ULF
Three dragons flew over a burning world.
Vhagar led—massive, ancient, her wingspan blocking out the sun when she passed overhead. Aemond sat on her back like a conqueror surveying his domain.
To my right, Vermithor. Hugh Hammer rode with the careless confidence of a man who'd never learned to fear.
Below us, Cole's army marched. Ten thousand men reduced to insects by altitude. Their banners snapped in the wind—Green colors, Targaryen dragons, the organized chaos of war.
Silverwing flew steady beneath me. She'd done this before, I realized. Carried riders to battle. Watched the world burn from above.
How many wars has she seen? How many riders has she lost?
"Magnificent, isn't it?"
Hugh's voice carried across the wind. He'd maneuvered Vermithor closer.
"What?"
"All of it." He gestured at the landscape—forests, fields, the distant shimmer of water. "We can burn any of it. Kill anyone. Nothing can stop us."
"Everything can be stopped eventually."
"Not dragons." His grin was wide. Wrong. "Dragons are gods. And we ride them."
He peeled away, urging Vermithor higher.
I watched him go.
He's losing himself. Or maybe he was always lost, and power is just revealing it.
THREE HOURS LATER
The village appeared without warning.
A cluster of cottages near a stream. Maybe fifty people, farming folk who'd probably never seen a dragon except in nightmares.
Hugh dove.
"What is he—"
Vermithor's fire erupted before I could finish. The first cottage exploded. Then the second.
People ran. Screamed. Burned.
Aemond's voice cut through the air—some command, some order. Hugh ignored it.
By the time Vermithor climbed back to formation, the village was ash.
THAT NIGHT
We camped in a clearing, dragons forming a perimeter no enemy would dare approach.
I found Hugh by a fire, drinking wine he'd "requisitioned" from somewhere.
"That village. Those people."
He looked up. Unconcerned.
"Practice."
"Practice for what? Murdering farmers?"
"Practice for war. Fire doesn't care if it burns soldiers or peasants." He took a long drink. "Better to know what it feels like before we meet real enemies."
"Those were real enemies? Women and children?"
"They were Black sympathizers. Everyone in the Riverlands is."
"You don't know that."
"I don't care." He stood. Walked toward Vermithor. "We're weapons now, bastard. Might as well enjoy it."
I watched him go.
He's going to become a monster. Might already be one.
The fire crackled. Somewhere in the darkness, Silverwing rumbled—sensing my distress, offering comfort I couldn't quite accept.
What have I become part of?
AEMOND
The war council convened under Vhagar's shadow.
Aemond spread his map on a flat stone. Rook's Rest marked with a red circle. Enemy positions estimated from scouts.
"Princess Rhaenys defends the castle on Meleys—the Red Queen." His finger traced approach routes. "Old. Experienced. Deadly."
"One dragon against three?" Hugh laughed. "Easy."
"Not easy. Rhaenys has fought in wars before either of us was born. She knows aerial combat. She knows dragon weaknesses." Aemond's single eye fixed on Hugh. "And she doesn't make stupid mistakes like burning villages for 'practice.'"
Hugh's smile faded slightly.
"Cole's army assaults at dawn. When Rhaenys launches to defend, we strike." Aemond looked at each of them. "Vhagar takes primary engagement. You two flank—cut off retreat, harass if she tries to flee."
"And if she stands and fights?"
"Then we overwhelm her with numbers. Three to one odds. Even Meleys can't survive that."
Ulf studied the map. "You're using Cole's soldiers as bait."
"I'm using every advantage available." No apology in Aemond's voice. "Those men know what they signed up for."
"Do they? Did anyone explain that they're live bait for a dragon trap?"
"They fight for the crown. That's explanation enough." Aemond rolled the map. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we prove our worth."
He walked away. Hugh followed, still muttering about easy victory.
Ulf remained by the dying fire.
Soldiers as bait. Villages burned for practice. And this is just the beginning.
He thought of Helaena. Of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera and little Maelor.
Is this what I'm fighting for? This?
No. He was fighting for them. The war's horrors were the price.
He just hoped the price wouldn't destroy what he was trying to save.
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