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The vast throne room was empty and desolate, with sunlight spilling through the glass window panes.
Light and shadow enveloped King Viserys and Magister Illyrio of Pentos, like the projection of power, omnipresent.
Power can make a small person radiate immense light.
The Red Viper, Earl Roland, Syrio, and the others were not here, and Illyrio did not find it strange either.
In Andals, there cannot be two suns in the sky.
Viserys had gathered the scattered villages and escaped slaves here; without any overly powerful old nobility, his prestige was at its zenith.
Although Aegon the Conqueror spoke of conquest, he also left behind many messes, necessitating compromises with the great lords.
In Andals, Viserys had even achieved a centralization of power that his ancestors never managed. It was a piece of very dark humor.
Viserys' guards and Squires stood on both sides of the steps below the throne, like solemn heroic sculptures.
The warriors wore silver-plated armor, burly and powerful. They were draped in robes of a red dragon on a black field, looking like a static forest.
Illyrio was secretly surprised; the aura of these guards seemed as if they had been tempered by blood and fire.
Viserys was skilled in warfare, and his subordinates were very obedient to him.
Magister Illyrio dreamed of having a powerful army; a man who could not afford an army did not deserve to be called a true tycoon, but forming a regular army was easier said than done.
Gold was not omnipotent, and an army was an endless gold-consuming beast.
A regular army was very different from mercenaries; Pentos had many mercenaries—irritable, greedy, and lecherous—who were often difficult to trust.
Furthermore, Pentos had been militarily castrated by Braavos, with its civil officials indolent and its military lax; nowadays, perhaps only the Unsullied eunuchs counted as military support in Pentos.
However, the Unsullied were too expensive and were only scattered among the estates of various magisters and nobles to serve as guards and chief eunuchs.
Illyrio and Varys had been operating for so long, yet they still had to rely on the Golden Company, the remnants of the Black Dragon, as their main force.
But no matter how professional the ten thousand elites of the Golden Company were, they wouldn't make much of a splash if thrown into Westeros; at its peak, Westeros could raise hundreds of thousands of troops.
Yet Viserys had raised an army from scratch, and it was already quite formidable.
The Andals and Rhoynar were once famous for their martial prowess; though long in decline, after Viserys pressed the start button, a new war beast had begun to revive.
This kind of military force, one that could accelerate the process of restoration, was an army right before his eyes that did not need to rely on Khal Drogo.
The army of Andals was a variable Illyrio had not anticipated, filling him with both greed and fear.
"As things stand, my situation seems quite grim," Viserys said, looking at Illyrio and counting them off one by one. "Khal Drogo, the Tyrosh garrison, the mercenary companies they might hire—the Company of the Cat, the Brave Companions, the Stormcrows... and perhaps a spectating Lys."
"Your Majesty, if you would entertain my humble opinion, I believe you also need allies," Illyrio said very candidly.
"That's the logic. If Tyrosh seeks allies, I shall seek allies. If he crosses the river, I shall cross the river. If he comes to attack my Andals, there's no reason I couldn't attack his Tyrosh. However, I have no navy..."
"7"
"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but Pentos only has twenty warships left; we cannot counter-attack from the sea either," Illyrio explained. "It's better to stand firm in strong castles, imitating the Qohorik."
This was the consistent tactic of all the Free Cities—adopting a turtle shell formation.
"Just a joke."
"But is the Golden Company truly reliable? Mercenaries value gold over honor," Viserys asked back with feigned surprise.
Seeing Viserys' doubt, Illyrio felt more at ease.
In the Battle of the Redgrass Field years ago, Daemon Blackfyre died at the hands of Bloodraven, and the First Blackfyre Rebellion subsequently failed.
After the supporters of the Black Dragon fled the battlefield, most were unwilling to bend the knee and surrender, so they crossed the Narrow Sea.
This included Daemon's many sons, Bittersteel himself, and hundreds of lords and knights who had lost their lands.
The remnants of Blackfyre never gave up on the throne and had crossed the sea many times to cause trouble.
Illyrio was fat, but his mind was quite delicate.
After all, the Golden Company had been opposing House Targaryen for over a hundred years; if Viserys didn't doubt them now that they were to fight for him, that would be the real problem.
"Blackfyre and Bittersteel are long dead. After Maelys the Monstrous died in the Stepstones, the male line of Blackfyre was extinguished. They were bound to take this step sooner or later," Illyrio said, bowing slightly to indicate that things were feasible.
