Chapter 20: The Wyrm's Wake and the Oncoming Tide
The return of Vargo's battered longship, its timbers groaning, its crew gaunt but alive, sent a tremor through Blood Cove that had nothing to do with the ever-present coastal winds. Their survival, after being cornered by a superior pirate force, was attributed to nothing less than a direct, cataclysmic intervention by The Whisperer in the Vault. Vargo, a man not given to piety or flights of fancy, delivered his report to Eamon and the Inner Circle with a newfound, almost reverent gravitas. He spoke of a sudden, unnatural fog, of monstrous, winged shadows descending from the mist, of fire that melted steel and turned ships to ash in moments, of terrifying screeches that shattered the pirates' will to fight. He did not name them dragons – Alaric had subtly implanted a block in his mind against using the word openly, replacing it with vague terms like "Sky Terrors" or "The Sovereign's Fiery Claws" – but the implication, for those who had seen the eggs, was unmistakable.
The Obsidian Guard who had accompanied Vargo, those who survived, corroborated his tale with wide, haunted eyes, their usual hardened expressions replaced by a mixture of profound shock and ecstatic, almost fearful, pride. They had witnessed the raw, untamed power of their god's ultimate sanction, and it had reforged their faith into something even more unshakeable, more terrifyingly potent. The news, carefully filtered and framed by Eamon, spread through the general populace of Blood Cove like wildfire. The Whisperer, their god of balanced scales and terrible justice, possessed weapons beyond mortal comprehension, guardians that could pluck victory from the jaws of certain annihilation. Fear and devotion intertwined, creating an even more fervent, almost hysterical atmosphere within the cult. The Obsidian Eyrie, the sealed heart of the Vault, became an object of even greater awe and trepidation; the faint, rumbling sounds that sometimes emanated from its depths were now listened to with bated breath and fervent prayer.
Alaric, from his divine vantage, meticulously analyzed the after-action report. The dragons' first true combat deployment had been a resounding success, albeit a costly one in terms of the immediate drain on his own energies to control them from afar and maintain the cloaking fog. He noted their effectiveness, their burgeoning killer instincts, but also their current limitations – their reliance on his guidance, their still-developing fire control, their relative vulnerability due to their youth. They were a devastating surprise weapon, but not yet an invincible army. Their continued secrecy, he impressed upon Eamon, was more crucial than ever. Any hint of their true nature reaching the wider world, especially the gathering "Holy Crusade," would transform the coming conflict from a mere punitive expedition against heretics into an existential war for the control of Westeros's most legendary and feared power.
The "empowered envoys" – Asek, Thom, and Borin, each now bearing a small, subtly pulsing obsidian amulet consecrated by Alaric – began their new roles. These were not grand missions of conquest, but subtle extensions of Alaric's will, designed to consolidate control over their existing "protectorates" and subtly expand their influence.
Asek, the hedge witch, her natural sensitivity now amplified, was dispatched with a small contingent of Kael's woodsmen-cultists to investigate a series of unsettling disappearances and rumors of "unnatural occurrences" in a remote, forested region that Blood Cove had recently brought under its "benevolent rebalancing." The local villagers, terrified and superstitious, were on the verge of abandoning their tithes. Asek, using her heightened senses, was able to uncover the true cause – not some rival dark magic, but a hidden sinkhole system where unwary travelers had fallen, their bodies later scavenged by wolves. She then orchestrated a "divine revelation," leading the villagers to the site, "exposing" the natural danger, and then conducting a powerful ritual of "cleansing and warding" (aided by a few well-placed theatrics and Alaric subtly amplifying the eerie echoes within the sinkhole). The villagers, their fears assuaged by this practical "miracle" and Asek's unnerving aura of quiet power, renewed their tithes with grateful fervor. Alaric noted Asek's effectiveness; her understanding of fear and superstition made her a valuable asset for pacifying and controlling newly acquired territories.
