Visitors from the Summer Isles
The morning light on the second day at Dragon's Roost Port had just turned the bluestone of the dock a warm yellow when the tranquility was broken by a long, drawn-out conch shell horn call.
Three fast ships bearing the emblem of "bone and sword" broke through the morning mist, their bronze anchor chains gleaming coldly, leaving faint silver trails on the sea.
The deck was piled high with wooden crates covered with palm leaves, the edges of which still held the dampness characteristic of the Summer Isles. One could faintly smell the fragrance of hardwood and the cool scent of gemstones emanating from the crates.
Racallio Rendon stood at the bow of the lead ship, his purple and orange striped beard tied up with a silver cord, the end of which was adorned with a small emerald.
That was a token of love given to him by the chief of the Jhala tribe, who was widowed after being robbed by the Iron Islands, when he married her some time ago.
The faded purple-green silk shirt he wore was damp with the salty sea breeze, and the cuffs were frayed, but it couldn't hide the vibrancy in his eyes.
He was toying with a ruby-encrusted dagger in his hand. The "Rose and Bone" emblem engraved on the scabbard was particularly striking in the morning light. It was one of the pair of daggers that Daemon had returned to him in Tyrosh.
"Little Daemon! I've finally seen you!" Racallio's booming voice cut through the sea breeze as he waved towards the pier from afar, his voice filled with his usual madness and hearty laughter.
Behind him followed five dark-skinned natives of the Summer Isles, dressed in animal skins and carrying exquisitely woven straw baskets filled with fist-sized coconuts and colorful parrot feathers. The baskets were also adorned with delicate gold chains, clearly a special gift prepared for their first meeting.
Daemon was already waiting on the pier with Jarman Waters, Colin Celtigar, and Alyn Redwyne.
The Glutton lay sprawled on a nearby hill, its dark dragon scales gleaming with a dark gold in the morning light. Occasionally, it would glance up at the approaching merchant ships and let out a low, mournful roar.
The Grey Ghost circled around Daemon's feet, and the light gray dragon occasionally poked its head out at the unfamiliar presence on the ship, but dared not approach. It only dared to gently rub its nose against the sole of Daemon's boot, as if seeking protection.
"Racallio, long time no see." Daemon smiled, his Blackfyre slung across his waist, the Targaryen three-headed dragon emblem on the scabbard swaying gently with his movement. "Looks like you're doing well in the Summer Isles."
Racallio strode down the pier, his heavy leather boots making a "thump-thump" sound on the bluestone.
He stepped forward and patted Daemon on the shoulder, the force so strong that Daemon swayed slightly, but without a trace of malice. "Of course! I recently seized three small islands next to Walano in the Summer Isles. The islands have vast hardwood forests, and you can find emeralds on the beach. The chief of Jhala, whom I married, even makes ointments with the sap of the Talking Tree. Life is ten times more comfortable than when I was a pirate in the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones!"
As he spoke, he suddenly clapped his hands, signaling his men to carry down a heavy wooden crate.
When the wooden chest was opened, the unique grain of the Goldenheart gleamed warmly in the morning light. The edges of the wood were polished smooth as jade. Next to it was a chest piled high with red and green gemstones, each at least the size of a thumb, radiating a rich, precious light. "These are your welcoming gifts! The Goldenheart is enough for the main beams of your castle, and the gemstones are for your aunt's wife, Gael, to make jewelry. I've already inquired; the noble ladies of Westeros all love this stuff!"
Gael walked in, accompanied by Mysaria and Johanna Swann. Her light purple dress fluttered in the wind, and the Dreamfyre dragon pattern embroidered on the hem reflected the morning light.
Seeing the various gems in the box, even though she had been accustomed to seeing all kinds of rare jewels since childhood in King's Landing Red Keep of King's Landing, she still acted like a young lady from an ordinary noble family. A hint of surprise flashed in her light purple eyes. However, unlike those young ladies, she still maintained the poise that belonged to her as a princess. "Then I thank you very much Racallio. These gems are indeed very beautiful."
