The night was thick and heavy on the beach of Pentos. At Viserys's nine-tower manse, the black banner with the red dragon fluttered, overlooking the fine white sand.
In his bedchamber, Viserys toyed with the gemstones in his hand, feeling the smooth red and blue stones beneath his fingertips.
Despite his thorough search of the Pentos markets and the countless offerings from merchants eager to please the young Dragon King—who was rumored to love gems, bone carvings, and ancient art—Viserys had only managed to collect nine usable rubies and nine usable sapphires.
Even with the gifts from the Magisters, finding gems capable of channeling magic was exceptionally rare.
Among the many mediums for magic—scrolls, Valyrian steel, dragonbinder horns, weirwood, ebony, glass candles, even human flesh—stones and gems were a crucial link.
"The primary elements are Earth, Fire, Water, Wind, and Ice; the lesser elements include Lightning. I have mastered affinity with two of them." Viserys was quite satisfied. For a mortal to master even one was a feat; he held two.
Earth belonged to the Children of the Forest and the Greenseers. The Children called themselves "those who sing the song of earth," while Greenseers observed all through the weirwood net.
Viserys looked at the rubies and sapphires in his palm. Red represented blood and fire, life and desire.
Blue was more complex. In its first form, it represented water. Mother Rhoyne symbolized gentleness and growth, while the Drowned God of the Ironborn represented slaughter and fear.
If water turned to ice, it represented death and hatred, corresponding to the Night King and the Others.
A Song of Ice and Fire. When the tides of magic returned to the Known World, the Long Night would come again.
Mankind was destined to fight the Others—the living against the dead, hope against hatred, fire against ice.
Viserys set aside most of the gems, focusing on a single ruby. The red priest had called it a "blood-ruby."
Outwardly, it was a warm, jade-like ruby. It could slowly absorb fire essence fluctuations and, to a certain extent, store them.
Besides fire, it might also absorb blood and life force.
Viserys suspected this was the same type of gem Melisandre used. While she could cast spells herself, the ruby accelerated and amplified her magic.
The Red Woman wore a ruby choker that glowed when she worked her sorcery, sometimes burning her flesh. Her body radiated heat; she needed no food, sustaining herself on the light of her god.
"Blood-ruby... Bloodstone Emperor," Viserys mused. Bloodstone sounded ominous.
Magical gems and black stone were strange entities in this world. The Bloodstone Emperor had worshipped a black stone fallen from the sky.
This ruby might not be a true bloodstone, just a magically potent ruby, perhaps slightly tainted, but not the genuine article.
True bloodstone was likely green with red flecks—the color of an eye.
The emperors of the Great Empire of the Dawn, likely ancestors of the Valyrians and Targaryens, were named for the color of their eyes.
In Daenerys the Dreamer's visions, their ghosts lined the great hall, wearing faded robes of ancient kings, holding swords of pale fire. Their hair was silver, gold, or platinum white; their eyes were opal, amethyst, tourmaline, and jade.
The last emperor of the Great Empire of the Dawn was the Bloodstone Emperor. He was the son of the Opal Emperor and the younger brother of the Amethyst Empress. Driven by envy, he usurped his sister's throne.
He was a tyrant who practiced dark arts and necromancy, tortured and enslaved his people, took a tiger-woman to wife, and feasted on human flesh.
He cast down the true gods of Yi Ti to worship a black stone fallen from the sky.
His "Blood Betrayal" ushered in the Long Night and the destruction of the Great Empire of the Dawn.
Many scholars believed the Bloodstone Emperor was the first High Priest of the Church of Starry Wisdom, a sinister cult that still lurked in many port cities.
"Magic depends on bloodline and belief. Believe, and it exists; doubt, and it fades." Viserys weighed the blood-ruby in his hand.
Magic was a creation of spirit, elemental affinity, and bloodline. Many mages added faith and sacrifice to the mix.
The path of faith magic was closed to Viserys; he believed in no gods, unlike fanatics like Melisandre or Moqorro.
His only path was bloodline—the power inherent in his veins.
On the carpet of his bedroom lay two small piles of bones: black, heavy dragonbones and white, dense fish bones.
