For the first time, the morning light of Astapor was not accompanied by the clatter of chains dragging on the ground.
The slaves, once branded with the triangular mark, now gathered around bonfires, distributing flatbreads, while children chased each other barefoot on the flagstones, clutching colorful glass shards they had found in the slave masters' estates. Grey Worm stood in front of the Unsullied barracks, watching the soldiers exchange their white linen for dark grey short armor—spare armor Illyrio had found in the cargo hold of a merchant ship, not exquisite, but offering more dignity than bare chests.
"My Lord, this is today's grain inventory." Missandei approached, holding a rolled parchment. The brand on her nape had been faded with herbs, and she wore a blue linen dress gifted by Daenerys. "The city granary has three hundred stones of wheat left, fifty barrels of olive oil were found in the slave masters' estates, but there is only enough salt for ten days."
Illyrio took the parchment, his fingertip tracing the annotation for "salt." Astapor was by the sea, yet due to the slave masters' monopoly on trade, even basic sea salt had to be imported from Yunkai. He looked up at the port, where three merchant ships were unloading goods. Kohol's Blood Riders were supervising slave traders as they moved silk and spices, which were originally "bargaining chips" for trading Unsullied, but now served as supplies for rebuilding the city-state.
"Have the fishermen go out to sea to dry salt; I will teach them to filter seawater with clay pots." Illyrio marked down an amendment on the parchment. "Also, organize people to go to the slave masters' wine cellars and convert those wine barrels into water storage tanks—Astapor's rainy season is coming soon, and we need to store fresh water in advance."
Missandei nodded, noting it down, but her gaze drifted to the distant Great Council Hall—where Kraznys and other "Good Masters" once issued commands. Now, Daenerys was discussing city-state governance with twelve slave representatives. "Khaleesi said she wants to abolish the 'Council of Good Masters' and have each district elect a representative to hold a 'freedom Assembly' once a month," she said softly, her voice carrying an incredible anticipation.
Illyrio followed her gaze. Daenerys stood on the steps of the Great Council Hall, Drogon perched on a stone pillar behind her, his black wings occasionally flapping, cutting the sunlight into fragments. Several elderly slave representatives were excitedly saying something, their hands calloused from years of labor, but now tightly clutching wooden tokens symbolizing power—tokens Illyrio had carved from leftover wood, engraved with the same sun pattern as Missandei's token.
"But not everyone is willing to accept freedom." Grey Worm's voice suddenly rang out, his armor still stained with uncleaned blood. "This morning during patrol, three remaining slave masters were found setting fire to the granary and were executed on the spot." He paused, adding, "And some Unsullied asked me, after freedom, who should they fight for?"
This was precisely the problem Illyrio was most worried about. The Unsullied had been stripped of emotions for many years, and suddenly gaining freedom left them bewildered. He patted Grey Worm's shoulder, pointing to the soldiers training in the square: "Do you remember the 'formation chant' I taught you yesterday? Have them shout it during training—'Fight for freedom!'"
Grey Worm nodded and turned towards the training ground. Soon, a neat chant echoed over the city-state: "Fight for freedom! Fight for Khaleesi!" The Unsullied's steps were more resolute than ever, and a light gradually appeared in their eyes—the power brought by a goal.
At noon, Daenerys and Drogon arrived at the port, where Illyrio was directing slaves to build a temporary dock. "There's news from Yunkai." Her voice was grave, and she clutched a letter pierced by an arrow. "It's from Jhaqo Xhoan Daxos, saying that the 'Wise Masters' of Yunkai have allied with the 'Great Masters' of Meereen, forming a fifty-thousand-strong army, and are marching towards Astapor."
Illyrio took the letter, the edges of the parchment still singed—the messenger had clearly been pursued. The letter, written in hasty Valyrian, read: "The combined army is led by the Yunkai slave master Rhaezalin, equipped with fifty catapults, and will reach Astapor within ten days."
