Volantis.
Inside the Black Wall, at the Vysarys estate.
Nesos sat in his usual arrogant posture as he received the envoy from Elyria.
"Archon, the Iron Throne's army is driving straight through the Disputed Lands. They'll reach Twin Lakes any day now. Governor Graven is asking for your help."
The envoy bowed deeply, his voice urgent.
This was exactly what Graven had ordered before the man left.
He had told the envoy that the Black Wall nobles were nothing but low-grade parasites living off the glory of a dead empire. They had no real talent, only an endless need to posture. The true highborn had been slaughtered by their own kind after the Doom. Even the old Triarchy had more spine than these people.
"The Disputed Lands are huge. Does the Iron Throne's army have wings now? Can they just fly straight to Twin Lakes?"
Nesos frowned, clearly unconvinced.
His own spies had reported that the Iron Throne had split its forces into three columns after landing at Myr. They were still busy clearing out scattered raiders. There was no way they could have crossed half the Disputed Lands and suddenly appeared at Twin Lakes.
"My lord, I'm not lying to you."
The envoy sounded exasperated. "The Iron Throne's army doesn't have wings, but the Dragon King's red dragon does. He took a small force of cavalry and rode through the night. Governor Barwick's entire command was wiped out."
"A dragon?!"
Nesos froze. His mind started racing.
Volantis was not like the Triarchy cities. The Triarchy had faced dragons directly and knew exactly how terrifying they were. Volantis had only clashed with the Iron Throne indirectly during the Stepstones campaign, when Malacho had led the fleet and cut a deal. There had never been open war.
In other words, Nesos's understanding of dragons was limited. He knew they were powerful. He just didn't understand how powerful.
"One dragon lets him move freely across the Disputed Lands?"
Nesos's heart started pounding harder than he liked. The hunger for a dragon of his own was almost physical.
He could raise dragons too. He could have true dragonlord blood.
"My lord, please send troops to help Elyria."
The envoy kept pleading.
Nesos snapped back to the moment, his face cold. "What the hell is Graven doing? Elyria has thousands of sellswords and old Triarchy pirates. We've sent them food and weapons. Even the Golden Company joined them. And he still has the nerve to ask for more help? Does he think the West Essos Federation exists just to prop him up?"
The Federation was exactly what the name said—a loose alliance of city-states. Every city had joined for the same two reasons: to stand against House Targaryen's dragons, and so their own leaders could skim massive profits off the common effort.
Take the supplies Volantis had sent to Elyria. How much of that had actually come from Nesos and the other two archons? How much had come from the nobles and merchants?
Nesos had quietly stolen goods worth half the total shipment, hidden them, and shipped them to the Iron Bank in Braavos. The rest had been split—thirty percent between him, Malacho, and Fados, and the final twenty percent actually sent to Elyria.
Now that the money was gone, where was he supposed to find more aid?
The envoy looked shocked. "My lord, the West Essos Federation is supposed to stand together. If Elyria falls to the Dragon King's Dark Sister, who do you think he comes for next?"
Nesos's expression changed instantly.
The Iron Throne already controlled the Stepstones and the three former Triarchy cities. Now it was pushing into the Disputed Lands. If it swallowed the entire region, the next targets would be Pentos to the north and Volantis itself along the Orange Coast.
Pentos was spineless and already allied with the Iron Throne.
Volantis…
The more Nesos thought about it, the colder he felt. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on his back.
The Dragon King would never leave Volantis alone.
"My lord, we're not asking for coin or supplies. Governor Graven only asks that you send soldiers to help us survive this."
The envoy kept repeating the same request.
Troops.
Nesos's face stayed hard, but his tone was ugly. "Tell that reckless fool Graven that Volantis is not his personal reserve. We're not going to be dragged around by the nose."
"If he loses again, he'd better not have the face to keep breathing."
He was clearly unwilling, but he knew he had to send something. If Elyria fell, Volantis would be next in line.
Nesos raised his voice toward the door. "Someone go fetch Archon Malacho."
The Elephant Party controlled Volantis's economy and foreign trade, but moving troops still required the Tiger Party's approval.
The envoy quietly let out a breath of relief.
---
Half a month later.
Daeron's force had been pushing east along the Valyrian Road. They had run into repeated harassment from sellswords and old Triarchy pirates trying to slow them down. The worst incident had been an ambush with wildfire that burned two thousand men's worth of supplies Randyll Tarly had been carrying. They had been forced to stop and wait for fresh wagons.
