Audro had never felt the throne beneath him to be so comfortable.
In the past, whenever he sat upon it, he always felt as though he might be dragged down at any moment.
Two days ago, Audro had just received the news that Viserys had led his fleet and cut off the allied army's supply lines.
In an instant, offense and defense were reversed.
The situation turned on its head. Gohor was not only on the verge of victory—it now held the very lives of the allied army in its grasp.
The rise of the Tenth Free City was unstoppable.
"If the Pentoshi army all starves to death in Gohor, I'll probably be torn apart by these people myself."
Audro thought this as he looked down at the noisy, quarrelling magisters below.
If this had been the past, he would have been terrified. Yet for some reason, even knowing catastrophe was imminent, he felt no fear at all.
Because he knew that once the army was lost, the days of these merchant princes would not be any better.
Audro lounged lazily on the throne, resting his head on one hand, his thoughts drifting.
"Illyrio! You were the one who supported the Targaryens the most! Every time Oberyn left your house, you gave him a huge sum of gold! Viserys being where he is today is entirely your fault!"
"Bullshit! I was trying to win over Oberyn, hoping he would split the Targaryens apart. How is that my responsibility?!"
"Enough! What's the point of arguing now? Our army is about to starve to death in Gohor!"
In truth, the Pentoshi magisters had received the news even earlier than Braavos.
It was just that their power was too fragmented. They had argued for nearly two full days without reaching any conclusion.
In the end, the most powerful among them jointly decided to send Illyrio to meet Viserys and beg him to spare the Pentoshi soldiers.
The terms offered included, but were not limited to, forgiving all previous debts and paying a generous ransom.
Bearing the mission of saving the army, Illyrio returned to his estate.
The flattery and bustle of guards and servants did nothing to lift his mood. It was as though a thick, black cloud hung over his head.
At that moment, a fragrant scent drifted into his arms, easing his spirits slightly.
"My love," Syla said, pressing her face against Illyrio's soft, ample chest. The two shared a moment of intimacy.
"You look like you're in trouble," Syla said, lifting her head like a curious kitten.
"Our supply line has been cut off by Viserys."
"What?"
Even though Syla knew nothing of war, she understood that people had to eat.
No matter how powerful an army was, without food it was nothing more than lambs waiting for slaughter.
"Then what are we going to do?"
"I have to go see that little king myself and hope he'll spare our army."
Illyrio stroked Syla's hair as he spoke, but the worry on his face did not ease in the slightest.
He still could not understand how the Volantenes had allowed Viserys's fleet to enter.
That young king must have used some sort of trick.
Cradled in his arms, Syla's eyes flickered as she seemed to think of something.
"Oh, right. Our ships are back. They brought back three fossilized dragon eggs.
Don't the Targaryens love things like that? If you bring them to him, maybe he'll agree to let our army withdraw."
Illyrio looked down at Syla and asked,
"Hmm? Weren't they supposed to be gone for another half year? How did they come back so soon?"
"It's true! I've seen them myself—three in total. Those dragon eggs are really beautiful."
Illyrio had originally intended to use those dragon eggs to curry favor with Oberyn, hoping to drive a wedge within the Targaryens.
But now, it seemed he could only use them to please Viserys instead.
"Maybe I could keep one?"
The thought crossed his mind, but he quickly abandoned it.
What if he was just one egg short of convincing Viserys? That would be an even greater loss.
Besides, those so-called dragon eggs were nothing more than fossils. In his hands, they were just pretty stones—neither food nor water.
If the soldiers trapped in Gohor saw them, they would be worth less than a warm loaf of bread.
Having thought it through, Illyrio brought a large collection of gifts with him and went to Viserys's flagship.
The Braavosi army had already been without water.
Some soldiers, driven by unbearable thirst, had even begun drinking their own urine. They did not realize that doing so would only worsen their dehydration.
Quairo stood guard outside Tormo's tent.
With the supply lines cut and his future destroyed, the blow had been too heavy.
Tormo had been unconscious for three days without waking—perhaps because he did not wish to wake at all.
Quairo licked his cracked lips and focused his attention on his throat.
This was a method his master had taught him.
When starving and thirsty, concentrating on the throat could dull the sensation somewhat.
But it was not a long-term solution.
There was still no reply from Braavos. They needed to negotiate with Viserys themselves, and quickly.
"Cough, cough—"
Hearing coughing from inside the tent, Quairo hurried in.
In just three days, Tormo had wasted away drastically.
He was no longer the spirited commander who had marched out so full of confidence.
Once Tormo's condition stabilized slightly, Quairo carefully delivered another piece of bad news.
"My lord, the mercenary companies hired by Pentos have already surrendered to Viserys."
Tormo nodded, his face expressionless. It was exactly what he had expected.
Mercenary loyalty was never reliable. They fought for coin—there was no reason for them to wait here and die with him.
At the same time, Tormo understood that there was no time to wait for reinforcements.
From mustering to transport, Braavos's relief force would take at least half a month. Half a month later, even if they did not die of thirst, they would starve to death.
He would have to negotiate surrender with Viserys himself.
That also meant he would likely never become Sea Lord—and might not even retain the status of an ordinary noble.
Because of the lack of water, even putting on armor had become torture for the soldiers.
After half a day without water, people developed headaches and fatigue. After one day, the headaches worsened and urination stopped.
After two days, heart rate increased, concentration failed, and kidney damage became likely.
For the Braavosi soldiers now, every heartbeat was a drumbeat carrying them closer to death.
"Ser Quairo, please go see Viserys for me," Tormo said weakly.
"Tell him we are willing to surrender. As long as he lets us return to Braavos, all previous debts can be wiped clean."
"Understood, my lord."
Seeing Tormo finally accept defeat, Quairo felt a trace of relief. Because he realized that he might finally be able to see Arthur once again.
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor