Valyria I

The long wait was finally nearing its end. Valyria's "window" was drawing ever closer. Meanwhile, Naharis had sent one of his trusted men, a thin, wiry fellow named Old Gerion, who kept bringing new messages and urging them to leave. "The Tiger Party has been restless lately, making overtures to mercenary companies along the border. The archon hopes Your Grace can depart a day or two early, before delays bring complications and entangle you in the city's troubles."

Viserys accepted the suggestion.

Before dawn the next day, the Shadow Hunter prepared to set sail. Viserys stood at the bow, with Arthur Dayne and a hundred and eighty elite warriors behind him, along with an experienced captain, fifty sailors, and ten scholars provided by Naharis. Marisius was locked in a reinforced cabin.

The mooring lines were cast off, and the sails rose in the heavy air. The lead-hulled ship slowly left the docks, heading east toward waters forever shrouded in mist and legend.

The first stretch of the voyage was oppressive. The lead-hulled ship was noticeably slower than an ordinary vessel, and awkward to turn. The sea gradually changed from dark green to a murky gray, and at times strange, iridescent slicks appeared on its surface.

Following the charts Naharis had provided, the Shadow Hunter sailed northeast along a seemingly erratic zigzag course. The captain was a taciturn old sailor from Volantis named Balzer, employed by Naharis and said to have Valyrian ancestors. He carefully watched the currents, the wind, and the dim stars that occasionally emerged through the clouds, constantly adjusting their course.

On the seventh day, a clear dividing line appeared on the horizon ahead. On one side lay the gray but still relatively normal waters they were sailing through. On the other stood a thick wall of gray-yellow fog that seemed almost solid, stretching up into the clouds and endlessly in either direction. This was the Smoking Sea, the eternal shroud of the Valyrian ruins.

Even from several nautical miles away, they could smell the stronger odor drifting from it-a mixture of sulfur, metal, and something sickly sweet and rotten.

"This is the place," old Captain Balzer said, his expression grave. "According to our calculations, the fog wall in this region will thin in a few days, and a northeastward undercurrent will form beneath it. Following that current will take us through the outer belt of smoke and into the waters beyond."

Waiting for the unknown made time feel painfully slow. The crew remained on edge, taking turns standing watch. Muffled sobs and the sound of blows against the walls often came from Marisius's cabin.

Viserys spent most of his time at the bow, using greensight to try to sense the energy field ahead. It was a violent, chaotic torrent of magic, steeped in destruction. Yet he could feel relatively "calm" passages forming at certain points within it, like the stillness at the eye of a storm.

On the evening of the fifth day, the change began. As though stirred by an invisible hand, the fog wall ahead slowly swirled and thinned, revealing deeper space beyond. Beneath the sea, an undercurrent distinctly different from the surrounding waters began to surge, carrying the Shadow Hunter eastward despite itself.

"Now." Old Captain Balzer stared intently at the water. "Follow this current, and we can enter a relatively safe passage through the Smoking Sea."

"Full speed ahead," Viserys ordered.

Riding the undercurrent, the lead-hulled ship plunged into the thinning wall of fog.

In an instant, the world changed. Dense fog on either side of the passage hid the sky, leaving only the waterway visible. Gradually, the water grew warmer, until even the hull felt slightly warm.

Then the attack came.

Without warning, eight dark purple tentacles burst from the water on both sides of the ship. Each was as thick as the mainmast, covered in pallid, writhing suckers. Viserys had not sensed its approach. Apparently, it was some magical creature with an innate ability to conceal itself.

"Enemies to port!" "Enemies to starboard!" Ser Arthur's and Ser Alliser's warnings rang out almost at the same moment the tentacles struck.

The first tentacle slammed into the port railing, sending splinters flying. The second, the third... like giant pythons, the tentacles coiled around the hull, their suckers fastening to its planks. Fortunately, it had been reinforced with lead plates beforehand. Otherwise, the ship might have been torn apart outright.

"Arrows are useless!" an archer shouted. The arrows sinking into the slick tentacles had little effect.

Viserys drew his sword and rushed toward the bow. "Everyone, use your blades!"

As the words left his mouth, Blackfyre slashed out, severing a tentacle and sending foul-smelling, dark green blood spraying. Yet the creature's severed limb continued to writhe, and more tentacles rose from the sea.