Daeron had flown back to Myr himself, gathered another supply train, and returned. This time the escort was three hundred Unsullied—the elite gem-enhanced troops Palachiro had gifted him from Volantis. A million-gold-dragon gift, and Daeron had been extremely careful with them until now. In wartime, they were guarding the supply line.
"Your Grace, the scouts report movement ahead."
Randyll Tarly reined in his horse a safe distance from Caraxes and dismounted.
Daeron slid down from the dragon's back. They held a quick field council.
"Your Grace, look here."
Randyll spread out a map of the Disputed Lands and marked their current position and route, then tapped the area around Twin Lakes.
"The scouts found a large force camped by the lake—thirty thousand men or more. Tiger Party banners from Volantis."
"Thirty thousand?"
Daeron raised an eyebrow. "Who's leading them?"
Malacho, the Tiger Party archon, shouldn't be suicidal enough to put an army directly in Daeron's path.
"We don't know yet. Probably some mid-level officer."
Randyll's assessment was blunt. "Volantis has too many factions. Even with only three archons, the Tiger and Elephant parties are constantly fighting for power. It's not unusual for field commanders to have their own ideas."
Daeron understood immediately.
Malacho had lost badly in the Stepstones and his standing in Volantis had taken a hit. The two Elephant archons had probably used the chance to peel away some of his authority.
Daeron thought with dark amusement, Malacho must be furious right now.
Who liked having their power stolen by their own subordinates?
This situation had potential.
Real potential.
"This force has a shipyard and a fortified water camp. They've got new-model scorpions and catapults. They're not weak."
Randyll's voice stayed flat as he relayed the scout reports.
"Ahead of us is one of the larger lakes in the Twin Lakes system. They're using ships on the water while keeping archers hidden along the shore."
"We don't have boats, and if we stay on the bank we'll walk straight into their ambush."
Daeron nodded slowly.
This was classic Harrenhal-style defense—fortify the water, use ships to control the lake, and hide archers on the banks. The same trick the ironborn had used on the Gods Eye during the Conquest. It had worked until Aegon flew Balerion over and burned their shipyards.
"No problem," Daeron said calmly. "They're just idiots with boats."
Randyll looked at him for a second, then the corner of his mouth twitched.
Of course.
Daeron had built his reputation on water battles. Dragons and fleets were his specialty.
---
Twin Lakes — Long Lake.
Ankaragon stood on the deck of a longship hidden among the thick reeds and brush along the shore.
He was a massive man, six-foot-five of solid muscle. His head was shaved close, his face hard and cold. Half his face was covered in a blue tiger-head tattoo. There was also a half-wheel tattoo across his upper lip—the mark of a former slave who had driven carts before becoming a Tiger Party soldier.
Volantis was still a slave city. Four out of every five people were slaves, and it was common to brand them with tattoos showing their trade. Cart drivers got wheels. Garbage collectors got flies. Whores got teardrops.
Ankaragon ran a callused hand over the scars on his bare chest. The old marks no longer hurt.
Malacho had noticed him and promoted him to a senior officer in the Tiger Party. When Archon Nesos had forced Malacho to send help to the old Triarchy remnants, Ankaragon had been one of the men chosen for the Disputed Lands.
"Twin Lakes is easy to defend and hard to take. Good ground."
Ankaragon kept his thoughts to himself.
He hadn't fought in the Stepstones campaign under Malacho. He only knew what he'd heard secondhand.
Dragons were terrifying—especially over open water.
"Once you're on the water, there's nowhere to run."
He knew Twin Lakes wasn't the perfect place to fight a dragon, but the Disputed Lands were mostly flat, burned-out wasteland after years of fighting between the Triarchy and Volantis. There were no good hills for a proper camp and almost no villages left to raid for supplies.
Twin Lakes was the best option they had.
"My lord, a mounted scout just rode past. He didn't stop."
One of the Tiger Party soldiers came alongside in a small fishing boat.
Ankaragon's face didn't change. "Tell the men to hold their positions. When the Targaryen dragon shows up, they jump in the lake and stay under cover."
The water was still safer than being caught in the open.
He stared out across the lake, eyes cold.
Let the Dragon King come.
They were ready.