Racallio immediately adopted an exaggeratedly respectful demeanor, his purple and orange beard sweeping across the ground as he bowed. "I'm glad Your Highness likes it! Compared to your beauty, these jewels are nothing but dust!"
His eccentric behavior drew laughter from everyone, even the usually serious Brienne couldn't help but smile slightly, and her grip on the sword hilt loosened a little.
While everyone was exchanging pleasantries, Ellyn Beesbury and Maester Maron huddled together under an old pine tree in a corner of the camp, their heads close together, their eyes full of scheming.
Ellyn Beesbury changed into his signature bright yellow brocade robe, but today he made sure to wear his cleanest one.
His clothes were magnificent, but even the most lavish attire couldn't conceal the fawning in his eyes;
Maester Maron gripped the tattered tome tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure, clearly afraid of missing any "information."
"This is Racallio Reyndon? The legendary King of the Narrow Sea?"
Maester Maron lowered his voice, his gaze fixed on Racallio's retreating figure, forgetting to grip the tome in his hand. "Judging from how familiar he is with the Black Dragon, he probably knows quite a few of the Black Dragon's secrets."
If we can get information out of him, Lord Otto will surely reward us handsomely!
Ellyn Beesbury rubbed his hands together, his fingertips still stained with ink from yesterday's miscalculation. "You're right! Today we'll pretend to be curious about the trade in the Summer Isles, strike up a conversation with his men, and say we're interested in doing gem trading, while also gathering information about the Black Dragon's movements. Didn't you hear Racallio mention hardwood and gems? This is a golden opportunity!"
The two thought they were being discreet, but they didn't notice that Arad House Royce and Jorvik House Royce were leaning against the stone wall not far away, seemingly adjusting their bows and arrows, but actually keeping a close eye on them out of the corner of their eyes.
The Shadow Guards accompanying the House Royce twins had already taken their every move under control, even noting down their subtle exchange of glances on a piece of parchment hidden in the shadows.
Racallio followed Daemon to the council chamber of the temporary castle, marveling at the changes to Dragon's Roost Port along the way.
In fact, when Dragon's Roost Port was first being built, he disguised himself as a sailor and followed his "merchant ships" to trade with the lords of Westeros, bringing with him various specialties from the Summer Isles. However, when he passed through Dragon's Roost Port, he did not choose to remove his disguise and recognize Daemon.
As he watched the changes that had taken place in Dragon's Roost Port in such a short time, his fingers traced the walls of the newly built stone houses, his fingertips touching the rough stone surface, a complex light flashing in his eyes.
There was a mixture of envy for the bustling city, a touch of nostalgia for the pirate life of the past, but mostly acceptance of the peaceful life now. "It's only been a short time, and your dilapidated port has become so impressive! The docks can hold ten ocean-going ships, and the terraced fields are full of crops. It's much more grand than my old stronghold on the Stepstones!"
As he passed the artisans' workshop, he saw the Myr craftsmen forging oars for their fast boats. The crisp, powerful sound of the anvil striking the Anvil made him stop in his tracks. "These craftsmen are quite skilled! If they repaired my oars, they would definitely be sturdier than they are now!"
At this moment, Rayford Rosby, who had come with Tommen House Peake, immediately chimed in, "If Lord Racallio needs it, we can send craftsmen to the Summer Isles at any time, just pay them some hardwood as payment."
Racallio's eyes lit up, but he still waved his hand, feigning modesty. "We'll talk about it next time! I have important business to discuss with your Little Daemon."
Inside the council chamber, Rayford had already arranged for ale and honey cakes to be prepared.
The ale is a newly brewed beer from Arbor, with pale golden foam on top;
The honey cake was wrapped in oil paper printed with the image of Glutton, which Gael had specially asked the cook from the Red Keep to start making last night.
In fact, many of the errand girls, cooks, and even servants in Dragon's Roost Port who are responsible for taking care of Prince Little Daemon and Princess Gael were dispatched by Queen Alysanne after Daemon and Gael's marriage, with the tacit approval of Jaehaerys.
