Wizards and a Princess

"The supreme, greatest, and most magnificent realm was forged by fire and dragon."

The blazing white sun scorched a city whose boundaries could not be seen. Countless ships raised sails of every color, packed into the equally endless harbor like sardines. The broad Rhoyne flowed quietly onward. Above its waters, a great bridge wide enough for two four-wheeled carriages to pass side by side stretched across the river mouth. Gryphons, dragons, and Manticores carved from black stone watched the crowds pressing across the bridge with cold eyes.

A swift falcon streaked across the sky like lightning. Its feathers fell, and slaves tattooed with maggots carefully gathered them and placed them in the crude baskets on their backs. A man marked with tiger-stripe tattoos cracked his whip, directing a long line of slaves as they swept the broad streets.

The falcon flew over the bustling harbor district, thick with the stench of fish, the fragrance of flowers, filth, rot, and decay. It passed merchants and sailors from every corner of the world, slaves covered in tattoos, and nobles in silk togas seated upon golden thrones atop small elephants, leaving behind a string of indistinct curses. Then it flew over the two-hundred-foot black wall.

At last, the falcon landed on a strangely shaped black stone pillar. Carved atop it was a crest of laurel leaves surrounding a fire-breathing dragon, wrought from pure silver and gleaming beneath the sun. In the room opposite the pillar, an old man in gray robes held a thick book and leaned beside a fountain decorated with dragons and Manticores, calmly reciting aloud.

The handsome silver-haired boy looked up in delight and secretly glanced toward the falcon.

"Rey, pay attention." The old man in gray tugged at the chain around his chest, strung with more than a dozen rings of different metals, and spoke unhurriedly.

"I'm sorry. I just miss Flame Wing too much, Master Visari. Please don't tell my brother." Twelve-year-old Rey hurriedly pulled back his gaze and looked pleadingly at Doctor Visari, who was watching him quietly. This learned scholar had come from the distant west, from a place the people beyond the Black Wall called the Land of Sunset. Yet Rey knew that place's true name was Westeros. His late father and mother had often spoken of it.

It was the homeland his mother both longed for and hated.

"Your brother Lonzell would not abandon the pursuit of knowledge over a mere falcon." The old scholar solemnly turned to the next page. "Unless it were a hatchling dragon."

"But we have no dragons left."

The boy lowered his head and thought so, while the aged voice at his ear continued reciting pages of history in High Valyrian.

"Dawn shone upon a realm that seemed eternal. The descendants of light and darkness, fire and ice, ruled land and sea. Their reign lasted ten thousand years, until the destined hour came. The Pearl Emperor ascended the throne, the Amethyst Emperor sewed jeweled robes, the Onyx Emperor forged armor, the Topaz Emperor compiled books, the Opal Emperor stitched wounds. Order vanished, the world fell into chaos, brother and sister turned upon one another, the Long Night stretched on, a hero drew his sword, and the Night Lion grieved."

"Such an old myth." Rey's thoughts had already flown to Flame Wing. But my brother likes it. Is it because the Amethyst Empress had purple eyes too? Does he think she might have been related to our ancestors? The boy blinked his beautiful violet eyes and pretended to listen closely.

"Your ancestors rose from the endless mountains of the Fourteen Fires. They were children of the mountains: valiant Warriors, outstanding scholars, mysterious wizards, and skilled craftsmen."

Legends are still only legends. Our ancestors were descended from shepherds. At least we know that much, Rey quietly said to himself.

"They awakened the children of the Fourteen Fires." Visari suddenly lowered his voice. "Thus the greatest people were born. The Valyrians mounted dragons and launched their great conquest. The Harpy's favored children, the ancient Ghiscari Empire, were burned by Dragonfire into salt marshes where crops would never grow again. Then there were the Rhoynar, who possessed water magic capable of drowning dragons. Their brave Prince Garin also died in bitter hatred amid the fury of three hundred dragons."

Now this is getting interesting. Rey tucked his hand into the sleeve of his purple silk robe. At some point, a tiny silver dragon figurine had appeared in his hand. As the boy gently rubbed it, his attention finally returned to the thick book.

"At the height of the Valyrian Freehold, forty Dragonlord families raised thousands of dragons."

Unfortunately, only one Dragonlord family that raises dragons remains. No, rather than Dragonlords, they are lucky exiles. Rey continued stroking the figurine, recalling the lessons from his noble education.

"The Dragonlords schemed against one another in Valyria's towers, while dragons roared freely upon the volcanoes. Beneath them, millions of slaves toiled in the mines for the Dragonlords. Across the known world, the Andals fled in disgrace like rats, the tall men of Salor knelt and crawled, the ancient Ghiscari were slaves to the Dragonlords, and even the proud emperors of Yi Ti considered it a great honor to marry silver-haired noblewomen." The old scholar's voice gradually rose, as if he were chanting a poem.

"The wise Dreamwalker Daenys Targaryen foresaw the brewing disaster, so that failed family brought their dragons west. Then came the Doom that destroyed all things. Dragonlords turned to ash, and dragons fell from the high heavens. A mighty realm vanished into dust overnight."

The old scholar cleared his throat and continued. "At that time, your ancestor, Aurion Valaerys, the last Valyrian emperor, was resting with his dragon in Qohor. The proud Dragonlord believed this was a perfect opportunity. Greed devoured his reason, and so he spent his entire fortune recruiting an army of thirty thousand. Among them were free sellswords and farmers hungry for wealth, wandering Valyrian warriors yearning for home, and Qohor's Black Goat riders. They acquired supplies in Valantis, where the Dragonlord also left behind descendants."

