Asio Copin
He was in a hurry for a reason. The Narrow Sea was not called narrow for nothing. News traveled swiftly between its shores, and Asio reasonably assumed that Illyrio Mopatis and Varys were in constant correspondence. If Mopatis stopped receiving letters from his friend, suspicion would inevitably arise.
And Illyrio's vigilance was something to be feared. And if he learned of the Spider's death—and sooner or later he would—events could take a most unpleasant turn. The former Bravo would stop at nothing to avenge his friend.
That was why haste was essential. Every day mattered.
Back in King's Landing, Asio had warned Harald Orm that stopping halfway was extremely dangerous.
"What are you hinting at?" Orm asked him then.
"If we remove Varys from the board, then for our own safety we must do the same with Illyrio Mopatis."
Harald Orm—exhausted, red-eyed from lack of sleep, and unshaven—had looked at him almost hostilely. It was clear that the constant stream of new tasks and their ever-growing number did nothing to improve his peace of mind or his health.
Harald looked into his face for a long time, then nodded silently. For a moment Asio thought that Orm was glad the matter of Illyrio was being settled, yet he strove with all his strength to conceal that joy.
It was a strange thought. Illyrio Mopatis was not a household name. It was unlikely Orm knew much about him at all—and even less likely that either he or King Joffrey truly understood how dangerous this man could be.
And now, already in Pentos, Asio knew that time was his enemy. He had only a couple of days' head start, and he intended to use them wisely.
As always, Pentos greeted him with its ceaseless bustle and the distinctive scent of a vast port city. Asio inhaled deeply and felt a surge of quiet joy. He was home.
First, he visited his family—and his nephew, Nadeo Copin, a young bravo and an excellent archer. Nadeo had gathered a small gang of his own and treated all of Pentos as his personal hunting ground, where almost anything was permitted to him. Asio himself, in every way he could, using all means at his disposal, aided in the rise of his nephew.
Nadeo accepted his uncle's proposal with enthusiasm. He loved risk, dangerous undertakings, and the gold he had been promised.
Illyrio Mopatis was a wealthy magister and a man of considerable standing. Caution had ever been an inseparable trait of his nature. The magister was constantly guarded by formidable men, and he himself showed vigilance and care. It was unthinkable to reach Mopatis in his own estate, or to attempt poisoning him.
Yet by duty he was required almost daily to attend the House of Grandeur—the place where the magisters sat and held their councils.
In Pentos, the noble and the wealthy preferred to travel in palanquins, and Illyrio was no exception. Yet at the gates of the House of Grandeur, he would step down and walk the remaining distance to the doors on foot. For a few brief moments, he was exposed—vulnerable.
Copin's uncle and nephew built their entire plan around that fact.
Asio stood in the Square of the Money Changers, near the statue of Nevio Narratis—one of the princes who had abolished slavery during his reign. Officially, at least.
Around him, as on every day in this place, the square teemed with life. Young ladies with their retinues, brazen and defiant bravos, money changers, star readers, merchants, thieves, sailors, prostitutes, guards, mercenaries, visitors to the city, and simple idlers—an immense throng moved, spoke, and laughed, as though within a vast cauldron ringed on all sides by buildings.
Copin cast a brief glance toward the roof of one of the tall, square towers. There, in the statue's shadow and nearly invisible, his nephew lay in wait, dressed in brick-colored clothing. His face was concealed by a mask.
A narrow alley led to Nadeo Copin's position, and from there he could not see the whole square. But he could see his uncle—and he had a clear view of the spot where Illyrio Mopatis would step out of his palanquin. That place lay about two hundred paces from him, and well below the marksman's position.
For now, the nephew simply waited for the signal.
A narrow channel opened through the crowd as it was shoved aside. About ten guards advanced at the front, clearing the way for the closed palanquin carrying Mopatis.
Warriors armed with spears and shields surrounded it on all sides, forcing the crowd back and preventing anyone from drawing too close to the magister.
Asio unconsciously ran his tongue over his lips, then removed his hat and, pretending to be overcome by heat and weariness, began waving it around in an attempt to cool his face.
That was the signal.
From his vantage point, the nephew could not see the magister's escort—but he could see Asio.
Without hesitation, Nadeo drew the bowstring, tested its tension, and nocked an arrow. His movements were precise and perfectly measured.
Asio knew his nephew well and understood exactly what to expect. Nadeo was no Faceless Man, of course—but as an archer, he was in no way inferior to Beilon Swann, the Kingsguard who had taken first place in the archery contest at King Joffrey's wedding.
The palanquin came to a halt.
The head of Illyrio's security—a broad-shouldered, powerful man with a plume of white feathers fixed atop his helmet, glittering in the sunlight—carefully surveyed the crowd. Only then did he nod to one of his subordinates, signaling that Illyrio could step out.
(End of Chapter)
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