Kapitel 58: Chapter 52 - Backstabbing
28 AC
Fourth Moon
Azella Rada
Explosive momentum was on the side of the Westerosi armies as they pummelling their way past all opposition. With every victory they scored, more and more villages surrendered to the invading army with hopes for clemency. Petty merchants collaborated with the royal armies, supplying them with valuable goods and supplies and further aggravating the damage done to the Essosi armies.
As for why merchants favoured the Westerosi more than the Essosi mercenary companies? The simple answer was horrendous damage done to their reputation in light of their frustratingly uninterrupted streak of defeats, which meant the merchants no longer saw the Essosi as viable customers.
In the small village of Ortosh, which had recently been plundered by bandits and repurposed as a forward outpost, Azella met with her commanders to discuss their plans in the town hall.
"Far too many of these towns and villages lack proper palisades, much less walls to defend them," Temujin shook his head, "Their elders regularly pocket the taxes, the people lack drive and purpose, and not many seem interested in collaborating with us."
"The Disputed Lands have always had a history of changing hands regularly, and the people have developed a culture of nominal submission to any conqueror that arrives," Azella pointed out, "It's just the way they've developed to survive."
"Didn't do them much good against some of our more overzealous colleagues," Temujin remarked.
"I knew they took ill to our presence here, but to think they were practising slavery in secret? [1]" Azella mouthed, "That is just sick."
"Some people are just that wicked, and if there's one main reason why people are willing to betray others, it is personal benefit," Temujin patted her shoulder, "It's just human nature."
"And that human nature saw to their butchery," Azella remarked, "Even if they had reason, this is too much."
"For what it's worth, it was necessary; they will not dare to indulge in such vices again," Temujin reassured, "They will not dare stab us in the back again."
Azella could not bring herself to agree, but merely nodded with a stiff upper lip.
"In any case, how many of our troops have been deployed?" Asked Azella.
"Slightly under two regiments, with the third and fourth planned to arrive in the next wave," Temujin reported, "We've also ordered supplies for more forts, better roads and the enclosing of some villages in case some marauders come back to try their hand at raiding again."
"What of Braavos?" Asked Azella, "What is their stance regarding the war?"
"According to our diplomats, they stand neutral," Said Temujin.
"Neutral? Even though we are invading Essosi territory?" Questioned Azella, "What of their demeanour, their body language, their following actions?"
Temujin's expression turned pensive, as if grappling with something he could not believe himself.
"According to our spies, nothing seems out of the ordinary at first glance," Said Temujin, "And yet we've also had consistent reports of several of our spies turning up dead, of the Council of Braavos being united in their opposition of the war and their plans to bring their demands before the Iron Throne for cessation of this war."
"I'm not surprised at their loud complaining, but you said our spies turned up dead?" Asked Azella, "How many, and how did they die?"
"According to the reports, they all died from a heart attack of some sort - all fifty-seven of them," Temujin reported, his eyes furrowing in confusion, "If it were just one person, it may make sense, but for there to be so many deaths from the same cause? And then there's another troubling consistency: These spies were on the right track to digging up deeper, darker secrets on the recent emissaries from Tyrosh and the impact they had on Braavos's government. What clearer evidence of foul play is presented before us?"
"Yes, and I do not like this one bit," Azella grimly nodded, "The Braavosi themselves are not capable of any magic, and while I would suspect the House of Black and White, their services are not so cheaply bought, especially for the deaths of so many."
"I recall that commissioning the Faceless Men's services is exorbitant in the extreme, such that just one or two deaths can easily bankrupt an entire kingdom, unless you are the Lannisters," Temujin agreed noddingly, "And never have I ever heard of a poison that kills people with heart failure without any symptoms; even the Tears of Lys would leave a more distinguishable trace."
"If my suspicions are correct, we may soon find Braavos compromised," Azella said worriedly, "And when that happens, the people of Braavos will soon become unwitting pawns of this third party. That aside, what do the Brāvoti Lentrot Tōma (Five Families of Braavos) [2] have to say about this?"
"They're as equally confused and caught off-guard by this as we are," Temujin answered, "Many of their own contacts and double-agents were caught and killed quietly, and they've had to consolidate their own territories as a result."
"Even the Five Families? Is nothing safe from the clutches of this third party in Braavos?" Mouthed Azella, "But how? Not even the Council of Braavos dares to touch the families in such force!"
"And that's not all; there have been many instances of open killings and assassinations of the Family members in broad daylight, by assassins who seemingly vanish into thin air the moment they slip into the shadows - as if they were one with the shadows," Temujin added, looking increasingly concerned the more he spoke, "There's nothing the Families can do against them, but they will keep us updated on future happenings in Braavos."
"Thank you, Temujin," Azella said with a pensive expression, and Temujin held her hand for comfort, "Make sure all our commanders know of this, especially the Targaryens."
Temujin nodded grimly and said, "I am on it."
IIOII
Elaegelle Targaryen
There was much dancing and singing among the troops of Elaegelle's company, and the smell of roast pork wafted into the nostrils of hungry diners as they clapped and swayed to the rhythm of drums, lutes and flutes.
