Lys, first week, third moon of 294 AC
The remaining forty miles to Lys should have taken less than a day, but wrangling five extra ships with the limited number of seamen Captain Wyll had available proved a chore and a half. It was made even worse by the damage the ships had taken. As it turned out, detonating more than one four-pound bomb on each of them had not been without consequences. The oversized grenades had been meant to injure and kill unarmored seamen, not as demolition charges, but the relative fragility of sailing ships led to shrapnel tearing through sailcloth and rope, denting and cracking poorly made spars, even ruining deck planks at ground zero of the explosions. The need for repairs slowed everything down even further, and we spent the rest of the week crawling along at a snail's pace.
While the sailors worked, everyone else was happy to no longer be packed to the gills on a single ship as each captured cog got thirty Dread Company veterans and seventy new recruits along with the team of less than a dozen sailors struggling to sail the ships properly. The men finally had space to spar and train, which seemed to reduce stress and along with our recent victory improve their frayed tempers. Jorah and Viserys joined the sparring on Spark Plug's deck while Lynesse fiddled with several potted plants she'd brought along, trying to influence their growth with magic to mixed results. Where with Pyromancy she could barely light candles or make a small flame spring forth from pieces of obsidian or granite before tiring herself to exhaustion, with plants she could work for much longer... but lacked the control for useful results.
As for me, I had to stay in the cabin if I did not want the men staring at me all the time. No, my looks had not suddenly improved to some undreamed-of heights; it was just that too many people had seen me take an entire ship by myself. Healing, controlling animals, raising corpses, dueling enemy leaders, all that the men had taken more or less in stride but slaying one group of poorly armed, disorganized idiots was where they drew the line. The suddenly blackening skies and cracks of thunder had absolutely not helped and now everyone from simple recruits to grizzled veterans that should have known better looked on with the kind of awe and hero worship reserved for figures of myth and legend.
Deciding to avoid the mess until it blew off, I stayed inside and entertained Daenerys with fog and breezes and snow. The trickle of elementalism I had before the storm incident had grown enough to move a bucket's worth of water, evaporate it, then make ice by drawing at the humidity in the air. That last bit I had discovered by accident when I'd made it snow inside the cabin, to Dany's delight. Lynesse on the other hand had thrown at pillow at my head for getting snow under her gown. Bad apprentice! Shouldn't she be praising my genius like the men were?
We crawled into the main port of Lys on the evening of the third day after the battle, sailing into a half-empty harbor missing not only the fleet of merchantmen that had been cooped up due to the threat of Tyroshi pirates, but two thirds of the Golden Company ships absent as well. On the pier where Spark Plug moored, a delegation of Lysene nobility waited for us. Tregar Ormollen was there, of course, but so was Captain Sathmantes as well as a tall, slim, dark skinned man in white and green silk robes, with wispy white curls and a silver, neatly-trimmed beard. While Tregar sported his new, perpetually tired face with dark circles under his eyes and Captain Sathmantes was somewhat nervous, the older man was smiling widely, but his dark blue eyes were sharper than that smile and missed nothing.
"Welcome back," Tregar said as he took in our party with none of the surprise the other two were showing at both the extra ships as well as the two Targaryen additions to our small group. He had, of course, been informed of everything partly through our mental connection and through speaking parrot. "I see the crossing was more exciting than expected?"
"Tyrosh objected to our return after we gave them a bloody nose on the mainland, so we had to make a repeat performance," I said with a shrug. "The five new ships and ten tons worth of weapons that came with them were an exciting purchase, yes." Not to mention the gold and gems in the dead captains' cabins. How convenient of mercenaries to carry their wealth with them.
"The Conclave will be happy to know about it," Tregar said almost absentmindedly before his tone became happier, almost eager. "But where are my manners. Lady Belaerys, may I present you-"
"Oh, you are Salladhor Saan!" I exclaimed, ignoring Tregar and turning to his old guest. "I am a fan of your family's taxation of the sea trade and past attempts to unite both the Stepstones and the Basilisk Isles into proper realms," I told him as I shook his hand in the old Roman forearm-grip style.
