Chapter 40 Death of the Viper
Lord Uller slowly sipped the Dornish red wine in his hand, considering how to resolve this matter without losing face. At first, Lord Uller had only intended to raid Blackhaven as in years past to seize some profit, yet he had not expected to provoke the Dragon King. In the end, he gained nothing and instead invited calamity upon himself. House Uller had strained every sinew to gather barely three thousand men. After a single battle, more than a thousand were lost—seasoned veterans who had marched north in past autumn campaigns. Seven or eight in ten had been burned alive by dragonflame, and the rest never returned. The strength of Uller's domain was halved in an instant, compounded by the bitter resentment the smallfolk bore after years of harsh rule.
In the end, they would have to face the reckoning themselves.
The more Lord Uller brooded, the more his anger mounted, yet he found no outlet for it. He could only drain the wine from his cup, swallow by swallow. "Wine. More wine!"
He called to the Knight who stood before him, a sworn retainer of his household. He did not know where his usual attendant had gone. His son, who often served as cupbearer, was nowhere to be seen. Only he and the Knight remained in the hall. Even the servants who cleaned the castle had vanished.
Lord Uller stiffened at once. "Where has everyone gone?"
"My lord, you ordered the smallfolk to evacuate and commanded that the castle be made ready to withdraw at any moment. Have you forgotten?"
"When did I— you…"
Lord Uller suddenly felt something seize within his throat. In a single breath it clogged his windpipe. He clawed at his neck in agony, as though that might force air back into his lungs.
It was useless. Crimson scratches tore across his skin, yet his throat darkened to a deepening purple. His eyes bulged slowly from their sockets. Beads of blood welled from the marks he had gouged into himself. The veins upon his arms throbbed.
He died.
His body toppled from the chair and struck the stone floor. His staring eyes fixed upon the Knight who had handed him the wine, yet no words would ever pass his lips again.
The Knight stepped forward calmly and placed a hand upon the dead lord's face.
"All men must die, my lord."
The corpse upon the floor began to melt and warp. The Knight straightened. When he turned his head again, it was Lord Uller's face that looked back from his shoulders. He stooped, gathered the fallen garments, and called out loudly, "Attend me! Attend me!"
Only then did a young male servant, hearing the commotion, rush down from the tower steps. He bowed his head and took the dust-stained clothing from Lord Uller's hand. The lord waved dismissively. "Tell those below to leave the castle with the smallfolk."
The servant trembled and fell to his knees. Secret tunnels ran beneath the castle, leading beyond the city walls, yet outside there were only scattered caves to shelter from dragonflame. The passage that once led to the port had collapsed years ago when the Varezes fleet burned the harbor in reprisal. It was nearly useless now.
And as a servant of House Uller, he knew well the sort of man his master had been.
"Go," Lord Uller whispered, pulling him up and leaning close. "The Dragon King swore he would not harm the smallfolk." He shoved him away. "Why do you linger? Go!"
Only then did the servant grasp the meaning. He glanced gratefully at his lord and hurried back down to the lower halls.
Below, servants were frantically packing to flee. A kitchen girl he knew collided with him, a cured ham slung over her shoulder.
"Watch yourself!" she snapped, hauling him upright.
"Why are you all running?" he asked fearfully. "Aren't you afraid—"
"You've been too long above," she spat. "Everyone below knows this is the doing of the lords. The northerners passing through said the Dragon King and the Lord of Yronwood have no quarrel with smallfolk. Hurry and run. The town is safer than the castle, and the villages safer still. I'm going home."
"Wait for me!"
Above, Lord Uller sat alone for a long while.
At last, the castle gates opened and a group of dust-covered family members entered.
"Father?" Arlan Uller stared in disbelief. "Why are you still here? Were you not preparing to withdraw?"
"When did I speak of fleeing?" Lord Uller scoffed. "Arlan, do you question the courage of a Dornish lord?"
Arlan laughed. "Never, Father. So that is why you gathered everyone."
Lord Uller struck the scale armor upon his chest—plain but sturdy Dornish make. "This old man will face the Dragon King's whelps. The Vulture King will teach them their lesson."
"Dragon!"
"Dragon!"
"Where are the scorpions? To the scorpions!"