Oh, greet me desert sun,
Greet me with joy and love!
Greet me as I work the fields with my son,
Feed my sheep and my lovely dove!
My wife, guard the house for me,
My mother, help my dearest love,
My siblings, one, two and three,
My father, chop some lumber from the grove!
The army chorus [3] members joyfully sang and led their comrades in this night of celebration, and roast pork and watered-down ale were consumed by the plateful.
To Elaegelle, it seemed so strange that just hours earlier, they were shedding blood in the name of a righteous cause, slaughtering mercenaries who fought for greed, plunder and booty. Celebrating so jubilantly was the last thing on her mind.
"You look distracted, Your Highness."
Elaegelle saw Sergeant Vilarr Valtheon approach with two cups of honeyed water, offering one to her which she gratefully accepted. Taking a sip, she hummed appreciatively.
"Thanks Vilarr," She said.
"You're welcome," Vilarr nodded, "Might I take a seat next to you?"
Elaegelle wordlessly gestured to the empty space on the log, and he took his seat, drinking his own cup.
"How did you find your first battle?" Asked Vilarr.
Elaegelle stared into her cup, exhaling deeply while not showing any outward emotion.
"It was terrifying," She admitted softly, "I never experienced anything like it."
"Understandable," Said Vilarr, "Most first-timers feel scared, some may lose their nerve and turn out to be cowards. You held well, Your Highness."
"Did I?" Elaegelle mouthed, "How many did we lose?"
"About ten men, twenty wounded," Vilarr stated, "But it's a good outcome, so don't be disheartened."
"They were men entrusted to me," Elaegelle said softly, "And they died under my command."
"I know, Your Highness," Vilarr said, "But you must also remember they chose to serve in the army, to fight and die under your command. Learn to trust in the resolve of your men, and in yourself as a commander; it never gets easier losing men under your command, and we will be losing more in the battles to come."
Elaegelle slowly nodded, taking another sip.
"Feels awfully early to make merry like this," She remarked.
"It's exactly why we need to," Vilarr answered, "Soldiers can tolerate pain and suffering if the results are worth it, but we're living beings; we're not infallible gods of war, and like dragons we too need to eat and sleep. It's a good way to take the men's minds off things."
"Hey Sergeant! Come have a drinking contest with us!" A soldier beckoned.
Vilarr shrugged, then said to Elaegelle, "You should enjoy while you can; you never know when we can relax like this again."
And as Vilarr took his leave, Elaegelle decided to finish her drink and joined in the celebration, and she decided to join the chorus in their singing.
Above the land, across the sea,
We're everywhere we need to be.
We're brothers of a special kind,
A better band, you'll never find.
Band of brothers, that's what we are,
Fighting evil, near and far.
Band of brothers, that's what I said,
Baptized by fire, scarred by steel.
We're lean and mean and fit to fight,
Anywhere, day or night.
When arrows fly, and boulders fall,
We'll stand our ground, and give our all.
We're on the move, we're on the march,
We're diggin' ditches, and breakin' starch.
When you hear our battle cry,
You better move and step aside.
Band of brothers, that's what we said,
Mess with us, we'll shoot you dead.
Band of brothers, trained to kill,
If we don't getcha, our sisters will.
Her voice was lilting and pleasing, the voice of a maiden grown into adulthood and blessed by the gods themselves, a song that sounded like polished gems and gentle sunlight compared to the grating white noise of mundane life, an oasis in a desert of chaos.
Through her melodious singing, Elaegelle would come to be known as the Bard Princess, and the rest of the night was spent singing the slightly altered version of 'Band of Brothers' [4] in the Dornian camps.
IIOII
Tyrosh
The Triarchy fleets were barely able to hold their ground in the seas, outnumbered and outmatched by the Westerosi fleets who relentlessly hounded them day and night; every victory was a pyrrhic victory, and too few were their victories compared to their number of humiliating defeats.
This left them with too few ships to stop the Westerosi from landing troops and blockading the seas to prevent them from receiving help from outside, should any other Free Cities decide to intervene.
Within the city of Tyrosh, the council of magisters fought each other in a verbal shouting match where the sheer volume of the voice determined who would be heard and who would be silenced.
"The damned Westerosi have our city surrounded! What do we do now!?"
"This is all your fault! We should have desisted when we had the chance!"
"And then what, let these barbarians dictate how we should conduct business in our lands, our homes!? Let the last dragonlords control us just as they controlled our enslaved ancestors in times past!?"
"Their dragons will easily overwhelm our walls, and then they can stream in and take the city regardless!"
The magisters were all selfish, greedy pigs, each motivated by personal desire and agenda as they jockeyed for power and influence over all other contemporaries. Positions changed hands frequently through bribery, blackmail and murder, and as a result few magisters truly held power for longer than a handful of years.
And with the bickering unlikely to cease without a willing mediator, the government of Tyrosh was paralysed with indecision whereas the people expected swift and decisive action.
That was, until a lone man entered the council chambers unannounced, and with no guards moving to stop him.
"Good evening, magisters of Tyrosh."
