Chapter 21: Dragon and Sorcerer
It had been two weeks since they returned to Essos.
Vaelros had paid his debts, cleared every marker, and bought the Ashen Gale outright. He was, for the first time in his life, a genuinely wealthy man. The artifacts he brought back from Valyria had caused a quiet stir in Lys, and more than a few people now looked at him with a mix of awe and wariness. He had even been called a hero by some of the sailors whose ships he had helped pay off.
He kept only what he needed for the future and placed the rest in the Iron Bank. The rest of his fortune would wait for him in Westeros.
A single letter from his mother had arrived three days ago. It was long, furious, and deeply concerned. He had read it once, smiled faintly, and set it aside. There would be time to answer her properly when he was no longer about to do something irreversible.
Today was the day.
Vaelros stood in the open courtyard behind the estate he had quietly purchased on the outskirts of Lys. The sky was clear, the air warm. In the center of the stone floor he had drawn a massive, intricate ritual circle using a thick black liquid mixed with powdered onyx and a trace of his own blood. At the very center sat the black dragon egg, its shell covered in jagged, crackling patterns of black and gold that seemed to shift when the light hit them.
Tharn and Calen stood nearby, watching.
"You two are fools, you know that, right?" Vaelros said with a small smile as he picked up a brush and began refining the outermost ring of the circle.
Tharn grinned. "We call ourselves rich. And you seem like a good cash cow. Ever since I came to these warm lands I've had nothing but fun. With you I even got to visit the lands of curses."
Vaelros rolled his eyes but kept working.
Calen chuckled. "What can I say? I'm an adventurer at heart. And with you, I figured I could become a little richer than I already am."
Vaelros finished the last intricate line and straightened up, brushing dust from his hands.
"Both of you are pig-headed friends," he said, still smiling. Then his expression grew serious.
"I'm telling you this once. When this ritual is over, everything changes. I will be a dragon rider. And I will be incapacitated for at least five weeks maybe longer. While I'm unconscious, the two of you will have the run of the ship. Tharn, I want you to find more Northerners like yourself. Buy their freedom or offer them honest work. Calen, you're in charge of security. Root out any spies among the crew and test their loyalty. We'll talk about the rest later. For now… let's begin."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out three items: a large amethyst crystal, a small vial of his own blood, and a simple silver necklace the very first magical item he had ever created.
Vaelros stepped into the circle.
He began to speak.
The words were old Valyrian, but twisted, layered with something far older. The language of the first sorcerers. Power rolled off his tongue in waves. The runes on the ground flared to life, one ring at a time. The black-and-gold patterns on the egg began to glow and shift like living lightning.
The egg trembled.
A thin crack appeared across its surface.
Then another.
With a sharp, wet sound the shell split open.
A small, dark shape spilled out onto the stone wet, trembling, and already moving. Black scales gleamed under the sunlight, streaked with jagged gold lightning-like markings. Tiny horns curled back from its head. Its eyes, still unfocused, glowed a vivid green.
The two men stared in stunned silence.
Vaelros kept chanting.
The dragon began to grow.
At first it was slow doubling, then tripling in size. Then the growth became rapid, unnatural, fueled by the ritual. Within minutes it was the size of a large horse. Then larger still. Its wings unfurled with a leathery snap, gold-edged membranes stretching wide. Spines rose along its back like black blades edged in gold. By the time it reached the height of a small house, it showed no signs of stopping.
Calen's mouth had fallen open.
Tharn had taken an unconscious step backward.
The dragon threw its head back and roared.
The sound was thunder given form. A deep, rolling crack that shook the courtyard stones.
From its jaws burst a torrent of flame not ordinary fire, but bright, crackling yellow-white lightning wrapped in searing gold. The blast shot upward into the sky, splitting the air with a deafening boom.
Vaelros finally stopped chanting. His voice was hoarse, his body already beginning to sway from the massive drain.
He looked up at the massive creature that now towered over them, smoke still drifting from its jaws.
"Storm," he said clearly. "That is your name."
The dragon lowered its head. Its green eyes locked onto Vaelros. For a long moment it simply stared. Then it let out a low, rumbling growl that somehow sounded like agreement.
Vaelros reached out and placed a hand on the warm scales between its eyes.
Storm rumbled again, louder this time. The sound rolled across the courtyard like distant thunder.
Vaelros smiled faintly, even as his knees began to buckle.
"Welcome to the world, Storm."
Behind him, Calen finally found his voice.
"…Well," he said quietly. "We're definitely not in Lys anymore."
Tharn just stared at the massive black-and-gold dragon, then at Vaelros, and shook his head with a disbelieving laugh.
"You really are a madman."
Vaelros didn't answer. He was still staring up at Storm, one hand resting on the dragon's snout, his body already growing heavy with the price of the ritual.
The dragon had hatched.
And nothing would ever be the same again.