The Sword & Sorcery Anthology (72 page)

“I know,” Dany said. “I do, I know.”

“My
khaleesi
is sad?”

“Yes,” Dany admitted.
Sad and lost.

“Should I pleasure the
khaleesi?”

Dany stepped away from her. “No. Irri, you do not need to do that.
What happened that night, when you woke...you’re no bed slave, I
freed you, remember? You...”

“I am handmaid to the Mother of Dragons,” the girl said. “It is
great honor to please my
khaleesi
.”

“I don’t want that,” she insisted. “I don’t.” She turned away sharply.
“Leave me now. I want to be alone. To think.”

Dusk had begun to settle over the waters of Slaver’s Bay before
Dany returned to deck. She stood by the rail and looked out over
Astapor.
From here it looks almost beautiful,
she thought. The stars
were coming out above, and the silk lanterns below, just as Kraznys’s
translator had promised. The brick pyramids were all glimmery with
light.
But it is dark below, in the streets and plazas and fighting pits. And
it is darkest of all in the barracks, where some little boy is feeding scraps to
the puppy they gave him when they took away his manhood.

There was a soft step behind her.
“Khaleesi.”
His voice. “Might I
speak frankly?”

Dany did not turn. She could not bear to look at him just now. If
she did, she might well slap him again. Or cry. Or kiss him. And never
know which was right and which was wrong and which was madness.
“Say what you will, ser.”

“When Aegon and Dragon stepped ashore in Westeros, the kings
of Vale and Rock and Reach did not rush to hand him their crowns.
If you mean to sit his Iron Throne, you must win it as he did, with
steel and dragonfire. And that will mean blood on your hands before
the thing is done.”

Blood and fire,
thought Dany. The words of House Targaryen. She
had known them all her life. “The blood of my enemies I will shed
gladly. The blood of innocents is another matter. Eight thousand
Unsullied they would offer me. Eight thousand dead babes. Eight
thousand strangled dogs.”

“Your Grace,” said Jorah Mormont, “I saw King’s Landing after
the Sack. Babes were butchered that day as well, and old men, and
children at play. More women were raped than you can count. There
is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword
or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs. The scent of blood
is all it takes to wake him. Yet I have never heard of these Unsullied
raping, nor putting a city to the sword, nor even plundering, save at
the express command of those who lead them. Brick they may be, as
you say, but if you buy them henceforth the only dogs they’ll kill are
those
you
want dead. And you do have some dogs you want dead, as
I recall.”

The Usurper’s dogs.
“Yes.” Dany gazed off at the soft-colored lights
and let the cool salt breeze caress her. “You speak of sacking cities.
Answer me this, ser—why have the Dothraki never sacked
this
city?”
She pointed. “Look at the walls. You can see where they’ve begun to
crumble. There, and there. Do you see any guards on those towers?
I don’t. Are they hiding, ser? I saw these sons of the harpy today, all
their proud highborn warriors. They dressed in linen skirts, and the
fiercest thing about them was their hair. Even a modest
khalasar
could
crack this Astapor like a nut and spill out the rotted meat inside. So
tell me, why is that ugly harpy not sitting beside the godsway in Vaes
Dothrak among the other stolen gods?”

“You have a dragon’s eye,
Khaleesi,
that’s plain to see.”

“I wanted an answer, not a compliment.”

“There are two reasons. Astapor’s brave defenders are so much
chaff, it’s true. Old names and fat purses who dress up as Ghiscari
scourges to pretend they still rule a vast empire. Every one is a high
officer. On feastdays they fight mock wars in the pits to demonstrate
what brilliant commanders they are, but it’s the eunuchs who do
the dying. All the same, any enemy wanting to sack Astapor would
have to know that they’d be facing Unsullied. The slavers would turn
out the whole garrison in the city’s defense. The Dothraki have not
ridden against Unsullied since they left their braids at the gates of
Qohor.”

“And the second reason?” Dany asked.

“Who would attack Astapor?” Ser Jorah asked. “Meereen and
Yunkai are rivals but not enemies, the Doom destroyed Valyria, the
folk of the eastern hinterlands are all Ghiscari, and beyond the hills
lies Lhazar. The Lamb Men, as your Dothraki call them, a notably
unwarlike people.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but
north
of the slave cities is the Dothraki
Sea, and two dozen mighty khals who like nothing more than sacking
cities and carrying off their people into slavery.”

“Carrying them off
where?
What good are slaves once you’ve killed
the slavers? Valyria is no more, Qarth lies beyond the red waste, and
the Nine Free Cities are thousands of leagues to the west. And you
may be sure the sons of the harpy give lavishly to every passing khal,
just as the magisters do in Pentos and Norvos and Myr. They know
that if they feast the horselords and give them gifts, they will soon
ride on. It’s cheaper than fighting, and a deal more certain.”

Cheaper than fighting.
If only it could be that easy for her. How
pleasant it would be to sail to King’s Landing with her dragons, and
pay the boy Joffrey a chest of gold to make him go away.
“Khaleesi?”
Ser Jorah prompted, when she had been silent for a long time. He
touched her elbow lightly.

