Vlad's dragons were not mindless beasts; the ritual had forged an empathic bond and granted them an intelligence that surpassed that of many men. They could distinguish friend from foe, loyalty from betrayal. And they possessed an instinct that rarely failed.
—Give it to me! —Kraznys demanded, extending his hand.
—The whip —Vlad replied, his palm open.
—Here! —the Wise Master growled, throwing the whip at him brusquely, too drunk with excitement over his new "prize" to sense the danger.
Kraznys grabbed the chain around Drakul's neck and smiled in satisfaction, convinced he now had a dragon-slave at his command.
—Are they mine now? —Vlad asked, pointing to the Unsullied, who watched in total silence.
—You hold the whip, my Lord. They witnessed the transfer. The Unsullied are at your disposal —Missandei explained, approaching with the serenity of someone who had already accepted her fate.
Then Vlad raised the whip and spoke in the tongue of the old dragonlords:
—Dovaogēdys! Naejot memēbātās! (Unsullied! Forward!)
The entire army obeyed without hesitation.
—Kelītīs! (Stop!)
The Unsullied halted immediately.
Meanwhile, Kraznys yanked on the chain impatiently.
—Obey! I am your master! Move, beast! Obey!
But Drakul did not move.
—Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor. (Dragons are not slaves.)
Kraznys's face filled with disbelief.
—Ydra ji Valyre? (You speak High Valyrian?)
Vlad gave a slight, amused smile.
—Skori zaldrīzes daor jorrāelagon prūmia lentor ūndes? (What dragon does not know the tongue of his own blood?)
The Wise Master paled.
His tone changed —cold, lethal.
—Dracarys.
Drakul opened his jaws, and a column of fire engulfed Kraznys mo Nakloz.
The Unsullied remained in formation, impassive, unmoving, unreacting. No new orders had been given.
Vlad took a deep breath and let his gaze travel over his new soldiers. He knew they had only ever known pain and servitude. And though they were deadly, they were also victims. That's why he uttered the same words once spoken by the Mother of Dragons in another timeline:
—Dovaogēdys! Āeksia ossēnātās, menti ossēnātās, qilōni pilos lue vale tolvie ossēnātās, yn riñe dōre ōdrikātās. Urnet luo buzdaro tolvio belma pryjātās! (Unsullied! Kill the masters, kill the soldiers, kill every man who holds a whip, but do not harm a single child—break the chains of every slave you see!)
The Unsullied moved without hesitation, beginning to kill every soldier or master they saw. Within hours, Astapor had fallen. Vlad's men moved with precision and ruthlessness to take the city.
But Vlad's attention was elsewhere. Drakul had indeed engulfed Kraznys in fire, but he had understood his father's true intent. The Wise Master was horribly burned, his flesh charred and still smoking, but he remained alive —exactly as Vlad had planned.
—You know, I've been meaning to try this for a while —Vlad commented with the ease of someone chatting with an old friend.
He knelt beside the agonizing Kraznys, observing with near-academic curiosity the trembling of ruined flesh and the pain reflected in the man's eyes.
—The tale of the Impaler is effective because it terrifies people, you see? —he continued in a calm, instructive tone—. Fear is a powerful weapon. But I have no interest in killing innocents just so my name inspires terror. Now, men like you... that's a different story. —He smiled kindly— You and I are going to make sure my name is feared across this continent. Isn't that right, Wise Master Kraznys?
The man's eyes widened in horror as Vlad gestured and a few warriors brought forward several metal stakes, finely etched with ancient runes. They weren't very large, but each was laced with curses and spells designed to keep the victim conscious for as long as possible. And a little of his blood would later heal the master enough for his punishment to continue.
Vlad gave a predator's smile as he inspected the work. He had chosen the location with care: the prow of his ship, where Kraznys would be displayed as a grotesque warning to those who dared disrespect him. A human pin cushion.
When the dust of battle settled, the Red Stallion gathered everyone —slaves, Unsullied, and citizens— so they could hear his words.
Drakul and Rhaegal flew overhead, casting their shadows across the crowd, while the army stood firm, watching their king with anticipation. Vlad stood atop an improvised platform, his voice resounding like thunder.
—Jevo glaesoti rȳ buzdari istiāt. Kesȳ tubī jemot dāervi tepan. (You have been slaves all your lives. Today, I give you freedom.)
Silence followed. Some slaves barely seemed to understand what they'd just heard. Others looked at one another, afraid to believe in something impossible.
—Henujagon jaelza lua vala mirre henujagon kostas, se daorys ziry odrikilza. Jemot kivio ñuhe tepan. (Any man who wishes to leave may do so, and no harm will come to him. You have my word.)
A murmur ran through the crowd. The idea of freedom was a dream, a fantasy. But Vlad was a man of his word.
—Yne sytivilībilāt? Hae dāero valoti? (Will you fight for me? As free men?)
The Unsullied remained silent for a moment that felt eternal.
Then, as if bound by some invisible force, they struck the ground with their spears. Once. Then again. And again.
Vlad's forces quickly secured key targets —pyramids, treasures, and supply depots. Loads of gold, silver, gems, grain, and weapons were transported to his fleet.
Amid the activity, one of Vlad's vampiric offspring, named Jace, who had been infiltrated a year ago, approached to deliver his report. The Astapori accountants and clerks, now working under military pressure, labored tirelessly to inventory the spoils.
—Your Grace —Jace began—, the estimated value of the gold, silver, gems, and other precious stones we've confiscated ranges from six to nine million gold dragons. We've also secured 3,768 sets of armor and weapons. As for the grain, we now control over 1.4 million pounds stored in the city. However, even with the 20 merchant ships we've seized from the slavers, we may not be able to transport it all.