Chapter 71 68

Pentos. The Manse of Illyrio Mopatis.

The great hall spoke of luxury in every detail. Masterful paintings by celebrated artists, fine silks brought directly from the empire of Yi Ti, the most exquisite furniture of northern ironwood crafted by men who truly knew their trade. The tables sagged under the weight of food. There was enough to hold a seven-day feast for an entire village. All of it belonged to one man, Magister Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos. Across from him sat a solidly built man with blue-dyed hair and a soldier's bearing. This was Jon Connington, former Hand of the King under the Targaryens, devoted friend of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and a fierce champion of the dragon's cause.

"The Dothraki, then." Connington was doing his best to speak of it without feeling, but the fury beneath the surface did not escape an experienced trader's notice.

"Yes," confirmed the cheesemonger. "Prince Viserys believes this is the 'perfect moment for the Targaryens to return.' He needed an army, but his reputation being what it is, no one was willing to stake everything on a hopeless cause. In the end, however, an ally was found. Khal Drogo. Forty thousand Dothraki screamers in exchange for the Princess of Dragons."

"But to give the princess of the house of the dragon to some barbarian..." Jon shook his head at Viserys's thinking.

"It seems the prince's coin fell on the wrong side," the magister said simply.

Jaehaerys Targaryen, the second one, had once remarked that madness and greatness were two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen came into the world, the gods tossed that coin, and the world held its breath to see how it would land. Time had proven the Old King's wisdom. There were no unremarkable Targaryens. Each had left their mark on history, for good or for ill.

"Can we not prevent this?" asked old Griff. "It was understood that Daenerys would become Aegon's bride."

"We could, but I fear it might do our cause more harm than good. Westeros is at war. Lions, Wolves, and Stags are tearing at one another's throats, yet they share one thing in common: hatred of the house of the Dragon. My friend, sometimes one must sacrifice the small thing to gain the important one. Viserys and the Dothraki will make an excellent distraction, drawing every eye away from Aegon." The magister's words gave Connington much to think about.

"Very well." Griff was displeased but did not argue. "What of Dorne and Princess Rhaenys?"

"Dorne keeps its silence, as always. Though Princess Rhaenys is now openly moving through Sunspear." That piece of information had not come easily. Doran had gone to extraordinary lengths and eliminated nearly every spy in his domain.

"Will they support us? If Dorne joins Aegon, the restoration becomes considerably easier."

"That remains uncertain. Dorne has doubts about Aegon's legitimacy. Even Rhaenys's assurances have not been enough."

"Damned coward! The moment is almost upon us. Enemies will bleed one another dry, and no clear victor will emerge. The lords will follow the greatest power available, and that power will be Aegon. The time to act is now."

"I agree with you entirely. How many Swords do we have at present?" The magister knew the number perfectly well, but a small test never hurt.

"Seventeen thousand."

"So few," and his frustration was understandable. He had invested heavily in expanding the company and had been counting on twenty thousand at the very least.

"The Golden Company will be the core of Aegon's army. The soldiers must be elite, properly armored and properly trained, or the whole thing falls apart." Jon paused. "We need to be purchasing provisions, preparing the men, the ships, the swords and shields. Within half a year to a year, we will restore what belongs to the rightful king." Old Griff's voice held no room for doubt, and Mopatis found himself in full agreement.

...