"Fire." Viserys placed his hand on a dragonbone. He slowly extracted the dense fire essence within—faint specks of black-red light that he refined and absorbed.
He felt a warm, sunny sensation, intense but not violent.
This warmth gave him strength, making him feel robust.
When the fire essence was fully drained, the dragonbone lost its efficacy completely.
Given his current ability and the low tide of magic, Viserys could only absorb small amounts at a time. Still, he was walking the path of magic.
Absorbing through affinity was far more potent than sacrificing blood and life.
Viserys viewed his body as a vessel. He had to expand it constantly to turn a stream into a river, but for now, the stream could not hold too much essence at once.
Alongside the dragonbone, he extracted water essence from the fish bones to maintain balance. "The River." The surge of water essence was different—a feeling of being immersed in a cool, clear stream, refreshing and gentle.
Viserys discarded the drained bones. They were now ordinary, brittle remnants, stripped of their magical properties.
Viserys finished his magical study just as a knock came at his door.
"Your Grace," Aggo Blackpine called out. Upon receiving permission, he entered. "Magister Ordello is here."
"Oh?" Viserys was surprised. Ordello was another senior Magister. A late-night audience was unexpected. "Let him wait in the reception hall."
Magister Ordello brought a heavy gift. A burly Dothraki eunuch carried in a magnificent double-curved dragonbone longbow, over six feet tall—a domineering black weapon.
"This is a weapon for a great warrior. I am but a fat Magister; let the Dragon King wield this bow," Ordello said.
Viserys was astonished. A dragonbone bow was unparalleled, possessing terrifying power. It was a priceless gift.
"I will treasure it always. But this gift is too precious; I have no way to repay it," Viserys said, gesturing for Ordello to sit on the velvet sofa.
No reward without merit; Ordello's generosity was suspicious but welcome.
"Besides the bow, I have also brought some dragonbone from my collection, and a dozen elderly Unsullied servants. They are old, but their loyalty remains," Ordello added.
Viserys felt like he had hit the jackpot. He hadn't planned on acquiring Unsullied, but for exploring ruins, disposable, loyal men were essential.
"You are too generous. I feel your warmth," Viserys said, looking at Ordello. He hadn't even forced this one to pay up.
"I admire a young hero like Your Grace. I ask for no return, only friendship. I do not lack gold, land, or wealth. But I lack an army. Should I, Ordello, ever face dire straits, I hope you might lend a hand..." Ordello bowed elegantly.
"Agreed," Viserys nodded.
"But why me?" Viserys asked. "There are Dothraki Khals, the Archon of Tyrosh... you have many choices."
"I hear you possess many fine swords, yet you value the sword left by your guardian, Ser Willem Darry, above all. Even in poverty, you did not abandon your kin. From this, I see that King Viserys is a man of loyalty and honor," Ordello explained.
Viserys smiled faintly. Such insight. Truly a senior Magister of Pentos.
"But you are too pessimistic about your future," Viserys said. "You are still a Magister of this great city."
"No, this is not pessimism," Ordello said. "Magisters of the Free Cities seem powerful, but one misstep and we are no better than drowning dogs. Surely you have not forgotten the tragedy of your ancestors' kin, the Rogare family of Lys."
Competition in the Free Cities was fierce. Poison, assassins, and slaughter were common tools of the trade.
Years ago, when the "Great" Lysandro Rogare and his brother Drazenko died simultaneously—one in a shipwreck, the other choking on bacon—the mighty House Rogare collapsed overnight.
Viserys nodded. "The struggle for power is full of whirlpools."
Historically, Ordello would die of mushroom poisoning in 300 AC. Whether there was foul play was unknown.
Ordello feared losing everything and sought to befriend the new military strongman. Viserys, at least, came from a civilized background, far better than a horselord.
The two parted on excellent terms.
Viserys thought he might finally get some rest, but his soldiers caught a young man loitering near the beach manse.
The intruder wasn't a local. Given the slaughter on the beach, few dared approach at night.
It seemed Viserys wasn't destined to sleep tonight.
"He says he's from Westeros. Looks sneaky."
"Bring him to the hall."
"Who are you?" Viserys asked, sitting in his chair, gesturing for the boy to be untied.