Thom, the Inquisitor of the Scale, was sent to one of Vargo's newly established coastal "protectorates" where reports of dissent and reluctance to meet the Whisperer's "dues" had surfaced. Thom arrived not with an army, but with two grim-faced Obsidian Guards and his obsidian amulet pulsing faintly beneath his tunic. He did not make accusations or threats directly. Instead, he moved through the village like a silent shadow, his gaze unnervingly perceptive, his presence radiating a cold, implacable judgment that Alaric subtly amplified. He would simply sit with the village elders, his quiet questions and prolonged, knowing silences more unsettling than any overt display of force. Within days, the dissent had withered. Tithes were paid in full. Whispers of Thom's "soul-reading gaze" and the "Whisperer's displeasure that could curdle milk and blight fields" ensured future compliance. Alaric saw in Thom the perfect instrument for maintaining ideological purity and silent terror.
Borin, the pragmatic Master of Tithes, was tasked with a different kind of mission. He was sent to negotiate with a small, independent mining collective in the foothills, rich in iron ore but fiercely resistant to any outside authority. Borin went not with threats, but with a carefully crafted "transactional proposal" from the Whisperer, delivered with an aura of unshakeable, divinely inspired certainty that Alaric projected through his amulet. He offered them Blood Cove's "protection" from bandits and rapacious minor lords (a protection Vargo's reavers could pointedly provide or withhold) and access to their growing coastal trade network in exchange for a regular tithe of processed iron. The negotiations were tense, but Borin's unwavering conviction, coupled with a few "coincidental" misfortunes that befell the mines' more obstinate leaders (a minor tunnel collapse, a spoiled batch of ore – all subtly orchestrated by Alaric from afar), eventually led to a grudging agreement. Blood Cove secured a vital new resource, its influence creeping further inland.
These initial successes with the empowered envoys were encouraging. Alaric found he could indeed project his will more effectively through these prepared individuals, guiding their actions and subtly augmenting their natural talents. It was a more efficient use of his divine energy than direct, long-range intervention. He began to consider creating a more formal "Order of the Shadowed Hand," a network of such agents who could operate semi-autonomously, spreading his influence and gathering intelligence throughout the North and beyond.
But the storm clouds of the "Holy Crusade" were gathering with alarming speed. Symon the peddler, his face now a permanent mask of terror, brought increasingly dire news. Septon Marius had proven to be a master orator and organizer. He had successfully inflamed the religious fervor of several prominent Northern houses known for their piety – House Karstark, House Manderly (whose seafaring strength was a particular concern), and even elements within House Umber. While Lord Stark himself had still not officially committed his full strength, he had reportedly given his tacit blessing for these lords to "deal with the abomination" and had dispatched a trusted knight, Ser Helman Tallhart, to "observe and report," a clear sign of Winterfell's growing concern. The crusading army, estimated to be at least three to four thousand strong, including a significant contingent of mounted knights and men-at-arms, was mustering near the White Knife, preparing to march south along the coast. Their declared intention: to utterly destroy Blood Cove, execute its heretical leaders, and restore the sanctity of the Faith.
The news sent a fresh wave of dread through Blood Cove, even amidst the afterglow of their recent victories. Three thousand, four thousand – it was a force that dwarfed Baron Heddle's levy tenfold. Eamon, his zeal now tinged with a desperate urgency, pushed the cultists to even greater extremes of devotion and preparation. The "Great Tithe of Fortification" became an all-consuming effort. The outer palisades were thickened again, new, more cunning traps were laid along all approaches, and hidden tunnels were dug to allow for strategic retreats and surprise counter-attacks within the village itself. The Vault of Whispers was transformed into an almost impregnable subterranean fortress, its passages narrowed, its chambers filled with choke points and murder holes.
Alaric, too, intensified his preparations. He knew that subtle manipulations and the fanatical courage of his followers alone would not be enough against such a force. The dragons were his ace, but they were still young. To unleash them prematurely against a large, disciplined army in open battle could expose them to unacceptable risk, especially from archers or siege weapons. He needed to weaken the crusade, to disrupt its leadership, to sow discord within its ranks before it ever reached Blood Cove's shores.
He tasked his newly empowered envoys with new, more dangerous missions. Asek was sent, under deep cover, towards the crusaders' mustering camps, her mission to use her heightened senses and subtle arts to gather intelligence on their numbers, leadership, morale, and supply lines, and, if possible, to subtly introduce "seeds of imbalance" – perhaps by contaminating a small portion of their supplies or by spreading unsettling rumors and superstitious fears among the more credulous levies. Thom was tasked with identifying and "neutralizing" any potential spies or infiltrators that the crusaders might try to send into Blood Cove or its protectorates. Borin was put in charge of a desperate effort to stockpile food and resources, using both legitimate trade (where possible) and Vargo's reavers to secure supplies before the crusaders' noose tightened.
