Allaryn
The shadow city was burning. Perhaps it had been the scorching sun that had mercilessly shined down upon the seat of House Martell for weeks without relief, with short, hot nights and days so hot that even the locals rather stayed in their huts. Perhaps it had been the Sandstorm, for the madmen had been running rampant in the city as of late, according to Captain Razek. Whatever the truth, Sir Emilian and his Sun Cloaks had spent the last few hours trying to put out the fire. Still, the proud men of the shadow city’s guard were leaving and entering the keep, mostly leaving, sometimes even accompanied by a few of Captain Razek’s men.
To make matters worse, or perhaps more intriguing at the same time, some lord had decided that now would be the best time to send a delegation to Sunspear. A dozen riders had passed through the gate half an hour ago, one of them carrying a banner depicting a black serpent sinking its teeth into a human leg. A grisly motif even by dornish standards and not one Allaryn had ever seen before. Those guests had been quickly received by Prince Nymor, before being hurried off to one of the guest houses, though just now, several men-at-arms bearing their yellow tabards could be seen marching towards the old palace, where the princess was usually holding court.
Allaryn himself was watching all this from atop the lowest part of Sunspear’s outer wall. His routine patrol had brought him here, to a shadowy place near the gatehouse and he had used the opportunity to cool down from the heat of this day. Though both the princess and Ser Landon Jordayne, her master of law, were deeply concerned about the Sandstorm rebels, none of them had increased security in the keep itself and that was all Allaryn had to know about the matter. It seemed the Sandstorm was more of a problem for the common people for the time being, not something the nobility had to concern itself with. It was distasteful, but he couldn’t help but enjoy the slight respite this gave him, a place in the shadows and time to rest his feet.
Unfortunately for him, his rest would soon be disturbed. He saw the man long before he reached him, his lean figure swiftly climbing the stairs, still carrying a long spear and a heavy shield even though his position would have allowed him the comfort of remaining unarmed. His skin was tanned, but of a different hue than that of most Dornishmen, leaning more towards bronze, with smooth skin and a clean-shaven head. In fact, this man was unable to grow facial hair, for he was one of the Unsullied, the eunuch warriors of Slaver’s Bay, likely the only one of his kind to have ever made his way to Dorne.
At once, Allaryn rose from the comfy stoll and even took a step outside of the gatehouse’s shadow. The sun was burning down and he immediately felt the heat, but Allaryn was one of the sandy dornishmen, the dark-skinned men of the desert, used to the heat and the sun. Maester Cliff had once told him that his skin itself gave him a higher tolerance for the sun, so if he could be believed, that was the one thing Allaryn had his bastard of a father to thank for, that and the scars that still covered his upper body.
He saluted long before the man reached him, for this was Captain Razek um Daar, head of the castle guard and Allaryn’s commanding officer. The Unsullied stopped a few feet in front of him, out in the open, not even trying to seek the relief of the shadow. Quietly and with narrowed eyes he mustered Allaryn, until the young guardsmen straightened his back properly. Only then did he reply with a quiet nod, allowing Allaryn to stand at ease again.
“Can I be of service, Ser?”, the guardsman asked, which caused Razek’s expression to sour. “Where is he?”, the Unsullied growled, his Common Tongue still showing a heavy Ghiscari accent after all the years he had spent at Meria’s court. Despite the heat, Allaryn felt a chill running down his spine under Captain Razek’s iron glare. “Who exactly?”, he asked, even though he already had an idea whom the Unsullied could mean. “Flowers”, Razek replied and Allaryn could not suppress a sigh. “You have noticed that we have guests?”
“It was hard to miss them”, he replied. “Who are they?” As expected, Razek ignored the question. “The princess has called for her council to gather in the old palace. They and half of the court are waiting for your friend” He tilted his head slightly, his glare only gaining in sharpness. “You are his best friend”, he spoke, with clear disapproval in his voice. “If anyone knows where he is, it’ll be you”
“Vinicus… well, I suppose I count him among my friends”, Allaryn admitted. This was hardly the first time the bastard had gotten him into trouble and he was long past being embarrassed by it. “And yes, I might know where he could be. There’s a washing woman in the palace he has taken a fancy to. He… may have voiced his intent to visit her this morning. Said the washing room’s the only place to cool down during this heat, though I don’t think he has much”
He hadn’t thought it possible, but somehow Captain Razek’s expression soured even more. “I shall wash my clothes myself for the time being”, he sighed. “And you… find him at once. Bring him to the old palace and make sure he stays for the entire meeting. Tell him my goodwill is at its limits” Allaryn saluted in front of him and Razek turned around without giving him another look. “Give me ten minutes, captain, and we will both be at the old palace”, the soldier claimed, though the Unsullied was already climbing down the stairs again, his pace fast as if his heavy weaponry and the pressing heat did not bother him at all.
