Chương 125: The Offense Plagued
POV: Benjen Stark
White Arbor.
On the morning of the same night that a bastard of the North was punished...
Five hundred Stark men were armed and dressed to the nines, without a single crease on their robes or a single rust stain on the metal they wore.
More than a hundred rods with the grey banner on a white background of his house waved in the same direction. At their side stood Manderly knights and Tallhart soldiers.
Benjen Stark, Duncan Tallhart and Wyman Manderly were lined up in the front row, waiting for the delegation ships to arrive.
Benjen still didn't like the guy very much. He no longer felt the resentment of the beginning of the voyage certainly, but it would take time for the anger to dissipate.
It was Bloody Snow's fault that Benjen could not yet join the Night's Watch. He understood this... Ned had forced him into the role of Castellan of the Moat Cailin because of him.
His brother hung on the eleven-year-old's every word. Finally, he had him in his grasp.
However...today was a special day. Until yesterday, that boy was bubbling with energy and happiness. He was looking forward to meeting this famous teacher again, but something must have shaken him noticeably that night.
The absence of jests and pathetic jokes was proof of that.
"Is something wrong, boy? Why haven't you ruined my morning yet with your jokes about Northmen and Dornians?" asked Benjen in a low voice so that only he could hear him.
"Huh? Ah, forgive me, my lord... Indeed, it is not exactly the joyous day I had hoped it would be.
Sad and alarming news reached my ears the other night..." replied Bloody Snow.
"Can any of them be confided in?" Benjen.
"...Ser Denys Mallister reported that Euron Greyjoy has not yet crossed the Bay of Ice. Admiral Davos Seaworth has found traces of debris that may belong to the Raven Sentinel, the ship carrying twenty-six members of the Night's Watch and the prisoner. And a few days ago, four brave men of House Tallhart died fighting while defending a mill. The owners of that mill were reported missing..." Benjen frowned. It was, in fact, dark news.
"A storm and Marauders?" the would-be Guardian tried to ask.
"A storm is not to be ruled out... But I strongly sense that Euron Greyjoy has been handed a similar fate to Bittersteel." Bloody Snow.
Aegon Rivers, the celebrated founder of the Golden Company, was defeated and captured during the Third Blackfire Rebellion. More than sixty years ago, he was to join the Night's Watch, but the ship charged with escorting him to the Wall was attacked by his fellow armigers, freeing him.
"What about the raiders?" asked Benjen, noting that the boy had completely glossed over the second assumption.
"Whoever they were, they were not mere marauders." The answer was terse and without the possibility of debate.
*Woouuu!!!, *WOOUUUUU!!!!*
Two thundering horn blasts gave the signal at the harbour gates.
"Everyone in position!" Both Benjen and Lord Manderly ordered in unison.
The parade garrisons settled in four neat rows all along the main street.
The noble hosts positioned themselves at the end of the arch created on the long woollen walkway made especially for such a ceremony. Handmaids were ready with baskets of flower petals to welcome the guests. No item not strictly authorized was within a thousand feet of the procession.
The levers of the two lookout towers operated. Boulders and counterweights lowered, using the opening mechanisms of the two massive gates made of cold-hardened wood and iron.
A gap was formed nearly a hundred and fifty feet wide over the water. The first Galea was already in sight. A ship distinctly larger than Lord Manderly's flagship.
At least two hundred oars from what Benjen could glimpse. A black keel at least sixty feet wide, two hundred long and at least forty high. Three majestic white sails are embossed with a symbol similar to the seven-pointed star. Only on each point does it represent an element...
A red flame, a white snowflake, a black mist, a golden light, a kind of earthen dune, a small green tornado, and a drop of water. All the distinct colours of the elements came together in a circular runic pattern surrounding a silver cup with black and golden wings with a starry night-coloured gem set in the centre.
'Well, that's impressive, isn't it,' but then another identical galley passed...and then another.
And at that moment, Benjen saw its...
A titanic monstrosity with a keel almost as high as the harbour's defensive walls! Six hundred oars of that abomination of naval engineering were retracted inside. The only way to allow the hull to pass without affecting the gates.
The four most giant sails Benjen had ever seen...
Trees as thick as century-old redwoods...
Dozens of scorpions could be glimpsed from the bow ... and at least three trebuchets.
Lord Manderly's gaze shared Benjen's disdain.
'It could not.. no, such a titanic structure cannot exist!
Other than a thousand men?! That monstrosity could have crammed all the city's militia with horses included!' both Benjen and Wyman thought in synchrony.
It would have taken at least twenty, if not thirty Galleys, to attempt an assault on such a gargantuan war device! What could the longships of the Iron Islands have done against that floating edifice but crumble at the slightest collision?