"The Saan family aims to please, my lady. Why, we have ever stood at the side of our cousins in Volantis and Westeros since the Doom." If the odd style of my greeting surprised him, he showed it not at all. "We ever supported any common ventures, the last not yet four decades past."
"Ventures?" I made a mental calculation, eyebrows rising when I noticed what he referred to. "Have you gone pirate again, my lord?"
"Vile calumny. Who has suffered more from pirates than Salladhor Saan?" He smirked. "We only desired to bring stability to the Narrow Sea and beyond. This everlasting conflict among the daughters of Old Valyria only perpetuates our ills."
"I see, I see..." I returned his smirk with one of my own. "Perhaps we should discuss more in a more pleasant location than the waterfront?"
"Excuse me, my lady," Tregar interrupted, "but there is no time. The Conclave of Magisters asked for your immediate presence upon your arrival."
"Oh bother. What is it now?" While whatever excuse they had for recalling the Dread Company would undoubtedly be amusing now that whatever traitors' plot with the Tyroshi had fallen through, wasting hours listening to a bunch of entitled merchant princes instead of taking a hot bath would be annoying. Unfortunately, the Conclave still ruled Lys and for all they knew I was just an up and rising sellsword Captain. "Lynesse!"
"Yes, my lady?" my apprentice asked.
"Please get our guests rooms in our facilities in the city. Take half my guards with you for security." The other half would be coming with me to keep an eye on the ground while Featherball and other winged spies did so from above. Assassins were still a thing, after all. "Jorah can get the new recruits started on the trip to the training grounds. Captain Wyll, you have my authority to pay for berthing space and repairs from my accounts. Get started on crew recruitment as well. My preference remains experienced seamen over green recruits."
As my subordinates got to work, it struck me that I would soon have over a thousand men under my direct command, in addition to my influence over Tregar and House Ormollen. Nothing impressive in the grand scheme of things, but not entirely inconsequential any longer. That was good. We had less than six years till the Red Comet and time waited for no man or sorceress.
xxxx
The Conclave was very unhappy to learn what actually happened. They made sure everyone else shared in that unhappiness by keeping us in the waterfront palace they used as a meeting place and asking the same questions in slightly different ways for hours. Half a dozen entitled merchant princes, most of them old or fat, bickering while I was forced to be part of their audience. The horror! At least the food was great and the serving boys and girls passable eye candy.
"Tell us again what happened with the Brave Companions," First Magister Orthys demanded once more. "Why would they betray us?"
"Because the Bloody Mummers were opportunistic idiots," I explained for the third time, trying not to stare at Orthys' double chin as I spoke. Weren't Lyseni supposed to revere beauty? However had this tub of lard become the city leader? "After they abandoned their position in Weeping Town without fighting once, they came to us only a few hours' march ahead of the Company of the Cat. That was despite them being a mounted force while the Cats were mostly infantry mind you - as well as the Cats being delayed by our raiding several times. From that alone we suspected foul play, especially given their reputation."
"Suspicion alone was not enough to betray an ally," old man Haen wheezed. "You turned on them as soon as they were in town!" Not for the first time, the anaimically thin old Lyseni glanced at Orthys and the First Magister gave him a subtle nod. While in theory a Magister in his own right with all the wealth and power of the Haen family behind him, according to both Tregar and Sallahdor he was just a pawn of House Orthys. When the Rogare bank fell into ruin and infighting and mass poisonings saw the power of Lys crumbling as Braavos rose, the Orthys had saved the last Haen scion as a means to control assets that would otherwise be lost to their rivals and the Haens had been their pawns ever since... or so I had been told. What I had seen so far only confirmed that.
"What should she have done, Moreo?" Sallahdor snorted derisively. "Invited the traitors with open arms and let them stab her in the back? The Brave Companions had already broken contract by abandoning their position, let alone what they did once in Saelys."
"What they allegedly did in Saelys," Magister Rogare spoke up, another old man with a weasel's face, though his tone was powerful and commanding. I could believe his ancestors were bankers, all right; he had the oily, hungry yet cold demeanor down pat. "Convenient how there are no witnesses from the Brave Companions to ask."
"But there are, Magister," I spoke up and he scowled at the interruption. "The Brave Companions' own Maester is in the city. Qyburn would be happy to explain how that Company used to operate if the entirety of their documents we captured and have provided copies of for examination are not sufficient."
