The sellswords in the camp scrambled for their weapons, but none dared loose an arrow. Against such a being, bows seemed laughable. The alarm sounded in the Second Sons' camp as well. Mero had already climbed a watchtower and was observing the scene from afar.
King Ghidorah hovered thirty feet above the ground, her wings whipping up a gale that made the tents snap and flap. Only then did the men get a clear look at the rider on her back, his silver hair streaming in the wind, a cold gleam in his violet eyes.
"Commanders of the Stormcrows." The man on the dragon's back spoke quietly, yet his voice carried clearly throughout the camp. "I am Viserys Targaryen. I would like to talk to you."
Daario was the first to react. He pushed aside the soldiers blocking his way, strode into the clearing at the center of camp, and shouted up, "What do you want to discuss? Are you here to ask us to surrender?"
"I came to offer you some advice," Viserys replied calmly. "I know what the Wise Masters of Yunkai have promised you, and that they will only pay once Astapor falls. But have you considered what happens if you fail to take it? What if you die in dragonfire?"
Ben Plumm stepped forward to stand beside Daario. "What are you getting at, Dragonlord?"
"I offer you three choices." Viserys held up three fingers. "First, keep fighting for Yunkai and die here. Second, break camp immediately and leave Slaver's Bay. I can guarantee you will leave alive. We might even have opportunities to work together in the future."
He paused, looking at the tense faces of the sellswords below. "Third, fight for me. You can gain wealth and status. If you distinguish yourselves, I can even