The Pentoshi Spies

Above the courtyard of the Red Door, a Black Cat padded along the wall, then prowled around the yard.

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In the garden courtyard, Viserys stood facing his new instructor, Roland.

Roland Lake was unlike Moro and Syrio, the Water Dancers from Braavos. He was truly one of Viserys's own men, a knight from Westeros.

Though Viserys trusted Moro and Syrio as well, the Water Dancers had not been involved in the War of the Usurper.

They were helping Viserys out of goodwill, but they would not bind themselves to his chariot with unwavering loyalty.

Roland, who bore hatred toward House Lannister and Robert the Usurper, was far more useful.

For now, loyalty was the foremost requirement. Talent came second.

Jon Connington was indeed talented, but he could only be called loyal to Rhaegar. Viserys did not place much hope in him.

Roland Lake might be somewhat less capable, but there was no question about his loyalty.

"Ser Roland, from now on, you will be my instructor," Viserys said to Roland Lake.

"It is my honor, Your Grace. Besides serving as your instructor, I will also be responsible for your safety." Roland Lake did not hesitate in the slightest.

Viserys was quite satisfied. Now he could finally be said to have two guards: Moro, lent to him by the courtesan, and Roland Lake, an exiled royalist knight.

As for Syrio, he was too great a figure. He could train Viserys, but he would not circle around him every day.

Speaking of guards, Viserys thought of the absurdly gifted Rhaegar again, and his teeth itched with hatred.

Rhaegar had sent several Kingsguard to the Tower of Joy in one go. They neither took part in the battle at the Trident nor stayed in King's Landing to guard the royal household, and Viserys had not gotten a single one of them.

The Sword of the Morning and the others had died for no apparent reason. It had all been a complete waste.

Roland Lake had fled quickly enough. Otherwise, he would have died in King's Landing or been sent north.

After Lake arrived, Viserys began receiving two kinds of warrior training.

The first was Water Dancing, which emphasized agility and was suited for assassination.

The second was the Iron Dance of Westerosi knights, which emphasized broad, powerful movements and was suited for the battlefield.

"Your Grace, forgive my bluntness, but how far has your knightly training progressed?" Ser Roland asked cautiously.

Those who sought great things had to begin with their leader.

Though Roland was unwavering in his determination to restore the kingdom, he still wanted to understand Viserys's actual capabilities.

The courtesan, the "Female Swordswoman," had heaped praise upon Viserys, calling him a genius in many respects, but Roland did not quite believe it.

From Roland's rough impression of Viserys, he only knew him as a prince spoiled by the Mad King Aerys, with a temper as unpredictable as the weather.

Back when the Mad King and Rhaegar were at odds, Rhaegar lived on Dragonstone after his marriage.

Viserys had been the only prince in the castle, and the royal couple had spoiled him greatly.

There were even rumors that King Aerys had intended to depose Rhaegar and name Viserys his heir instead.

In short, he seemed like a spoiled prince without any talent to speak of.

Even being driven from place to place could not realistically transform someone so completely.

"I have barely learned anything," Viserys said, opening with a small shock for Roland.

Roland's mind nearly froze. Viserys was already fourteen or fifteen, yet he had barely learned the sword or spear. He felt a sense of pure, lucid stupidity and despair.

Viserys's answer was equivalent to admitting that, at fourteen or fifteen, he was still in primary school. It was simply too foolish.

"I never touched a sword in the Red Keep. After Braavos, Ser Willem quickly became half-blind, and no one taught me. But recently, my Water Dancing has reached mastery."

Roland stared at Viserys in astonishment. Could someone truly graduate after only a few months of training? Was he genuinely a genius rather than simply boasting?

Viserys quickly understood what Ser Roland meant. If he wanted to prove House Targaryen's greatness, it seemed he would have to put on a display.

Viserys was too deeply tied to Aerys. To shed that negative legacy, he could only strengthen himself.

But that did not matter. Strength was the best advertisement.

As long as Viserys stood out, people would naturally forget the arrogant second son sheltered beneath the Mad King's wings. The one reborn from fire would be a true dragon.

"This is something I learned recently."

Viserys drew Silver Flash, shifted sideways, and lunged forward with startling speed.

As he moved at high speed, Silver Flash's coldly gleaming blade had already stopped beside Roland's neck.

Roland was deeply surprised. His body instinctively recoiled, but he understood that with Viserys's explosive speed, Viserys could easily have assassinated him.

Roland had seen Water Dancers in Braavos, so this was not unfamiliar to him. Judging by Viserys's form and footwork, he had already developed considerable skill.

"Your Grace, how long have you been studying?" Roland asked again, also sensing the blade's sharpness.

Viserys sheathed Silver Flash. He still had to show what he could do before these people would be convinced.

"I studied Water Dancing under Moro for several months. Now I am studying under Syrio, the former First Sword," Viserys answered.

"Several months?" Roland scrutinized Viserys closely. Then a blazing fire seemed to ignite in his eyes, and the heart he had left in the Vale was pulled back once more.

"To reach such a level in only a few months, you truly are a genius among ten thousand. At this rate, becoming a top-tier warrior and catching up to the Sword of the Morning is no impossible dream."

"I am still far from it," Viserys said. "I started halfway through. I can only work twice as hard."

Viserys had once considered the battle between Rhaegar and Robert. Rhaegar had faced a certain death trap in three respects.

First, there was training. Rhaegar had only taken up martial training halfway through, while Robert had received a traditional knight's education.

Rhaegar had been an artistic youth before turning to the path of the warrior, because Westeros revered warriors and knightly culture flourished there.

Second, there was strength. Rhaegar had spent too much time on music and art, and unlike Robert and the Kingslayer, he did not love the sound of gold and iron.

Third, there was weapon choice. Blunt weapons were inherently more lethal than longswords, not to mention that Rhaegar had not possessed a Valyrian steel weapon.

Rhaegar had started halfway through, and Viserys was even more gifted than Rhaegar.

Ser Roland looked at Viserys. "With your Talent, you will one day be able to face the Usurper head-on upon the battlefield and avenge King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar."

The Sword of the Morning was ridiculously overpowered, but Viserys possessed great Talent. With his own advantages, surpassing the Sword of the Morning was only a matter for the future.

"There is no time to waste, Your Grace. I will arrange training in sword and shield, lance, and archery for you. Your Talent is exceptional. We must train day and night," Roland said delightedly. Viserys was not merely promising material—he was a genius.

Though they only had a few people, at least their grand plan to restore the kingdom was not utterly hopeless.

"I look forward to becoming a first-rate knight," Viserys said.

As the two chatted, the Black Cat leaped over the courtyard wall again and came to Viserys's side, meowing.

Looks like something is happening, Viserys thought.

After bidding Roland farewell, Viserys followed the Black Cat to find Rhaenys.

"For some reason, ragged children suddenly appeared around our street today, watching us, then passing information to other children."

"Little Birds." A cold glint flashed through Viserys's eyes.

The people Viserys most wanted dead were Illyrio and Varys.

It seemed the Pentoshi were watching them as well.

He had not expected them to be so unable to keep still.

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