*****
About twenty minutes later...
Twelve knights more conspicuous and shining than the royal guard opened the passage of the procession. A hundred figures in robes of different colours swarmed immediately behind with slow but firm steps.
Flowers and applause greeted the procession festively--blue rose petals, lilies, daisies and every other ceremonial petal anticipated the feet of the guests.
Now that the knights were in sight, Benjen's experienced eye alerted him never for any reason in the world to attack a quarrel with any of them. Especially the red-eyed knight. His gaze lacerated more than The Wall's scythe.
The ceremonial guard opened, and three figures stepped forward. It only took him a moment to guess that the individual in the centre was the Leader of the Procession.
Long golden ceremonial oriental robe with pearly embroidered grooves. Showy rings and jewellery on every inch of exposed skin. Long black hair oiled and combed back, piercing grey eyes with gold and ebony veins, a square, thin face with unusual Nordic features, pale skin outlined by minor signs of age. Every inch of the figure shrieked Royalty. Even from the hardened, firm expression, any hermit commoner could tell this individual was a king.
Benjen did not hesitate. It was his job to be the first to welcome.
"I, Benjen, Castellan of the Moat Cailin and Protector of the Neck, rightful son of Rickard, and only surviving younger brother of the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North Eddard of the Stark dynasty, welcome to these lands you, Duq of the Noble and Ancient dynasty of the Yellow Chai Emperors, the descendant of the First Emperor of Dawn, The God-On-Earth, Chief Sorcerer of the Confederation of Wizards and Supreme Lord of the Starry City Carcosa.
House Stark offers you, my Lord, the warmest and most sincere hospitality for as long as you and your retinue decide to welcome." The bow rehearsed and rehearsed countless times over the past week had also come out distinctly well.
Yet ... when Benjen raised his head again, he fulminated on the spot. The Sorcerer's expression looked offended and indignant at a snub he had suffered.
What had he done wrong? Had he forgotten a name? Some title? Was the tone of voice wrong? Should he have said King in The Yellow, too? But no... Bloody Snow had recommended not to say it in the first greeting; he was more than sure!
Chai Duq gritted his teeth. The elderly figure with ordinary clothes and ornaments looked at his companion with a doubtful and uncertain expression... Perhaps even he did not understand why the Sorcerer was reacting that way by missing his part of the etiquette.
The King in The Yellow cast a dirty look at his elderly companion as if to demand an explanation for the affront he had just suffered, but he did not get what he was looking for.
Benjen Stark turned to Duncan for support, but the boy looked as bewildered as he was.
"Is everything all right, Chai?" asked what Benjen assumed was the celebrated The Watcher.
"No, it's not all right, Zick. Why didn't this man introduce himself as Prince? And why did he not mention the title King of the North?! Aren't the 'Kings of Winter' no longer the true rulers of the remaining lands of the First Men?!" The female figure with a face covered by a red mask and a sumptuous black robe to the ruler's left approached to whisper explanations to her master.
"Huh? What do you take me for, Quaithe?! Look, I know too that Torrhen Stark submitted to the Sons of Fire dynasty! But you also told me that the Three-Headed Dragon dynasty had fallen six years ago! What, in less than a decade have dragons risen by accident?" the assistant muttered more whispers.
"... What?! Baratheon?!!! But who, the unclean descendants of the Storm Dynasty? Are you mocking me perhaps?!..." The masked woman assiduously continued to provide elucidation.
The Sorcerer turned toward Benjen.
"Descendant of the Wolf King, is it true what my assistant says? The oldest lineage of the Ice, the dynasty that survived the Long Night, that bent the power of the Barrow King by prevailing over the epic Thousand Years War, and that repelled dozens of Andals invasions, submitted to the dirty drops of the Storm Stir without even fighting?!" asked The King in The Yellow with astonishment and disdain.
"Emm-yes, your eminence Chai Duq. Six years ago, House Stark swore allegiance to the Iron Throne on which King Robert of House Baratheon currently sits." Benjen replied, feeling strangely mortified by the unfortunate situation.
"And by what archaic devilry have you allowed this? But is the Old Druid aware of all this absurd political situation?" Quaithe nodded.
"This is stupid stuff... The order of the World has already collapsed upon itself. The power of the Dynasty of Kings thrown as if it were nothing into the dung of the Zorse rides..." Commented the Sorcerer to himself.
Chai Duq turned back to Zick.
"But is the treaty still valid? Could I set foot in these lands even if the Wolves were not King, or did I just start a war with the Andals?" The man named Zick was caught off guard for a moment.
"And why are you asking me? You know very well that I don't deal with bureaucratic quibbles."
