The dry wind, carrying grit, slapped against the shields, making a faint crackling sound. On the trade route from Yunkai to Meereen, three thousand newly recruited slave soldiers struggled to keep up with the main force, their farming tools repurposed into weapons glinting unevenly in the sun. Illyrio reined in his horse, his brow furrowing as he watched the buzzards circling above the sand dunes ahead. According to their agreement, Jhaqo's scouts should have waved a red scarf from this spot at dawn to signal.
"Something's wrong," He dismounted, pressing his ear to the hot sand. A dull thud of hooves came from the southeast, not the light, single-rider rhythm common for scouts, but that of a formation of heavy cavalry.
"Form ranks!" Grey Worm's roar instantly spread through the army. The Unsullied quickly formed a double-layered shield wall, the Second Sons mercenaries raised their longbows, and the Dothraki Riders drew their scimitars, their horses pawing restlessly at the sand. Daenerys spurred Silver Wind to the front of the formation, Drogon let out a low growl, his wings sweeping over the dunes and kicking up a cloud of yellow dust.
Three troops of armored cavalry charged out from behind the sand dunes, their black armor inlaid with bronze harpy crests—the insignia of the remaining slave masters of Astapor. The leading knight lifted his visor, revealing a scarred face: "Daenerys, the Great Masters have left you a way out." He threw a burlap package, from which rolled Jhaqo's scout's head. "Take your dragons and go back to Westeros, or the walls of Meereen will become your tomb."
Daario suddenly spurred his horse forward, the muscles beneath his black leather armor tensing: "Cleave, you actually dare show your face." His arakh scimitar spun once in his hand. "Last year at the Qarth casino, you still owe me gold."
The knight called Cleave sneered: "What's a mercenary's backbone worth? The Masters of Meereen are willing to pay triple for your head." He raised a hand, and dozens of flaming arrows shot from the cavalry formation, heading straight for the slave soldiers' ranks.
"Rhaegal!" Daenerys's silver whistle cut through the sky. An ice-blue dragonflame instantly formed a wall of fire in front of the formation, turning the arrows to ash in mid-air. Viserys followed closely, a crimson tongue of fire sweeping across the flank of the cavalry formation, startling the warhorses into rearing up. The Unsullied's spears took the opportunity to thrust through the shield gaps, precisely piercing the throats of the fallen knights.
Seeing the unfavorable situation, Cleave turned his horse to retreat, but Daario's scimitar sliced off his helmet: "Trying to leave? Ask my blade if it agrees!" In the instant their warhorses crossed paths, Daario's blade had already cut through the opponent's breastplate, bronze fragments scattering on the sand.
The ambush lasted only a quarter of an hour before ending. Illyrio knelt beside the fallen scout, finding black pigment embedded in his fingernails—a dye commonly used by Meereenese nobles. "This isn't a simple ambush." He stood up and looked at Daenerys. "The scout was killed by someone he knew; they want to deliberately delay our journey."
As dusk fell, the army finally reached the oasis outside Meereen. It wasn't until the first sliver of moonlight climbed over the city walls that Illyrio saw the full extent of the city: the outer bailey walls encircled it like a giant serpent, with outlines of trebuchets vaguely visible behind the battlements; the inner moat was filled with murky river water, with sharp iron spikes floating on the surface; the main city wall was twenty feet high, with protruding horse-face bastions every ten paces, and archers vigilantly watched outside the city.
"Triple defenses, ten times stronger than Yunkai." Kohol gasped, pointing to the black and red banner fluttering on the city wall—embroidered with a harpy clutching chains. "That's the crest of the Masters of Meereen. Legend says their ancestors gained divine protection by sacrificing slaves."
Daenerys's gaze fell on the giant statue in front of the city gate, a stone harpy holding a whip, its base carved with the skeletons of slaves. "We will demand their surrender tomorrow morning." Her voice carried a chill. "If the Great Masters refuse to release the slaves, we will burn open the first gate with dragonflame."
The camp was silent deep in the night, with only the dragons' snores coming from behind the tents. Illyrio was marking defensive weaknesses on a sand table when Daario suddenly pushed aside the tent flap, holding a half-bloody piece of cloth: "Look at this." The cloth was embroidered with a snake tattoo, identical to the Second Sons' insignia. "Found it while clearing the battlefield this afternoon; Cleave's cavalry had former Second Sons members mixed in."
Illyrio's heart sank: "Are they former retainers of the Wise Masters of Yunkai?"
"More than that." Daario sat by the sand table and poured himself a bowl of mare's milk wine. "I heard the Slaver's Bay Alliance hired the vanguard of the Golden Company. Those people are more brutal than the Second Sons, and they know the dragons' weaknesses." He paused, then added, "There's even worse news: rumors of the Sons of the Harpy are circulating in the city, saying they will hunt down liberators in the shadows."
Suddenly, a short, sharp scream came from outside the tent. Illyrio and Daario simultaneously drew their weapons. When they rushed out, they saw only a slave soldier lying in a pool of blood, a bronze dagger plunged into his chest, its hilt carved with the harpy motif. Drogon suddenly swooped down from the sky, grabbing at a nearby bush with his claws, but only caught a startled wild rabbit.
"It's an assassination." Grey Worm arrived with the Unsullied, quickly cordoning off the camp. "The killer should still be nearby."