Dany shrugged him off. “Viserys would have bought as many
Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar....”

“I remember, Daenerys.”

“Your Grace,”
she corrected. “Prince Rhaegar led free men into
battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and
made many other knights as well.”

“There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from
the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“Tell me, then—when he touched a man on the shoulder with his
sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? Or go forth and
defend them? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who
died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because
they
believed
in Rhaegar’s cause, or because they had been bought and
paid for?” Dany turned to Mormont, crossed her arms, and waited for
an answer.

“My queen,” the big man said slowly, “all you say is true. But
Rhaegar lost on the Trident. He lost the battle, he lost the war, he lost
the kingdom, and he lost his life. His blood swirled downriver with
the rubies from his breastplate, and Robert the Usurper rode over his
corpse to steal the Iron Throne. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar
fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar
died
.”

Trading in Dragons

“All?”
The slave girl sounded wary. “Your Grace, did this one’s worth
less ears mishear you?”

Cool green light filtered down through the diamond-shaped panes
of the thick windows of colored glass set in the sloping triangular
walls, and a breeze was blowing gently through the open terrace doors,
carrying the scents of fruit and flowers from the garden beyond. “Your
ears heard true,” said Dany. “I want to buy them all. Tell the Good
Masters, if you will.”

She had chosen a Qartheen gown today. The deep violet silk
brought out the purple of her eyes. The cut of it bared her left breast.
While the Good Masters of Astapor conferred among themselves in
low voices, Dany sipped tart persimmon wine from a tall silver flute.
She could not quite make out all that they were saying, but she could
hear the greed.

Each of the eight brokers was attended by two or three body
slaves...though one Grazdan, the eldest, had six. So as not to seem
a beggar, Dany had brought her own attendants; Irri and Jhiqui in
their sandsilk trousers and painted vests, old Whitebeard and mighty
Belwas, her bloodriders. Ser Jorah stood behind her sweltering in his
green surcoat with the black bear of Mormont embroidered upon it.
The smell of his sweat was an earthy answer to the sweet perfumes
that drenched the Astapori.

“All,” growled Kraznys mo Nakloz, who smelled of peaches today.
The slave girl repeated the word in the Common Tongue of Westeros.
“Of thousands, there are eight. Is this what she means by
all?
There
are also six centuries, who shall be part of a ninth thousand when
complete. Would she have them too?”

“I would,” said Dany when the question was put to her. “The eight
thousands, the six centuries...and the ones still in training as well.
The one who have not earned the spikes.”

Kraznys turned back to his fellows. Once again they conferred
among themselves. The translator had told Dany their names, but it
was hard to keep them straight. Four of the men seemed to be named
Grazdan, presumably after Grazdan the Great, who had founded Old
Ghis in the dawn of days. They all looked alike; thick fleshy men with
amber skin, broad noses, dark eyes. Their wiry hair was black, or a
dark red, or that queer mixture of red and black that was peculiar to
Ghiscari. All wrapped themselves in
tokars,
a garment permitted only
to freeborn men of Astapor.

It was the fringe on the
tokar
that proclaimed a man’s status, Dany
had been told by Captain Groleo. In this cool green room atop the
pyramid, two of the slavers wore
tokars
fringed in silver, five had gold
fringes, and one, the oldest Grazdan, displayed a fringe of fat white
pearls that clacked together softly when he shifted in his seat or
moved an arm.

“We cannot sell half-trained boys,” one of the silver fringe Grazdans
was saying to the others.

“We can, if her gold is good,” said a fatter man whose fringe was
gold.

“They are not Unsullied. They have not killed their sucklings. If
they fail in the field, they will shame us. And even if we cut five
thousand raw boys tomorrow, it would be ten years before they are
fit for sale. What would we tell the next buyer who comes seeking
Unsullied?”

“We will tell him that he must wait,” said the fat man. “Gold in my
purse is better than gold in my future.”

Dany let them argue, sipping the tart persimmon wine and trying
to keep her face blank and ignorant.
I will have them all, no matter
the price,
she told herself. The city had a hundred slave traders, but
the eight before her were the greatest. When selling bed slaves,
fieldhands, scribes, craftsmen, and tutors, these men were rivals,
but their ancestors had allied one with the other for the purpose of
making and selling the Unsullied.
Brick and blood built Astapor, and
brick and blood her people.

It was Kraznys who finally announced their decision. “Tell her
that the eight thousands you shall have, if her gold prove sufficient.
And the six centuries, if she wishes. Tell her to come back in a year,
and we will sell her another two thousand.”

“In a year, I shall be in Westeros,” said Dany when she had heard
the translation. “My need is
now
. The Unsullied are well-trained, but
even so, many will fall in battle. I shall need the boys as replacements
to take up the swords they drop.” She put her wine aside and leaned
toward the slave girl. “Tell the Good Masters that I will want even
the little ones who still have their puppies. Tell them that I will pay
as much for the boy they cut yesterday as for an Unsullied in a spiked
helm.”