Under other circumstances, Allaryn would have continued his rest here, watching the shadow city beneath him, where the Sun Cloaks did their best to put out the fresh fires. But an order from Razek um Daar was not to be taken lightly. As such, Allaryn hurried out of the shade, quickly following his captain down the stairs, though where Razek took the white marble path to the old palace, Allaryn walked over hardened dirt to the far end of Sunspear’s outer ring, where the servants had their huts. The washing rooms were there and if he was not mistaken, so was Vinicus.
During these hours, Allaryn had the outer ring almost to himself. A few unlucky guards on patrol crossed his path, as did those few servants who could not slow down on their duties, but it would take a few hours, until the evening breeze, for Sunspear to come back to life. It was quite unusual that Princess Meria would hold an audience during these hours and all the more reason for Vinicus to attend, for he was Sunspear’s master of coin, a man so gifted at his duties that even his detractors, of which there were many, had to admit that he was likely the best lord treasurer House Martell had in centuries. Of course, he had learned all of his tricks from the Iron Bank of Braavos and the keyholder who had taken him in as his own son, but that didn’t make his achievements any less impressive, even to Allaryn who had little interest in House Martell’s coin beyond what he was paid.
The washing rooms were built close to the second wall of Sunspear and connected to it through a narrow tunnel that allowed the washing women to come and go without having to pass through one of the gates. Past generations of House Martell had paid little attention to the tunnel, some even used it to leave the keep unnoticed for whatever reason and at least one time a Prince of Dorne had been killed by assassins who entered through that very tunnel. Of course, Captain Razek had put an end to that practice. Under his watch, an iron gate had been installed, always locked unless manually opened by a lone guard who was always posted in the narrow, dimly lit and hot tunnel. Usually, that duty was given to the guard who had displeased the captain the most at any given moment. Allaryn himself had been posted there just once and it had been the most miserable shift of his life in service of House Martell.
As expected, the washing rooms themselves were not locked and the door was slightly open. There was a dark hall behind it, pleasantly cool and damp. From here, several doors led down a few steps and into the washing rooms proper, where large wooden containers stood, filled to the brim with water. Allaryn could understand why Vinicus preferred this to the heated halls of the old palace, on top of the comely washing women he wanted to meet here. Right now, however, the rooms seemed empty and quiet aside from one, one of the smaller rooms in the back, from which Allaryn heard a light snoring.
He rolled his eyes as he approached the room, realizing that his fool of a friend had managed to fall asleep instead of attending an important gathering at the old palace. At once he approached the room, heavily slamming his fist against the half-closed door. “Vinicus!”, he barked. “Vinic, you there?” From somewhere behind it, he heard a surprised gasp, then a hearty yawn. “Is that you, Allaryn?”, the familiar voice of Vinicus Flowers sounded from the darkness. “In the flesh”, he replied. “I’m coming in, so you better be dressed!”
As he spoke these words, he pushed the door open, revealing a washing room behind it. It was not particularly large, with two round, wooden tubs filled with water. Freshly-washed linen was lying on a table to his right, neatly folded and separated by colour, red and yellow for the servants, orange cloaks for the castle guard.
Vinicus himself was lying on the ground next to one of the tubs. He was young, a few years younger than Allaryn himself, just as lean, but almost a full head taller. Though years in Dorne and before that in Braavos had given him a healthy tan, he had never been able to fully shed his Reachman roots, for his hair was as red as the spice that was traded down at the Planky Town. Right now, it was quite a bit messy, his curls almost falling down to his short, auburn beard, while dark brown eyes stared at the Dornishman, still drowsy from his recent nap. Vinicus father was a Florent of Brightwater Keep and just like the rest of his family, he had prominent ears, only partially hidden behind his hair. Though not a dashing man by any definition and jarringly out of place among the dornishmen at court, Vinicus made up for it with his intelligence and loyalty, two traits that had won him Allaryn’s friendship and quite a few benefactors at court, chief among them Princess Meria herself.
