At the end of a deep alley beside Tyrosh's bustling market stood a sprawling residence and courtyard, enclosed by high walls.
In the center of the courtyard, beneath a lush pomegranate tree, Viserys Targaryen stood with his pale silver-haired head held high.
He wore a slightly worn black velvet coat, its collar and cuffs embroidered with great dragon motifs in striking red thread.
With arrogance on his face, he questioned the bloated, obese Governor of Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis, who stood before him:
"This Easterner-how many men can he actually give me?"
Illyrio plastered a smile across his face, his voice smooth. "Your noble Highness, the Eastern Warlock has conquered the Stepstones and Tyrosh.
"They are poised to invade the Seven Kingdoms. According to reliable intelligence, they command ten thousand well-trained soldiers and an army of one thousand corpses."
Viserys furrowed his brow, his deep purple eyes full of doubt. "A wight army?"
He gave a laugh. "Illyrio, when did you start imitating those tavern bards who make everything up? How could dead men possibly get up and fight?"
Illyrio lowered his head. "It is absolutely true, my prince. Besides his army of corpses, that Eastern Warlock is also said to have a great dragon as his companion."
A flicker of startled doubt crossed Viserys's face. "A great dragon?!"
He spoke in disbelief. "Only the blood of the true dragon can tame those great dragons. He is merely a nobody from Yidi in the east. If he really had a great dragon, I would have seen it when he took Tyrosh..."
Illyrio's expression remained unchanged, but he, too, harbored doubts.
Varys had assured him that Eddard Stark never lied, and that the army of the Seven Kingdoms had indeed been routed by that evil warlock's golden great dragon.
Moreover, the Iron