The sound of the voice was like a thousand slithering snakes singing as an eerie chorus, silent, echoing and vibrating with power and authority yet honeyed and alluring. At once, the magisters ceased their bickering and turned to face him while still high on anger and adrenaline.
"Who are you!? Who let you in here!?" A Magister shouted at the intruder.
"Do forgive me for not introducing myself; I am Vogar Brenaar, a magister of Myr," The intruder introduced smilingly, his smile never reaching his eyes, "And I am here with a present for you all."
A lone man walked into the council chamber, unassuming and plain-looking appearance-wise. His hair was the darkest shade of black, casting shadows obscuring his face from view. Gangly and twitchy, many Tyroshi magisters felt that something was off about him.
"A gift? You mean to give us a slave?" A Tyroshi magister joked mockingly, "He hardly looks like he can fend for himself!"
"Oh no, he is no slave, but a mighty champion to command your armies," Vogar answered, unperturbed by the mocking comment, "In fact, he is far more powerful than the best unsullied Astapor can conjure."
"Is that so? Show us, then!" Another Tyroshi magister ordered.
"You hear that, Irren?" Vogar spoke to the twitching man, "Show them."
His hand punched clean through the chest of a shocked magister, grasping his heart and tearing it out to the shocked gasps of onlookers. With a bestial roar that sent chills down the spines of all, he began slaughtering every single magister in the city, clawing and tearing flesh and bone to pieces.
His teeth and fingers were sharpened claws, and wisps of shadow shot out from his person, morphing into sharp swords that cleaved anyone trying to escape. Whether they shoved aside or tossed aside as sacrificial lambs, none escaped.
All the while Vogar laughed menacingly, delighting in the slaughter of his fellow magisters.
"And now, with my people in control, all of Tyrosh shall soon fall under my control, and its people servants of the Lion of Night! As will the cities of Lys and Myr under my contemporaries!" He proclaimed, his eyes glassy and his grin maniacal, "All its rotten magisters shall die, and change shall come to the stagnant world of Planetos, as my master commands!"
The night was a night of bloodshed as corrupted puppets butchered the magisterial families and all their lackeys among the high-ranking slaves, and once the elites were removed, only the low-ranking slaves remained - gullible people desperate for salvation.
He then heard explosions of fire ring out like a statacco of lightning strikes, and he quickly looked out the window to see fires breaking out at an unnaturally fast pace, yet remarkably controlled and isolated in their respective locations.
Vogar, or rather the demonic servant possessing his body, grumbled at this development.
"Of course the lackeys of R'hllor must interfere," Vogar sneered, "No matter, we have countless servants in many other villages, and even the Fiery Hand Adherents cannot possibly handle so many enemies at once, especially from their own people."
Vogar's smile grew wider, knowing just how long the people were waiting to vent their frustration out. If the Red Priests failed to give them their salvation, the Lion of Night shall do so in their stead.
With the entry of the third party, the Westerosi-Triarchy War would soon take a turn for the worse.
[1] It is unfair to say every village in the Disputed Lands practices slavery, but slavery is used as a punishment for those the elders deemed detrimental to the village's well-being.
[2] Brāvoti Lentrot Tōma (Five Families of Braavos) - The largest and most organised crime syndicates of the Free City of Braavos, they dominate the criminal underworld and established their respective territories, ruling them like a mediaeval kingdom and maintaining a delicate equilibrium of power.
The heads of each family are addressed as 'Don', derived from the High Valyrian word 'Dōna' which means sweet/pleasant. As such, every Don is at times addressed as 'His Pleasantness'.
The name came into existence due to the Braavosi - being escaped slaves - did not want to use any titles reflecting master-servant relationships, long before the council and the role of Sealord came into existence. As a compromise, 'Dōn' was derived as a term of respect and endearment that soon evolved into its current meaning. Of course, nowadays the title evokes less pleasant memories and meanings among the Braavosi.
The Five Families, their sigils and their respective trades are:
- Druft Lentor (Druft Family) - Three Heads (Man, Bull, and Lion) - Goods Trade
- Delyon Lentor (Delyon Family) - A Rose over the Sun - Sex Trade
- Garri Lentor (Garri Family) - Spinning Wheel - Cloth Trade
- Jyon Lentor (Jyon Family) - Two Iron-barred Gates - Weapon Trade ("Criminal Trade" also)
- Dadandon Lentor (Dadandon Family) - Mask Split in Two (Comedy and Tragedy) - "Cultural" Trade
The Dons of the Five Families - Don Druft, Don Deylon, Don Garri, Don Jyon and Don Dadandon - have a mutual agreement with House Rada for information in Braavos, allowing them to keep track of the Council's actions and ensure they do not break the alliance for any reason.
[3] The Ducal Army has a chorus band for every division, split into different groups among the countless companies, battalions and regiments to uplift morale and keep their spirits from turning grim in times of war, and to promote camaraderie in times of making merry.
[4] Band of Brothers - A marching cadence song for the US Army, slightly altered for the Dornian Ducal Army.
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
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Rangliste 
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Stein