Chapter 212: Lord of Astapor (Part Two)
"What did he just say to you?" one of the newly appointed Unsullied instructors pressed Fehmar urgently, keeping his voice low.
"He said that once Ian's eight thousand Unsullied withdraw from the city, he can't guarantee our safety." Fehmar let his voice rise just enough to carry. "He's worried there are traitors among us. He told me he plans to host a banquet tonight for every remaining noble in Astapor — and then have me slaughter every last one of you."
The hall went still for half a heartbeat.
"Kraznys has lost his mind!" the instructor said.
"We already swore him allegiance — and he still means to have us killed?" another called out.
"A man like that cannot be our lord." A third voice, then a fourth.
The dam broke. The Astapori nobles, who had been holding their tongues since the massacre, broke into open noise all at once. Even members of House Nakloz began questioning aloud whether a man this unstable could actually deliver on any promise of power or glory.
Up on the dais, Kraznys heard it all. The hall wasn't that large.
"You dare betray me?" His voice came out tight and high. He raised the Harpy's Fingers over his head. "Unsullied — on my command! Seize these traitors!"
His eyes cut sideways to Ian and his people, still standing at the far end of the hall near the doors. He thought about adding them to the order. He looked at his six hundred against Ian's eight thousand. He thought better of it.
The Unsullied didn't move.
Every one of them stood exactly as they had been standing — still as stone, eyes forward, completely unmoved by the command of the man holding the whip.
Kraznys stared at the Harpy's Fingers in his hand. His grip trembled. He looked at Fehmar.
"You already transferred their loyalty away from the whip."
The six hundred Unsullied remaining in Astapor had been personally trained by Fehmar. When he'd conducted the formal power transfer, he had quietly established himself as their primary commander — above any subsequent whip-holder. The Harpy's Fingers could command them to do many things. Moving against Fehmar was not among them.
"Take the lord to his chambers," Fehmar said to the nearest pair of Unsullied. "Handle him gently. See that he isn't harmed."
The two soldiers stepped forward without hesitation.
"Traitor! You treacherous — you — damn you!" Kraznys's voice echoed off the pyramid walls as the Unsullied lifted him by both arms and carried him through the side passage out of the hall. The shouting faded as the door closed behind them.
Fehmar turned to face the hall.
"Kraznys has lost his mind," he said simply, addressing the three Nakloz family elders with an expression of genuine regret.
The elders looked at one another. No one spoke. They understood perfectly what Fehmar was asking for — and they weren't going to hand it to him just because he'd framed it sympathetically.
"Astapor needs a new master," one of the other family heads said into the silence, picking up exactly where Fehmar had left off.
The nobles stirred but didn't settle into consensus. Someone near the back called out: "Why not restore the old way? Shared governance among the Good Masters — it's how this city has always operated."
"Once broken, that tradition doesn't come back." Another voice, sharper. "Kraznys killed three great families. As far as anyone outside this room is concerned, every one of us helped him do it. We swore loyalty to him. Do you think old Grazdan's allies up the Worm River are going to sit still and wait for an explanation?"
"Then what do we do?"
"We need the Western Queen's army to help stabilize the situation."
"Her Hand has made it perfectly clear he has no intention of involving himself in Astapor's internal politics."
"Then we give him a reason to stay. We honor the original deal — we train his army, and in exchange he guarantees Astapor's security."
"He's already refused that deal. He said doing business with Kraznys after what happened would compromise his honor."
"Which is precisely why Astapor needs a new lord." The Unsullied instructors and the family heads turned, almost as one, toward Fehmar.
"I can't." Fehmar shook his head and stepped back, the picture of reluctance. "Kraznys is my elder. He's the head of our family. Whatever he's done—" He directed this part specifically toward the three Nakloz elders, holding their gaze.
"They're right, Fehmar." The eldest of the three spoke carefully. "Kraznys is no longer fit to lead this city. And he is no longer fit to lead this family." A pause. "You are."
The other two elders nodded.
The instructors and family heads had clearly already reached an understanding before walking into this hall. The elders were smart enough to recognize an alliance when it was standing in front of them — and smart enough to understand what happened to people who refused to read the room. The Punishment Plaza still had empty posts.
Fehmar refused twice more, with appropriate reluctance, before accepting.
"Congratulations, Lord Fehmar," Celia said, as he caught up with Ian's group at the base of the pyramid.
"Thank you." Fehmar acknowledged it briefly, then looked to Ian. "I have control of Astapor, as agreed. For the next two years, I will train your army and place the city's resources at your disposal."
"And in return," Ian confirmed, "before I sail for Westeros, I will move through the rest of Slaver's Bay. I take the fleet. The cities stay with you."
Fehmar inclined his head in the Ghiscari fashion — a formal bow, chin toward the chest.
It had been Fehmar who'd raised the stakes originally. Celia had gone into the negotiation intending to secure his cooperation with the offer of a lordship and dragon-bonding knowledge. Fehmar had surprised her by saying he didn't want the dragon.
What he wanted was Slaver's Bay.
He'd laid it out methodically: Ian's conquest of Yunkai and Meereen before departing would give him ships from Meereen's harbor to carry Ian's army across the sea. Leaving all three cities under Fehmar's administration would provide Ian with a stable rear base and a continuous supply line for the long campaign ahead in Westeros.
Even Ian had privately admitted that if he were a genuine claimant to the Iron Throne rather than a player working angles, the pitch would have been compelling. Fehmar was, as Celia had put it, a very deliberate man.
"One more thing," Fehmar said, catching Ian's eye. "My Unsullied have the situation within Astapor's walls fully contained. Outside the walls is a different matter. The properties and farmland along the Worm River belonging to the three families who — resisted the transition — are still in hostile hands. I need those reclaimed." He'd landed on resisted the transition with care. "I'm asking you to send troops and help me clear the riverbanks and eliminate whatever organized resistance remains."
"I told you from the start — I don't involve myself in Astapor's internal affairs," Ian said. "If I was willing to do that kind of work myself, what exactly would I need you for? You provide me value, I provide something in return. That's the arrangement."
Fehmar hesitated. Then: "If you'll agree to this, everything your forces reclaim along the Worm River is yours to use for the full two years." He had already done the math. In two years Ian would be gone and all of it would revert to him anyway. "Everything. The farmland, the villages, the timber rights."
Ian didn't refuse this time. The offer was too substantial to wave off.
"Bring it before the assembled nobles tomorrow when you formally convene them," Ian said. "But the framing matters. Nothing about Good Masters, nothing about a civil war. As far as the record is concerned, I was invited to assist in suppressing an armed rebellion against the rightful lord of Astapor. Is that understood?"
Fehmar absorbed that for a moment.
"...As you wish."
(End of Chapter)
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