Chapter 4: Scales in the Sand
The voyage across the Narrow Sea was uneventful, a tedious but necessary interlude. Vaelyx spent most of it within the confines of his cabin, ostensibly nursing a lingering sea-sickness that the captain and crew readily accepted from a land-bound Westerosi princeling. In reality, he was deep within the expanded sanctum of Newt Scamander's suitcase, meticulously tending to his true concerns. The seven dragon eggs, nestled within their magically heated volcanic grotto, were indeed showing subtle but undeniable changes. The obsidian egg now possessed faint, pulsing crimson veins beneath its surface, and the deep green one sometimes emitted a low, resonant hum that Vaelyx could feel more than hear. Voldemort's vast knowledge, while not specifically dragon-centric, provided principles of magical incubation and creature husbandry that he adapted, occasionally supplementing the intense heat with carefully measured whispers of Parseltongue, hoping to stir the reptilian life within.
His disguised wand, the unassuming handle of his scholar's satchel, felt like a live thing in his hand when he practiced. He rehearsed complex enchantments, refined his non-verbal casting to an art form, and reviewed Voldemort's memories of commanding inferi, of weaving fear into the very air – skills he knew would be invaluable in the cutthroat world of Essos.
Pentos rose from the flatlands like a mirage of sun-baked brick and faded glory. Unlike the grey stone and imposing verticality of King's Landing, Pentos sprawled, a city of wide plazas, opulent but decaying manses roofed with faded red tiles, and bustling, chaotic markets that assaulted the senses. The air was thick with the scent of exotic spices, salty sea air, unwashed bodies, and the faint, pervasive sweetness of poppy wine. Chains clinked rhythmically as lines of slaves, collared and despondent, were paraded by merchants. Vaelyx observed them with the same detached interest he'd give livestock, noting their potential utility and the casual cruelty of their masters. A resource, he cataloged, and a clear indicator of this city's moral flexibility. Useful.
He disembarked not as Prince Vaelyx Targaryen, but as Valerius of Lys, a persona he'd carefully constructed – a young merchant of distant Valyrian descent, possessing a modest inheritance, seeking to make his fortune in the bustling trade hub of Pentos. His silver-gold hair and violet eyes, while rare, were not unheard of in those with Valyrian blood, common enough in Lys and Volantis. He spoke the Pentoshi dialect of High Valyrian flawlessly, a skill honed during the voyage.
He secured lodgings in a respectable but not ostentatious inn near the waterfront, one with thick walls and a room that offered a discreet view of the comings and goings. The first few weeks were dedicated to reconnaissance. He walked the city, a seemingly curious newcomer, his senses, augmented by subtle Legilimency, absorbing everything. He learned the hierarchy: the powerful, feuding Magisters who truly ran the city, their wealth derived from trade and, discreetly, slaves; the portly, often drunken Prince of Pentos, a figurehead chosen by the Magisters, with little real power but a great deal of ceremony. He identified the major trading houses, the influential guilds, and, most importantly, the preferred haunts of sellswords and mercenaries.
His initial forays into commerce were small, careful. Using a portion of his hidden capital, he invested in a shipment of Myrish lace, a commodity he knew (from the fan-memory of Westerosi fashions) would soon be in high demand amongst the noble ladies of King's Landing due to some upcoming royal festivity Jaehaerys was planning. He arranged its transport through a reliable, if grasping, merchant captain, taking a modest but quick profit that established "Valerius" as a man with some business acumen. This also allowed him to cultivate contacts, individuals who could provide information or services later.
The true work, however, began in the shadows. He needed soldiers. Not just any sword-for-hire, but men of skill, discipline, and a certain… malleability. He frequented the smoky taverns where sellswords gathered, listening more than speaking, his Legilimency sifting through the boasts, grievances, and desperate hopes of the men around him. He looked for those with a core of competence beneath their bluster, those whose eyes held a spark of ambition or the bleakness of having nothing left to lose.
His first recruit was a man named Kaelen, a grizzled Stormlander knight, exiled from Westeros years ago for striking a lord who had insulted his sister. Kaelen was a giant of a man, his face a roadmap of old battles, his skill with a longsword undeniable, but his spirit crushed by years of thankless contracts and dwindling coin. Vaelyx found him drowning his sorrows in cheap wine, lamenting his fate.
"You fight well, Stormlander," Vaelyx said, his voice calm and carrying easily over the tavern din. He'd observed Kaelen in a brief street scuffle earlier, where the knight had dispatched three belligerent dockworkers with brutal efficiency.
Kaelen eyed him warily. "Who wants to know?"
"Someone who values skill and pays well for it," Vaelyx replied, placing a small, heavy pouch of silver on the table. "I am Valerius. I am forming a new company. One that will value loyalty and deliver results."
He didn't use overt magic, but the subtle force of Voldemort's charisma, the unwavering confidence in his pale eyes, had an effect. Kaelen, after a moment of suspicious silence, picked up the pouch. "What kind of results?"
"The kind that makes us all wealthy and respected," Vaelyx said smoothly. "The kind that ensures no man dares disrespect us."
Kaelen became his first lieutenant, his drillmaster. Through him, Vaelyx found others: a cunning Tyroshi scout named Lyra, whose knowledge of poisons and quiet movement was unparalleled; a hulking, stoic axeman from Norvos called Boros, who had served with the Second Sons but left after a dispute over pay; and a sharp-witted former Lysene scribe named Malakai, who had a talent for forgery and managing logistics, and who Vaelyx quickly earmarked as his quartermaster.
