A Storm of Swords: A song of ice and fire book 3

“Poor things,” growled the slaver, after the translation. “Men were not made to live thus. Their days are a torment of temptation, any fool must see, and no doubt most succumb to their baser selves. Not so our Unsul ied. They are wed to their swords in a way that your Sworn Brothers cannot hope to match. No woman can ever tempt them, nor any man.” His girl conveyed the essence of his speech, more politely. “There are other ways to tempt men, besides the flesh,” Arstan Whitebeard objected, when she was done.

 

“Men, yes, but not Unsullied. Plunder interests them no more than rape. They own nothing but their weapons. We do not even permit them names.”

 

“No names?” Dany frowned at the little scribe. “Can that be what the Good Master said? They have no names?”

 

“It is so, Your Grace.”

 

Kraznys stopped in front of a Ghiscari who might have been his tal er fitter brother, and flicked his lash at a smal bronze disk on the swordbelt at his feet. “There is his name. Ask the whore of Westeros whether she can read Ghiscari glyphs.” When Dany admitted that she could not, the slaver turned to the Unsul ied. “What is your name?” he demanded.

 

“This one’s name is Red Flea, your worship.”

 

The girl repeated their exchange in the Common Tongue.

 

“And yesterday, what was it?”

 

“Black Rat, your worship.”

 

“The day before?”

 

“Brown Flea, your worship.”

 

“Before that?”

 

“This one does not recal , your worship. Blue Toad, perhaps. Or Blue Worm.”

 

“Tell her all their names are such,” Kraznys commanded the girl. “It reminds them that by themselves they are vermin. The name disks are thrown in an empty cask at duty’s end, and each dawn plucked up again at random.”

 

“More madness,” said Arstan, when he heard. “How can any man possibly remember a new name every day?”

 

“Those who cannot are culled in training, along with those who cannot run al day in full pack, scale a mountain in the black of night, walk across a bed of coals, or slay an infant.” Dany’s mouth surely twisted at that. Did he see, or is he blind as wel as cruel? She turned away quickly, trying to keep her face a mask until she heard the translation. Only then did she al ow herself to say, “Whose infants do they slay?”

 

“To win his spiked cap, an Unsullied must go to the slave marts with a silver mark, find some wailing newborn, and kill it before its mother’s eyes. In this way, we make certain that there is no weakness left in them.”

 

She was feeling faint. The heat, she tried to tell herself. “You take a babe from its mother’s arms, kill it as she watches, and pay for her pain with a silver coin?” When the translation was made for him, Kraznys mo Nakloz laughed aloud. “What a soft mewling fool this one is. Tel the whore of Westeros that the mark is for the child’s owner, not the mother. The Unsullied are not permitted to steal.” He tapped his whip against his leg. “Tell her that few ever fail that test. The dogs are harder for them, it must be said. We give each boy a puppy on the day that he is cut. At the end of the first year, he is required to strangle it. Any who cannot are killed, and fed to the surviving dogs. It makes for a good strong lesson, we find.” Arstan Whitebeard tapped the end of his staff on the bricks as he listened to that. Tap tap tap.

 

Slow and steady. Tap tap tap. Dany saw him turn his eyes away, as if he could not bear to look at Kraznys any longer.

 

“The Good Master has said that these eunuchs cannot be tempted with coin or flesh,” Dany told the girl, “but if some enemy of mine should offer them freedom for betraying me...”

 

“They would kill him out of hand and bring her his head, tell her that,” the slaver answered.

 

“Other slaves may steal and hoard up silver in hopes of buying freedom, but an Unsullied would not take it if the little mare offered it as a gift. They have no life outside their duty. They are soldiers, and that is al .”

 

“It is soldiers I need,” Dany admitted.

 

“Tel her it is well she came to Astapor, then. Ask her how large an army she wishes to buy.”

 

“How many Unsullied do you have to sel ?”

