The Sea Lord of Braavos and the Prince of Pentos were not equals by any measure.
The former wielded absolute, unquestioned power.
The latter was little more than a puppet.
Within the Sea Lord's Palace, Freygo was presiding over a council.
"Your Majesty, this campaign against Gohor has greatly increased our grain consumption. Food prices within the city are bound to rise, and the people may begin to complain."
"Then import more grain from Lorath," Freygo replied indifferently. He did not care in the slightest about rising food prices.
He trusted Tormo. He trusted Quairo.
Though he had been deceived by Viserys once before, this time he intended to make the young king understand that before overwhelming strength, all schemes were meaningless.
According to their intelligence, the Targaryen treasury should still hold three to four million gold dragons.
This war was meant to squeeze them dry in one stroke.
With that money, importing grain to suppress prices would be easy.
And at the same time, victory in war would further solidify his own position.
If everything went smoothly, he might even bring Viserys to Braavos and continue draining gold dragons in Robert's name.
"After this campaign, I want to promote a new group of officers within the army.
Those Pentoshi merchant princes are already growing restless. They've even begun building merchant ships modeled after warships.
We should increase military investment to suppress them."
Freygo laid out his plans while sweeping his gaze across the room.
He wanted to see who would support him—and who would oppose him.
As expected, everyone present behaved like parrots, repeating nothing but "Your Majesty is wise."
Even members of the Zandryn family did not dare utter a word of dissent.
Freygo's lips curled into a satisfied smile—until, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a guard hurrying toward him.
When he saw the sealed message tube of thin copper in the guard's hand, Freygo's heart tightened.
Even so, he first glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention. He twisted open the copper seal and unfolded the letter.
At first, he skimmed it quickly.
Then, disbelief crossed his face, and he read it again, more carefully.
At last, his eyes locked onto a single line, and he froze.
"This is impossible… this can't be happening," Freygo muttered under his breath.
His reaction drew the attention of those around him.
"Your Majesty? Your Majesty?" a young courtier at his side asked softly.
He leaned closer and saw a line in the letter that had been deliberately written in heavier script:
"Viserys's fleet has cut off the army's supply line."
The courtier felt as though he had been struck by lightning, standing there stunned.
It was Freygo who snapped back to his senses first.
Crushing the letter in his fist, he suddenly shouted,
"Raise Braavos's defenses to the highest level! Recall all veteran soldiers immediately!
All men aged sixteen to forty within the city are to be conscripted at once! Move!"
How long could an army last without water or food?
Without food, three to seven days.
Without water, only one to three.
By the time Freygo received the message, Tormo and his army had already been without water for two days.
Viserys's fleet controlled the Little Rhoyne, and the irrigation channels had been blocked as well.
Six or seven tens of thousands of soldiers could only struggle on by relying on shallow puddles.
Worse still, they had war elephants—creatures that consumed enormous amounts of water.
On the Little Rhoyne, the captains of the Broken Banner Company, the Broken Wind Company, and the Maiden's Mercy Company personally boarded Viserys's flagship, seeking to defect.
All three mercenary captains were in their prime, each radiating a fierce presence.
As captains, they naturally had their own water reserves.
Though the army had been without water for two days, their lips were still moist.
Still, they looked miserable—faces smeared with dirt, disheveled and exhausted.
"Your Majesty, we are willing to defend Gohor for you. We only ask for water to drink," said Yurix, the captain of the Maiden's Mercy Company—a brown-haired, middle-aged man missing half of his left ear.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Give us water, and we'll bring you Tormo's head," added the captain of the Broken Wind Company, a slightly plump man in his early thirties, his fat face full of ingratiating smiles.
Viserys controlled the water, and there was also the "Golden Company" aboard the fleet. They dared not act rashly.
The three captains had not come empty-handed.
They had scraped together a large amount of gold from their companies—coins, rings, nose rings, and dagger hilts made of pure gold.
Their surrender was also an act of atonement.
Yet what surprised them was that Viserys showed none of the arrogance of a victorious king.
Instead, he had chairs brought for them.
Seeing this courtesy, the three captains felt a surge of confidence.
"This gold was earned with your lives on the line. I won't take it," Viserys said calmly. "All I ask is that you help me eliminate the Braavosi army."
"Rest assured, Your Majesty," Yurikis said eagerly.
"You may not know this, but because of the lack of water, Tormo's war elephants have begun to go mad and injure people.
Many of their soldiers can't even stand, and their heavy cavalry and infantry are already incapable of fighting."
He spoke of the Braavosi army as if it were nothing more than a pack of weaklings, ready to collapse at the sight of a drawn sword.
"Excellent," Viserys replied. "I will allow you to draw water with your flasks, but only under supervision."
"Of course, we accept, Your Majesty."
"Yes, we accept."
They all understood perfectly well that Viserys would not let them drink freely.
At most, he would let them cling to life and regain a measure of fighting strength.
"After you return, gather your companies at the designated locations and await my orders."
"By your command, Your Majesty! We are willing to serve you."
The three captains were overjoyed, relief at surviving shining clearly in their eyes.
After they left the deck, Davos asked in confusion,
"Your Majesty, why didn't you take the gold?
Gohor has suffered heavy losses. Whether it's comforting the people or repairing the walls, we'll need a great deal of money."
Viserys smiled faintly.
"Ser Davos, I never make deals with mercenaries.
That gold isn't going anywhere. Do you think it can grow legs and run out of Gohor on its own?"
Looking at the young king, Davos suddenly understood.
By refusing the gold, Viserys was making it clear that he had no intention of sparing them.
"Wait a little longer," Viserys continued.
"Pentos will soon send envoys. I plan to work with Pentos and leave Freygo's fifty thousand soldiers buried here in Gohor for good."
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