The Harpy Scepter

Grazdan and his companion drew sharp breaths.

All of them. This would empty Astapor's accumulated stock of many years and might even endanger their security. But the other party was offering lost treasures of Valyria, whose value might exceed that of these Unsullied.

"That is an enormous number, Your Grace." Grazdan pretended to ponder. "We must summon the other Good Masters to discuss it, and we will need time to gather them. And the price will be astronomical."

"That is no problem. I obtained quite a few things in Valyria. All I need are the Unsullied. I hope the Good Masters can give me an answer soon."

After Viserys left, Grazdan sprang into action. The news spread swiftly among the Good Masters. The debate was fierce. Some suspected a trap, while others worried about the city's defenses once its troops were gone, but even more were blinded by the promise of "Valyrian treasures."

Greed finally overcame caution. After an entire day of arguments and calculations, the Good Masters reached a consensus: sell! But they would seize this chance to make a fortune.

The Good Masters were brimming with confidence. They had even begun to consider whether, once the deal was complete, they should send people to the Valyrian ruins to search for more treasures.

They then informed Viserys that they could make the deal, but would need time to assemble all the Unsullied. They agreed to conduct the handover in person at the Unsullied training plaza three days later.

What they did not know was that this handover was exactly what Viserys wanted.

For now, however, he was more concerned with something else: the Harpy Scepter.

That scepter was usually kept by the Good Master responsible for the transaction, and the Good Master Grazdan resided in the largest pyramid in the heart of the city.

On the night before the transaction, Astapor fell silent.

Viserys closed his eyes and focused in his room at the inn.

His consciousness spread like strands of spider silk, connecting with several stray cats near the inn. Through their eyes, he saw the streets at night.

He controlled the cats, guiding them silently through the shadows toward the grandest pyramid in the city center.

The pyramid was heavily guarded, but many of its defenses were useless against small, silent cats. One by one, the strays slipped into the pyramid through drainage holes, carefully avoiding passing slaves and patrolling guards.

After searching for some time, a black cat finally found the man he sought. It approached a heavy wooden door. Light and voices seeped through the gap beneath it.

"Keep the scepter safe. We need it for the final inspection tomorrow." It was Grazdan's voice.

"Don't worry, Father. I keep the scepter close at all times." The second voice was younger.

"Good. That Viserys's treasures are genuine, but with him wanting so many Unsullied, I fear something may go wrong."

"Who cares, Father? The Unsullied obey only the scepter and our commands. Even if he intends to play some trick, would he dare act with ten thousand Unsullied before him? Once the deal is done, those treasures will be enough for us to train another twenty thousand Unsullied."

Their voices gradually grew quieter, as though they had turned to other subjects.

Viserys controlled the black cat and waited patiently. At last, after a long while, they emerged. From their earlier conversation, Viserys had determined who held the scepter, so he followed the younger man.

When the man entered a room, Viserys guided the cat inside through a window that had not been fully closed.

The room was brightly lit and lavishly decorated. Grazdan's son reclined on a cushioned couch, looking thoroughly content as several slave women attended him.

There, on the table beside him, lay the scepter that symbolized supreme command over the Unsullied. It was cast entirely from gold, topped with a statue of a harpy whose eyes were set with rubies.

Viserys felt reassured.

He waited until the man grew drowsy, dismissed the slave women, and fell asleep, snoring.

The moment had come. The black cat leaped lightly onto the table and took the scepter in its mouth. With its supple body, it slipped back through the gap in the window, then hooked its claws into the joints between the bricks of the outer wall and inched downward.

It then hurried back to the inn along the same route. Viserys took the Harpy Scepter from the black cat's mouth and examined it carefully, confirming that everything was in order.

"Thank you for your hard work." He stroked the black cat's head and fed it a small piece of dried meat. Then he wrapped the scepter in the oilcloth he had prepared. All that remained was to wait until tomorrow to put it to use.

At noon the next day, the blazing sun scorched the sandy ground of the Unsullied training plaza.

A full ten thousand Unsullied stood in neat formations, like a forest of gray stone. They were of similar build, all clad in leather armor, carrying spears and shields, and wearing their distinctive pointed helmets.

Every face was expressionless, every gaze empty. Sunlight shone on their spearheads, reflecting a cold gleam. Beside them stood the bareheaded ranks of the reserves: three thousand younger slave boys.

They wore the same leather armor and carried the same weapons, their eyes numb, but their ranks were just as orderly. Being reserves had not made them any less disciplined.

Nearly all the Good Masters had turned out. Led by Grazdan, they sat in cushioned chairs beneath an awning, surrounded by hundreds of elite sellswords. Viserys had brought only Ser Arthur, Ser Alliser, and a dozen or so capable warriors disguised as attendants. With several wagons in tow, they stood opposite the Good Masters' party, looking badly outnumbered.

Grazdan's fat face was wreathed in smiles, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "Your Grace of House Targaryen. As agreed, all of Astapor's Unsullied are here: ten thousand fully trained, spiked-helmet warriors and three thousand reserves. Please inspect the goods."

He made a gesture.

The Unsullied began shifting formations, demonstrating basic tactical maneuvers. Their steps were perfectly synchronized and silent, broken only by the swish of spears and the dull clash of shields. Their discipline was astonishing.

"Now, please demonstrate your sincerity and present the treasures we agreed upon. Then these Unsullied will be yours. Astapor's integrity is unmatched throughout the world."

Viserys waved a hand, and his soldiers brought the wagons forward. "These are the treasures of Valyria. You may inspect them."

Grazdan did not reply. Instead, he exchanged a glance with his son and sent him to inspect them with a group of men.

Once they confirmed that everything was in order, there would be no need to hide their intentions any longer. As long as they ensured that Viserys and all his men remained here, no one would know they had broken the agreement.

"Ha ha ha! Since all the treasures are here, there is no need for you to exist any longer."

But Viserys ignored him. He stepped forward, slowly sweeping his gaze over the dense ranks of Unsullied, over their numb faces, over the greedy Good Masters beneath the awning, and over the surrounding slaves, whose eyes held a mixture of meekness, numbness, and fear.

Then he extended his hand. In it, he held the Harpy Scepter.

The golden scepter gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight.

The entire training ground fell silent in an instant. Even the wind seemed to still.

The smile froze on Grazdan's face. His pupils contracted, and a chill shot from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. His son also sprang to his feet, deathly pale. He pointed at the scepter, his lips trembling, but could not utter a word.

A faint sound came from the Unsullied formations: the butts of spears tapping lightly against the ground. Every Unsullied's gaze was drawn involuntarily to the scepter. It was a symbol etched deep into their minds, the embodiment of absolute obedience.

"Good Masters of Astapor," Viserys began, using magic to give his voice a strange, penetrating power. "You sell slaves, forge shackles, and use pain and death to create obedient puppets. You say the Unsullied have no fear, no desires, only obedience. I hear that whoever holds this scepter can command them."

He paused, raising the scepter high so that everyone could see it clearly.

"Now I hold it."

Grazdan finally recovered his senses and roared at the top of his lungs, "You are a thief! Guards, seize him and take back the scepter! Unsullied, obey my command! Kill this thief! Kill him!" He flailed his arms, trying to reclaim command through sheer bluster.