Outside, the searches of the other areas were also nearing their end.
The compiled inventory was much the same as before: armor, weapons, and some coins.
There was not a single intact antique or magical item that truly came from the depths of the Valyrian Ruins.
They had either been buried deep or destroyed.
But with an entire shipload of petrified Dragon Eggs, it had all been worthwhile.
Once the supplies had been counted, Aegon slowly swept his gaze over the people gathered in the clearing amid the ruins.
After fierce battle upon battle, a plunge off a cliff, flight, miracles, and betrayal, everyone still standing here was a hard one to kill, their resolve tempered by brutal trials.
He took particular care to count them and examine who made up the group.
One hundred and eight people.
A number with a faint hint of coincidence.
Around a hundred were members of the original mercenary band. Besides them, a few men wearing the uniforms of Corlyon's guards had actually slipped into their ranks. Now they all kept their eyes lowered, doing their best not to attract attention.
Aegon did not confront them immediately.
He had Henry and Carl identify them discreetly before calling those men out separately.
They faced Aegon's calm gaze, which seemed capable of seeing through everything, along with the veiled hostility of more than a hundred companions around them.
The men barely put up a struggle before dropping to their knees and begging for mercy, swearing that they had long since recognized Corlyon's madness and sincerely wished to serve "the Targaryen prince who possessed a true dragon."
Aegon did not kill them.
His newly formed force needed manpower, and a show of authority needed to be followed by clemency.
He made them swear dire oaths in the names of the gods before everyone, then told Carl to keep a discreet eye on them. For now, that counted as acceptance.
With everything settled, Aegon stirred his thoughts and called for Little Laki.
Soon, the pale golden figure came trotting leisurely back from the edge of the ruins, all three heads seeming to wear a trace of sated languor. Little Laki rubbed against Aegon's calf, then climbed into his open arms without prompting-as though that spot offered both the best view and the greatest safety.
The group set out with their bundled spoils, retracing their route toward the coastal camp.
Perhaps the monsters lurking here had been frightened into hiding by the overwhelming pressure of King Ghidorah's exalted presence when he descended earlier.
Or perhaps they instinctively feared the aura of a higher order that the little pale golden beast in Aegon's arms unconsciously gave off. The return journey was unexpectedly quiet.
They encountered only a handful of lizardlike creatures fleeing in blind panic, which the vanguard dispatched with ease.
When the crude but intact coastal camp came into view again, many of the mercenaries felt as though a lifetime had passed.
On the shallows beside the camp, the Silence and more than a dozen vessels of various sizes still lay quietly at anchor.
But now, none of those arrogant, overbearing, silent, and sinister Ironborn figures could be seen aboard.
Only a few Ironborn had remained on the ships, and they had no leader.
When they saw more than a hundred blood-armored men surging toward them, radiating murderous intent and pushing makeshift carts laden with supplies, what little will they had left to resist collapsed instantly.
Some tried to flee in small boats, only to be shot into the water with captured bows and crossbows by a few former fishermen among the mercenaries.
Others tried to make a last stand and were instantly swallowed by the onrushing tide of men.
The battle was brief, its outcome never in doubt.
Aegon stepped onto the deck of the Silence.
Crow's Eye's flagship was even more... unsettling than it looked.
The cabins reeked of blood, mildew, and some lascivious perfume. The decorations were steeped in the brutality of the Iron Islands and the sinister taste warped by Crow's Eye himself.
But there was no denying that this was a sturdy, swift, fine ship.
More importantly, Crow's Eye had a sizable fleet.
There were more than a dozen ships of varying sizes. Although some had been damaged during the earlier voyage through the Smoking Sea and the sea monster's attack, their main structures remained intact, enough to carry these people and their spoils.
The only problem was that they did not have enough people who knew how to sail them.
"Your Highness, even counting everyone, we have fewer than ten people who can handle a boat, and they've only ever sailed small riverboats or fishing boats..." Carl reported with a frown.
Just then, Henry ran up excitedly. "Your Highness! The hold! There are lots of people in the hold! They're all chained up! They seem to be... mute?"
Something stirred in Aegon's mind, and he immediately went down into the hold.
The sight in the dark, foul-smelling hold made his heart clench.
Dozens of ragged, skeletal people huddled in the corners, shackles around their ankles.
When they saw someone coming down, they first shrank together in terror. Only after realizing that he was not Ironborn did bewildered hope appear in their eyes.
Most chilling of all, they opened their mouths and made hoarse, breathy sounds, revealing empty mouths-their tongues had all been cut out at the root.
Crow's Eye's Silent Men.
Aegon fell silent for a moment.
These people were pitiable, but at this moment, they were also the solution to his problem.
He had Henry fetch an axe and personally cut through their shackles, then asked Carl to bring food and fresh water.
Faced with freedom and food, the Silent Men were incredulous at first, then broke into soundless sobs and overwhelmed gestures of joy. They gestured, fell to their knees, and bowed their heads to the floor.
Through gestures and simple writing, Aegon managed to establish that many of them were captured sailors or slaves forced to serve Crow's Eye, their tongues cut out for various reasons.
They knew these ships and could sail them.
That was enough.
Under the Silent Men's guidance, and with help from the surviving mercenaries who knew something of sailing, the dozen-odd ships struggled but succeeded in setting their sails and rigging, then slowly sailed away from that cursed coast.
Aegon stood on the Silence's towering sterncastle, holding Little Laki, whose three heads kept turning to look around with apparent interest in the voyage, and gazed back.
The outline of the Valyrian Ruins grew ever more indistinct in the mists shrouding the Smoking Sea, until it became a dim red smear on the horizon, like a scar slowly healing.
The damp, salty sea breeze brushed past, lifting his long silver-white hair and sweeping across his sharply defined profile.
He turned to face west.
His gaze seemed to pierce the endless sea fog and waves, settling on the outline of that distant continent.
Westeros.
King's Landing.
Lannister.
Baratheon.
Name after name, face after face, passed through his heart, finally coalescing into an icy flame.
He raised his head slightly and looked toward the freshly hoisted flag snapping in the sea breeze at the top of the mast-
It had been hastily stitched together from bloodstained sailcloth, its design simple and savage: against a black background, white paint traced the abstract outline of a three-headed dragon.
Crude, but it was a beginning.
The corners of his mouth rose, almost imperceptibly, into a cold smile.
The wind was rising.
The wind of the Narrow Sea came from the east, carrying the tang of salt and faint rumbles of thunder.
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