"Run!"
Screams erupted beyond the walls.
Arlan rushed out with his brothers, uncles, and the women of the house who could bear arms.
Lord Uller seized his wife, who had just descended with their younger children, and ordered her into the great hall. "Stay within. The walls and towers will shield you from above." Once, Queen Visenya upon Vhagar had burned this castle to ruin, yet the hall had endured.
He pushed open the side door and looked up without expression.
Vermithor and Silverwing wheeled in the sky, pouring fire upon the fortress. The two dragons deliberately spared the fields and villages beyond the walls, yet unleashed molten flame upon stone and tower alike, turning battlements to rivers of red.
"They truly spare us?" a Dornishman murmured in a nearby village, watching the castle blaze.
"When have Valyrians kept faith?" an old woman croaked from a cave mouth. "They will enslave us yet."
"But it was the lords of the marches who warned us," another elder replied thoughtfully. "Perhaps this vengeance is meant only for the lord."
"Have you forgotten Aegon the Conqueror?" the old woman snapped.
"We remember King Jaehaerys as well," another said quietly. "Trade has flourished these past years. The northerners bring grain. Our fruits find markets."
"Enough!" The old woman struck the earth with her stick. "Dragons are dragons. They burn when it suits them."
Yet she fell silent as the bronze dragon descended, crushing the main tower beneath its talons. Stone collapsed in thunderous ruin before the beasts took wing once more and vanished into the sky.
Arlan, burned black as coal, would never know that it was his own father who had barred the retreat gate behind them, leaving every sword-bearing member of House Uller exposed to the flames.
A few breaths of dragonfire were all it took to consign them to the Stranger.
The banners soon followed: the silver dragon and laurel of House Varezes, the striding huntsman of House Tarly, the purple lightning of House Tarth, the three sheaves of wheat of House Selmy. Spears bristled in ranks, many crowned with severed heads.
Hofa the Law-Holder marched at their head, his Valyrian steel spear upright. Upon its tip hung a half-shattered skull.
The head of the Vulture King.
The smallfolk watched in astonishment as the host passed through their lands without plunder. Merchants traveling with the army even sold grain and spices at fair prices.
It was said throughout the villages: this is strange. We must watch and see.
Thus the army passed unopposed through the lands once ruled by House Uller.
Though Weel City now lay a smoking ruin.
Sunspear.
Prince Corwyn Martell exhaled heavily. "Maester, how much worse can the tidings be? Speak plainly."
"Prince Dragonzel's host now holds all lands formerly sworn to House Uller. Weel City was utterly destroyed by dragonfire. As for the cadet branches of House Uller—if the gods showed no mercy, none survive."
"And the smallfolk?"
"Prince Dragonzel forbade harm to them. Grain and meat are sold at half price. Taxes levied by House Uller have been abolished. There is little will among the people to avenge their lord."
"Seven hells."
"Soul Hill was likewise burned. Prince Dragonzel and Prince Valarr destroyed the spearmen sent by House Toland upon the road and reduced the castle to ash. Lord Toland escaped, but his wife and children perished."
"Splendid. The dragons may as well have burned Sunspear while they were at it. And then?"
"Lord Toland has gathered three thousand men and hired ships from the Triarchy to sail north toward Weel's former lands. Lord Uller's surviving allies march south of Yronwood."
"My realm descends into chaos, does it not? Do none remember their fealty?"
"So it would seem, Your Highness."
Prince Corwyn rubbed his brow wearily. "How much worse?"
"Lord Jordayne of Tor has taken Toland gold and sent fifteen hundred spearmen north, while secretly sending equal strength to Yronwood. Lord Yronwood withdraws from the border and gathers men against Skyreach. Lord Fowler of Skyreach marches east in response. House Dayne has not yet declared."
"Write in my name," Prince Corwyn snapped, rising from his chair. "Remind these lords of the oaths sworn when I ascended. Send the ravens. Muster the banners. If they do not cease at once, it shall not be the Dragon Kings who burn them—I will show them that the sun of Dorne burns just as fiercely."
"As you command, Your Highness."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like the story please give it some power stones and reviews. And if you want to read 40+ advance chapters or just want to support me please join my patreon at [email protected]/Translatingfanfics