Bab 127: Myr Part I
On the shores of the Sea of Myrth lies one of the largest cities in the Known World: Myr, home to three million men and women, of whom three out of four were born and will die with chains around their necks.
Slavery is as common in Essos as nobility is in Westeros. The oldest records speak of the Ghiscari civilization and how they introduced slavery to the inhabitants of the Valyrian peninsula. The Valyrians fought against the invaders and learned to tame the wild beasts that inhabited the surroundings of the Fourteen Volcanoes of the peninsula. With their new companions they defeated the invaders and took the first step to create their great empire.
The former shepherds knew that to succeed in a world where kingdoms and empires rise and fall every century they must have more than just their flying beasts, they made the wise decision to learn from their neighbors and implement whatever they deemed useful. Slavery was one of those things, and in fact it became one of the most characteristic things about their empire. The name of their empire was a mockery in itself: The Valyrian Freehold, where only two out of ten people were truly free.
The Valyrians conquered the western part of Essos and founded dozens of cities: the Daughters of Valyria. On the west coast, right in the middle of a cape, between the mouths of two great rivers, they founded a city on the ruins of another.
The ancestral name of Myr, of the Andal city devastated by the Valyrians, was forgotten in the sands of time. Today nothing remains of that historic city, not a single stone, not even a written record, only legends told at sunset around a warm campfire.
Myr is not only immense in size but also very well defended with three massive walls surrounding the beautiful daughter of Valyria.
The first of the walls surrounds the city in a semicircle starting from the coast, this wall is twenty meters high and is undoubtedly the weakest and worst defended of the three. It is barely three meters wide and the watchtowers are far apart, with only a few guards patrolling it.
Behind this wall is the home of 75% percent of the population, more than two million men and women, each and every last one of them with a characteristic collar around their necks. That collar is made of iron and has a padlock on it, making it impossible to remove without the key. It is the mark of a slave, and even babies do not escape it.
The homes of these men and women are shacks crammed side by side with little room for anything else. There are eight streets that lead directly to the second wall and each of them is surrounded by high walls, effectively preventing visitors from seeing that part of the city and at the same time trapping the slaves in a stone cage.
The second wall is twice as high and much wider, forty meters high and eight meters wide. This wall has watchtowers every five hundred meters and guards regularly patrol it ensuring its continued security.
Behind the wall is the home of the free men and women of Myr, those who enjoy freedom and basic human rights, those protected by law. This area is the only one allowed to the majority of visitors, here there are plenty of bustling markets, taverns, inns, brothels, religious temples,... It is the social and commercial heart of the city.
The third wall is fifty meters high and ten wide, behind it is the most exclusive area of the city. Here are the mansions of the magisters who govern the city, the richest men and women of the city have their homes in this protected and guarded area but that is not all. Myr's true heart is not her magisters, no, is her products.
Myr is one of the great artistic centers of the world, the best painters and artisans were born in this city and in the heart of Myr they practice their arts. Myrish lace and rugs are worth their weight in gold, their paintings and miniatures are famous and appreciated throughout the world,... Myr exports a wide variety of valuable products, all of exquisite quality and high prices.
Of all these products, Myr is most famous for glass. Its glassmakers are without a doubt the best in the Known Word, from Bear Island to Asshai everyone acknowledges their unrivaled skill in the art of glassmaking. The best glass and lenses come from Myr, the techniques to produce it are their best kept secret. The glassmakers and their apprentices, despite being slaves, live behind the third wall of the city in large houses and enjoy a better quality of life than the free men and women who live behind the second wall.
Soaring near the fluffy clouds the color of freshly milked milk are two beautiful falcons. These birds are very peculiar, their behavior does not correspond to that of an ordinary bird. They hover high in the skies and are continually changing course to stay hidden from the gaze of the guards who survey the skies and seas with their Myrish eyes.
Strapped to their backs the birds have backpacks attached with straps that wrap around their bodies. One of the hawks is black as night and could almost be mistaken for a raven from a distance because of its unusual coloring, the other hawk is a lighter color, a chestnut very common for hawks.
The birds fly over the first wall and head towards the second, passing it they quickly descend to the roof of a tavern. The building is square as is customary in much of Myrish architecture.
The black hawk changes its form to that of a sparrow and the straps and backpacks fall to the roof, jumping a few steps away from the backpack the sparrow transforms into a teenager who as soon as he changes shape moves his right hand in a peculiar pattern and utters a few words.