He named his fledgling company "The Serpent's Scale." The name was chosen with care. Serpents were cunning, often underestimated until they struck. Scales offered protection, and in heraldry, could represent justice or balance – a useful veneer. For Vaelyx, it was a private nod to his Voldemort heritage and his future draconic arsenal.
Their first contracts were modest, deliberately so. Guarding a spice merchant's caravan traveling a short, bandit-infested route to a neighboring town. Protecting a wealthy Magister's manse during a period of civic unrest. Each was executed with chilling efficiency. Vaelyx, or Valerius as he was now known to his men, didn't lead from the front in the traditional sense. Instead, he directed from the rear, his tactical brilliance, drawn from Voldemort's memories of countless campaigns, proving devastating. He seemed to anticipate enemy movements, to know their weaknesses before they were revealed.
On one occasion, escorting a shipment of valuable silks, they were ambushed by a notorious gang of highwaymen who outnumbered them two to one. While Kaelen and Boros held the line, Vaelyx, from a concealed position, unleashed a series of precisely targeted, non-verbal spells. A sudden, localized fog rolled in, sowing confusion amongst the attackers. Rocks, seemingly dislodged by nothing, tumbled down a hillside, blocking the bandits' retreat. A flight of arrows from the enemy archers inexplicably went wide, as if diverted by an unseen hand. The bandits, unnerved by these "unlucky" occurrences and facing the disciplined ferocity of Kaelen's men, broke and fled, leaving a significant portion of their number dead or wounded.
The Serpent's Scale Company suffered minimal casualties. Vaelyx's men looked at him with a new respect, bordering on awe. They attributed their success to his brilliant tactics and uncanny luck. He let them. Fear and mystery were powerful tools of command.
Word began to spread through Pentos. The Serpent's Scale was small, but they were reliable, efficient, and surprisingly deadly. They fulfilled their contracts to the letter, no matter how unpleasant. Magister Illyrio Mopatis, a rising power in Pentos known for his appetite for intrigue and exotic ventures, took note. Vaelyx had marked Illyrio early on as a man of immense ambition and few scruples – a potentially valuable, if dangerous, future associate.
The profits from these early ventures were immediately reinvested. Better armor, superior weapons, a small, fortified warehouse near the docks that served as their barracks and public headquarters. Vaelyx ensured his men were well-paid, well-fed, and, above all, kept disciplined. His true headquarters, however, remained the suitcase. Within its magically protected confines, he reviewed ledgers, planned future operations, and, most importantly, monitored the dragon eggs.
The jade green egg had developed a network of fine cracks, through which a faint, emerald light sometimes pulsed. The heat in their volcanic grotto was now so intense that even Vaelyx, shielded by magic, could only remain for short periods. He had begun to experiment with small blood sacrifices – desert foxes and large lizards he'd populated one of the suitcase's habitats with – channeling the life energy into the eggs. It was a grim business, but Voldemort's memories provided a cold, pragmatic detachment. Dragons were fire made flesh, and blood was part of their ancient song.
He was careful not to grow the company too quickly. Quality over quantity. Each new recruit was vetted by Kaelen and subtly assessed by Vaelyx using Legilimency. He sought out those with specific skills: healers, smiths, siege engineers. He was building not just a sellsword band, but the core of a future army.
His mercantile ventures also expanded. Using Malakai's expertise and his own hidden capital, he invested in shipping routes, securing shares in vessels that plied the waters between the Free Cities and the Summer Sea. He began trading in information, leveraging his growing network of contacts and his own uncanny ability to predict market shifts (aided by both his intellect and, occasionally, the fan-memory's knowledge of future Westerosi events that might impact Essosi trade). Wealth flowed into his hidden coffers, a river of gold and silver that would fuel his larger ambitions.
One evening, Kaelen approached him in their modest headquarters, his weathered face etched with concern. "Valerius, a word. Magister Khalbo, one of the Old Bloods, wishes to hire us. It's… a sensitive matter. He wants us to retrieve a 'stolen' artifact from a rival Magister's villa. Quietly. No witnesses left behind."
Vaelyx listened, his pale eyes unblinking. This was a step up in risk, but also in reward and reputation. "And the pay?"
"Enough to equip us for a year," Kaelen said, his voice low.
Vaelyx considered it. Such a mission, if successful, would cement their reputation for ruthless discretion. It would also put them firmly on the radar of the Pentoshi elite. He gave a slow, deliberate nod. "We will take the contract, Kaelen. Ensure the men understand the meaning of 'no witnesses'."
Kaelen's grim smile was answer enough.
As he retired to his private chambers that night, ostensibly to rest but in reality to enter his suitcase, Vaelyx felt a cold sense of satisfaction. The Serpent's Scale was growing, coiling itself around the underbelly of Pentos. His wealth was accumulating. His name, Valerius, was beginning to inspire fear and respect in equal measure.
Inside the suitcase, the air in the volcanic grotto was almost too thick to breathe. The obsidian egg with the crimson veins was vibrating visibly, and a faint, rhythmic tapping could be heard from within.
Soon, he thought, his lips curling into a predatory smile that held none of the charm of Valerius and all of the chilling promise of Voldemort. Soon, the first scales would break free. And the world would begin to learn the true meaning of fire and blood, Targaryen-style, augmented by a magic it had never dreamed existed. His journey in Essos was just beginning, but the path to the Iron Throne, though long and treacherous, was being paved with Pentoshi silver and the blood of his enemies.