The Dothraki camp had materialized on the grasslands with the sort of practiced efficiency that spoke of decades of experience in creating temporary civilizations wherever the khalasar chose to rest. While Haerion and Varro had been conducting their diplomatic negotiations with the Pentoshi delegation, three thousand warriors and their families had transformed the empty plains into a bustling settlement of felt tents, horse lines, and cooking fires that stretched across the landscape like a nomadic city given temporary form.
"*Impressive,*" Haerion observed as they approached the camp's perimeter, his enhanced vision taking in details that spoke of sophisticated organization beneath what might appear to outsiders as mere organized chaos. The crimson and gold of his armor caught the afternoon light as he moved with that unconscious grace that had become natural to him over months of training and enhancement. "*They've essentially built a functioning city in the time it took us to have a conversation with nervous magisters. No wonder the Free Cities find you people so... persistently challenging to deal with.*"
Varro's weathered face showed what might have been pride as he surveyed the familiar sight of his people creating order from necessity with movements honed by generations of practice. "*The grass sea teaches efficiency, Dragonlord. When your home must be rebuilt every time you choose to move, you learn to make every action count. No wasted effort, no unnecessary complications.*"
The camp's layout revealed tactical thinking that went far beyond simple convenience—horse lines positioned for rapid mounting and departure, warriors' tents arranged to facilitate quick assembly into combat formations, and children's areas placed in positions offering maximum protection while maintaining easy evacuation routes. This wasn't just a place to rest; it was a military installation that could transform into a mobile army within minutes if circumstances demanded.
"*Your bloodriders have been busy,*" Haerion noted as they passed groups of warriors who bowed respectfully to their former khal while studying the new Dragonlord with expressions ranging from curious assessment to carefully concealed awe. The massive presence of Aegerax circling overhead ensured that everyone in the camp was acutely aware that their circumstances had changed in fundamental ways that would require significant adjustment.
"*They understand the importance of preparation,*" Varro replied with the sort of understated pride that came from working with competent professionals who anticipated needs without requiring detailed instructions. "*Jhaqo has organized the defensive perimeter, Qhono has established communication networks with our outriders, and Cohollo has been consulting with our most experienced siege specialists about Pentoshi fortifications.*"
At the camp's center stood a tent that was clearly the command pavilion—larger than the others, constructed from the finest materials available, and positioned to offer optimal visibility of the surrounding terrain while providing protection from both weather and potential threats. As they approached, Haerion could hear voices engaged in the sort of intense technical discussion that suggested military planning was already well underway.
"*Dragonlord! Khal!*" called Jhaqo as they entered the pavilion, the massive warrior rising from where he'd been studying what appeared to be a detailed map of Pentos spread across a low table. His scarred features showed the sort of focused intensity that came from approaching complex problems with the systematic methodology of someone whose tactical mistakes tended to have permanent consequences.
The interior of the command tent revealed the sort of professional military installation that most people never associated with nomadic cultures. Maps covered every available surface, detailed reconnaissance reports were organized in careful stacks, and weapons of exceptional quality hung from specially constructed racks. This wasn't the headquarters of simple raiders—this was a sophisticated military operation run by people who understood that successful warfare required far more than courage and sharp steel.
"*We've been analyzing the situation,*" continued Qhono from where he knelt beside the central map, his lean frame and quick movements giving him the appearance of barely contained energy waiting for direction. His finger traced the walls of Pentos with the sort of professional assessment that spoke of extensive experience in evaluating urban fortifications. "*The magisters' response to your... generous offer... may depend significantly on their understanding of what resistance would actually entail.*"
Haerion settled onto one of the low cushions arranged around the map table with fluid grace, his armor adjusting automatically to provide comfort while maintaining protection. The sight of a legend in crimson and gold casually joining their tactical planning session seemed to energize the Dothraki commanders in ways that suggested they were beginning to appreciate the scope of what serving this man might entail.
