Bound for Astapor

At those words, the atmosphere in the council chamber grew considerably heavier.

Viserys came straight to the point. "The people outside will soon come swarming like vultures scenting carrion. Sooner or later, they'll see this place. They'll see us, this city being reborn, and the dragons circling above us."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink into everyone's heart.

"How will the world react? The Usurper in Westeros will never stand by and let House Targaryen gain a secure base, let alone dragons. The Free Cities-Braavos, Pentos, Lys, Volantis, and the rest-will also do everything they can to strangle us in our cradle. They fear the return of dragon rule too much. Staying on the defensive and waiting for others to attack is a path to death."

Ser Arthur raised his head. "Your Grace, do you have a plan?"

That was precisely the question Viserys had been waiting for. "We must strike first, before they have time to react. We must show our strength as quickly as possible, so they won't dare underestimate us, while further strengthening our position."

His fingertip moved east across the map, passing over the blue expanse representing the Summer Sea before settling on the three city markers in Slaver's Bay.

"And so our first target is here: Slaver's Bay."

Though they had already suspected as much, hearing the king say it himself still sent a chill through them.

"I have four reasons for choosing Slaver's Bay." Viserys then laid out his reasoning point by point.

"First, resources. We need people, food, craftsmen, and trade. The three cities of Slaver's Bay are immensely wealthy, with vast slave populations and well-established agriculture and crafts. Taking them will immediately provide everything we need for our current development."

"Second, military strength. The Unsullied of Astapor are the finest, most disciplined soldiers in the world. If we can gain control of them, we'll have an army ready for immediate use."

"Third, geography and timing. Slaver's Bay lies east of Valyria, with no other powers between them, making it easy for us to govern. And Valyria hasn't been discovered yet. If we strike now, we can still catch them off guard."

"Fourth, moral standing and a banner to rally behind. Slavery is a festering sore. It was already abolished when House Targaryen ruled Westeros. By freeing the slaves, we can also gain an enormous base of popular support. That will win us the backing of the common people of Essos and let us raise the banner of liberation. That banner will prove very useful when we face the other city-states in the future."

Ser Willem Darry nodded in agreement. "We need an army, and the Unsullied are the best choice. But how do we take them? Astapor has high walls. The Good Masters have mercenary guards, as well as the Unsullied defending them. Even with dragons, a direct assault would cost us dearly. We cannot afford those losses."

Ser Willem had arrived in Valyria only three days earlier, bringing the last group evacuated from Braavos. Time was therefore pressing; they had to act before anyone noticed.

"We don't need a direct assault." The corners of Viserys's mouth curved upward. "We'll buy them."

"Buy them?" Ser Willem asked in bewilderment. "Your Grace, we do have some savings, and Valyria's treasures are worth a fortune, but buying an entire army, especially the Unsullied, would cost an absurd amount."

"You needn't worry about that. I already have a detailed plan," Viserys replied with a smile.

The meeting lasted several hours, with every detail examined again and again: troop deployment, personnel assignments, supplies, and contingency plans. In all these areas, Viserys displayed astonishing thoroughness and foresight.

At last, the plan was settled. Viserys would lead a small, handpicked party aboard a swift ship, carrying treasure as bait, and sail to Astapor.

Ser Arthur and Ser Alliser would accompany him as guards. Ser Jon and Ser Willem would remain in Valyria to oversee daily administration and preparations for war.

Meanwhile, King Ghidorah and Blackflame would travel to Astapor, guided from afar by Viserys's will. This time, they would show the world their might.

Five days later, in Astapor.

The city reeked of spices mingled with excrement. Pyramids reflected a blinding glare beneath the scorching sun, while statues of the Harpy gazed down upon the streets.

The streets teemed with all manner of people: haughty Good Masters and wealthy merchants, slaves with vacant or frightened eyes, and fully armed Unsullied and mercenaries with cold, indifferent gazes.

Viserys and his party entered the city discreetly and took rooms at an inn run by a merchant with ties to Braavos, a contact Ser Willem had cultivated through years of trade.

Soon, through an intermediary, Viserys requested a meeting with several of Astapor's highest-ranking Good Masters. He claimed to represent "a certain nobleman from the west" who wished to make "a purchase without precedent."

On the third day, an invitation arrived. A Good Master's steward, dressed in an elaborate tokar and accompanied by four Unsullied guards, came to the inn to invite the "honored guest" to the master's pyramid for negotiations.

At first, the Good Masters paid little attention. After all, buyers with fanciful schemes arrived in Astapor every day.

But when Viserys removed his hood in the reception room, revealing silver hair and purple eyes, and announced the lengthy string of titles, "Viserys Targaryen III, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm," the two Good Masters receiving him lost their air of indifference.

Confusion took its place.

Targaryen? That beaten cur supposedly hiding in Braavos, barely clinging to life? He actually dared come here to trade?

Yet when Viserys placed a ruby the size of a pigeon's egg and a Valyrian steel breastplate covered in triple-spiral heraldic designs before them, the look in the Good Masters' eyes changed.

Greed, shock, and suspicion filled their gazes.

"This is the deposit." Viserys's voice carried a deliberately urgent note. "These came from the Valyrian ruins. The Smoking Sea cleared, and these things saw daylight again. I acquired them. I want an army. Unsullied, as many as possible. I have plenty more treasures like these, enough to pay any price."

The two Good Masters exchanged a glance.

Valyria's treasures! This damned lucky Targaryen boy had actually found them. And now he was desperate for an army to reclaim the Iron Throne. He was practically a lamb delivering himself to the slaughter.

"Your Grace Targaryen," said one of the Good Masters, a fat man named Grazdan whose fingers were laden with rings. Forcing an ugly smile, he asked, "The Unsullied are very expensive. How many would you like?"

"All of them," Viserys answered without hesitation.

"I want every Unsullied you have, even the trainees who haven't earned their helmets yet. I need more soldiers to reclaim the Iron Throne."