“My friend!”, Vinicus exclaimed and even now, his voice carried a distinct Braavosi accent with it. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Allaryn entered the room with narrowed eyes, glancing to the left and right to confirm that, to his surprise, Vinicus was indeed alone. “It’s hardly a pleasure, Vinic”, he replied. “The princess has summoned you, but nobody knew where to find you, so Captain Razek had to interrupt my break”
This barely soured Vinicus’ bright expression. “Perhaps I did not want to be found”, he replied. “I did my work for today, left clear instructions to my aides and made sure the books are all in order. What could be so important that Razek would call for me?” Allaryn shook his head. “It wasn’t Razek, but Princess Meria”, he sighed. “She has called for her entire council to come to the old palace. Looks like some unexpected guests have arrived”
As expected, this caught Vinicus’ interest. Perhaps it was due to his intelligence, but he was easily bored and ever curious. “Guests you say?”, he spoke, as he slowly rose from the ground. As usual, he wore several layers of grey, with his finely woven overcoat neatly folded on the stool next to him. “Come on Al, don’t leave me with that. What manner of guests?” Allaryn shrugged. “I did not recognize their sigil. Some manner of snake, I believe”
This brought a chuckle out of Vinicus. “Do you have any idea how little that narrows it down?”, he replied. “Well, it must be a truly unexpected visit, else it wouldn’t have provoked such a reaction from our princess” He pointed towards the door. “Lead the way, my friend. Alas, I was looking forward for a more pleasant afternoon, but I suppose it cannot be helped”
Allaryn could not stifle a smirk as he began to walk, the other man shortly behind him. “So you’ve told me”, he spoke. “What happened to your washing woman? She dumped you?” Vinicus hurried to catch up with him, before shaking his head, seemingly genuinely offended by the suggestion. “Of course not!”, he claimed. “But it was never my intention to hinder her duties. We had the most lovely conversation, I picked up a few tricks on how to get that blasted red dust out of my coat, meanwhile I lent her a hand and she lent me an ear”
“Is that why you kept the court waiting?”, Allaryn asked. “I thought I’d find you rolling in the hay with that girl and if she’s as pretty as you claimed I wouldn’t have grudged you. But had I not found you, Captain Razek would have taken your head and my balls and all for… for what, a nice, long chat and some washing duties?”
Vinicus shrugged. “And how was I supposed to know we were getting unexpected guests? That’s kind of the point of them, isn’t it?”, he replied. “Though to answer your question, it wasn’t just a nice, long chat. That girl is brighter than most highborn ladies here at court and without having ever received a formal education. Such brilliance caught my eye. Over in Braavos, my adopted father wouldn’t have squandered her talents as our dear princess does”
Allaryn narrowed his eyes. “And that is really all there is to it?”, he spoke. “Vinic of the Silver Tongue charms a pretty lass to spend an entire afternoon with him and all he wants to do is talk?” Now, Vinicus’ expression grew slightly apologetic. “I must admit, she likely had a similar impression. Perhaps she was disappointed even”, he sighed. “Now, don’t get me wrong, had that afternoon ended in intercourse then I wouldn’t have complained, but that was not my intention. I really just wanted to see what she’s capable of. My enemies at court have recently gained some new supporters among the staff and I want more good people on my side”
“Your enemies… such as?”, Allaryn asked, as they left the shaded part of the third ring. The sun immediately burned down on them and both men instinctively quickened their pace to reach the shelter of the second ring, which was almost entirely in the shadow of the old palace. Vinicus glanced around for a second, as if he wanted to make sure they were truly alone. “Chief among them Landon Jordayne”, he admitted. “Rumour has it he has charmed Bronwen Dalt into his chambers”
“Meria’s handmaiden”, Allaryn mumbled, having faintly recognized the name. He knew of the rivalry between Vinic and Ser Landon, who served the princess as master of law, but to hear him so openly addressed as his friend’s enemy was still a surprise to him. “She’s a valuable source of information and of high birth as well, no matter how impoverished her family has become as of late. So, I need to improve my connections at court in return. Landon wishes to make allies among the high courtiers, whereas I rather tend to those he’d overlook. Bright sparks among the smallfolk, people who can turn the tide if he makes his move against me” Something about this comment sounded wrong and Allaryn immediately caught up on it. “Wait a second…”, he growled. “Am I one of those bright sparks as well?” Vinicus shot him a bright smile, followed by a genuine laugh. “You, Allaryn, are my friend”, he claimed and as always, he seemed honest enough. “I won’t drag you into my feud with Jordayne. He’s too dangerous a man to cross”
By now, they had reached the old palace, ironically not the oldest structure in Sunspear. Allaryn considered it the most beautiful part of House Martell’s seat, however. It was a large, round building, with a wide, open entrance, built in the fashion of the Rhoynar, with two towers, the slender Spear Tower, itself the highest structure this side of the red mountains, as well as the great, domed Tower of the Sun, wider and shorter than the Spear Tower, where the princess was holding court.