Of course, if King Jaehaerys disagreed, Queen Alysanne might send someone privately, but how could Jaehaerys possibly disagree? Even if he did, his "Good Queen" was always ready to turn against him, this "the Conciliator"—
Furthermore, even if the royal family didn't send anyone, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon would certainly have her Boremund, or her daughter, Rhaenys, send someone from her maternal home at Storm's End or High Tide. Of course, that's all predicated on that.
Racallio picked up a piece of honey cake and stuffed it into his mouth, mumbling, "I came here this time for two reasons: first, to bring you a gift, and second, to deliver a message. That Iron Islands king, Gorne, has recently had his trade routes through the Summer Isles completely blocked by me!"
He swallowed the honey cake in his hand, then casually wiped it on his clothes before pulling out a crumpled roll of parchment stained with coconut wine. "This is the letter that Gorne sent to me through his underlings. Look at this guy, outwardly subservient to your Targaryen Iron Throne, but secretly expanding his fleet to try and seize my gem mine on Jhala! I'm inherently at odds with slave owners, I definitely won't let him succeed!"
Daemon took the parchment, unfolded it, and saw that Gorne's handwriting was crooked and messy, filled with the same obsequious words he used when he sent someone to offer the crown and beg for surrender, such as "willing to share 30% of the profits" and "jointly expand trade routes." However, one could also see his eagerness for the resources of the Summer Isles between the lines.
"He's afraid I'll cut off his source of income, but he doesn't dare offend the Iron Throne, so he's trying to please both sides."
Daemon ran his fingertips across the paper, a cold glint in his eyes. "However, his trade routes are also helpful to Dragon's Roost Port. We need the hardwoods and gems from the Summer Isles, and you can let him keep the other tribes on the island occupied while we reap the benefits."
Besides, I didn't say you can't rob them. Why don't you have your men disguise themselves as slave traders and specifically rob their slave ships? Don't tell me you, the infamous King of the Narrow Sea Narrow Sea once ruled the Stepstones, "Don't know this method?"
Racallio raised an eyebrow, and after a moment's thought, the man with purple and orange beard shook his head, saying, "You're still as cunning as ever! I was originally planning to just lead my men to hijack all the ships he sent, but since you put it that way, I'll give him a little more time."
"By the way, you know about those Talking Tree on the Summer Isles, right?" He suddenly lowered his voice and leaned closer to Daemon mysteriously. "The old priests on the islands said that many Old Valyria stories are carved on the Talking Tree, and one of them mentions some kind of Dragon Mark," saying that it can awaken a sleeping dragon. From their description, it looks a bit like the mark on your shoulder!
These words instantly drew the attention of Bethany Hightower, who was still in the corner.
She had followed us unnoticed, her notebook already open, pen nib hovering over the paper, ink almost dripping down.
Her eyes were filled with fervor as she strode up to Racallio, her voice trembling. "The Talking Tree? The story of Old Valyria? Lord Racallio, could you tell me in detail? What specific runes are engraved on the Dragon Mark? Is it the same mark as the Old Valyria runes?"
Racallio was startled by Bethany's sudden question and instinctively took a half step back. Having recently dealt with many coastal nobles in order to develop trade with Westeros, he smiled and waved his hand after recognizing the Hightower pattern on Bethany's robe, "Oh, so you're the young lady of House Hightower in Oldtown! It seems you're also quite interested in ancient Old Valyria. I'll have my painters draw the Talking Tree runes for you later, but you'd better get me a few jars of the best wine from Arbor in Reach—but it has to be the oldest!"
Bethany nodded immediately, her eyes practically brimming with fervor as she glanced at Daemon: "No problem! I'll have someone fetch it right away! My father has a thirty-year-old vintage in his cellar in Oldtown, guaranteed to suit your taste!"