Beneath the surface, an enormous shadow slowly rose. Its outline defied description, covered in folds and tumorous growths. In addition to the eight main arms, countless thinner tentacles writhed around it. It had no obvious head, and the "creature" was covered in innumerable eyes, each filled with chaotic malice.

"Focus your attacks on one!" Ser Arthur's Dawn flashed brilliantly as it struck a thick tentacle. The wound cut deep enough to expose bone, but the tentacle showed no sign of retreating.

The ship began to list. Three large tentacles and countless smaller ones had wrapped around the starboard side and were dragging the vessel sideways. The sailors fought desperately at the helm, while old Captain Balzer shouted, veins bulging, "Cut them off, quickly! Or we'll capsize!"

Viserys hurried to starboard, striking again and again with Blackfyre. But there were too many tentacles, and the soldiers' ordinary blades did little against the magical creature. The wounds they inflicted began healing almost instantly. All of them together had dealt less damage than Viserys and Arthur alone.

"Use fire, now!" he ordered hoarsely.

The soldiers obeyed, smashing incendiary pots against the tentacles before firing flaming arrows to ignite them. By then, the ship was listing at nearly thirty degrees, and unsecured objects began sliding across the deck. Several sailors were knocked into the sea and instantly swept away by slender tendrils, leaving only a scream behind.

Soon, through their combined efforts, more tentacles caught fire. The sea monster finally began to retreat. Its suckers released the hull, and it slowly sank into the sea.

The monster vanished, leaving only churning waves and the burning remnants of tentacles aboard the ship.

When they finally counted their losses, eighteen men were missing and twenty-three seriously wounded, while the ship had sustained damage in several places. The losses were devastating, and they had not even entered Valyria yet. Gloom settled over the entire ship. Though everyone had prepared themselves mentally before entering, none had imagined the journey would be so terrifying.

Yet even if they wanted to retreat now, they had no way to do so. The current would keep pushing them onward.

After another six days following the current, the outline of land finally appeared ahead. As they drew closer, all they could see were towering obsidian cliffs.

"As planned, we'll land at the Kiss of Astapor."

According to the texts and the information Naharis had provided, the entrance to the Kiss of Astapor strait should lie toward the southwest of the Smoking Sea. Its landmarks were two towering black basalt pillars, jutting like interlocking fangs, known as the Gate of Sighs.

They searched along the coast for an entire day amid unnerving silence and strange sights. Finally, on the evening of the second day, they glimpsed the two ominous pillars through the thickening fog.

They were even larger than expected, their surfaces charred black as though seared repeatedly by raging fires. Between them, a dark waterway less than a hundred meters wide stretched inland. There, the water was an ominous dark red.

"This is it." Viserys studied an ancient map in his hands, where a similar river mouth had been marked in a hasty scrawl. "The texts call this the Bloodweeping River. It takes its name from the red minerals abundant in its bed, which turn the water dark red under certain light.

"About thirty li upstream, we can reach a relatively gentle landing site, beside a stretch of ruins called the Obsidian Plains."

"Your Grace, should we enter now? It's almost dark," Arthur asked.

The river channel was dim, and with the thick fog, they could not make out their surroundings even a few dozen meters away.

Viserys hesitated. Entering unknown, dangerous waters at night was a cardinal sin of seamanship. Yet spending the night exposed on the outskirts of the Smoking Sea was equally unsettling.

"No. We'll anchor outside the river mouth tonight, rest, and strengthen the watch. We'll enter the river tomorrow," he ordered. "Double the night watch. Keep an eye on the water and both banks. Raise the alarm immediately if you notice anything unusual."

Better to remain somewhere slightly familiar than face unknown dangers.

The orders were quickly passed along. The ship anchored in relatively safe waters some distance from the river mouth. Night fell, and the outline of the Valyrian Peninsula vanished completely into the darkness. Only the bases of several enormous columns of smoke showed a faint, dark red glow.

The air was filled with an eerie, unsettling presence. The sailors on watch gripped their weapons tightly, staring wide-eyed at the dark sea and the silent peninsula, as though something terrifying might emerge from it at any moment.

Viserys felt no urge to sleep. He stood at the bow, feeling the warm breeze blowing from the land, carrying the scent of ash.

The image of the three-headed dragon surfaced in his mind once more. Those molten-gold dragon eyes seemed to be watching him silently from the deepest reaches of the Valyrian Peninsula.