In this world, turning battle energy into a horse was easy, but turning it into wings had never been done.
Well, fire mages who could wield flame magic were capable of shaping fire into all kinds of animals. Even dragons could be conjured from flame, so what was a horse in comparison?
Of course, a horse made of magic could not be ridden.
But to use magic to control fire and transform it into wings for flight was something almost no mortal could achieve. As for true gods, their power was unfathomable and could not be easily judged.
The fundamental principle behind the Fire Ladder spell was that the fire mage's inner flame resonated with fire elements in a certain way, producing a seamless blending effect.
It was like a drop of water merging naturally into a pool, without floating or sinking.
As for Newton's laws?
Sorry, in this fantastical world, it was not Newton's turn to run wild.
Thus, Dany came up with an idea. What if she engraved magic arrays into armor, so that once infused with magic, the armor would achieve the same effect as the Fire Ladder spell?
"Is that even possible? Not even the wildest legends mention armor sprouting wings for flight," Tyrion asked doubtfully after hearing the Dragon Queen's explanation.
"Heh, a summer insect cannot speak of ice."
Clang! Dany placed the hammer on the anvil, sneered, and stretched out her soot-blackened right hand. Under the dwarf's stunned gaze, she picked up a dark-red piece of iron—it looked like a shoulder guard.
Boom! Suddenly, a ball of orange flame flared in her palm, as if the heated iron had ignited her very flesh.
"Ahhh!" Tyrion and Tobho both cried out in shock.
It was not because the queen's flesh was unburned, but because the shoulder guard was slowly floating in the fire.
Like wood drifting in water, the Valyrian steel shoulder guard rose and sank in the flames, as though it were a block of wood adrift in fire.
"What is this? That's impossible! Where did gravity go?" Tyrion exclaimed.
"Haven't you seen Borghba perform the Fire Ladder spell? Why didn't you ask where gravity went then?"
Dany smirked with pride, withdrew her magic, and the flames vanished. The iron piece fell with a snap into her palm.
Tyrion's eyes burned with envy. He pleaded pitifully, "Your Grace, dragonriding is so dangerous. More than half of riders die falling from the sky. Please, could you also—"
"You have no magic. Enchantments won't work on you," Dany shook her head.
If she hadn't killed Benny and increased her magic tenfold, she would never have conceived of "magical wings." It was far too costly in mana.
"What a pity!" Tyrion smacked his lips in regret. Suddenly, a sly grin crept onto his face. "Your Grace, you've been shrewd your whole life, yet even you can be foolish at times."
"Oh? How so?" Dany narrowed her eyes at him while continuing her hammering.
"Hehe, didn't Your Grace say before that you wanted armor to be like the Wall—highly resistant to magic, even immune to it?
Yet the Fire Ladder array etched into the armor is a mana-devouring sorcery.
Wouldn't a magic-immune array and magical wings clash with each other? Like a spear against a shield?" Tyrion said smugly.
"Heh, do you think Brandon Stark, who forged the Wall, was a fool? The Wall doesn't hinder the Night's Watch from using magic. On the contrary, it gathers mana, slowly strengthening the Watch's magic power and even enhancing their magical talents." Dany sneered.
The Wall blocked White Walkers and suppressed evil spirits, but it also amplified the Red Priestess's power and boosted Jon's skinchanging ability.
In short, the Wall's inner and outer magical arrays were the crystallization of the Children of the Forest's ancient civilization.
Not only was Dany forging magical armor and enchanted swords, she also created a "Queen's Mirror."
One day, as she returned from the forge, drenched in sweat and not yet bathed, her dark-skinned handmaiden Laretha hurried over. "Your Grace, the parade is about to begin. Do you want to watch it now?"
"It's starting already? You go ahead. I'll take a bath first. It'll last for hours anyway," Dany said.
"My magic and authority aren't enough. The image will be blurry and won't last long," Laretha said hesitantly.
"As long as it can be seen, that's fine."
King's Landing, a misty, chill morning.
Dong… dong… dong… the bells of the Great Sept of Baelor tolled, summoning all the people of King's Landing.
Even Cersei stood on the balcony of the Maegor's Holdfast, peering toward the Sept several kilometers away.
It was a moment of excitement—the parade of sinners was about to begin.
This was the second time. Though not as weighty as the queen mother's, the spectacle of an Archmaester was still sacred enough to inspire awe among common folk.
In truth, before today, the maesters who devoted their lives selflessly to Westeros were far more respected by both nobles and commoners than the Lannisters who sat on the Iron Throne.
And this parade did not feature just one maester. Between maesters and archmaesters, there were seven in total. Actually, there were more than seven, but the High Sparrow needed exactly seven to demonstrate piety to the Seven Gods. The others were thrown into the black cells to be "taught" further, awaiting their turn once seven more could be gathered.
The wide marble square beneath the pale statue of Baelor was packed with gray-clad commoners and sparrows—barefoot sparrows filled the city even more than before.
The Warrior's Sons cordoned off a section, leaving room for the noble supporters of the Faith.
It could be said this was a sacred ceremony no less significant than Cersei's walk of atonement.
"Silence!" the High Sparrow, robed in plain gray, raised the holy hammer and shouted loudly.
Yes, the melon-sized, silver-plated steel hammer was forged by the High Sparrow himself.
The noisy crowd immediately froze, as if the Snow Queen had cast a spell over them, leaving no sound at all.