Daenerys also arrived at the sound. She knelt down, gently touching the slave soldier's wound, her fingertips stained with blood. "The Great Masters want to use fear to break us." She stood up, her gaze sweeping over the surrounding slaves. "But fear will never overcome the desire for freedom." She raised the bronze dagger. "Tomorrow, let them see that shadows will only turn to ash before dragonflame."
Just as dawn broke, the envoy for surrender rode a white horse to the front of the formation. He was a thin man in a silk robe, holding a gilded parchment: "The Great Masters are willing to release three hundred old and infirm slaves, on the condition that you immediately leave the continent of Sothoryos and never return." His gaze disdainfully swept over the slave soldiers. "As for these rebels, if they lay down their weapons, the Wise Masters might consider granting them a way out."
"Three hundred?" Illyrio stepped forward, snatched the parchment, and tore it to shreds. "Meereen has a hundred thousand slaves. Your sincerity isn't even worth a grain of sand." He pointed to the city wall. "Either smash all the shackles, or watch dragonflame burn through your triple walls. There is no third option."
The envoy's face turned pale, and he turned his horse and fled back into the city. The city gates instantly closed, and trebuchets immediately hurled burning fire pots, which crashed into the sand in front of the formation, igniting fierce flames. Daenerys blew her silver whistle, and Drogon and Viserys simultaneously soared into the sky, their dragonflame heading straight for the outer bailey gate.
But this gate was far sturdier than Yunkai's, its outer layer wrapped in thick iron. The dragonflame only left scorched marks upon it. The archers on the wall seized the opportunity to unleash a dense rain of arrows. A slave soldier screamed, was hit, and fell to the ground, his blood staining the sand beneath his feet.
"Retreat!" Daenerys urgently ordered. As the dragons retreated to the formation, Illyrio noticed that Viserys's wing had been cut by an arrow and was constantly dripping blood. He immediately tore off a piece of his tunic to bandage the young dragon. As his fingertips touched the warm blood droplets, he suddenly remembered Jhaqo's words in his letter—the Slaver's Bay Alliance had purchased specialized dragon crossbows from the East.
"We can't attack head-on." Illyrio walked to Daenerys's side, pointing to the inner moat on the sand table. "We can fill the moat at night, and at the same time, have Rhaegal destroy the archer positions on the bastions from the air. Daario will lead the Second Sons in a feint attack on the East Gate to draw their attention, while I and the Blood Riders will infiltrate through the drainage tunnel on the west side."
Daario immediately nodded: "The Second Sons will be ready tonight. We'll make sure to cause more of a commotion than a siege battle."
Grey Worm, however, frowned: "The drainage tunnel might have traps. Perhaps the Unsullied should lead the way."
"No," Illyrio shook his head. "The Unsullied's armor is too cumbersome and easily makes noise. The Blood Riders are better at stealth, and I have this." He pulled out a clay pot of explosives from his Pregnant. "Our experience blowing up the aqueduct last time will come in handy now."
That night, a thunderous drumbeat suddenly echoed through the camp. Daario led the Second Sons in a fierce attack on the East Gate, torches illuminating half the night sky, shouts of battle rising and falling. The city's defenders were indeed drawn to it, all rushing to reinforce the East Gate. Illyrio seized the opportunity to lead ten Blood Riders to the western drainage tunnel entrance, which was securely locked by a heavy iron grate.
"Now." Illyrio pressed the explosives against the iron grate and lit the fuse. With a muffled bang, the iron grate collapsed, revealing the dark waterway. He entered first, holding a torch. The walls of the waterway were covered with slaves' pleas for help, some carved with fingernails, some written in blood. The words "freedom" appeared countless times.
Reaching the middle of the waterway, footsteps suddenly came from ahead. Illyrio immediately extinguished his torch and hid behind a stone pillar. By the faint light, he saw several figures in black clothing patrolling with scimitars, their tunics embroidered with the harpy insignia—they were the Sons of the Harpy!
The Blood Riders quickly lunged, the clash of scimitars and daggers echoing in the waterway. Illyrio took the opportunity to deal with the last patrolman, but found a map in his possession, marking the locations where slaves were held, as well as a secret passage leading to the main city wall.
"We've found a breakthrough." Illyrio held up the map, a glimmer of light in his eyes. He turned to the Blood Riders and said, "Go back immediately and report. Tell Daenerys to launch a full assault tomorrow morning; we will open the city gates from within to meet them."
As they continued deeper into the waterway, the heavy sound of an iron gate falling suddenly came from afar. Illyrio's heart tightened. He raised his torch to illuminate the front—the exit was blocked by a huge iron gate, and the torches on the walls were extinguishing one by one, darkness instantly engulfing the entire waterway.
"It seems we've fallen into a trap." A Blood Rider gripped his scimitar.
Illyrio, however, smiled and pulled out another pot of explosives from his tunic: "It's alright. Traps have never held back those who desire freedom." He looked at the iron gate in the darkness. "Get ready, we're going to give the Great Masters a surprise."
Outside the waterway, Daenerys watched the eastern sky lighten to a fish-belly white. Daario's feint attack had lasted all night, and the defenders of the East Gate were already exhausted. As the first ray of sunlight illuminated the city wall, she raised her silver whistle, waiting for the signal from the direction of the waterway—that would be the moment when dragonflame and freedom would bloom simultaneously.