With quick steps, the two men walked through the large door that led into the sun-flooded inner hallway of the old palace. Instead of walls, this part of the building was resting on columns, with openings in the roof allowing for several small, inner courtyards, where nobility and servants alike often came for pleasant strolls. Their way, however, led them past these openings and deeper into the palace, towards the huge doors of the Tower of the Sun, with its dome of gold and leaded glass.
Four of Razek’s men stood guard in front of the throne room. One of them, a sergeant whom Allaryn was barely acquainted with and whose name escaped him at the moment, moved in to stop the two from approaching a court already in session, but he recognized Vinicus by his attire and red hair. Immediately, he stepped to the side, giving the master of coin a respectful nod, while two of his men pushed the door open, revealing Princess Meria’s throne room behind it.
It had become rare for the princess to hold court in her age and usually it was her son and heir Prince Nymor who did it in her stead. That being said, Nymor was an old man himself and of far poorer health than his mother and in recent times, he had sometimes excused himself, with his daughter Deria leading the court sessions instead. She was a more worthy ruler than him by any definition and though Allaryn did not wish any ill upon Nymor, who seemed a mellow, pleasant person from what little he had seen of him, he could only wish that, for the good of Dorne, his rule would be brief and hers only longer for it.
Right now, however, all three living members of House Martell’s main line were sitting side by side, with Nymor by the princess’ right and Deria by her left. Even from afar, it was hard to believe that they were part of the same family, with Meria being a bloated, balding crone, her skin the colour of old leather, while Nymor was a pale, thin man roughly half her size. He was an old man already and it was unlikely he would grow even older, with some fearing, or perhaps hoping that his mother would outlive him. Deria meanwhile was often considered the most beautiful woman at court and it wasn’t just empty flattery. She was tall and lean, with her skin as dark as that of her mother, who had been from House Qorgyle, the blood of the desert running through her veins as it did through Allaryn’s.
The three Martells sat on an elevated position, while most of the courtiers were standing in the long, fairly narrow hall. They were not the only ones seated, however, for five chairs were standing in front of them, one for each member of Meria’s inner council aside for Captain Razek, who was standing firmly to the side of the podium. The first of these chairs was reserved for Maester Cliff, stocky and rotund, his red face sweating heavily even though the air was surprisingly tolerable here in the Tower of the Sun. He was leant forward, one hand clenched around a small fan which he used to cool himself. Though a Santagar by birth and therefore familiar with the heat of Dorne, Cliff had spent most of his life in Oldtown, as a ward to House Hightower and later a maester of the Citadel and therefore seemed to function better in colder climates.
To his right sat Lyonel Sand, the oldest man on Meria’s council and her longest-serving retainer, but even he was almost twenty years her junior. ‘Old Faithful’, as he was known at court, was her master of ships, a famed sailor in his youth, though his glory days were long behind him. Though his build was leaner now, he still had the look of a proud warrior to him and carried himself impeccably his posture excellent, his lean, dignified face shaven clean and his full, white hair cut short in a soldierly fashion and despite his station, he continued to wear a military uniform, complete with leather and chainmail and the tabard of House Martell on top.
