When Terno learned that his suggestion had been accepted, he was in excellent spirits.
It meant his position was now secure—at least for the moment. And if Viserys were to die on Nasar, then things would be even better.
He would not only reclaim the Rhoynar peasants who had pledged to the Targaryens, but also seize vast amounts of money and supplies.
Perhaps, with some luck, he might even move into the fortified city Viserys had built. That would make his life much safer.
Once settled, he could buy himself a few slaves and servants again. Yes—his good days would return at last.
Thinking of this made him even happier, and when his stomach began to growl, he shouted toward the door.
"Baelor! Baelor!"
Baelor, now his only servant, appeared almost immediately, his expression blank and dull from exhaustion.
"Get my clothes," Terno ordered. "I'm going to see Lothan and the others."
"Elder," Baelor replied quietly, "Elder Lothan is escorting King Targaryen to Nasar."
Terno froze.
"What about the others?"
"The other elders have already departed with their troops."
Terno swallowed and gave a slow nod.
When an army moved, the amount of food it consumed in a single day was terrifying. He wasn't surprised that Gafar and the others had left.
Besides, managing his own estate by himself was far more comfortable anyway.
Then, from outside, came a deep clatter of armor and steel—like the sudden onset of a violent storm.
When he saw the commander leading the soldiers, his face turned pale. The man's breastplate bore the sigil of a three-headed dragon.
"You—you're with that little king!" Terno shouted in panic. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"
The soldier named Ock waved a hand. His men surged forward, wrapping thick iron chains around Terno like a snared beast.
"Our king has prepared a house for you," Ock said with a grin, showing sharp white teeth. "He invites you to move in."
Viserys intended to deal with Terno publicly after his return—before all the Rhoynar who had sworn to him. Terno would serve the same purpose as a bandit chief before an execution: an example to the rest.
And his "roommate" would be none other than that brutal mercenary leader—Redbeard.
Inside the cabin of one of the ships, Viserys sat with Arthur and the others, studying the maps Lothan had given him.
There were eight maps in total.
Seven of them corresponded to Lothan's seven separate expeditions into Nasar.
The eighth, much larger map was a compilation of the seven, layered together.
Red crosses covered it densely—marking the sites where men had died or vanished.
Circles in red ink showed the areas Lothan had failed to reach.
The pattern was clear: the outer regions were filled with crosses, the core with circles, and the borderlands showed a tangled mix of both—marks of failed exploration.
Besides the maps and the notes Lothan had provided, Yona and Yor, his two granddaughters, were also there to serve as guides.
"Nasar is ten times larger than Gohor," said Yona, her young voice wavering between explanation and warning.
"It's shrouded in mist all year round, and strange songs echo through it—songs that lure people to their deaths. Grandfather always said, if ten men go in and half come back, that's already considered a success."
"It's just mist, isn't it?" said Mathos, the son of Davos, who had spent nearly a year studying under a maester and now served as Viserys's secretary.
"His Grace has already broken your people's fog magic before."
"How could it be the same?" Jona exclaimed, stamping her foot, but her sister quickly held her back.
"The mists of Nasar are far denser and stronger than any fog conjured by sorcerers," Jorel said coldly. "You'd best tread carefully."
The sisters' tone carried a bite, but Viserys didn't mind. He only wanted more useful information.
"These mists and songs are mentioned in the notes," he said. "Did Elder Lothan ever tell you how he managed to go deeper each time?"
"Of course," Jona replied. "Because his water magic grew stronger and stronger. You didn't know that? He used to say—drop him ten leagues away from Nasar, and he could find it with his eyes closed."
Elemental perception.
The phrase flashed through Viserys's mind.
After absorbing the fire mage's essence, he had gained an uncanny sensitivity to the position of Dragonmount.
He could feel its presence without even opening his eyes.
Now, after his battle with Terno, he had absorbed the water-sorcerer's essence as well—his sensitivity to water magic should far exceed Lothan's.
If that was true, he should be able to sense Nasar's location from even farther away—and perhaps detect the "Prince's Roar" long before it struck.
As for the Prince's Spear, Lothan's notes were vague. He had never seen it himself, only describing it as a blue spear about two meters long.
Viserys reasoned that, just as he had once sensed the presence of Valyrian steel during the "Battle of the Reservoir," he might likewise feel the magical resonance of the true spear when they neared it.
In any case, he would see for himself when they arrived.
"The Rhoyne doesn't look that wide," said Marcus to Clement as they stood on deck, chatting idly. "The Mander in Westeros is twice as wide as this."
Their conversation carried across the deck, catching the ears of Yona and Yor nearby.
"Hmph! We're still on the Upper Rhoyne," Yona shot back. "We haven't even reached the main flow yet!
The Upper Rhoyne is just one of the Mother Rhoyne's children. When you see her full breadth, you'll understand how vast her embrace truly is!"
"Oh really?" Clement smirked. "Then I can't wait to dive right into it!"
He and Marcus exchanged a laugh, their words laced with crude humor picked up from the soldiers.
Jona didn't quite understand, but Arthur had overheard. He stood nearby with a grim expression, and both men quickly straightened their faces.
Before long, their fleet reached the main flow of the Rhoyne.
As the river widened before them, both Marcus and Clement were struck silent in awe.
The Rhoyne spread out before them like an endless sea—wide enough for a full naval fleet to maneuver freely.
"How about that?" Jona shouted proudly. "It's much wider than your little 'Mander River,' isn't it?"
But even this was not the Rhoyne in its entirety.
Only after it was joined by the Norn River, the Qinn River, the Larluru, and the Seheru did the Rhoyne reach its full, glorious breadth and depth.
This vast waterway had once nurtured the splendor of Rhoynar civilization. But after that civilization's fall, it had also become a breeding ground for flies and decay.
Then, from the watchtower of the lead ship, a lookout called down—his voice sharp with alarm.
"Captain! Ten ships ahead—closing fast! They're as large as ours!"
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