"You should have brought the originals to us," he shot back. "Copies can so easily be faked."
"Guarding against alteration is precisely why we submitted them to the Temple of Trade via courier before the battle for Saelys even concluded," I said in a fake innocent tone. "Isn't that how official dealings are witnessed and guaranteed?"
"Let's set aside the papers for now," the darkly handsome Magister from House Dagareon interrupted our argument before it could pick up steam. "According to your testimony, you hosted the Brave Companions' leadership in your own chosen place of residence, then sent Ser Jorah, an experienced Westerosi knight away with this Maester Qyburn, leaving you alone with four trained killers whose motives you suspected." He stared at me dubiously. "Could you walk us through that particular decision?"
"I was giving them an opportunity to show their true intentions, which they did." Smiling at the memory of that particular plan coming together, I spoke on. "Had they truly been allies of Lys nothing would happen. Had they turned their allegiance to our foes however, they would see a great opportunity to decapitate my Company's leadership or take me captive. They tried the latter and..." I shrugged "died by my hand."
"What an obvious lie," the First Magister theatrically sighed in exasperation, as if he had grown tired of my repeating the truth. That made two of us and might soon enough make just one if he perished to inexplicable spontaneous combustion. "As if a woman could take four seasoned warriors in a fight."
"If you mean a Dothraki with more than nine stone of extra fat, a jester too busy playing jokes to wield a proper weapon, an exiled septon whose only real fight was with the boys he raped, and a traitorous idiot whose only real skill was betrayal then yes, I slew them." I shrugged. "It wasn't even particularly hard."
"You told us their men all died," the aging but still bulky mountain of a man that was Magister Moraqos spoke up, his cultured voice clashing with the many scars on what showed of his black skin. "There were reports of the same about the Company of the Cat and now the Tyroshi crews that tried to intercept you. Why not just capture them for ransom?"
"Ransomed by who, Lord Moraqos?" I asked, truly curious. "In all three cases they were mercenaries with little or no true allies beyond their Company. Us sell-swords bring our wealth with us; with their war chests captured there would be no-one to ransom them to. Keeping them locked up was just more mouths to feed and escape attempts waiting to happen, letting them go would mean Tyrosh getting back more than a thousand fighting men. That would only prolong the war."
"Would it?" he demanded. "As long as those companies still technically existed, Tyrosh would have to pay them the originally agreed-upon wages without getting nearly the original men and equipment, or break their contract. If they paid they would bleed wealth without having the forces to pursue an offensive war. If Tyrosh broke the contract they would bleed support and fighting men as other Companies would see them as unreliable," the Magister explained and for once it wasn't one of Orthys' allies slandering me for petty reasons. "But now that you destroyed those sell-sword Companies they don't have to pay anything and can use the same gold for new hires. This was the perfect opportunity to effectively take Tyrosh out of the war and you and your Company ruined it."
I was about to say that killing every enemy in the field ought to end the war too and in a more permanent manner, when I saw Sallahdor minutely shaking his head. Frowning, I reached out with my mind's shadow to the Magisters with as light a touch as I could. There was some risk they would notice even if it was far, far subtler than trying to outright warg them, but Saan's behaviour made me suspect there was more going on here than I was seeing. Sure enough, Sallahdor himself was both wary and angry... towards the other Councilors. Moraqos was furious at both me and Orthys' faction, while the fat First Magister himself was... eager? Expectant? He wanted me to speak up, to say that I did not know their plans, to further support and explain my decisions... as if he waited for something more to be said. When no further interruption of the Magisters' bickering came from me he first felt annoyance, but more like what a bug in his way would cause, not any great obstacle. Then it crystallized into a decision that had been already there. Not his first option - that was what the annoyance at my silence was about - but a workable second plan on his part.
"In light of the costs of this campaign and the decisions that led to them," the fat bastard started "I move to have the Dread Company repay us an amount no less than the continued existence of the slain companies would have cost Tyrosh for as long as this war lasts. Should the Dread Company be unable or unwilling to pay such a fine for their culpability in the continued war, I move to have them blacklisted from both contracts and port use in Lys, in perpetuity. All in favor?"
Motherfucker...