"*Right then,*" he said with the sort of cheerful interest that suggested he found military planning genuinely entertaining, "*let's hear your professional assessment. What exactly would reducing Pentos to rubble actually involve, from a practical standpoint?*"
Cohollo, the eldest and most experienced of Varro's bloodriders, gestured toward the detailed map with the sort of methodical precision that came from decades of turning theoretical planning into battlefield reality. "*Pentos is well-fortified by Free Cities standards,*" he began, his gruff voice carrying the authority of someone whose tactical advice had proven accurate in dozens of previous campaigns. "*Thirty-foot walls of dressed stone, reinforced gates with multiple defensive positions, and enough stored supplies to withstand a conventional siege for several months.*"
His finger moved across the map, indicating specific features with the sort of casual expertise that made complex fortifications seem like comprehensible puzzles waiting to be solved through proper application of force and intelligence.
"*The harbor fortifications are particularly impressive,*" added Rakharo, the youngest but arguably most innovative of the group, his battle-scarred features showing the sort of analytical intensity that suggested he'd spent considerable time thinking about urban warfare from perspectives most Dothraki never considered. "*Chain barriers, defensive towers, artillery positions designed to sink any hostile fleet before it can effectively assault the waterfront districts.*"
"*Traditional siege approaches would be... challenging,*" Aggo observed with the sort of diplomatic understatement that suggested 'challenging' was being used as a polite synonym for 'suicidal.' His reputation with bow and blade was legendary even among a brotherhood of exceptional warriors, but his expression showed the sort of professional respect for well-designed defenses that came from understanding exactly how much blood conventional assaults would cost. "*Even with our full strength committed, casualties would be severe and success uncertain.*"
Haerion nodded thoughtfully as he studied the map, his enhanced vision allowing him to process tactical details with the sort of systematic precision that his companions were beginning to recognize as characteristic of his approach to complex problems. When he spoke, his cultured voice carried the sort of analytical interest that suggested he was treating this as an intellectually stimulating exercise rather than a planning session for potential mass destruction.
"*Fortunately,*" he said with a smile that was equal parts charming and absolutely terrifying, "*we're not planning a traditional siege. Aegerax tends to make conventional defensive strategies rather... irrelevant.*"
*Indeed I do,* came the dragon's amused mental response, his thoughts carrying that distinctive combination of sophisticated intelligence and barely restrained enthusiasm for demonstrating superior capabilities. *Walls that can stop armies are merely interesting architectural features when faced with a creature that can fly over them while breathing fire hot enough to melt stone.*
"*The question isn't whether we can take Pentos,*" Haerion continued, his emerald eyes reflecting the afternoon light streaming through the tent's opening, "*but how we can do so in a way that maximizes educational impact while minimizing harm to people who don't deserve to suffer for their leaders' moral failings.*"
The Dothraki commanders exchanged glances that suggested they were rapidly revising their understanding of what 'conquest' meant when dragons were involved in the strategic calculation.
"*Educational impact, Dragonlord?*" Varro asked with the sort of careful curiosity that came from recognizing when conversations were moving into territory that might require significant adjustments to traditional approaches.
"*Oh yes,*" Haerion replied with genuine enthusiasm, leaning forward to examine the city's layout with the sort of focused attention that suggested he was already visualizing the practical details of implementation. "*The point of this exercise isn't just to force Pentos to abandon slavery—though that is certainly the immediate objective. The point is to send a message to every other Free City, every slaving operation from here to Slaver's Bay, and every potentate who thinks human trafficking is an acceptable way to generate revenue.*"
His finger traced the walls of Pentos with movements that were almost caressing in their precision.
