stationed here, so Viserys left him behind.
An army of ten thousand nearly full-armored soldiers against forty thousand hastily armed peasants—there had never been much suspense.
But Oswell still feared for Viserys' safety.
Oswell had a small habit no one knew: he bit at the dry skin on his lip whenever he grew anxious.
He rubbed his teeth across them, but today couldn't find any loose skin to bite. That only increased his worry.
Finally, he saw several black three-headed dragon banners crest the horizon.
"His Majesty! His Majesty has returned!"
Joy surged through him as he led the men out to welcome the army. Soon, he saw Viserys' forces more clearly.
Not only had the king's army not shrunk—it had actually grown. Then he noticed the many sunburst banners mixed among the ranks.
Oswell's eyes shone with excitement.
"His Majesty has subdued the Rhoynar?!"
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