His skin color changes to one that could easily be mistaken for the color of the roof.
Doran takes the backpack and starts to get dressed, while he does that, his companion also changes his shape to that of a sparrow, moves away from the backpack that fell to the roof and stretches the smaller wings a couple of times to get used to them. Lothar stayed in that form and waited for his prince to dress in myrish-style robes. After getting dressed, Doran secured both backpacks, which could well be mistaken for small bags, to his waist and looked at his partner.
"See you at sunset at The Hammer." He whispered softly, the sparrow nodded and took flight towards the third wall. Doran observed his friend for a moment and when the bird disappeared from his line of sight, the prince got down from the roof of the tavern and walked to a deserted alley. There he released the camouflage spell once he verified that no one was looking in that direction.
Doran steps out of the alley and joins the crowd making its way to one of the many markets of the city.
The Myrmen are believed to be descendants of the Rhoynar as many of them share their olive skin as well as their dark hair and eyes. That theory has been disputed many times over time, but since Myr is relatively close to the Rhoynar`s ancestral home, the prince thinks it's very possible.
Whether it is true or not, the important thing is that the prince can fit perfectly in the city without having to worry about his physical appearance.
Doran doesn't have to alter his appearance in the slightest as he not only fits among the hundreds of men and women surrounding him in the market perfectly but he also doesn't have to worry about anyone recognizing him as Prince Doran Nymeros Martell of Dorne. His physical characteristics are not very noticeable, he has olive skin, black eyes and hair. Yes, he is very attractive but none of his physical characteristics stand out in themselves unlike the silver hair that his father and brother share, or the lilac or purple eyes of his relatives Valyrians in appearance.
His height, nearly 170cm, makes him look two or three years older than he is and everyone who sees him will think he must be fourteen or fifteen.
`No one will mistake me for the prince who just turned twelve a few days ago.`
***
The square of the Salt Market, a place where one can find all kinds of seafood, is packed to bursting. Hundreds of people walk around the stalls almost like sardines in a can. Around the stalls the customers are haggling with the vendors and while everyone is distracted the thieves walk through the crowds lightening their coinbags.
A boy of about twelve or thirteen with long hair braided in thick braids adorned with silver and gold ornaments, brown eyes that glow with a golden tint in the sunlight, and a dark complexion walks surrounded by armed guards. A dozen guards surround the boy in all directions. The boy ignores his guards as if he is very used to their presence and watches with bright eyes the numerous bids.
Not far away in a stall a big bid for a huge tuna began, the tuna is bigger than a man and half a hundred people are shouting their offers.
"10 gēlenka gelebossa!" A customer yells, offering to buy the fish for ten silver coins.
"Gaomagon daor ánghowa nyke! Mērī sȳz!" One of the stall owners looks at him angrily and yells at him not to take him for an idiot, and yells that only serious buyers should talk.
"Issi ao ánghowa nyke?" The customer does not take the derogatory words of the merchant walks towards him with his fist clenched. He misses the merchant, instead hitting another customer who turns on him angrily and tries to punch him in the face. He dodges and the blow lands on the face of another customer.
Soon a full-blown fight breaks out and over two hundred people take part in it. During the chaos, the man who threw the first punch disappears into the crowd, walking past a hooded youth who gives him a bag full of coins.
"Sȳz mirre." The teenager speaks with a Myrish accent and after congratulating his good work, he adjusts the hood that covers his face and continues on his way.
The man nodded briefly and pocketed the bag of coins before leaving the market at a brisk pace.
The boy with the braided hair watches in horror as the fighting around him worsens even more and his guards rush to get him out of the chaotic situation but their attempts are in vain. They are in the middle of the crowd and a sea of bodies stands between them and the exits of the market square.
The guards draw their weapons and stand in a circle around the boy. All around them men and women are hitting each other with everything that comes to hand, be it baskets full of food, fish and crabs, stones, or their hands and legs. The blows fly from one side to the other without order or logic, and in the middle of that chaotic battlefield where there are neither sides nor objectives, the brown-eyed boy is trapped with only his guards to protect him.