"*I want them to understand that the age when such practices could continue without consequence is over,*" he continued, his voice taking on the sort of quiet intensity that made it clear certain moral boundaries would be defended with whatever force proved necessary. "*I want stories to spread. I want people to whisper about the day a Dragonlord descended from legend to burn the slave markets while leaving the innocent untouched. I want every slaver from here to Yi Ti to wake up in cold sweats wondering if they're next.*"
*Psychological warfare on a civilizational scale,* Aegerax observed with genuine admiration. *I approve. Much more elegant than simple destruction, and considerably more effective in the long term.*
"*So the question becomes,*" Haerion continued, his tactical mind visibly working through possibilities and implications, "*how do we make the point with maximum dramatic impact while ensuring that ordinary citizens—people who may disapprove of slavery but lack the power to change established systems—are protected from the consequences of their leaders' choices?*"
Jhaqo studied the map with the sort of professional interest that suggested he was beginning to appreciate the complexity of what they were attempting. "*Selective destruction,*" he mused, his deep voice carrying growing understanding. "*Target the infrastructure of slavery while preserving the infrastructure of legitimate commerce and daily life.*"
"*Precisely,*" Haerion agreed with obvious satisfaction. "*The slave markets burn. The holding pens are destroyed. The auction blocks are reduced to rubble. But the temples, the libraries, the workshops where honest craftsmen make honest livings—those remain untouched. We demonstrate overwhelming power while showing discriminating judgment about how that power is applied.*"
"*The magisters' district,*" Qhono said thoughtfully, his lean finger indicating the wealthy quarter where Pentos's ruling class maintained their elaborate residences. "*Most of the major slave traders live there. If they refuse your ultimatum...*"
"*Then they face the consequences of their choice,*" Haerion replied with the sort of matter-of-fact certainty that made it clear he considered this a natural law rather than a moral judgment. "*Though I should clarify—I'm not interested in massacre for its own sake. Anyone who agrees to immediate manumission of their slaves and permanent cessation of slave trading activities will be allowed to live. It's only the ones who insist on fighting to preserve their human property who will need to be... permanently discouraged.*"
Cohollo's weathered features showed what might have been approval as he worked through the tactical implications. "*Psychological pressure combined with genuine consequences for resistance. Force them to choose between profit and survival, with enough examples of failed resistance to make the choice clear.*"
"*And for those who prove reasonable about accepting changed circumstances,*" Varro added with growing understanding, "*there are opportunities for them to redirect their commercial expertise toward enterprises that don't require owning other human beings.*"
"*Exactly,*" Haerion confirmed, his expression showing genuine pleasure at their rapid grasp of the strategic thinking involved. "*I'm not opposed to people being wealthy or successful—I'm opposed to wealth and success that depends on brutalization of the innocent. Remove the slavery component, and many of these people could become quite useful as partners in building more ethical forms of commerce.*"
Rakharo had been studying the harbor district with particular attention, his young features showing the sort of focused concentration that suggested he was working through specific tactical challenges. "*The slave ships,*" he said suddenly, looking up from the map with obvious excitement. "*There will be dozens of them in port. Fully loaded with human cargo destined for markets across the known world.*"
"*An excellent point,*" Haerion said, his smile taking on predatory qualities that would have made sensible people reconsider their life choices. "*Those ships represent mobile slave markets that could simply relocate to other ports if we don't address them directly. Can't have that, can we?*"
"*Liberation operation,*" Aggo suggested with growing enthusiasm, his reputation for tactical innovation beginning to show as he worked through the possibilities. "*Board every slave ship simultaneously, free the cargo, sink any vessel whose crew resists. Turn Pentos harbor into a graveyard for the slave trade.*"
"*I like the way you think,*" Haerion replied with genuine approval. "*Though we should probably offer the ship crews opportunities to find alternative employment before we start sinking their vessels. Not everyone involved in objectionable enterprises is necessarily evil—some of them are just people making the best choices available to them under difficult circumstances.*"
*This is going to be magnificent,* Aegerax observed with anticipatory pleasure. *A perfectly choreographed demonstration of overwhelming force applied with surgical precision and moral clarity. The singers will be composing epics about this for centuries.*
"*The timing will be crucial,*" Varro noted as they began working through the specific sequence of operations that would be required to achieve their objectives. "*If we move too slowly, word will spread and other slave operations will have time to relocate or prepare defenses. If we move too quickly, we risk creating chaos that could harm the very people we're trying to protect.*"
"*Agreed,*" Haerion said, his tactical mind clearly racing through possibilities and contingencies with the sort of systematic precision that his companions were learning to associate with his approach to complex problems. "*We'll need multiple simultaneous operations—harbor control to prevent escapes, precision strikes on slave infrastructure, and protection details for civilian areas. All coordinated to maximize impact while minimizing collateral harm to innocents.*"
As they continued their planning, refining details and addressing potential complications, the atmosphere in the command tent began to take on the sort of focused intensity that came from professional warriors preparing for operations that would test their capabilities to the absolute limit. Maps were annotated, contingency plans were developed, and equipment requirements were calculated with the methodical precision of people whose lives depended on getting such details exactly right.