Next to Lyonel, to the right side of this council, sat Absidee of Lys, Meria’s spymistress. With pale blonde hair, currently tied into a thick braid that fell down to her lap, light blue eyes and fair skin, she had all the beauty and grace of the dragonlords of old and, as Allaryn presumed, their icy, distant disposition as well. He had yet to see a genuine smile reach her lips, for they were usually curled into a sardonic smirk at best. She was a cruel and dangerous woman and Allaryn knew that Vinicus was deathly afraid of ever crossing her, so he himself was rather keeping his distance from her as well. What he had seen of her was her baffling ability to blend into the background, despite her looks and the low-cut dress she was wearing. She was a brilliant listener and much to his concern it was said that there was not a single secret in Sunspear she did not know about.
Finally, to Maester Cliff’s left, sat Landon Jordayne, the master of laws. Just like Vinicus, he was a clear oddity at court, a foreigner in looks, even if he was a trueborn member of House Jordayne. His mother, however, had been a Summer Islander, a trader according to some rumours Allaryn had heard, a princess according to others. From her, Landon had inherited skin of a tone much darker than what was common even in the deserts of Dorne. In contrast, his short, frizzy hair was dyed golden in the fashion of the Tyroshi, the same went for the thick moustache that covered his upper lip all the way up to his nose. A long, thin scar ran across his left cheek, a minor blemish on an otherwise well-sculpted face. He was slouching, leaning against the back of his chair as the two men entered, yet despite this seeming disinterest, his small, dark eyes constantly darted across the room, the look within them not matching the bright smile on his face.
Even that smile wavered for a second as he spotted Vinicus across the crowded hall. There were hundreds of attendants and onlookers present, most of them separated from the centre of the hall and the podium of the princess by Captain Razek’s guards. Still, people were talking, whispering to each other and the sheer amount of their whispers was enough to drown out Allaryn’s steps, as he led Vinicus through the crowd towards his friends’ empty chair by Ser Lyonel’s side.
The centre of the hall, as he could see clearly now, had been taken over by roughly a dozen soldiers, the same he had seen earlier. Their uniforms were plain and stained with sand and dirt, clearly none of them had taken the time to change from their travelling attire. Two soldiers carried banners with them, a black snake on a field of yellow, wrapped around a man’s leg, ready to dig its fangs in it.
The soldiers were gathered around two people, a man and a woman, siblings if Allaryn had to guess. The man seemed the slightly older of the two, a huge guy, whose head seemed a little too small for his massive upper body and his impressive arms. He was clean-shaven, with a handsome face and a head full of blonde hair, cut like a bowl. The woman was almost two heads shorter than her apparent brother, though given his size this still placed her at average height, with a lean, toned build and blonde hair that was tied into several tight ropes, combed back and falling down to her shoulders. She would have been a beauty if not for the stark, intense look on her face, her piercing, amber eyes staring daggers at the surrounding courtiers. This stood in stark contrast to her brother, who had a simple, friendly smile on his face. Where he was unarmed, like the rest of their entourage, the woman carried a curved sabre that was common among the desert-folk of Dorne. One hand rested on the hilt of the weapon, the other was clenched around a small burlap sack she carried with her. This sack was dirty, with old, dry blood staining its bottom and even though it was closed, Allaryn noticed an unmistakable, rotten smell coming from it. “See?”, he mumbled, as they made their way past Meria’s courtiers. “Snakes”
Vinicus stifled a calm chuckle. “If that one were to bite me, I wouldn’t complain”, he whispered, his gaze fixed on the woman. “That banner belongs to House Wyl, vassals to the Yronwoods. I’ve never met their lord in person, but he has an ill reputation” As he spoke, his smile grew thinner, before it finally faded. “They call him the Widow-lover, but don’t ask me why. He and Urrigon Uller are probably the most dangerous men in Dorne right now”
“I thought you’d count Jordayne among those”, Allaryn added, glancing at the master of laws, who hadn’t let them out of his sight the moment he had seen the two entering the hall. Though he couldn’t possibly hear them over the sound of dozens of whispers, Allaryn made sure to speak as quiet as possible. Vinicus shook his head. “Even I would not doubt his loyalty to Dorne. That alone makes him less dangerous than the Widow-lover or Urrigon Witch-Groom”
Just then, Princess Meria looked right at them, her eyes blindly staring through the crowd and yet, Allaryn knew at once that she had heard them. Though the princess was under the assumption that her hearing was slowly failing her as well, it was still the sharpest of her senses and well above that of most of her courtiers. A wide grin formed on her face. “Do I hear Vinicus at last?”, she proclaimed, her voice alone silencing the crowd. “We’ve been waiting for you, dear!”
