Chapter 99: Alchemists and the Spoils of War
Under the escort of Daemon Targaryen's guards, the Triarchy prisoners were driven back to Pirate Mountain on Bloodstone.
The moment they entered the clearing near the godswood, despair seized them.
Intestines, kidneys, and hearts hung from the branches of the weirwood like obscene offerings, dripping darkly onto the roots below. Piles of mutilated corpses were stacked in crude mounds, already drawing flies. Before the prisoners could avert their eyes, Vermithor, Silverwing, and Caraxes lumbered forward, their massive heads lowering as they began to feast. Bone cracked beneath their jaws. The wet, grinding sounds echoed through the clearing.
Several captives collapsed outright. One obese Tyroshi fell to his knees and retched until nothing but bile came up.
Daemon watched them coldly before turning to the three Lyseni alchemists.
"You have sworn yourselves to me," he said evenly. "Break that oath, and I will open you from groin to throat with Dark Sister, hang your entrails on this weirwood, and feed the rest to my dragons."
The alchemists—Lamont, Simmons, and Paven—dropped to their knees at once.
The eldest, Lamont, bowed until his forehead touched the earth. "Prince Daemon, we will prove our loyalty. We will not betray you."
They already had.
Within hours of surrender, the three had led Daemon to a concealed cave in the hills—a temporary workshop hastily abandoned during the retreat. Inside were over a hundred sealed jars of wildfire, thousands of bottles containing poisons of every hue, and several wooden barrels filled with thick green venom, the same substance used to coat the Triarchy's arrowheads.
There were medicines as well—cases of Myrish fire, fire-milk, and prepared salves meant for treating wounds. In Westeros, most maesters relied on boiled wine or water and their own mixtures. These Essosi preparations were faster, cleaner, and far more effective.
Daemon ordered everything transported to Pirate Mountain at once.
The wildfire was stored in a deep, damp cave near an underground pool, far from the dragons' lairs. Daemon placed trusted guards there day and night. Dragons breathed fire as easily as men breathed air; wildfire near them was an invitation to catastrophe.
The medicines were handed over to Maester Michiel, who could barely contain his excitement.
"With these," he said reverently, "we will save many who would otherwise die."
The poisons were placed in a separate camp near the godswood. Daemon inspected them personally—rows of sealed bottles, each marked with unfamiliar Essosi runes.
"What are these?" he asked.
Lamont lifted an off-white vial with care. "Lyseni Tears, Prince Daemon. Odorless. Tasteless. Dissolves easily in wine or water."
Paven, sweating profusely, added, "At first, it brings weakness and stomach pain. Then bloody flux. When the bleeding worsens, shock follows. By the time the victim sleeps, the Stranger is already waiting."
Daemon's eyes darkened.
"Is it easily detected?"
Simmons smiled nervously. "Almost never. Unless the victim vomits immediately, death is certain. In Lys, Myr, Tyrosh—even Volantis—it is the favored poison for discreet murders. Most believe the victim simply fell ill."
Daemon remembered Prince Baelon Targaryen, who had died suddenly at Driftmark. The maesters had later confirmed poison—Lyseni Tears.
A chill entered his voice. "My father died of this poison. Did your guild provide it?"
The alchemists froze.
Lamont answered carefully. "Prince Daemon, Lyseni Tears is rare and costly. The formula is known to many across Essos. The Citadel itself has purchased quantities for study. Possession does not prove guilt. A man killed by Valyrian steel does not mean his killer was Valyrian."
Baelon's death remained unresolved. The Triarchy, Dorne, even the Citadel—many had motive. Only conquest would reveal the truth.
The alchemists went on to explain Widow's Blood, the Strangler, and lesser venoms, before turning to the green poison used on weapons.
Lamont stirred one barrel with a cedar spoon. "This is a compound—manticore venom, scorpion venom, serpent toxins, and other agents. The Triarchy hoped it might slay dragons."
Daemon snorted. "A foolish hope."
During the battle, Caraxes, Meleys, and Vermithor had all been struck. Yet the poison failed. Dragonblood burned too hot. The venom was rendered useless before it could take hold.
The eastern shipping lane of the Stepstones remained one of the busiest routes in the world. Ships from Braavos, Volantis, Lorath, Ib, the Summer Isles, and Slaver's Bay all passed through—merchantmen, galleys, and slavers alike.
Though war disrupted trade, many captains still risked the crossing. Neither Daemon nor the Triarchy attacked neutral vessels.
With dragons overhead, the Triarchy fleets were helpless.
Daemon ordered the Ironborn, Sistermen, and Valyrian fleets forward. With dragonfire clearing the way, they captured Broken Heart Island, Bone Island, and countless smaller rocks. Food, arms, and slaves were seized in abundance.
Daemon freed every slave. Those who wished to fight joined the Dragon Guard as free men.
The Ironborn excelled at raiding. Melwyn's fleet captured grain ships and merchantmen laden with food, wine, silk, armor, and weapons. Two slave ships yielded Summer Islanders—and crates of goldenheart longbows.
Goldenheart bows, crafted from Summer Isles timber, outranged Westerosi yew. Only dragonbone bows surpassed them.
The Triarchy had paid dearly for them. They never reached Tyrosh.
Daemon rewarded Melwyn with gold. "The bows are mine."
Melwyn laughed. "We Ironborn prefer axes. But allow us the prisoners as thralls—"
Daemon's smile was thin. "No. Take gold. Take whores if you wish. No thralls. No salt wives."
Ironborn customs were not Daemon's concern on Pyke—but here, under his banners, they would obey.
A Myrish captain was drowned as an offering to the Drowned God. That, at least, Daemon permitted.
The goldenheart bows were issued to trained guards. The freed Summer Islanders joined the Dragon Guard.
That night, torches flickered over the war table.
Daemon, Corlys Velaryon, Princess Rhaenys, Gael, and Lord Roderick Dustin, the Wolf of the Barrows, studied the map.
"We control most of the northern Stepstones," Daemon said. "Craghas Drahar's defenses are shattered."
Corlys nodded. "He hides now on Grey Gallows. Dornish waters are blockaded. Reinforcements can be shifted south."
"He cannot escape," Daemon said calmly. "Only delay."
Roderick Dustin added, "The Winter Wolves gather at White Harbor. If they arrive, the war will already be done."
Princess Rhaenys smiled. "The North is ever slow."
Daemon unfolded a letter. "Prince Viserys writes. Braavos, Pentos, Volantis—the Free Cities demand peace. They fear for trade."
He crushed the parchment in his fist.
"The war ends when Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr are broken."
Only then would the Narrow Sea belong to dragons.
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