"*One more consideration,*" Haerion said as their planning session began to wind down. "*We're not just planning an assault on Pentos—we're planning the first major operation of a campaign that will eventually address slavery throughout this region. Everything we do here will influence how our next targets respond to similar ultimatums.*"
His emerald eyes, bright with violet fire and strategic calculation, swept across the faces of his new allies with the sort of measuring assessment that suggested he was evaluating their readiness for challenges that would dwarf their current undertaking.
"*Which means we need to make sure we get this right,*" he continued, his voice carrying the sort of quiet authority that commanded attention without demanding submission. "*Perfect execution, minimum innocent casualties, maximum demonstration of capability. We're not just conquering a city—we're announcing to the world that certain moral lines will be defended with whatever force proves necessary.*"
The bloodriders nodded with the sort of grim satisfaction that came from understanding that they were about to participate in something that would be remembered long after their own names had passed into legend. This wasn't just another raid or conquest—this was the opening move in a campaign that could reshape the fundamental nature of Free Cities civilization.
As the afternoon sun began its descent toward the western horizon, painting the grasslands in shades of gold and crimson that seemed to echo the colors of Haerion's magnificent armor, the final preparations began for what might prove to be either the most successful diplomatic negotiation or the most educationally destructive military operation in Pentoshi history.
In the distance, the walls of Pentos gleamed in the fading light, their stone surfaces reflecting the dying sun like the walls of a city already marked by fire. Whether that fire would be metaphorical or literal depended entirely on choices being made behind those walls by people who were about to discover that some moral absolutes could not be compromised away through negotiation or delayed through bureaucratic maneuvering.
The age of legends had returned to Essos, and with it, the recognition that power without moral foundation was merely tyranny waiting for someone stronger to come along and provide correction.
---
**Within the Council Chambers of Pentos**
The great council chamber of Pentos had been designed to impress through sheer overwhelming display of wealth and power—soaring marble columns that seemed to reach toward the heavens themselves, intricate mosaics that depicted the city's commercial triumphs in precious stones and gold leaf, and a ceiling painted by master artists whose work was considered priceless throughout the known world. Normally, the chamber projected an atmosphere of serene confidence in the natural order of things, where wise magisters made measured decisions that preserved prosperity and stability for generations.
Today, the magnificent chamber felt more like an elaborate tomb waiting for its occupants.
Magister Paolys Heymyn stood at the center of the horseshoe-shaped arrangement of marble benches, his usually impeccable composure showing cracks that would have been unthinkable during normal political proceedings. The purple silk of his ceremonial robes, usually a symbol of unassailable dignity, seemed to hang on his rounded frame like funeral shrouds, and his normally smooth voice carried undertones of strain that made even routine words sound like desperate pleas.
