Ollo sighed, explaining helplessly, "Lord, perhaps you are unaware. Though the western Disputed Lands under Tyrosh's control are fertile, they suffer from a fatal flaw: the lack of a stable and reliable water supply for irrigation.
Most estates must rely solely on rainfall, planting only the more drought-resistant crops. But you've felt the scorching heat of the Long Summer yourself. When there's no rain for days on end, the fields wither easily—especially those small estates and freeholders' plots far from rivers and without wells. Their harvests are the most unstable, and their tax arrears the worst."
Lo Quen immediately saw the root of the problem. "The water supply? Why haven't canals been built for irrigation?"
A look of embarrassment crossed Ollo's face. "Lord, the water rights have long been monopolized by the large estate owners, especially those estates once belonging to the Archon and his elder brother. They control the prime lands upstream, where they built dams and diversion canals, sending most of the river's flow into their own fields.
Small estates downstream, or freeholders far from any source, can only watch helplessly—or else pay outrageous sums to buy water. How could they possibly afford to build their own canals? Without water, harvests are naturally poor, and taxes… fall short. What you saw earlier all came from the estates of those great lords… alas."
Lo Quen finally understood.
The Archons of Tyrosh were chosen through bribery, and thus almost always wealthy merchants or nobles. Once elected, they used their office to line their own pockets in the Disputed Lands, entrenching both their wealth and their power.
It was a vicious cycle.
The rich grew ever richer, and the poor remained trapped in poverty.
Lo Quen could not allow that to continue.
He need not abolish slavery—after all, Tyrosh's slaves were mostly foreigners from the Summer Isles or the Basilisk Isles, not native free folk. But he could not ignore the way the great nobles hoarded water through their power, leaving small estates and private plots to fail.
His eyes turned cold as he looked to Jaelena and Ollo, his tone sharp and absolute.
"Send out my orders immediately.
First, all estates under our name must open their water sources. They are to provide irrigation water to downstream estates and private lands in fair proportions, with no excuses for delay or obstruction.
Second, select one thousand able-bodied men from the Seven Kingdoms' prisoners, preferably those with experience in earthworks. Under the direction of our foremen, they will first survey and design a main irrigation canal around Autumnpear. Other towns suffering severe shortages will have their own canals built in turn.
Third, Master Ollo, the next time you collect taxes, you will deliver these two commands clearly and word for word to every estate owner and freeholder. Tell them this is the will of their new ruler. If any man dares give lip service while secretly blocking the water or resisting canal construction, I will see his head on a spear!"
"Yes, my lord," Jaelena answered solemnly.
Ollo bowed hastily. "At once, my lord. I will deliver the message."
Inwardly, he was shaken. This new master's methods were harsher and far more pragmatic than those of the old.
Lo Quen gazed over the land before him. It seemed bountiful, yet hid grave weaknesses. His mind was already calculating.
The Long Summer would last only a few more years at most. Grain and coin were the lifeblood of his future conquests, and he must hold them firmly in hand. As for the greedy great estate owners who thought only of themselves—when he returned to Tyrosh with time to spare, their reckoning would come.
Just as Lo Quen and Jaelena were about to continue northward to inspect other towns, the rapid thunder of hooves came from the south.
A dust-covered messenger galloped into view, leapt from his horse before Lo Quen, and thrust forward a letter sealed with the distinctive wax of Torturer's Deep. Breathless, he cried, "Lord, urgent news! From Torturer's Deep!"
Lo Quen's heart gave a jolt. He tore the seal with a nail and unfolded the parchment.
Familiar handwriting met his eyes—but the words made his pupils widen, a rush of indescribable joy flooding through him like warmth after cold.
It was Janice's own hand.
The young dragon was about to hatch.
In an instant, the immense joy swept away all the fatigue of his inspection.
Lo Quen did not hesitate a moment longer. He jerked the reins hard and gave Jaelena a curt order.
"Jaelena, the follow-up here is yours. Make sure the orders on water supply and canal construction are carried out."
Before the words had fully left his mouth, he had already wheeled his horse around and was galloping toward Crown Town in a cloud of dust.
Jaelena watched his figure fade into the distance, then quickly composed herself and began issuing orders with methodical precision.
...
The swift ship carried Lo Quen, restless to return, slicing through the waves as it sped south along the coast.
When the familiar, hell-like cliffs of Torturer's Deep came into sight, he saw that at the mouth of the narrow channel—barely wide enough for a single ship—there now stood a massive, imposing stone gate, rising tall at the base of the cliff hundreds of feet below.
This "Gate of the Abyss," completed only after Lo Quen had seized Jawbreak Island, was a labor of immense effort. Now it loomed like a loyal sentinel, silently guarding the hidden harbor within.
The vessel passed through the heavy gates and entered the relatively calm, fan-shaped deepwater port inside Torturer's Deep.
Janice and Archmaester Marwyn were already waiting at the dock.
Janice wore a simple lavender gown, her silver-gold hair gleaming like molten silver even under the dim light. Her flawless face could not hide the excitement and anticipation burning within her.
Archmaester Marwyn, on the other hand, looked furious and barely able to contain himself.
The moment Lo Quen set foot on the dock, Marwyn stormed forward, his red nose flaring as though about to spew sparks. "Boy! When you tricked me into coming to this cursed place, you never told me you were hiding… hiding something like this!"
Lowering his voice, he cast a wary glance at the Dragon Soul Guards standing silently nearby. Then he leaned close to Lo Quen's ear, hissing in a hoarse whisper.
"Dragon egg fossils… And Janice's surname is Belaerys… And those Dragon Soul Guards—every one of them is a corpse! And the magic books… Janice only told me you brought them out of Tyria. That place is death itself—how did you even escape?…"
The old maester's curiosity and astonishment had completely boiled over, his questions firing at Lo Quen like a relentless barrage.
But Lo Quen had no patience to recount his adventures in Valyria.
He waved his hand dismissively, his eager eyes sliding past Marwyn to Janice, and the passageway behind her leading toward the living quarters.
"Archmaester, we'll speak of your questions later. For now, take me to the dragon eggs."
The chamber where the eggs were kept had once been Lo Quen's own bedroom in Torturer's Deep.
Three awakened dragon eggs rested carefully on trays lined with soft velvet, placed atop a stone table in the center of the room.
One glowed with deep violet, another with the crimson hue of congealed blood, and the third shone with a sharp, pure silver.
They looked nothing like when Lo Quen had last seen them.
The fossil-like stillness of their shells was gone. The fine, scale-like patterns along the surface seemed to stir with life, glowing softly yet unmistakably from within. Purple, red, and silver light intertwined, flowing across the room until it shimmered with a dreamlike radiance.
The air itself was thick with a strange warmth, laced with the acrid tang of sulfur and the pulse of living breath.