Terno's manor had been turned into Viserys's temporary encampment.
Naturally, the supplies stored there became the spoils of war.
The warehouses contained enough grain to feed ten thousand men for half a year. Alongside it were dried meats, fowl, and sheep.
Viserys used it all to "steady the nerves" of his soldiers.
Even more surprising, he discovered a large chest of Braavosi iron coins. From the markings, they were the very batch he had once paid to the Rhyonar. Somehow, all of it had ended up in Terno's private storehouses.
"Could it be he collected the taxes ahead of time?" Oberyn suggested.
"Doesn't matter," Viserys said. "Send it all back."
He imagined the old crab would be delighted to see the "returned funds." Not only had the costs of this campaign been covered by Terno alone, there was even a handsome surplus.
While exploring the manor grounds, Viserys came across Terno's family crypt. A quick count showed seven or eight generations buried there.
Two centuries of wealth and legacy swept away in an instant.
Yet for Viserys, the most important matter was the people.
At first, some of the Rhyonar felt ashamed to yield to outsiders. But the terms Viserys offered were far too generous.
Every grown man would owe four hundred pounds of grain each year. Women owed half, and children half again.
Beyond this, no other taxes.
After one year, the burden would fall by another hundred pounds, just as it had for the Andal folk who had already sworn to him.
The number of Rhyonar who volunteered to leave and follow him was staggering. In three days alone, over four thousand had joined him.
It shocked Viserys at first, until he learned what the old tax levels had been. Then it all made sense.
During this time, the runaway Elder Fenric was caught by the royal guards.
Viserys had no interest in hearing his pleas for mercy. He ended the man's life swiftly, claiming another water-mage essence for himself.
Delving into Fenric's memories, Viserys uncovered more information about Lothan than he had learned from any other.
Lothan had sent him several invitations, urging him to come with him to Nasarion.
Nasarion lay at the southern edge of Gohor, on the banks of the Naen River, a tributary of the Rhoyne. Like so many other cities, it had been destroyed by the Valyrians.
It was from Nasarion that Oberyn's ancestor Nymeria had once led the remnants—the old, the weak, the women and children—on the legendary "Thousand Ships" voyage to Dorne, where she joined with House Martell and forged the rule of the Dornish princes.
The "Prince's Spear."
In Fenric's memory, Viserys saw Lothan mention those words many times.
But Lothan would only reveal more about it if Fenric accepted his invitation. He, however, feared the dangers of Nasarion and refused every time.
Viserys could only surmise it was some great relic of power.
It reminded him of the "Dragon Horn" of legend. If the Dragon Horn could summon dragons, what then could the Prince's Spear accomplish?
It had never appeared in any tale he had heard, but that seemed fitting.
The Rhyonar had once dared to challenge Valyria at its height. That such a people might possess artifacts of immense power was hardly surprising.
From Fenric's mind and those of other captured water-mages, Viserys also learned something vital: all four of Lothan's sons had perished in Nasarion.
And still, Lothan had not given up his journeys there.
That fact only deepened Viserys's curiosity about the Prince's Spear.
But for now, he could not leave. Not until he had fully subdued Gohor would he have the chance to rely on his own "water-sorcerer's" power to journey south.
He lingered at Terno's manor for two days, during which the number of Rhyonar swearing to him far exceeded his expectations.
He might have pressed his advantage with another campaign, but such haste risked heavy losses. Better to let hunger weaken his enemies first.
He left two thousand men garrisoned at the reservoir, building defenses in preparation for the next assault, before withdrawing back to the city.
Ten days later, the Rhyonar council of elders gathered more than eight thousand soldiers and marched toward Terno's manor.
But to their surprise, Viserys had already stripped it bare and departed.
And with him marched nearly the same number of Rhyonar commoners.
Along the way, Terno noticed that his lands were frighteningly empty of people. He sent Baelor to investigate.
When Baelor returned, his report nearly made Terno spit blood.
"Elder, half the villages are deserted. Barely seven or eight hundred households remain."
"Seven or eight hundred? You mean to tell me that Targaryen king stole away more than ten thousand of my people?!"
In truth, Viserys had taken eight thousand. But Terno's lands lay closest to him, and many of the able-bodied had already been conscripted to build Viserys's fortifications.
Together, it meant his population was gutted—perhaps for a century or more.
Terno felt his very heart bleed.
"Do not fear, Elder Terno," said one of the council members, Elder Gafas. "We will recover those commoners for you."
Gafas ruled over more than twenty thousand souls, making him one of the stronger elders. He wore a purple velvet coat, the sort prized even in Braavos.
But against his olive skin, the color only deepened the shadows of his features, making him look ill-suited.
"High Elder," another voice spoke—a woman clad in green. She was the only female among the council, commander of a company of swift, deadly maidens skilled in stealth, scouting, and ambush.
"My scouts report that at the Demor Reservoir, the young Targaryen king has left behind more than a thousand well-armed soldiers."
At her words, Lothan fell into thought.
The reservoir was narrow ground. Eight thousand men could not deploy there, and their numbers would be wasted.
Of those eight thousand, barely half had proper armor. Many carried only crude weapons.
A direct assault would bleed them terribly.
Yet if they bypassed the reservoir, their movements would surely be seen. Viserys would march his army to meet them, and his men were better armed.
Without the mist-magic, their greatest weapon was gone.
If they failed, all would be lost.
Lothan's brow furrowed deeply. He was caught between two bitter choices.
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