Alaric also focused heavily on The Grand Repository and his connection with Scalebane. He poured more of his divine energy into the Valyrian steel sword, attempting to unlock more of its latent properties. He found that when Eamon meditated with the blade in the Obsidian Eyrie, not only was his control over the young dragons enhanced, but Eamon himself seemed to gain fleeting glimpses of their collective senses, allowing him to "see" through their eyes for brief, disorienting moments. This was a breakthrough – a potential way to use the dragons for more effective reconnaissance without Alaric having to expend so much of his own energy maintaining a direct link.
He also experimented with drawing upon the "archived" souls within the Repository in more active ways. During one particularly intense ritual of "spiritual fortification" within the Vault, he focused on the combined essences of his fallen Obsidian Guard. He then directed Eamon to have the current Guard members drink a specially consecrated broth. As they did, Alaric attempted to project a fraction of the fallen warriors' battle experience and unwavering loyalty into their minds. Several of the guardsmen reported feeling a sudden surge of confidence, fleeting memories of battles they had not fought, and an even deeper, almost instinctual understanding of their comrades' movements. It was a crude, temporary imbuing, but it suggested that the souls in his Repository could be more than just a passive power source; they could potentially become a "library" of skills and experiences he could bestow upon his living followers.
The silence from the Dreadfort continued to be a source of profound unease. Alaric's subtle overtures had met with no discernible response. He knew Roose Bolton was aware of the coming crusade; it was impossible for him not to be. Was he waiting to see who would prevail, ready to pick over the bones of the victor? Or was he planning his own, independent move, using the crusade as a distraction? Alaric instructed Kael, whose network of woodsmen sometimes brushed the edges of Bolton lands, to redouble his efforts to gather any scrap of intelligence, any rumor, however faint, about the Dreadfort's intentions. The thought of fighting a war on two fronts, against both a holy army and the flaying knives of the Boltons, was a nightmare scenario that even Alaric's cold intellect found daunting.
As the weeks passed, the tension in Blood Cove became almost unbearable. Every distant sail on the horizon, every unexpected noise, sent hearts leaping into throats. The drills of the Obsidian Guard were relentless, their faces grim and set. The nightly chants within the Vault were a desperate, unending plea for the Whisperer's intervention. Eamon, driven by Alaric's will and his own unshakeable fanaticism, seemed to be everywhere, his presence a constant reminder of the coming storm and the terrible sacrifices that would be required.
The chapter concluded with a critical piece of intelligence reaching Alaric, not from his envoys or scouts, but through a sudden, vivid, and utterly terrifying vision that overwhelmed Eamon during a deep communion with Scalebane before the slumbering dragons. It was a glimpse through the eyes of one of the dragons, soaring high on a storm front far out at sea – not of a hunting ground, but of a vast fleet of ships, their sails bearing the prancing badger of Heddle, the silver seahorse of Manderly, the sunburst of Karstark, and many lesser banners, all heading south, towards Blood Cove. Amongst them, larger and more ominous, were ships flying the seven-pointed star of the Faith. The Holy Crusade was not just marching overland; it was also coming by sea, a pincer movement designed to trap and annihilate them utterly. And it was much closer, and much larger, than they had anticipated.
The vision ended with a terrifying close-up of Septon Marius himself, standing on the prow of the lead ship, his face contorted in righteous fury, his hand outstretched as if already calling down the wrath of the Seven upon their shores. Eamon collapsed, screaming, the Valyrian steel sword clattering to the stone floor of the Eyrie. Alaric, his divine consciousness reeling from the clarity and immediacy of the threat, knew that the time for subtle strategies and cautious expansion was over. The tide was not just looming; it was about to crash down upon them with the force of a tsunami. His dragons were still young, his cult outnumbered. The ultimate test of The Sovereign of Scales was at hand, and the price of survival would be beyond anything even he had yet conceived.