The old scholar looked at Rey. Wise as he was, he had already noticed the boy's wandering attention. "That would be your direct ancestor, Rhaegor Valaerys, the Dragonless."

"I know him." Rey's violet eyes lit up. At last, it was time for his favorite family anecdotes. To protect him from assassination by people with ulterior motives, his mother—a noblewoman from a Dragonlord family who had no dragon herself—smashed the dragon egg Aurion had left for his son. Of course, he never hatched a dragon either.

"The army vanished in Valyria. No one ever saw Dragonlord Aurion or his red dragon again. Thus, the Valaerys family, once ranked seventh among the forty Dragonlords and possessing one hundred and fifty adult dragons at its peak, declined from that day onward." The old scholar sighed and turned to the next page of the great book, continuing with the history of the Valaerys family after their migration within Valantis's Black Wall.

"When Garmon Valaerys died, the Valaerys family had already amassed enormous wealth. They possessed not only vast fertile lands between the Rhoyne and the Valana River, but also twelve sugar beet plantations, twenty-five vineyards, six silk workshops, two privately owned forests, one gold mine, two silver mines, and seven rich iron mines."

The old scholar turned to the final page.

"Cleyon Valaerys, the most legendary head of the family's history. Some called him a madman, some a genius, and some a terrifying wizard. During the first twenty years, he was a wastrel who squandered two-thirds of the family fortune. During the next twenty, he was a miracle worker who tripled the Valaerys family's wealth from the foundation laid by Garmon. The glass he made was clear and flawless, sold as far as Slaver's Bay and the Nine Free Cities. The silver wine he brewed was mellow and sweet, enough to enchant even Dothraki Khals. He tripled silk production, and luxurious silks decorated with silver dragons and laurel leaves were sold as far as Yi Ti. He increased the yields of wheat, rice, sugar beets, and saffron year after year. The smelting methods he designed doubled the output of the gold and silver mines, while his improved metalworking techniques could produce steel inferior only to Valyrian steel and Qohor blood steel. The seagoing vessels built by his shipbuilding methods were no less capable than Braavos's purple-sailed warships or the Summer Isles' swan ships."

If I had not witnessed the old master's brilliance with my own eyes, I would never have believed that a noble who had never received an education at the Citadel could accomplish all this, Doctor Visari thought as he spoke.

"He organized great voyages to Asshai and Westeros, earning untold gold through sea trade. He freed the family's slaves and elevated them into contract workers and servants. From among them, he selected six thousand brave boys. From that day onward, Valantis's Silver Blood Army and the Weepers were born. The nobles within the Black Wall all said that he conducted magic experiments openly, or nearly so. Shadowbinders, sky mages, fire mages, blood wizards from Asshai, warlocks from Qarth, moon chanters from Jueguesnai, and red-robed priests from the Great Temple all came and went from his palace. No one knew what your father intended until he ran madly from the palace and charged into one of Valantis's most infamous brothels with treasure that required nine elephants to carry."

"He married our mother." Rey stared into the old scholar's eyes. The mother who died when I was born.

"In my homeland, people called her the Whore Princess. Her name was Senira Targaryen." Doctor Visari paused, and there seemed to be regret in his eyes.

"She was the ninth daughter of the former king of my homeland, the Old King Jaehaerys I. During the absurd first half of her life, there were more men at her side than silver hairs on her head."

I know. Rey had never respected his mother. Even as a child, he often felt sorrow over her past. There are several of Mother's children around my brother alone. And that silver-haired bastard from the former consul's family.

"Twenty-three years ago, the princess ended her debauched life in Lys and came to settle in Valantis. A year later, she established her own brothel: the infamous Dragon-Bastard House. No one understood why your father married a prostitute, even if she carried the blood of the world's only Dragonlord family that still possessed dragons. Even fewer understood why the princess agreed to your father's request, then imprisoned herself for two years after their marriage in order to purify her bloodline."

Doctor Visari closed the book. "I cannot understand it either, but history unfolded as it did. In the third year of their marriage, your elder brothers Lonzell Varezes and Valarr Valaerys were born. The birth of twins nearly killed the aging princess. From then on, she was bedridden, while the old master seemed to lose interest in his wife and turned his attention to your eldest brother, who possessed innate wisdom. Master Lonzell's intelligence was no less than the old master's. At the age of seven, he understood every business and affair of the family as though they lay in his palm, and by the age of nine, he had independently completed trade with Braavos and Lys. In the final years of his life, the old master passed all his wisdom to your eldest brother, until he died in his own laboratory. Hmm? Where are you going?"

The old scholar's voice abruptly stopped. The silver-haired boy suddenly sprang up like a monkey and ran heedlessly toward the main courtyard.

The silver dragon figurine in his sleeve suddenly became scorching hot, as if it were burning. Rey immediately realized what had happened. "My brother is back. I'm going to see him, Master Visari. I'll make up today's lesson tomorrow." Rey's clear voice echoed through the corridor where stone pillars and grapevines intertwined.

The old scholar shook his head with a bitter smile. "But your lesson for today is already over." He straightened his gray robes and chain. Lonzell Varezes was his master, so naturally, he needed to go greet him as well.

The silver dragon figurine in Rey's sleeve grew hotter and hotter, yet he felt no pain. Instead, it felt strangely comfortable.

The boy ran through the corridor and had just turned past a dragon statue carved from dragon crystal when something round rolled to his feet.

Rey's heart seemed to be seized by a giant hand. His hand rose involuntarily to cover his mouth, forcing back the scream that had reached his throat.

It was a human head.

This is my first novel, and I lack experience. Please feel free to offer criticism and guidance.