 

“Eight thousand ful y trained and available at present. We sel them only by the unit, she should know. By the thousand or the century. Once we sold by the ten, as household guards, but that proved unsound. Ten is too few. They mingle with other slaves, even freemen, and forget who and what they are.” Kraznys waited for that to be rendered in the Common Tongue, and then continued. “This beggar queen must understand, such wonders do not come cheaply. In Yunkai and Meereen, slave swordsmen can be had for less than the price of their swords, but Unsullied are the finest foot in al the world, and each represents many years of training. Tel her they are like Valyrian steel, folded over and over and hammered for years on end, until they are stronger and more resilient than any metal on earth.”

 

“I know of Valyrian steel,” said Dany. “Ask the Good Master if the Unsullied have their own officers.”

 

“You must set your own officers over them. We train them to obey, not to think. If it is wits she wants, let her buy scribes.”

 

 

 

 

 

“And their gear?”

 

“Sword, shield, spear, sandals, and quilted tunic are included,” said Kraznys. “And the spiked caps, to be sure. They will wear such armor as you wish, but you must provide it.” Dany could think of no other questions. She looked at Arstan. “You have lived long in the world, Whitebeard. Now that you have seen them, what do you say?”

 

“I say no, Your Grace,” the old man answered at once.

 

“Why?” she asked. “Speak freely.” Dany thought she knew what he would say, but she wanted the slave girl to hear, so Kraznys mo Nakloz might hear later.

 

“My queen,” said Arstan, “there have been no slaves in the Seven Kingdoms for thousands of years. The old gods and the new alike hold slavery to be an abomination. Evil. If you should land in Westeros at the head of a slave army, many good men will oppose you for no other reason than that. You will do great harm to your cause, and to the honor of your House.”

 

“Yet I must have some army,” Dany said. “The boy Joffrey will not give me the Iron Throne for asking politely.”

 

“When the day comes that you raise your banners, half of Westeros will be with you,” Whitebeard promised. “Your brother Rhaegar is still remembered, with great love.”

 

“And my father?” Dany said.

 

The old man hesitated before saying, “King Aerys is also remembered. He gave the realm many years of peace. Your Grace, you have no need of slaves. Magister Il yrio can keep you safe while your dragons grow, and send secret envoys across the narrow sea on your behalf, to sound out the high lords for your cause.”

 

“Those same high lords who abandoned my father to the Kingslayer and bent the knee to Robert the Usurper?”

 

“Even those who bent their knees may yearn in their hearts for the return of the dragons.”

 

“May,” said Dany. That was such a slippery word, may. In any language. She turned back to Kraznys mo Nakloz and his slave girl. “I must consider careful y.” The slaver shrugged. “Tel her to consider quickly. There are many other buyers. Only three days past I showed these same Unsul ied to a corsair king who hopes to buy them al .”

 

“The corsair wanted only a hundred, your worship,” Dany heard the slave girl say.

 

He poked her with the end of the whip. “Corsairs are al liars. He’ll buy them all. Tel her that, girl.”

 

Dany knew she would take more than a hundred, if she took any at all. “Remind your Good Master of who I am. Remind him that I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, trueborn queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. My blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and of old Valyria before him.”

 

Yet her words did not move the plump perfumed slaver, even when rendered in his own ugly tongue. “Old Ghis ruled an empire when the Valyrians were still fucking sheep,” he growled at the poor little scribe, land we are the sons of the harpy.” He gave a shrug. “My tongue is wasted wagging at women. East or west, it makes no matter, they cannot decide until they have been pampered and flattered and stuffed with sweetmeats. Well, if this is my fate, so be it. Tel the whore that if she requires a guide to our sweet city, Kraznys mo Nakloz will gladly serve her...

 

and service her as wel , if she is more woman than she looks.”

 

“Good Master Kraznys would be most pleased to show you Astapor while you ponder, Your Grace,” the translator said.

 

“I will feed her jel ied dog brains, and a fine rich stew of red octopus and unborn puppy.” He wiped his lips.

 

“Many delicious dishes can be had here, he says.”

 

“Tel her how pretty the pyramids are at night,” the slaver growled. “Tell her I will lick honey off her breasts, or allow her to lick honey off mine if she prefers.”

 

 

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