"*Honored colleagues,*" he began, his words echoing strangely in the vast space as two dozen of Pentos's most powerful magisters gave him their complete and undivided attention with the sort of focused intensity usually reserved for final pronouncements from dying relatives about inheritance arrangements. "*I bring word from our... unexpected visitor... regarding arrangements for continued protection of our fair city.*"
The delegation's hasty return from the grasslands had already generated the sort of rumors and speculation that spread through wealthy merchant communities like wildfire through dry grass, but the specific details of their conversation with the mysterious Dragonlord remained classified information that only the magisters were authorized to hear. The secrecy was considered essential—panic among the general population would serve no constructive purpose while potentially complicating whatever diplomatic solutions might prove necessary.
Magister Nestor Mazzaro, perhaps the most pragmatic voice among the ruling council, leaned forward with the sort of careful attention that suggested he suspected the news was going to require significant revision of their collective understanding of current political realities. His pale eyes, legendary for their ability to spot profitable opportunities in even the most challenging circumstances, studied Paolys's face with the sort of analytical precision that had made him wealthy beyond the dreams of most mortals.
"*Let us hear these terms,*" he said with the sort of measured formality that was designed to project calm leadership while everyone present tried to process the morning's unprecedented developments. "*I assume our draconic protector has expressed specific requirements for his continued... services?*"
"*Indeed he has,*" Paolys replied, and something in his tone made several magisters shift uncomfortably in their marble seats. "*Though I fear his requirements may prove rather more... comprehensive than traditional protection arrangements would typically demand.*"
The silence that followed this ominous introduction was the sort that suggested everyone present was bracing for information they strongly suspected they would not enjoy receiving.
"*The Dragonlord—Haerion Peverell, last heir of Old Valyria—has indicated that continued protection of Pentos will require immediate and permanent cessation of all slave commerce within our city,*" Paolys continued with the sort of clinical precision usually reserved for reporting casualty figures from military disasters. "*All current slaves must be freed today, all slave markets must be closed permanently, and all participation in regional slave trading must end immediately.*"
The explosion of outraged voices that greeted this announcement would have been audible from the harbor district, as two dozen of the most powerful men in the Free Cities simultaneously attempted to express their incredulous objection to proposals that seemed to challenge the fundamental nature of reality itself.
"*Preposterous!*" bellowed Magister Qarro Lysander, whose family's slave trading operations had been foundational to Pentoshi commerce for eight generations. His corpulent frame shook with indignation as he struggled to process information that seemed to threaten everything he'd ever understood about the natural order of commerce and civilization. "*The economic disruption alone would destroy half the businesses in the city! You cannot simply eliminate an entire sector of commerce without causing catastrophic social upheaval!*"
"*The regional implications would be staggering,*" added Magister Syrio Qoheros, his lean features showing the sort of calculating precision that had made him legendary among commodity traders throughout the eastern continent. "*Pentos serves as a critical hub in the slave networks connecting Slaver's Bay to the western markets. Our withdrawal from such arrangements would create supply disruptions affecting dozens of cities and hundreds of commercial relationships.*"
Magister Nestor's voice cut through the chaos with the sort of calm authority that commanded attention even in crisis situations where panic was beginning to seem like a reasonable response to impossible circumstances. "*What exactly did you tell him, Paolys? What was your response to these... demands?*"
"*I attempted to explain the complex economic realities that make such rapid transitions impractical,*" Paolys replied with the sort of defensive tone that suggested he already knew his diplomatic efforts had been insufficient to the magnitude of the challenge they were facing. "*I pointed out that slave commerce forms the cornerstone of Free Cities prosperity, and that abandoning such arrangements would require restructuring our entire civilization in ways that might prove catastrophically destabilizing.*"
"*And his response?*" prompted Magister Belicho Staedmon, whose banking operations had financed slave trading ventures throughout the known world and whose personal wealth was directly tied to the continuation of current commercial practices.
Paolys was quiet for a moment, his expression showing the sort of strain that came from being required to report conversations that challenged every assumption about how rational people conducted negotiations regarding mutually beneficial arrangements.