Vinicus had enough decency to blush, as hundreds of courtiers suddenly looked right at him. Under mumbled excuses, he pushed himself through the crowd, while Allaryn took another path, walking past the guards and towards Captain Razek, who gave him a firm, approving nod. Quietly, he took position next to his commanding officer, content to watch this situation unfold. “Apologies, my princess, word reached me only now”, Vinicus spoke up. “But I came as soon as I could. May I ask what this is about?”
Meria gave him a wide, toothless smile. “Of course!”, she exclaimed and Allaryn knew that she had something planned for him. “Why don’t we hear it from our guests of honour?” With these words, she gave the massive blonde man a nod. He took a step forwards and though his smile remained, he suddenly seemed deeply uncomfortable with the attention he received. “I… of course”, he began, his voice deep and pleasant, but slightly shaky. “I am Walter Wyl, second son of Lord Wylis Wyl. This is my younger sister Wendy. We, uh… our lord father has sent us to Sunspear, because…”
He paused again, giving the younger woman a brief glance. She visibly rolled her eyes, before walking up right next to her brother. “We brought you a gift”, she hissed, as she tossed the burlap sack onto the ground in front of the council. It slightly opened during its fall, revealing a rotten stench. Though Allaryn stood too far away to peek into it, he had a good idea just what this could be.
A disgusted expression appeared on Vinicus’ face, one that matched that on Maester Cliff’s face. Landon Jordayne seemed more intrigued, if anything, his gaze fixed on the Wyls instead of the sack, while Lyonel Sand and Lady Absidee kept their composure as always. To Allaryn’s left, Prince Nymor covered his lower face with a powdered handkerchief, though both the old princess and the young showed no reaction at all. If anything, Meria’s smile only widened. “Is this what I think it might be, girl?”, she asked.
“Yes, my princess”, Wendy Wyl confirmed. “This is the head of Cage Bridger, who has led this incursion against you. He and a few of his fellow Sandstorm rebels walked into one of our ambushes near Yronwood and our warriors butchered them. This one seemed to be their leader, so we took him in for questioning” Her severe expression hardened only further and while her brother seemed delighted to be in the presence of the princess, she spoke in a quiet, almost bored tone.
“At first he didn’t want to talk, not even after I took his eyes”, she continued and her voice gained only mildly in intensity. “But when I threatened to get our lord father involved, he began to sing” This got a chuckle out of Meria. “Smart of him”, she replied. “Let me guess, he claimed to be Cage Bridger, so you executed him, thinking that’d be the end of the Sandstorm”
While her brother seemed about to nod, Wendy shook her head with determination. “Of course not, my princess!”, she proclaimed. “We still brought him to our lord father. He lasted a full week in the dungeons of Wyl and throughout that time, he sang a lovely song for us, containing a lot of information about the Sandstorm throughout all of Dorne. After Bridger expired, our lord father sent us here to share it with you”
“With a rotten head”, Landon Jordayne interjected, earning himself a glare from the young woman. “It was freshly cut when we left Wyl”, she hissed. “Salted and dried to make it last longer, but alas, the desert takes its toll. Still, our lord father hopes that his features have remained recognizable to some of you, enough for his identity to be confirmed”
Heavily, Meria leant forwards in her chair. “Vinicus, dear!”, she exclaimed and the master of coin glanced over his shoulder at her. “Yes, my princess?”, he asked, but Allaryn could see his smile wavering as he spotted the expression on Meria’s face. “Why don’t you check on the contents of Lord Wylis’ gift?”, she replied and Vinicus frowned. “My princess…?”, he repeated, in the faint hope that she would change her mind. “I don’t think you can do that from your seat”, she added. “Come on, don’t be shy. Contrary to what you might have hoped for earlier, I am certain Lady Wendy won’t bite”
Allaryn could not suppress a chuckle, both at Vinicus’ clear embarrassment and at Wendy’s confusion. Reluctantly, the master of coin rose from his seat, as he approached the bloodied sack. The stench grew only stronger as he picked it up and though Allaryn was familiar with it, the same could not be said for some of the nobles at court. He could see a range of disgusted expressions, especially among the courtiers who had never seen blood before. But after all those years, he himself had gotten so used to it he barely even noticed the stench anymore.