"Why?! Because you are the Guardian Guarantor, Old-Slackers!! And you have to dot the 'i' on such matters!! So I find myself amid the Counts and Quacks of the Seven, unarmed and with my back to the wall! And I'm the one here who's dumbfounded?!!!" scolded the Sorcerer King with disdain, "Shhh!!! Why are you screaming? Are you out of your mind? There's a whole town within earshot!!! The Old Witch will then blame me!!!"
"May the city burn to the ground! And may the Old Spider make you scream with lashings on your buttocks! Who cares!!! I want to know if you just handed my priceless head on an ivory platter to the enemy!!! Do you have any idea how much of my research remains unfinished?!!! I want to see the dawn rise for at least another millennium!" Lord Manderly's face whitened as he heard the enormous danger facing the city.
"Dawn? But what dawns would you have seen?! You wouldn't have even sniffed it again if it hadn't been for me dragging you out of that tomb you call 'Research Studio'!!! And what do you want me to care about your head?! I know that your Grandfather-Master runs to save you as soon as you start sobbing!" So retorted the alleged Guardian of Love in tone.
"How dare you?! When did I, Chai Duq, The King in The Yellow, ever sob?! Where did you hear such rubbish?!!! I warn you, Zick, if I am ever captured alive, rest assured I will sing like a bird! Everyone will be privy to your dirty secrets, and then we'll see who among us will run crying to his foster mother!!!" The debate was degenerating more and more...
The Masked Witch approached Benjen.
"Lord Stark.... My name is Quaithe of Asshai. I'm the personal assistant of the Noble Archwizard Chai Dug. On behalf of the Confederation, I apologize to you, your noble House, your noble bannermen, and all the people of the First Men for the lack of courtesy just displayed, my lord.
The Confederation of Mages will make amends for the wrong." So said Quaithe, bowing in the Westerosi manner.
"No offence given, noble Quaithe. Might the North be of some help in appeasing turbulent tempers, my lady?" asked Benjen in a not-so-hidden tone of concern.
"Indeed it would, my lord. Might I ask you kindly to have all eyes and ears turned away... 'not too trusting'? My noble master and the noble Guardian would need discreet... privacy." Quaithe requested politely.
"Of course, yes, no problem!" said Benjen, "Thank you very much, my lord."
The duo continued to argue tempestuously. Finally, Benjen, Wyman and Duncan gave orders to the reception committee so the Sorcerer and the Guardian could continue their diatribe in peace.
As soon as the area was secured, three hooded figures dressed in sumptuous blue robes waved stirrups made of what looked like Weirdwood Tree with ebony stones set at the tip. Then, a chant uttered in an unknown language, a small circle of light and the sound dissipated from the two thundering warlike voices...
An almost invisible translucent bubble enveloped the Chief Sorcerer and the Guardian.
"T-That... That was...," "A magic. One of those useful but harmless ones," Bloody Snow explained serenely.
"Why are you so calm? Aren't you afraid that it might come to a confrontation here? We don't have the strength to put out such a fire!" Benjen.
"Nah! They are just bickering amicably. Fear not, milords; Zick and the Chai Dug have many things in common. They are both art seekers, slackers, delegators of responsibility, figures of enormous power, and both protected by a wet nurse. Ahahah!... Ah! Don't ever mention this in front of them, though...
I think only the Guardians have permission to address the King in The Yellow in this way. The Confederation of Mages is an organization that dislikes insults and disrespect. It would be preferable to kill one of their members rather than give him offence...
[Kill a Mage of the Confederation, and his master or student will show up to claim revenge. Offend him, and the Shadows of Asshai and the Light of Carcosa will come upon you].
Come on! Rejoice, Benjen Stark! The North has just earned an enormous tribute from the Confederation of Wizards.
The Chief Sorcerer Supreme himself has unjustly caused offence to House Stark by not returning the official welcome."
"Ah, yes? Do you really believe that the welcoming ceremony went smoothly?" Benjen asked, heartening himself in the slightest.
"Yeah, it did. Quite a 'stroke of luck'! I didn't expect that at all... But, mmm, now that I think of it, I'll have to think about what compensation to demand from the Confederacy before your brother hears about it. Lord Stark would certainly dive headlong into the gold. Ahahah!"
End POV.
---------------------------------
POV: An Old Prankster
New Castle, White Arbor.
That same night.
"My Turn: [A Merchant of Lys and a Red Priest of Myr-]"
"Thank you, master." Duncan interrupted the elder before he could retort.
The Watcher's experienced eye instantly guessed where his pupil was going with this, but he replied with an elaborate old man's expression taken aback.
"I don't know what you're thanking me for, my boy," one of Duncan's eyebrows arched.
