Valyria V

Viserys jerked his head up and looked toward the sound. Far to the northeast, where the smoke was thickest along the horizon, an enormous black shape broke through the grayish-yellow haze and climbed higher into the sky. Even at that distance, its vast wingspan and smooth flight left no doubt: it was a real, living dragon.

Sunlight occasionally pierced the thick smoke, casting a breathtaking dark sheen across its deep-colored scales.

"A dragon... it's a dragon!" a soldier cried out, his voice filled with awe and terror.

The dragon circled through part of an arc, then beat its wings hard and flew toward the heart of the peninsula. Its silhouette soon vanished into the roiling smoke again, leaving only the lingering echo of that stirring roar.

Dead silence fell over the platform. Everyone was struck speechless by the sudden, almost mythical sight. The shadow monsters of the previous night and all the dangers they had faced along the way seemed almost insignificant before this living creature of legend.

Viserys gripped the hilts of Blackfyre and Bloodshadow at his waist, realizing that Marisius really had told the truth about some things. There were still living dragons in Valyria.

And his instincts told him that the dragon was heading toward the very place his dreams had urged him to seek.

"Have everyone pack up quickly," Viserys ordered Ser Alliser as he turned, his voice tinged with urgency. "Return to camp immediately. We need to prepare to move on."

After getting things in order, Viserys made his decision.

The wounded and those with little fighting strength would remain in the castle, thirty-seven people in all, including the old captain, Balzer. The castle had been searched repeatedly, and with the shadow creatures no longer a threat, it should be safe for the time being. Their food and drinking water would last about a month. The sole surviving scholar, however, stubbornly insisted on accompanying them.

"All you need to do is hold the castle," Viserys told those staying behind. "If we haven't returned within two weeks, you'll have to find out whether you can make your own way back."

He turned to the eighty-three people still capable of fighting, however barely. "This time, we'll follow the direction the dragon flew."

There was nothing more to say. Those staying behind watched them leave from inside the castle gates. They departed through the rear gate, so they did not have to face the Stone Men and the army of ash crabs below the mountain again. The monsters were still prowling the mountain paths outside, but none entered the castle grounds. Whether they had yet to sense that the shadow had been destroyed, or something else was keeping them away, no one knew.

At last, he led the party deeper into the peninsula, following the dragon's course.

After two days of trekking over a steep mountain of black rock, the party suddenly came upon a suffocating sight.

In the valley below, a lake of "boiling oil" churned and bubbled. It was not really oil, but molten lava that had erupted from the earth and had yet to solidify. Bubbles continually swelled across its surface, releasing pungent clouds of sulfurous vapor. Even from the ridge, they could feel waves of heat washing over them.

Dark red shapes occasionally darted through the lake. They resembled enormous lizards, but their bodies were scarlet, with finlike structures along their backs. Suddenly, one raised its head and sprayed dazzling sparks from its mouth and nostrils. They splashed onto a rock on the shore and burned a hole straight through it.

"Fire lizards," Hallyne, the scholar accompanying the troops, explained in a low voice. "The ancient texts say they feed on subterranean fire. The lava they spit is hot enough to melt steel. Some even say that Valyria's dragons were created from fire lizards and bloodworms through magic. They're vicious and extremely dangerous."

The Boiling Oil Lake lay directly in their path. Since they could not cross it, they would have to go around.

The shoreline twisted and turned, so the party advanced with great care, afraid of provoking the monsters in the lake. But as they passed through a narrow gap, two fire lizards shot out of a fissure in the rock with astonishing speed. One warrior was struck by a spray of sparks. His armor instantly glowed red and melted through, fusing to his flesh as he screamed in agony. Another was swept off his feet by a lizard's tail and fell into the Boiling Oil Lake. He managed only half a short cry before disappearing beneath the churning lava.

Only after a desperate fight did they drive off the two fire lizards. They hastily buried their companion's remains and pressed on. After another half day's march, the searing heat of the Boiling Oil Lake finally began to fade.

Before long, however, it was replaced by a sickly sweet stench of decay.

As they continued, the land ahead looked as though it had begun to rot. A swamp stretched beyond sight, its surface gleaming with iridescent oily colors. In places, thick bubbles swelled in the mud, releasing a dizzying stench when they burst. Countless long, thick, blood-red worms writhed in the mire. They had no eyes or noses, only ring-shaped mouths at their tips that opened and closed continuously, lined with fine, sharp teeth. Among the worms hopped numerous palm-sized toads with mottled skin. Each time they landed, glittering slime seeped from their bodies.

"Those are bloodworms and spotted toads." Scholar Hallyne's voice trembled slightly. "The worms devour flesh and blood, and the toads' venom rots bone. Even a drop of that venom is certain death."

The swamp seemed endless, making another detour all but impossible. Yet an extremely narrow "path" of hardened black mud appeared to run through it. It was like the Neck in Westeros, except the paths through the Neck did not teem with so many venomous creatures. With no other choice, they used their spears to probe the way ahead and covered their exposed skin with what little cloth and cloaks they had.

Before every step, they had to thrust a spear into the mud ahead to test its firmness. Disturbed bloodworms reared up, their circular mouths opening and closing. Spotted toads hopped about, leaving glistening trails of poison. Only once they set foot in the swamp did they discover how stifling and clammy the air was, as though death itself had mingled with it.

At its narrowest point, the "path" barely allowed one person to squeeze through sideways. A veteran from Dragonstone named Jory, known as "Hammer," was edging forward cautiously. The long pole in his hand suddenly slipped, and the seemingly firm mud beneath his feet collapsed. Jory barely had time to grunt before half his body sank into the mire. His companions hurried to reach for him, only to see several bloodworms wriggling toward that patch of swamp. Their ring-shaped mouths clamped onto Jory's legs and waist, and they burrowed frantically into the mud. His face instantly twisted with agony, but no sound came out. All his companions managed to drag free was his upper body. Where his lower half had been, only a string of murky bubbles remained.

No one dared linger, and no one dared reach for companions who had already sunk into the swamp. The survivors could only grit their teeth and hurry through that deathly mire with quicker, lighter steps.

By the time they finally reached solid ground again, ten more names were missing from their ranks.