"*He seemed to find our concerns... academically interesting,*" Paolys said finally. "*He observed that we had essentially admitted our society was so morally bankrupt that it could not survive without systematic oppression, and suggested that such an admission was hardly a compelling argument for preservation of existing arrangements.*"
The silence that followed this report was even more profound than the initial outburst, as the assembled magisters began to process the implications of dealing with someone whose moral reasoning operated from fundamentally different premises than those that governed normal commercial and political negotiations.
"*Morally bankrupt?*" repeated Magister Valarr, his voice carrying the sort of outraged incredulity that suggested he was personally offended by the implication that established business practices might be subject to ethical evaluation by outsiders with insufficient understanding of complex economic realities. "*We are discussing commerce, not philosophy! Trade relationships that have been profitable and stable for centuries cannot simply be abandoned because one man with a dragon has developed peculiar sensitivities about traditional labor arrangements!*"
"*I fear,*" Paolys continued with obvious reluctance, "*that philosophical considerations may prove rather more relevant to our current circumstances than commercial precedent. The Dragonlord appeared remarkably uninterested in negotiating compromises or discussing transitional arrangements. His position was stated as an ultimatum rather than an opening negotiating position.*"
"*Ultimatum?*" Magister Nestor's pale eyes had taken on the sort of sharp focus that suggested he was beginning to appreciate that their morning's complications might involve rather more serious consequences than diplomatic embarrassment and temporary revenue disruption.
"*Pentos has until sunset today to choose between abolishing slavery completely or facing military action tomorrow morning,*" Paolys said with the sort of flat certainty that made it clear he was reporting facts rather than expressing opinions about their strategic options. "*All slaves freed, all markets closed, all trafficking ended. No delays, no partial compliance, no negotiated accommodations.*"
The chamber erupted again, but this time the voices carried notes of genuine alarm rather than mere outraged principle. The prospect of facing a dragon in active combat was the sort of consideration that tended to focus attention wonderfully on practical realities that mere moral arguments might not adequately address.
"*Military action,*" Magister Belicho said slowly, his banking experience having provided him with extensive knowledge of what military solutions typically cost in both blood and treasure. "*Against a creature that could presumably reduce our walls to rubble and our harbor to ash? The economic implications of such a conflict would be... severe.*"
"*The implications of yielding to such demands would be equally severe,*" pointed out Magister Qarro, though his tone carried less certainty than his words suggested. "*If we abandon slave commerce, our revenue streams will be so dramatically reduced that maintaining our current standard of living becomes impossible. Half the businesses in the city depend directly or indirectly on slave-related commerce. Our entire financial infrastructure is built around facilitating such trade.*"
"*But if we resist and lose,*" added Magister Syrio with the sort of grim practicality that came from understanding that some risks were too large to be acceptable regardless of potential rewards, "*we'll have no city left to worry about rebuilding. Dragons are not known for their restraint when facing opposition to their will.*"
Magister Nestor had been quiet during the debate, his calculating mind clearly working through scenarios and implications with the sort of systematic analysis that had made him wealthy beyond the dreams of most mortals. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the sort of measured authority that suggested he was reaching conclusions based on careful evaluation of available information rather than emotional response to challenging circumstances.
"*Has anyone else considered,*" he said with deliberate precision, "*that this ultimatum may represent something more significant than simple extortion by an unusually well-armed individual?*"
The question hung in the air with the sort of weight that suggested important implications were about to be revealed to people who might not be prepared to handle them appropriately.
"*Explain,*" prompted Magister Belicho, his experience with complex financial arrangements having taught him to pay careful attention when Nestor's analytical mind identified patterns that others might have missed.
