Inside the Sea Lord's Palace, the powers of Braavos were gathered in full.
Quairo arrived first with his entourage, entering the Throne Hall ahead of the others.
The moment his boots stepped onto the patterned blue tiles, the conversations in the hall came to an abrupt halt.
Quairo stood beneath the walls adorned with frescoes and reliefs, flanked one by one by Freygo's personal guards.
The wall murals told a story.
They recorded the founding of Braavos itself.
The mural closest to the great doors depicted a dragon's head looming above toiling slaves.
The dragon looked cruel and ominous, spewing fire, while the slaves labored as though trapped in hell, suffering endlessly.
The second mural showed a ship riding the wind and waves. The third resembled a bird's-eye view of Braavos.
Then came the fourth, the fifth, the sixth.
Taken together, these murals told a single tale: how Braavos came to be. They were exquisite and ancient, clearly three or four centuries old at least.
There were also more recent works.
The most striking among them depicted the four wars with Pentos.
Braavos had won three and lost one.
Even in defeat, however, Pentos had gained no decisive victory—at most, a few pitiful bargaining chips in the aftermath.
After that war, the Braavosi renamed hundreds of miles of coastline the Braavosi Coast, a declaration of sovereignty.
One mural showed a woman trading three dragon eggs to Braavos in exchange for a ship.
Those three dragon eggs were, to Braavos, a triumph worth boasting about.
Even so, the murals did not cover the entirety of the Throne Hall's walls. It was clear that Braavos's ambitions extended far beyond what was already recorded.
Where will the next mural be painted?
Quairo found his thoughts drifting to Viserys.
He truly did not believe that Gohor could withstand a joint assault by Braavos and Pentos.
At that moment, a horn sounded outside the Throne Hall.
It was like the call of a whale from the depths, low and resonant.
Freygo entered the hall in a purple robe, a jeweled scepter in hand, and ascended the throne under the gaze of the assembled nobles.
Quairo noticed one noble in particular, standing out sharply.
He wore brightly polished armor and looked exceptionally energetic.
This was Tormo Freyga, Freygo's most capable lieutenant.
An understanding had long been reached between them; Tormo was all but the next Sea Lord of Braavos.
And it was Tormo who would lead the army on this campaign. After all, nothing solidified one's position more firmly than military glory.
Once the Sea Lord was seated, the horns outside fell silent.
Quairo stood below the throne as Freygo's steady, commanding voice echoed behind him.
"In this world, there are always those who do not know gratitude, who are never satisfied, who harm others for the sake of their own greed."
Freygo's tone was grave. The hall was utterly silent.
"The Rhoynar of Gohor were able to find refuge only because of us. Without Braavos, they would long ago have been left to the mercy of Volantene slavers.
Yet now they collude with the Targaryens and damage our interests. Braavos will not tolerate this!"
Quairo offered no comment on Freygo's words.
He had witnessed the entire affair firsthand and knew the full chain of events.
It was difficult to say where justice truly lay.
Everything resembled a game of power more than anything else.
"Your Majesty, I am willing to lead Braavos's forces against Gohor and defend our interests!"
Already clad in full armor, Tormo rose and addressed Freygo.
Quairo glanced at him.
Tormo's beard and features were meticulously groomed, and the crimson cloak behind him was brilliantly vivid.
Among the nobles, he looked like a peacock spreading its feathers.
"Very well," Freygo said. "Then Braavos entrusts this campaign to Lord Tormo Freyga."
"I obey your will!"
With command of the army secured, Tormo looked back at the assembled nobles, his expression brimming with confidence.
"Braavos forever!"
"Braavos forever!"
Cheers quickly filled the Throne Hall.
Among the crowd, a noble of about forty watched coldly.
His name was Rodson.
His beard covered his cheeks, and his expression was dark.
Rodson came from House Zandyn.
More than two centuries ago, House Zandyn had produced a Sea Lord of its own—Uzzero Zandyn, the man who had once obtained three dragon eggs from the Targaryens.
But in recent decades, House Zandyn had declined badly.
Two of the three dragon eggs had passed into the hands of House Freygo and House Antaryon.
Tormo's campaign would only further consolidate their dominance.
Rodson's own house saw no path forward.
He himself was already over forty; at most, ten more years remained before his strength would begin to wane.
The younger generation of his family was unimpressive.
If things continued this way, House Zandyn might forever be excluded from the Sea Lord's throne.
Yet even now, he had no better options.
That young king had been far too bold, daring to toy with Freygo himself.
No matter what, Braavos's authority could not be challenged. That had been true even at the height of Targaryen power.
This expedition would include Quairo as well.
Once the decision was made, he followed Tormo to the harbor.
Braavos's harbor was not large, but it was extraordinarily busy.
Because of the impending campaign, all merchant vessels and foreign ships had been barred from sailing early on.
Now the harbor was filled only with warships ready to depart. Their sails snapped in the sea wind, as though urging them onward.
Looking out, hundreds of sails billowed rhythmically, like the breathing of giant lungs.
This expedition was formally launched under the banner of punishing Lothan, but in truth it was an attack on Viserys.
Freygo authorized one hundred warships to transport soldiers and weapons for Braavos.
All were large warships.
The vessels Viserys had once sold to Freygo had either been converted back into merchant ships or were too old, stripped for parts to refit others.
For a power as wealthy as Braavos, using such secondhand ships would have been beneath them.
"Lord Quairo," Tormo said, "please proceed first to Pentos and see how their forces are preparing."
"As you command, my lord."
This time, Braavos would deploy at least fifty thousand troops.
Pentos would contribute no fewer than twenty thousand, along with several mercenary companies.
Together, the allied force would number nearly eighty thousand.
Moreover, Braavos's armories were unrivaled among the Free Cities. From weapons to armor, everything they produced was of the highest quality.
Viserys's earlier victories at Gohor had relied either on numerical superiority or on superior equipment.
This time, the Braavosi–Pentos alliance surpassed the Targaryens in both manpower and arms.
No one believed this campaign could end in anything but victory.
Within a month at most, the army would stand before the walls of Gohor.
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