Twelve guards can't do much against a crowd of over two hundred vicious men and women, and they learn that quickly. A man is pushed close to the circle of guards and one of the guards, very nervous because of the chaos, raised his sword and attacked the man. As soon as his entrails were cut, the man let out an agonizing scream before falling dead, that scream caught the attention of many. Dozens upon dozens of heads turned in their direction and like a pack of predators they glared at the guards with unnatural anger and rage.
"Quba vali egros ossēnagon!"
"Daor sepār!"
Apparently using lethal weapons in this unorthodox brawl was a horrible decision. Men and women scream and rush towards them.
The guards fight them but for every man they kill two more take their place and soon the twelve guards are literally torn to pieces by the angry mob.
The child they protected did not escape the wrath of the vicious mob. By the time the city guards managed to stop the fight, more than fifty people died, including the boy and his guards.
***
Xhonuru Qho, better known as Nine Eyes, ran with half a hundred guards following him and struggling to keep up.
He was in a meeting with some merchants from Valysar who were asking for a reduction in customs taxes when he got the news that there was a riot in one of the markets. The Salt Market, the same place his son and heir usually frequents.
Conquering Myr wasn't particularly difficult or complicated, all he did was bribe some guards and ensure passage to the third wall. Once inside he killed the most powerful magisters, those who ruled Myr and declared himself the king of the city. Getting the other magisters and nobles to acknowledge him as their king only required a mix of bribes, promises, and threats.
All this happened behind the third wall, for the people of the first and second wall the change in the government did not alter their routines in the slightest and in fact they did not care if the ruler of Myr is a foreign man or a group of local magisters.
As long as their life stays the same, they don't care about political games. That calm and almost indifference reaction made Xhonuru feel comfortable enough to allow his family to move freely through the city, accompanied by several guards of course.
The King of Myr smelled the distinctive metallic odor of blood and the smell of fish before reaching the market square. As soon as he reached one of the entrances he saw hundreds of cityguards surrounding groups of bloodied men and women, all full of bruises and scratches.
"Where is my son?!"
"Where is my son?!"
Nobody answers him.
Xhonuru looks into the plaza. He sees the stalls destroyed and the merchandise scattered everywhere. No matter where he looks, he sees corpses covering the ground, some trampled to death, others with their skulls cracked by some stone, there is even one with a swordfish stuck in its entrails.
Near a giant tuna he recognizes the armor of his personal guards.
Xhonuru runs in that direction jumping over corpses of men and women alike, as he approaches he sees the corpses of more of his guards.
The corpses are in absolutely horrible condition, so bad that it would be impossible to distinguish their identities and more than one have limbs torn off.
"No no no." He looks around frantically and prays to his gods. His prayers are in vain and he sees what he most fears.
"Xhondo!" Xhonuru kneels next to the head of his son, the head that had been torn from his body. If it weren't for the characteristic braids adorned with gold and silver pieces, his head would be unrecognizable.
"My son!" He roars in pain and anger, he hugs the head and cries and screams. "My precious little boy."
"My king." After several minutes the captain of his personal guard approached him cautiously. "What should we do with them?" He asks, looking at all the imprisoned men and women. There are about two hundred in total.
"Kill them." He answers quietly.
"My king?" The guard looks at him thinking that he has misheard.
"Kill them." Xhonuru repeats out loud. "Kill them all, then find their relatives and kill them too. I want their corpses to be hung around the city!"
***
A raven with black feathers and eyes that resemble an endless abyss watches the square of the Salt Market impassively. He watches all the corpses, the imprisoned men and women, Xhonuru lamenting the death of his son and giving that order to his soldiers.
The captain of the guard informs the other guards of the king's orders, Xhonuru`s men look with anger and hatred at the people who killed their prince, they draw their weapons and walk towards the prisoners eager to wet their blades in their blood. The cityguards on the other hand hesitate before drawing their swords. They are myrmen, born and raised in the city, those prisoners are not strangers from a distant land but their neighbors and in some cases friends and family.
Despite this, they do not stop the men of Nine Eyes and one after another, with clear reluctance, join the massacre.
`The sheep do not care who their shepherd is as long as their life does not change, but when the shepherd begins to slaughter them... Not even the most obedient of sheep will let themselves be killed without offering resistance.`
The raven watches the massacre, he does not look away at any time and only when the last of the civilians falls dead does he take flight.
`The king of monsters.`
***
NOTE: There are advanced chapter in my p@ tre on if you want to support me and read some chapters earlier.
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Status Power Mingguan
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Power 
-- Power
stone