With visible disgust Vinicus reached for the sack, opening it a little more, before pulling the severed head out by what remained of his hair. From afar, Allaryn could only see that the man who had claimed to be Cage Bridger used to be bearded and dark-haired, but that was about it. “Gods…”, Vinicus mumbled, shooting a downright horrified look into Wendy Wyl’s direction. “What did your father do to him?” Wendy shrugged. “The man wasn’t a looker to begin with, but father still spared his face… most of it at least”, she replied. “If you were to open the mouth though, you’d see that…”
“No!”, Vinicus was quick to cut her off. “Not going to do that” He glanced back at the princess and the council. “It’s a severed head. Rot has claimed what little features the Widow-lover hasn’t taken already” Though the name sounded like an insult, Wendy and her soldiers did not react. If anything, Walter Wyl’s friendly smile widened. A few feet in front of Allaryn, Landon Jordayne was chuckling to himself at his rival’s misfortune, to Vinicus’ clear anger.
“What are you laughing at, Jordayne?”, he hissed, as he walked over to him, still holding the severed head. “Why don’t you take a closer look as well?” With these words, he dropped the head into Jordayne’s lap and the man gasped audibly. “Seven hells, Flowers!”, he barked and despite his usual composure, he was clearly about to jump up. “Do you have any idea how expensive that robe is?”
“What’s the matter, Jordayne?”, Vinicus asked, his confidence returning now that he was slowly regaining control of the situation. “I thought you brought Cage Bridger in already… two times, wasn’t it?” The old princess gave him a firm nod as she heard this. “You know, Landon, he has a point”, she admitted. “You were so sure you got him last time, you even convinced me to throw you a parade. Three days of festivities and you were… Deria, dear, how did you describe him?”
“He was strutting around like a peacock in heat, grandmother”, the young princess replied nonchalantly. While her father tried to be as quiet as humanly possible, she seemed to enjoy this scene, as evidenced by her shameless grin. “Tell us, Ser Landon, how many times do we have to kill Cage Bridger before we are rid of this menace?”
Jordayne’s expression was one of carefully controlled anger. “My princess, I may have failed to catch Bridger in the past, but this…”, he spoke, as he pushed the head away from him and onto the ground. “This isn’t him either. Bridger has a beard, yes, but my sources have also described him as bald. I don’t know whom you have brought me, but considering that not even I managed to catch Bridger so far, I doubt you’ve just stumbled upon the man himself. I’m afraid you travelled all this way for nothing”
“Father got the truth out of him”, Walter Wyl claimed and for a second he seemed genuinely offended by Jordayne’s implication. The master of law shook his head. “Bridger’s men are fanatically devoted to him”, he replied. “They won’t break, even under torture. In fact, they misled me in the past” To this, the young Wyl only shrugged. “Father got the truth out of him”, he repeated. “Perhaps not his name, but we weren’t sent here just to deliver his head. No, in the end he told us what we wanted to know. Their numbers. Their hideouts. Their allies”
Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest thing to discuss this in public, but truth be told, this man did not seem particularly bright. The courtiers all around him began to whisper, to Landon Jordayne’s clear dismay. He glanced over his shoulder at the old princess and then at the young, who gave him a barely notable nod. “If we are to have this conversation, I first need to verify your claims”, he then continued. “What allies are we talking about here?”
It was a straightforward question, yet it clearly caught Walter off guard. He glanced at his sister, who rolled her eyes. “Outlaws, mostly”, she replied. “But it seems that he is gathering an army of them. The man we thought to be Bridger was caught while trying to negotiate with men belonging to the Desert Fog. That name means anything to you?”