"Bring forth the sinners," the High Sparrow said to Lancel.
At once, a group of gray-robed priests pushed seven bald old men out from the Sept's rear doors.
Three elder septons led the way, followed by pairs of priests pressing each maester or archmaester forward.
As with Cersei, all their hair had been shaved away. Smooth and bare, they looked as pure as newborn babes.
This symbolized that after today, their sins would be cleansed—at least those they confessed to—and they would regain infant-like purity.
"My name is Viryn, Archmaester of Astronomy. I am guilty. I violated guest rights. When I discovered the guest was Daenerys Targaryen, I conspired with colleagues to ambush her with crossbows—"
"Ahhh!" Gasps rippled across the square beneath the preaching platform.
Although rumors had spread before, hearing the old archmaester confess in person left the crowd stunned. It was as if the tale of the Rat Cook had come to life before their eyes.
But he wasn't finished. Sour-faced Viryn continued: "I am guilty. Though I received multiple letters from the Night's Watch warning of White Walkers beyond the Wall, I willfully ignored them and turned a blind eye."
"Because our Citadel seeks to create a 'real world' without magic or gods.
To admit the existence of the Others is to deny the Citadel's thousand-year ideal and struggle.
For the sake of the real world, we even staged the 'Dance of the Blood Dragons.' Yes, I am guilty, the Citadel is guilty, and the Dance of the Blood Dragons is tied to us as well."
"This—" Tyrion's face changed drastically. "Unimaginable. That the Citadel could be this… deranged!"
"I have—zzzt—" Dr. Velin's voice cut off abruptly, and the image of his confession vanished.
"What's going on? At such a crucial moment, what happened?" Jorah, Aegon, Tyrion, Jiqui, and Ellie all cried out.
This was the Dragon Queen's study and reception room.
It was a lounge of more than eighty square meters, with a sofa set. Opposite the sofa, against the wall, stood a "dressing mirror" one meter wide and two meters tall.
The mirror surface, forged of dark purple dragonglass, had been polished to a gleaming finish.
Beside the mirror stood the panting, sweat-drenched black-skinned girl, Rhaelysa.
Hearing the group's complaints, she gave a bitter smile. "Sorry, my magic is exhausted. We'll have to wait for Her Majesty the Queen."
"How long did you hold out?"
At that moment, Dany walked over, wearing a wide polka-dotted dress, tilting her head as she towel-dried her hair, smiling as she asked.
"About eight minutes, not quite ten," Rhaelysa replied.
"Not bad. That's more than enough for sending letters. After all, you've only been practicing a few months." Dany nodded approvingly.
Then, a flicker of fire flashed in the Dragon Queen's violet eyes. "Zzzt—"
The dragonglass magic mirror shimmered, like a color television powering on. With a sudden whoosh, an image appeared—clearer than 4K, more vivid than 3D.
It was a live broadcast of the maester's public trial.
"By the Seven, this is incredible! Before, when I saw the hazy images of King's Landing, I thought that was the greatest miracle in the world. Now this feels like actually being there!" Tyrion exclaimed in disbelief.
"The Valyrian magic network truly has such power. No wonder the Grand Sorcerers can remain in Valyria and yet govern the whole world," Aemon said, shaken.
"Can it show every corner of the world? For example, Sunspear in Dorne. Perhaps… my father is at the Water Gardens right now." Quentyn's face revealed a trace of longing.
"Only if there's a sorcerer at Prince Doran's side with access to the network."
Rhaelysa glanced at her cousin and explained slowly. "The only reason we can sit here watching the Great Sept of Baelor and the trial of the maesters is because these sights and sounds come from Dr. Marwyn.
Through his glass candle, he transmits what he sees and hears to a magic crystal on Dragonstone. Her Majesty's dragonglass mirror functions like a glass candle; it links to the magic crystal and receives the signals stored there.
Did you notice?
Just now, when my power ran out, the mirror went black and the image stopped for at least two minutes. But when the Queen restarted it, the image and sound continued seamlessly from where it had left off."
With Rhaelysa's reminder, everyone realized the footage of Dr. Velin's confession had been perfectly continuous.
"So that means… we could watch half now and continue tonight?" Tyrion asked blankly.
Dany shook her head. "In theory, yes. But my magic crystal is far inferior to those of Valyria's Grand Sorcerers.
Theirs are the size of a carriage, while mine is no larger than a human head. The amount of information it can store is limited.
It's like a sheet of paper. Using the same script, you can record far less than if you had two sheets.
And the maester's procession lasts half a day. Even a hundred pages couldn't hold that much information.
In fact, even in Valyria, sorcerers mostly transmit information in written form. Live broadcasts like this are rare.
They consume too much bandwidth, and far too much magic."
"Magic consumption I understand. But what is this 'bandwidth'?" Tyrion asked in confusion.
Dany explained, "The road is only so wide. If three carriages are driving side by side, they take up all the space. There's no room for a fourth carriage, nor for riders or pedestrians to pass.
Now imagine a third sorcerer trying to send urgent information to Dragonstone. But the road is already occupied by Marwyn and me. His message may not get through.
Or it might get in, only to be forced out again—like a carriage shoving someone off the road."
"I see."
Dany's explanation was perfectly clear, and Old Aemon and the others all nodded in understanding.
(End of Chapter)
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