A Dance With Dragons

sword in hand, but he had dropped the blade the moment the locusts had appeared. “They share a cell.”
    “Let them share a gibbet,” said Symon Stripeback. “They unleashed two dragons on the city.”
    “Open the pits and give them swords,” urged the Spotted Cat. “I will kill them both as all Meereen shouts out my name.”
    “The fighting pits will remain closed,” said Selmy. “Blood and noise would only serve to call the dragons.”
    “All three, perhaps,” suggested Marselen. “The black beast came once, why not again? This time with our queen.”
    Or without her. Should Drogon return to Meereen without Daenerys mounted on his back, the city would erupt in blood and flame, of that Ser Barristan had no doubt. The very men sitting at this table would soon be at dagger points with one another. A young girl she might be, but Daenerys Targaryen was the only thing that held them all together.
    “Her Grace will return when she returns,” said Ser Barristan. “We have herded a thousand sheep into the Daznak’s Pit, filled the Pit of Ghrazz with bullocks, and the Golden Pit with beasts that Hizdahr zo Loraq had gathered for his games.” Thus far both dragons seemed to have a taste for mutton, returning to Daznak’s whenever they grew hungry. If either one was hunting man, inside or outside the city, Ser Barristan had yet to hear of it. The only Meereenese the dragons had slain since Harghaz the Hero had been the slav ers foolish enough to object when Rhaegal attempted to make his lair atop the pyramid of Hazkar. “We have more pressing matters to discuss. I have sent the Green Grace to the Yunkishmen to make arrangements for the release of our hostages. I expect her back by midday with their answer.”
    “With words,” said the Widower. “The Stormcrows know the Yunkai’i. Their tongues are worms that wriggle this way or that. The Green Grace will come back with worm words, not the captain.”
    “If it pleases the Queen’s Hand to recall, the Wise Masters hold our Hero too,” said Grey Worm. “Also the horselord Jhogo, the queen’s own blood rider.”
    “Blood of her blood,” agreed the Dothraki Rommo. “He must be freed. The honor of the khalasar demands it.”
    “He shall be freed,” said Ser Barristan, “but first we must needs wait and see if the Green Grace can accomplish—”
    Skahaz Shavepate slammed his fist upon the table. “The Green Grace will accomplish nothing. She may be conspiring with the Yunkai’i even as we sit here. Arrangements, did you say? Make arrangements? What sort of arrangements ?”
    “Ransom,” said Ser Barristan. “Each man’s weight in gold.”
    “The Wise Masters do not need our gold, ser,” said Marselen. “They are richer than your Westerosi lords, every one.”
    “Their sellswords will want the gold, though. What are the hostages to them? If the Yunkishmen refuse, it will drive a blade between them and their hirelings.” Or so I hope. It had been Missandei who suggested the ploy to him. He would never have thought of such a thing himself. In King’s Landing, bribes had been Littlefinger’s domain, whilst Lord Varys had the task of fostering division amongst the crown’s enemies. His own duties had been more straightforward. Eleven years of age, yet Missandei is as clever as half the men at this table and wiser than all of them. “I have instructed the Green Grace to present the offer only when all of the Yunkish commanders have assembled to hear it.”
    “They will refuse, even so,” insisted Symon Stripeback. “They will say they want the dragons dead, the king restored.”
    “I pray that you are wrong.” And fear that you are right. “Your gods are far away, Ser Grandfather,” said the Widower. “I do not think they hear your prayers. And when the Yunkai’i send back the old woman to spit in your eye, what then?”
    “ Fire and blood, ” said Barristan Selmy, softly, softly.
    For a long moment no one spoke. Then Strong Belwas slapped his belly and said, “Better than liver and onions,” and Skahaz Shavepate stared through the eyes of his wolf’s head mask and said, “You would break King Hizdahr’s peace, old man?”
    “I would shatter it.” Once, long ago, a prince had named him Barristan the Bold. A part of that boy was in him still. “We have built a beacon atop the pyramid where once the Harpy stood. Dry wood soaked with oil, covered to keep the rain off. Should the hour come, and I pray that it does not, we