"*The man claims to be the last heir of Old Valyria,*" Nestor continued, his pale eyes moving across the faces of his colleagues with the sort of measuring assessment that suggested he was evaluating their readiness for information that might prove uncomfortable to contemplate. "*He commands a dragon of unprecedented size and apparent intelligence. He has emerged from the ruins of the Doom itself, armed with weapons and armor that exceed anything in our current understanding of what is possible.*"
Nestor paused, allowing his colleagues to process the implications before continuing with the sort of methodical presentation that had made his counsel valuable in countless previous crises.
"*And his first action upon returning to the world is to demand the immediate abolition of slavery across the Free Cities,*" he said with growing emphasis. "*Not tribute. Not territorial concessions. Not trade advantages or commercial privileges. The elimination of human trafficking, with consequences delivered personally by dragonfire for anyone who refuses compliance.*"
"*Your point being?*" asked Magister Valarr, though his tone suggested he was beginning to suspect he might not appreciate whatever conclusion Nestor was approaching.
"*My point being that we may not be dealing with a conqueror or an extortionist,*" Nestor replied with the sort of quiet certainty that made his words carry more weight than loud proclamations would have managed. "*We may be dealing with someone who genuinely considers slave commerce to be morally unacceptable and has acquired the means to enforce his moral convictions across an entire continent.*"
The silence that followed this observation was the sort that suggested everyone present was simultaneously trying to process information that challenged fundamental assumptions about how power was typically exercised in their world.
"*Which means,*" continued Nestor relentlessly, "*that traditional diplomatic solutions—negotiation, compromise, delay, misdirection—are likely to prove ineffective. You cannot negotiate with someone whose position is based on absolute moral conviction rather than practical considerations of mutual benefit.*"
"*So what do you suggest?*" asked Magister Paolys, his voice carrying the sort of strained desperation that came from recognizing that his diplomatic expertise was proving inadequate to address challenges that existed outside normal parameters of political negotiation.
Nestor was quiet for a long moment, his pale eyes distant as he worked through calculations that probably involved factors no one else in the chamber had considered relevant to their current situation.
"*I suggest,*" he said finally, "*that we seriously consider compliance with his demands.*"
The eruption of outraged voices that greeted this suggestion would have been audible from the Dothraki camp, as two dozen of the most powerful men in the eastern continent attempted to express their collective rejection of proposals that seemed to threaten everything they'd spent their lives building.
"*Compliance?*" Magister Qarro's voice cracked with strain as he struggled to articulate objections to something that seemed to violate every principle of sensible commercial policy. "*Abandon our most profitable enterprises because one man with a dragon disapproves of traditional business practices? Surrender the foundation of our economy to satisfy the peculiar moral sensitivities of a stranger whose legitimacy we cannot verify?*"
"*The alternative,*" Nestor replied with implacable logic that cut through emotional objections like a blade through silk, "*appears to be military confrontation with a dragon the size of a mountain, commanded by someone who claims descent from the civilization that once ruled half the known world through superior application of exactly such capabilities.*"
He gestured toward the great windows that offered views of the harbor district, where preparations for potential siege were already visible as guards reinforced positions and citizens began the sort of frantic activity that accompanied recognition that their comfortable assumptions about security might prove inadequate to current circumstances.