"Fifty thousand?" Kohol approached from the side, his scimitar heavily striking a wooden post. "We only have three thousand Dothraki Riders, and while we have eight thousand Unsullied, half of them have not experienced actual combat."
Daenerys stroked Drogon's scales. The black dragon seemed to sense the danger, letting out a low growl. "Illyrio, what can we do?" Her gaze fell on Illyrio; he was now her most trusted advisor.
Illyrio walked to the sand table at the port and used a stick to outline Astapor's defensive layout: "Astapor's red stone walls are strong, but there are two breaches—the West Gate and the North Wall. The combined army will most likely attack from the West Gate, which is near the plain, making it easy for catapults to deploy." He paused, pointing to the river on the sand table. "We can dig a moat outside the West Gate, divert river water into it, and then place sharpened stakes at the bottom of the river—catapult stones cannot damage the muddy riverbed, and the combined army's infantry will struggle to wade through."
"The Unsullied can form phalanxes to guard the breaches in the city walls," Grey Worm added. "I will select two thousand elites, equipped with long shields and long spears; even if the combined army breaks through the moat, they will not be able to break through the phalanx."
Daenerys looked at the defense plan on the sand table, then at Rhaegal and Viserys circling in the air—the two young dragons were chasing seagulls, their wings already capable of stirring up small whirlwinds. "The dragons can attack the catapults from the air," she suddenly said. "Drogon's flames can burn wooden structures, and Rhaegal and Viserys can tie down the cavalry."
Illyrio nodded, adding: "We also need to send people to the nearby nomadic tribes for help." He remembered the Red Robe Tribe he had encountered on the Dothraki Sea before; they had a long-standing feud with the Yunkai slave masters. "I will take ten Blood Riders; using silk and spices as bargaining chips, they should agree to send troops."
That night, Astapor was plunged into tense preparations for war. Slaves carried shovels to dig the moat, Unsullied built arrow towers on the city walls, and Dothraki Riders patrolled outside the city, wary of the combined army's vanguard. Illyrio was packing his belongings in his tent when Missandei suddenly brought a leather coat: "Khaleesi asked me to give you this. She said the people of the Red Robe Tribe like strong liquor, so she wants you to take two flasks of mare's milk wine."
Outside the tent, Daenerys was whispering to Drogon, moonlight spilling over her golden hair, like a silver veil. Illyrio walked over and handed her a drawn map: "This is the route to the Red Robe Tribe; I will return within five days."
Daenerys nodded, taking a dragon-patterned ring from her bosom—it had been found among Viserys's belongings. "Take this; the leader of the Red Robe Tribe was once a retainer of the Targaryen, and seeing this will make him trust you more."
Illyrio took the ring and put it on his finger; the cool metal reminded him of his early days after crossing over. "You must take care. If the combined army arrives early, defend according to our plan and do not engage in battle easily."
"I will." Daenerys smiled slightly. "When you return, we will march together to Yunkai and liberate the slaves there."
At dawn the next day, Illyrio set off with ten Blood Riders. As soon as the team exited Astapor's West Gate, they saw that the moat was already taking shape. The Unsullied were inserting sharpened stakes into the riverbed, and the sunlight on the stakes gleamed coldly. Grey Worm stood on the city wall, waving at them, his eyes resolute.
Heading west, the wind on the grassland grew stronger, carrying the scent of dust. The Blood Riders rode their horses, warily observing their surroundings. The Red Robe Tribe lived by raiding, and if they were not careful, they could easily be mistaken for prey. On the evening of the third day, they finally saw the Red Robe Tribe's camp—hundreds of red tents surrounded a huge bonfire, and the skulls of enemies hung outside the tents.
"Who goes there?" A tribal warrior with a battle-axe stopped them, his red cloak fluttering in the wind.
Illyrio dismounted, raising the dragon-patterned ring in his hand: "I am Illyrio Targaryen, envoy of Daenerys, Mother of Dragons, here to discuss an alliance with your leader."