Alys Rivers stood in the corner, her green cloak hood obscuring most of her face. She looked at Bethany with a knowing glint in her eyes, but said nothing more.
She quietly walked up to Gael and said in a low voice, "You haven't taken your medicine for today. I'll warm it up for you when we get back."
Remember to stay near the Dreamfyre for an hour after drinking it; the warmth of the Dragonfire will help the medicine be absorbed.
Gael nodded in agreement, but her gaze fell on Racallio, and she also became somewhat curious about the Talking Tree of the Summer Isles: "Can the sap of that Talking Tree really be used to make ointment? Will there be any side effects?"
Alys gently shook her head. "The sap of the common Talking Tree can calm the nerves, but the local priests usually use it to make poison; it's very toxic and you shouldn't touch it. Your body doesn't need that. Just follow my prescription."
In the afternoon, Racallio, accompanied by Daemon, continued his tour of Dragon's Roost Port. When they reached the edge of the rice terraces, Rickard Rowan was squatting on the ridge, teaching the Black Hill Tribe how to tell the ripeness of the rye.
He held a newly sprouted rye stalk in his hand, his fingertips brushing over the plump grains, and patiently explained, "The yellowing tip of the ear means it's almost ripe. After harvesting, it needs to be dried for three days before threshing."
Lucas Tyrell stood to the side, holding a notebook and carefully noting down every point, occasionally correcting the native's grip on the sickle.
Racallio watched this scene and couldn't help but marvel. "You little rascal, you actually managed to get these Wildlings to obediently farm?"
I've seen Wildlings before, but all I knew was to steal their food. You're the one who has the best way.
Rickard replied with a smile, "Your Highness gave them land so they no longer had to live by plundering, so naturally they are willing to work. Next month, with the abundant rye harvest, we can distribute new wheat bread to everyone."
Lucas seized the opportunity to offer a handful of rye. Among Daemon's entourage were sons of merchants, so they all knew a thing or two about salesmanship. "Lord Racallio, this is a salt-tolerant variety we're testing. It has a stronger flavor than regular rye. Please try it when the time comes."
On the training ground, Lyonel Corbray was instructing the new recruits on slashing techniques as usual.
He held the "Lady Forlorn" sword, its silver blade gleaming coldly in the morning light. As always, each swing landed precisely on the same spot on the wooden stake. "When you chop, you must use the strength of your waist and abdomen, not just your arms!"
The new recruits lined up in neat rows, their movements progressing from clumsy to skillful, sweat streaming down their faces, yet no one dared to slack off.
Rupert Crabb stood to the side, still holding the training plan revised by Daemon, occasionally correcting the recruits' formation. "Those on the left flank, hold on tighter! If we encounter a pirate attack like yesterday, in unfavorable terrain, the formation will break and we're done for!"
Myles Rivers and Tybolt Crakehall were once again leading their respective teams in a fierce competition at the back of the field. However, unlike before, today, after several days of sparring, the two brought out their most proficient weapons: battle axes and warhammers. The sound of their weapons clashing drew cheers from the new recruits and the newly recruited tribal warriors.
Harlan Hunter, at the distant archery range, was instructing the new recruits and rangers who had joined the archery corps, adjusting their breathing and techniques. "Keep your arm steady when drawing the bow, aim at the bullseye before releasing the arrow!"
Looking at the scene before him, Racallio couldn't help but pat Daemon on the shoulder. "Your men are all elite, much better than my old pirate crew! If I had met you sooner, I might not have become a pirate. It would have been so much more comfortable building ports with you."
Daemon smiled faintly, "It's not too late now. If your people want to settle down, they can come to my Dragon's Roost Port anytime. The docks still need manpower, and the terraced fields still need farmers."
Moreover, I might lead my people to conquer the Summer Isles before long, and then I'll be crowned King of the Summer Isles, and you'll become an island noble."
Racallio waved his hand. "Not for now. I have things to do in the Summer Isles. I'll come see you after I've dealt with those Ironborn. But I'm interested in going crazy with you about conquering the Summer Isles— "