"*Look at our defenses,*" he continued with brutal practicality. "*Walls designed to stop armies, artillery positioned to sink ships, fortifications planned to resist conventional siege techniques. How exactly do such preparations address opponents who can fly over our walls while breathing fire hot enough to melt stone?*"
"*There must be alternatives,*" protested Magister Belicho, his banking experience having taught him that complex problems typically offered multiple solution paths for people creative enough to identify them. "*Delay tactics while we seek assistance from other Free Cities, negotiated partial compliance while we develop longer-term strategies, appeals to Valyrian cultural traditions regarding commercial relationships...*"
"*He gave us until sunset,*" Paolys interrupted with the sort of flat finality that made it clear certain time constraints were not subject to creative interpretation. "*Not sunset tomorrow, not sunset next week. Sunset today. And his companion—the former Khal Varro, who apparently commands three thousand Dothraki warriors in addition to whatever forces the Dragonlord himself might possess—seemed remarkably confident that compliance could be enforced regardless of our preferences in the matter.*"
"*Khal Varro has sworn service to this Dragonlord?*" asked Magister Syrio, his commercial experience having provided him with extensive knowledge of Dothraki military capabilities and the sorts of problems they could create for urban populations when properly motivated. "*A khalasar of that size could sack the city without dragon support, assuming they could overcome our fortifications through conventional assault.*"
"*Which they apparently no longer need to do,*" Nestor observed with dry precision. "*Dragons tend to make walls rather irrelevant to tactical calculations.*"
The debate continued as the afternoon shadows grew longer, with each magister attempting to identify solutions that might preserve their commercial interests while addressing the immediate threat to their continued existence. But as the sun continued its inexorable descent toward the western horizon, it became increasingly clear that traditional diplomatic and commercial approaches were proving inadequate to address challenges that operated from entirely different premises about acceptable behavior and appropriate consequences.
"*Perhaps,*" said Magister Nestor finally, his voice cutting through the increasingly desperate debate with the sort of calm authority that commanded attention even when delivering unwelcome truths, "*we should consider whether our resistance to these demands is based on practical concerns about economic disruption or simply our unwillingness to acknowledge that certain business practices may indeed be morally indefensible.*"
"*Morality has no place in commerce,*" declared Magister Qarro with the sort of automatic certainty that suggested this was a fundamental principle of his worldview. "*Trade is about mutual benefit, profit maximization, and efficient resource allocation. Emotional considerations about the feelings of commodities can only interfere with rational decision-making processes.*"
"*Commodities,*" Nestor repeated thoughtfully. "*Is that what we're calling them? People who happen to have been enslaved become commodities whose feelings are irrelevant to rational decision-making?*"
"*Of course,*" Qarro replied, apparently failing to recognize the dangerous territory his reasoning was entering. "*Once legal ownership has been established through proper commercial channels, slaves become property whose value is determined by market forces rather than sentimental considerations about their personal preferences or emotional states.*"
Nestor nodded slowly, his pale eyes carrying the sort of measuring assessment that suggested he was reaching conclusions that might prove uncomfortable for everyone present.
"*I see,*" he said with perfect calm. "*So when the Dragonlord observes that our society is so morally bankrupt that it cannot survive without systematic oppression, you would argue that he's... incorrect in his assessment?*"
The question hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall, and for the first time since the debate began, Magister Qarro seemed to realize that his philosophical position might not be as intellectually defensible as he'd assumed.
"*I... that is... the economic realities...*" he stammered, his usual confident rhetoric apparently having deserted him at exactly the wrong moment.
"*The economic realities,*" Nestor continued remorselessly, "*are that we have built our prosperity on the systematic brutalization of human beings, and when confronted with someone who has the power to end such practices, our primary concern is preserving our profit margins rather than acknowledging that such practices might be wrong.*"
The silence that followed this observation was the sort that suggested everyone present was beginning to understand that their morning's complications involved rather more than simple diplomatic embarrassment or temporary revenue disruption.
As the afternoon sun continued its descent toward the western horizon, casting long shadows through the great windows of the council chamber, the magisters of Pentos found themselves facing a choice that would determine not just their immediate survival, but their place in history as either the first Free City to embrace actual freedom or the first to serve as an educational example of what happened when moral progress encountered willful resistance.
The age of legends had indeed returned to Essos, and with it, the recognition that certain moral absolutes could not be negotiated away through commercial expediency or delayed through bureaucratic maneuvering. Whether the magisters would prove wise enough to recognize this reality before sunset remained to be seen, but the consequences of their choice had already been made perfectly clear.
In the distance, visible through the chamber's great windows, a golden dragon continued its patient circling of the city walls, ready to demonstrate precisely why the return of dragons to the world represented a fundamental shift in the balance of power between profitable convenience and moral conviction.
---
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