The warrior's gaze fell on the ring, his expression instantly becoming respectful, and he stepped aside to clear the path: "Follow me, the leader is waiting for you."
Walking into the center of the camp, a burly man sat on a beast-skin throne. His hair and beard were red, and his face was painted with flame patterns—it was Khal Rakharo, the leader of the Red Robe Tribe. "A Targaryen?" Rakharo's voice was booming. "It's been a long time since I heard that name."
Illyrio placed the silk and spices before him: "Khaleesi knows you have a feud with Yunkai. As long as you send troops to help us defeat the combined army, all these supplies are yours, and after the war, three estates in Yunkai will be gifted to you."
Rakharo picked up a piece of silk, caressing it in his hand, a greedy glint in his eyes: "The combined army of Yunkai has fifty thousand. How many people do you have?"
"Eight thousand Unsullied, three thousand Dothraki Riders, and three dragons." Illyrio deliberately raised his voice. "Khal should know that dragonfire can burn everything. Follow Khaleesi, and you will gain more wealth than estates."
Rakharo was silent for a moment, then suddenly burst into laughter: "Good! I'll trust you this once! Tomorrow, I will bring five thousand cavalry with you to Astapor!"
On the evening of the fifth day, Illyrio returned to Astapor with the cavalry of the Red Robe Tribe. From afar, Daenerys's banner could be seen flying on the city walls—a black dragon coiled above a sun on a red banner. The moat was filled with water, and the Unsullied stood on the city walls, ready for battle.
Daenerys saw them and immediately rode out to meet them, a relieved smile on her face: "You're back! The combined army's vanguard arrived outside the city yesterday and was repelled by Rhaegal's flames."
Illyrio dismounted, pointing to the Red Cloaks cavalry behind him: "Khal Rakharo brought five thousand men; they will attack the combined army from the flank."
Rakharo walked before Daenerys, knelt on one knee, and performed a Dothraki greeting: "Khaleesi, the Red Robe Tribe is willing to fight for you!"
Daenerys helped him up, her gaze sweeping over the assembled army—Unsullied, Dothraki Riders, warriors of the Red Robe Tribe, and the three dragons circling in the air. She took a deep breath, her voice carrying across the field: "The slave masters of Yunkai want to take away our freedom, they want to make us slaves again! But today, we will let them know that once the flame of freedom is ignited, it will never be extinguished!"
The warriors erupted in a fervent cheer, their voices shaking the ground. Illyrio stood beside Daenerys, looking at her figure surrounded by the warriors, and suddenly understood—Astapor was not the end, but the beginning of the Targaryen restoration. The combined army of Yunkai was strong, but they possessed the most precious things—hope and unity.
That night, Astapor's bonfires burned all night. Warriors polished their weapons, slaves prepared food for them, and the young dragons perched on the city walls, their golden, ice-blue, and fiery red eyes gazing into the distance, as if awaiting the impending battle.
Illyrio was revising his tactical plans in the tent when Daenerys walked in, handing him a cup of hot milk: "The battle starts tomorrow; you should get some rest too."
"You too." Illyrio took the milk, looking at her tired but resolute face. "Once we defeat the combined army, we will march to Yunkai, liberate the slaves there, then Meereen, and finally... return to Westeros."
Daenerys nodded, sitting beside him, looking at the markings on the map: "I believe we can do it, with you, with Grey Worm, with everyone who follows us, and with the dragons."
Moonlight streamed through the tent's seams, falling on them both and on the map—a road from Slaver's Bay to Westeros, full of challenges and unknowns, but also full of hope and glory.
At dawn the next day, the combined army's banners appeared on the distant horizon; a dark mass of troops surged like a tide. Daenerys rode Silver Wind, standing on the city wall, Drogon circling above her, letting out a deafening roar. Illyrio and Grey Worm stood beside her, weapons in hand, their gazes fixed on the distance.
A battle that would decide the fate of Slaver's Bay was about to officially begin beneath Astapor's red walls.