Allaryn’s eyes widened as he heard this and he had to pull himself together so that nobody would notice his sudden shock. He was quite familiar with that name and, it seemed, so was Landon Jordayne. “A common outlaw”, he mumbled. “I heard he is quite cunning, but nothing out of the ordinary. Men like him can be found in abundance in the desert and the Red Mountains”
“And yet, our lord father believes that the Desert Fog has sworn allegiance to Cage Bridger already”, Wendy countered, to Allaryn’s growing discomfort. He hadn’t heard that name in years and preferred it that way, so the mere mention was enough to make him nervous. “The Widow-lover is right to be concerned about an alliance between Dorne’s enemies”, Princess Meria admitted. “But this is quite enough for this public gathering. We shall discuss this behind closed doors. Be assured, I have always taken your father’s concerns seriously. The crown will take appropriate measures”
In this moment, the doors to the hall got pushed open and immediately, people began to murmur to each other. Allaryn, who stood at the other end of the hall, as far away from the door as possible, had trouble seeing who had just entered, but quickly, the courtiers moved to the side, as a soldier hurried towards the throne, past the Wyl men-at-arms. He was unarmed, which was likely the only reason Captain Razek and his men let him get this far, but a few feet before he reached the council, three castle guardsmen intervened. The man was one of the Sun Cloaks, Landon Jordayne’s peacekeepers, as evidenced by his unmistakably bright cloak, though his face was covered in soot, dirt and sweat. “My princess!”, he exclaimed, while Razek’s men held him back. “Ser Emilian calls for aid! The Sun Cloaks need help!”
“At ease, soldier!”, Razek snarled, his voice cutting above the murmuring that had erupted in the hall. “What has riled you up?” The Sun Cloak took a deep breath, only just now realizing that he had barged into court like this. His eyes widened, as the guardsmen let go of him. “Forgive me…”, he mumbled. “But the shadow city is burning. The fire has spread and Ser Emilian needs more men before it grows beyond control”
Immediately, he had the attention of the entire council. Prince Nymor whispered something to his mother, while Absidee of Lys, an unusual look of concern on her face, rose from her seat to leave the room without another word, silently accompanied by one of Razek’s guards. “This must not happen!”, Ser Lyonel proclaimed. “My princess, I implore you, send Captain Razek and his men to aid the city!”
“I shall accompany them!”, Vinicus offered, to which the old princess immediately shook her head. “No!”, she barked. “The council will remain here, protected by Captain Razek and his men. But I will not leave the shadow city unprotected. You will lead thirty men to Ser Emilian’s position, where they shall aid his efforts”
Thirty men was a generous offer, for it would deprive Razek’s guard of nearly a third of its standing members. Allaryn was not the only one who immediately realized the flaw in her decree. Razek himself tensed up as he heard those words. “It would leave the keep vulnerable”, he mumbled, loud enough for the princess to hear him, though Allaryn knew that the rest of the court was none the wiser. “This could be a ploy from our enemies”
“That’s why two thirds of your men will remain”, Meria reminded him. “If seventy soldiers are not enough to thwart any attempt on my life our enemies might have planned, then perhaps they deserve a victory. But regardless, I will not doom the shadow city to a fiery death” Allaryn knew as well as Razek that arguing with the old princess was futile. As such, he remained quiet as the Unsullied gave in. “Fine”, Razek growled. “But I will remain here!”
“I trust that you will send suitable aid to Ser Emilian and the Sun Cloaks”, Meria replied. Already, many courtiers were leaving, hurrying to their rooms or perhaps to their loved ones outside of the keep, while the council, save for Absidee of Lys, as well as the Wyl siblings and their men remained in the room. From afar, Allaryn could now hear bells from the shadow city, as the Sun Cloaks were calling for aid. “You did well with finding Flowers”, Captain Razek spoke up towards Allaryn and it was rare praise from him. “Thank you, captain”, he replied, followed by a brief, but firm salute. “How may I aid you now? Do you want me with the council or with the Sun Cloaks?”
Razek thought about this for a second. “You are a fine soldier, Allaryn”, he spoke. “Loyal and reliable despite your shortcomings. I have use for a man of your talents by my side, but at the same time Ser Emilian will surely appreciate your aid as well…” He narrowed his eyes, briefly mustering Allaryn from head to toe. “Why don’t you choose, soldier? You have done well today and have earned a chance to prove yourself. If you stay here, protect the council as my second. If you go, then you shall aid Ser Emilian in my stead”
[Protect the council] [Aid the Sun Cloaks]