The young man looked destitute—ragged clothes, skeletal frame, a sharp, thin face, and dirty brown hair.
"Dick, Your Grace. Nimble Dick, from Crackclaw Point." The boy looked up and knelt. "Could I trouble you for a cup of wine, Your Grace? I heard the dead crying on the beach; it's spooky. I wanted to climb the wall to see you, but I lacked the courage. And as you can see, I'm starving."
Viserys had a bottle of Pentoshi red wine brought out and poured a cup for the slippery youth.
"The King's wine." Dick Crabb drank thoughtfully. "I come from Crackclaw Point, Your Grace. A land of barren hills and bogs. I am a descendant of Ser Clarence Crabb."
"Come closer!" Viserys commanded. "It has been a long time since I heard such a thick accent."
"At once, Your Grace."
"Then you must have noble blood," Viserys smiled at the boy.
He knew of Crackclaw Point. It was a poor, rugged peninsula, home to fierce, semi-wild folk who were staunch Targaryen loyalists.
"Aye, my blood comes from Ser Clarence Crabb! A great hero of the Point. He was eight feet tall, strong enough to pull a pine tree out of the ground with one hand and throw it half a mile. No horse could bear his weight, so he rode an aurochs."
"Are you of the main line?" Viserys asked.
The Crabbs and Brunes were the premier houses of Crackclaw Point. Even in decline, they shouldn't be starving.
"A cadet branch, Your Grace. Clarence had many whelps. There are plenty of broken Crabbs on the Point," Dick said, blushing.
Understandable. Noble families branched out infinitely, but only the main line enjoyed the wealth. The Vale was full of impoverished Arryns who had nothing but their name.
"I see. But my brave warrior, why are you so thin?"
"Blame that damned Robert and old Arryn. We bled for the Dragon. A generation of men died on the Trident. As the price for our loyalty, they made us pay heavy fines.
"When you have no money, life is hard. Every family was forced to give gold; we'd rather pay more than give hostages. But Crackclaw Point has only pines and bogs; money is scarce. Even smuggling is hard now; that Stannis is a piece of cold iron." Crabb poured out his bitterness.
Mentioning those names filled the poor boy's voice with hate. Hatred lives long.
"The men of Crackclaw Point are true warriors. To those who died for loyalty." Viserys poured Crabb another cup personally. These oppressed lords were filled with rage.
"From start to finish, we served only our own lords and the King. The true King. Not Robert's brood," Dick spat. "At the Trident, Crabbs, Brunes, and Boggs fought beside Prince Rhaegar. We've had men in the Kingsguard too—a Hardy, a Cave, a Pyne, and three Crabbs: Ser Clement, Ser Rupert, and 'The Short' Ser Clarence. He was six feet tall, but short compared to the real Ser Clarence. In short, we of Crackclaw Point are the Dragon's model subjects."
"Where is your family?" Viserys asked.
"My parents died long ago, Your Grace. I brought my sister across the sea to try our luck. If we don't find money soon, she might have to sell her body in King's Landing. There's no helping it; starving is too hard." Crabb said shamefacedly.
Viserys's opinion of the lad rose slightly; at least he hadn't sold his sister yet.
Dick rubbed his hands together expectantly. "Your Grace, ships from King's Landing come to Pentos every day. I came here just to see you. I didn't expect such luck, finding you here as a guest. If Your Grace would make me a knight, I would be eternally grateful."
"Poor lad. You don't look fit to be a knight," Viserys eyed Dick. He looked like he was about to collapse from hunger.
"Ah." The light in Crabb's eyes dimmed.
"The road to knighthood is long. You are too thin and weak. How about this: you start as my squire," Viserys offered.
Viserys knew Dick was at best a minor noble or a broken man, but buying horse bones with a thousand gold pieces showed sincerity. Crabb was the first young man from Westeros to seek him out.
"I am... eternally grateful." Dick's heart soared. It was more than he had hoped for.
"Get my squire a set of good clothes and some nutritious food. Looking like a dried stick... are you fit to be called a knight?"
Dick wept with gratitude. From this moment on, he decided to dedicate his entire loyalty to the King.