"You may have passed for valid in the eyes of a Braavosian, but the dragon posing as gold cannot conceal its true brass nature from the gaze of the master forger's pupil...
I don't know if there is another individual in this world with a gift similar to yours who can deeply understand a person's true nature. Still, I am sure that there is only one who can boast of being both a longtime friend and confidant of The King in The Yellow."
"A claim that is incapable of proving anything... Certainly not any 'unofficially permitted' action by a neutral Guardian guarantor of three conflicting factions." Zick closed the topic with a good sip of hot herbal brew.
"How do my ex-alumni look among the Twelve Arcane Shields? Have you been able to identify the three chosen ones yet?" Zick asked, changing the subject.
"I think so... Does Oldtown also possess three such monsters, master?"
"Six… plus one more to whom I have given no guidance." Zick would still have refused to teach that monster anything....
"So, seven demons clad from toe to toe in Valyrian steel, against which I would be no match, and armed by 'the Old Gods only know' what dark and deadly spells..." the boy admitted affliction.
"Wrong. Seven demons you are not 'yet' able to compete against, my boy. Give it time. Focus your attention on the next step and not on your opponent's position on the ladder." Duncan smiled with loving sadness.
The boy was about to confess something that deeply troubled him. Zick guessed what it might be.
"Master...I should-" he was interrupted, "No, you shouldn't. Not tonight, at least. We will resume our classes tomorrow night. There is still time before the tournament. We will make the most of it, but not before tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?" Admonished Zick with compassionate seriousness.
"Yes, master..."
"How did it go with my Petulant Adoptive Mother? How much blood did the Old Spider drain from your uncle?" asked the man with an affectionate grin.
The Watcher's inhuman senses alerted him to a swift, unexpected, but harmless movement about to come.
*Snap!* "Ouch! What was that for?!" Zick clutched his sore, flushed ear.
"I'm just respecting Madame's conditions, master. Don't mean me any harm.
Less than I actually expected. In addition to requiring me to slap you on the ear whenever you disrespect her in my presence, Madame Zishua demands free access to Damascus steel at a favourable price.
If called upon, the three royal families will always have to answer for the Organization should an entity threaten you or any of your protégés.
Plus, I'll have to visit the Old Spider in person, and here I quote her words, 'before The Stranger comes for me.'" His protégé explained, triggering a burst of mutual hilarity.
"You don't know what you're in for, kid," Zick shuddered for a moment but then sputtered back, asking, "So what? Come on, Duncan, don't keep me on my toes. What did you get from Ol--… I mean, from 'My-Loving-Mother'?"
"Respectively four thousand recruits for each. It will be up to you to choose the respective instructors best suited for the task, 'My-Beloved-Loving-Master'," replied the boy looking at Zick with pleading eyes filled with expectation.
"Yes, yes, have no fear. I have the right boys for the task. But where will they train them without alarming the entire world order? Have you found a way around the 'Tower and Titan Spies' problem?" Zick asked, unleashing a ruckus of smiles and victorious glints from his avid pupil searching for lethal armies.
"Yes, master! Madame Zishua and uncle Leobald felt that the Disputed Lands were the perfect training ground of choice."
"Ahaa... Sellswords in the pay of Tyrosh, Myr and Lys... An excellent gimmick. Yes, it might work, but blood will flow for the deception to hold. Are you aware of this?" The boy grew gloomy but rekindled firmly a few moments later.
"We are aware of it, master." Resolutely replied the revolutionary who would soon upset the balance of the World.
"Well... So be it, then." The master nodded and then ranted impatiently, "Up! Let's get to my part! There's a poor exploited Guardian here who desperately needs peace!!! So? How many new pupils can I get?"
"For now, twenty-six. Ten for Dorne and the West and six pupils from the North. The Mercantess does not miss a single detail. She counts me, Syggha, Josua, and Blade One already as 'four barrels of goods already packed and delivered,'" grinned the boy, "But if I go to her in person and am 'convincing' enough, I should be able to snatch four more of my own choice."
"Twenty-six new promising pupils, eh? Plus four more future cats in the bag! Ah! Can't wait to get started! Well done, my boy! Well done! Ahahah!" Between his jolts of joy, Zick recalled an urgent matter.
"Speaking of pupils, I have matters to discuss with you concerning your cousin Elminster..."
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End Chapter.
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Duncan_Randar
Duncan_Randar The Next Chapter will be released on Friday.
Question to all Got/Asoiaf fans, who would you like as possible 26-30 Zick students from the North, Dorne and West?
Consider that currently the candidates should (MAKE SOME EXCEPTIONS) be between 10-20 years old. Please write your candidates in the comments! Thank you all!
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