Yes, the world believed the male line of Blackfyre was gone.
But in the hidden corners, nothing was said about the whereabouts of the female line of House Blackfyre. Besides Blackfyre, Brightflame might have also left descendants.
Viserys let Illyrio continue; had he not known of the network behind it, he might have truly been swayed by the Fat Magister's sweet words.
"You seem to know them very well."
Illyrio, unhurried, gave his answer: "The Golden Company is renowned in the Disputed Lands; most nobles of the Free Cities remember them. As a senior magister of Pentos, I happen to know a bit more."
"The quality of their soldiers?" Viserys asked.
Illyrio wagged a fat finger. "Your Majesty also knows that since Bittersteel, the Golden Company has been making a living in the Disputed Lands, employed by Myrmen, Lysene, or Tyroshi to fight endless wars of attrition for them, while dreaming of reclaiming their ancestral homes."
"They have never been forgiven; they are the descendants of exiles, with nothing to their name. They have survived until now through failed wars," Viserys continued to question.
Illyrio rejoiced inwardly; everyone in business knows that one only haggles if they value the price of the goods.
And the possibility of the grand deception Illyrio fantasized about seemed to be growing.
"They are the descendants of losers, but they are also a powerful army," Illyrio continued, confident in his ability to persuade Viserys.
"How many men does the Golden Company have?"
"The infantry makes up the vast majority. Additionally, there are a thousand archers, five hundred knights—each with three horses—and five hundred Squires, each with one horse."
"Who is their captain-general now?"
"Myles Toyne, Your Majesty."
"But the gold the Golden Company requires..." Viserys mused, his considerations making it seem like he cared deeply about the Golden Company.
After all, this was the Golden Company, an army of no small scale.
"The Golden Company does not lack gold; they lack the obsession that gold cannot replace," Illyrio said immediately. "Going home."
"Home, home," Viserys said, seemingly satisfied with the word, at least on the surface.
"I did not expect there to be loyal subjects in far-off lands overseas. What I find hard to believe is why you are so devoted to me."
Viserys asked.
"I am old and tired of this hypocritical world. Before I die, why not do a few righteous deeds and help a handsome young boy reclaim his birthright?" The Fat Magister's sweet words were intoxicating.
"Very well. If I return to the iron throne, I shall grant you the fine office of master of coin. I hear the current master of coin is a cunning, upstart third-rate noble..."
"If I receive such a gift from you, I shall remember it for the rest of my life," Illyrio cheered in praise.
But the Magister's mind was churning with a thousand thoughts. A gift? The gift I want far exceeds your ability to pay, Your Majesty.
"Are there also magisters in Pentos who have sided with the Dothraki?" Viserys continued to ask.
"Nothing escapes the eyes of the True Dragon," Illyrio replied. "There are some magisters who are stirring, but they are nothing more than petty thieves. They dare not offend anyone, let alone send troops. The Braavosi have already broken the bones of Pentos."
"Good. Even so, I want you to keep them in check."
"Rest assured, Your Majesty. If you emerge victorious, those magisters will be nothing more than ghosts under the blade," Illyrio promised.
Viserys, the opposition magisters of Pentos, Khal Drogo—what a wonderful solution. Illyrio had calculated it carefully in his mind; the current war was the best time.
Viserys stared at Illyrio, who felt his heart skip a beat, sensing the scent of blood and steel within those purple eyes.
But Illyrio didn't care; he was just a teenager, subject to love and greed.
And he believed his rhetoric could move Viserys.
For a moment, Illyrio had wanted to set aside his conspiracy of deception and substitution.
After all, Viserys was a tough and cunning warrior; if he discovered even a trace of the conspiracy, Illyrio would likely die a miserable death.
But in the end, Illyrio could not let go of his greed. He chose to trust in his and Varys's planning, believing their wisdom and methods surpassed the young Viserys.
For this step, they had planned for over a decade; after so many days and nights of waiting, they were truly unwilling to give up.
It was the light at the pinnacle of power—to have his own son replace the True Dragon and become king. What a wonderful idea.
"Go then, Magister, and contact the Golden Company. Do not fear; do not forget that I am behind you," Viserys promised.
"I shall do my utmost to bring you good news," Illyrio replied with a smile.
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