Chapter 333: The Master of the Horn

A fleet of nearly a hundred longships slowly entered Slaver's Bay.

The golden kraken banners flapping in the wind revealed their origins—the Iron Islands.

On the flagship Invincible Ironborn, Victarion Greyjoy, the "Iron Captain," gazed westward. At the edge of the horizon where sea and sky met, a fiery red glow lit up the horizon.

It was the Smoking Sea, the cursed ruin born of the gods' destruction of Valyria.

A place of death and legend.

Only his brother, Euron "Crow's Eye" Greyjoy, had ever returned alive from the Smoking Sea, bringing back with him a horn said to control dragons.

Now, that very horn was in his possession.

It was Euron's "gift."

Victarion knew well that any gift from Euron was bound to carry poison. But even so, he accepted it.

Because he wanted to know if the horn truly had the power to command dragons.

If he could control a dragon… if he could claim the most beautiful woman in the world as his bride…

He would make Euron scream in rage.

The thought brought a smile to Victarion's lips.

The sunlight danced across the waves, dazzling and irritating to the eyes after prolonged exposure.

Victarion squinted, turning away to head back into his cabin.

The dim and cool interior housed a dark-skinned woman of striking beauty.

She, too, was a gift from Euron—a twisted form of compensation.

Victarion had not wanted her at first. Nothing Euron did could atone for past betrayals.

But Euron had threatened to kill the woman if Victarion refused.

So, Victarion's heart had softened.

The woman was obedient. As Victarion entered, she rose silently, wringing out a damp cloth from a bucket to wipe the sweat from his brow.

She was beautiful, and Victarion couldn't resist. Grabbing her, he threw her onto the bed and took her from behind.

Afterward, he poured himself a cup of ale and drained it in one gulp.

Pouring another, he offered it to her.

"Want some?"

The woman nodded but said nothing. Her tongue had been cut out by Euron, leaving her mute.

Victarion handed her the cup.

"We'll reach Astapor in a few days," he said, watching her drink. "They say the dragon girl is there, with her three dragons."

The woman listened silently, as she always did.

Victarion enjoyed confiding in her. Perhaps because she couldn't betray him.

"I'll make the dragon girl my wife," Victarion declared. "Not just to spite my brother, but for the glory of the Ironborn. When kraken and dragon unite, the whole world will tremble!"

The woman's gaze flickered with a strange light, but Victarion didn't notice.

"I'll have her bear me strong sons," he said with growing excitement. "Sons who can ride dragons!"

His fervor rekindled his lust, and he grabbed the woman again.

When it was over, Victarion adjusted his trousers and left the cabin.

She was a fine woman, but no match for Daenerys Targaryen.

The sun lay ahead. Why waste time on a mere candle?

---

On deck, a lookout reported a merchant ship ahead.

The hunt began.

At Victarion's signal, the Iron Fleet's ships surged forward like sharks scenting blood.

The merchant captain, sensing danger, turned to flee. Perhaps he hoped to find refuge in a hidden cove or lure his pursuers onto jagged reefs.

But his ship was laden with cargo and too slow.

The Invincible Ironborn blocked its path, while the Sea Hawk and Finger Dance flanked it.

Even then, the merchant vessel refused to surrender.

Victarion ordered his ship to ram the enemy's left side, shattering over a dozen oars.

Then came the brutal melee of boarding combat—a form of warfare Ironborn excelled at.

The resistance on the merchant ship was swiftly crushed.

Its captain was strung up at the prow, left to die under the sun.

The spoils were typical: jewels, gold, and slaves.

From the captured crew, Victarion learned the ship belonged to a fleeing noble from Astapor.

The prisoners also confirmed that Victarion's target—Daenerys Targaryen—was indeed in Astapor. She had conquered the city and freed its slaves.

---

"If your goal is the Dragon Queen, you are doomed to fail," a booming voice interrupted.

Victarion turned to see a hulking dark-skinned man among the captives.

The man's white-streaked beard tangled across his face, and a flame-shaped tattoo marked his brow. One of his arms was missing.

"Who are you?" Victarion demanded.

"I am but the humblest servant of R'hllor, the Lord of Light," the one-armed man said. "My name is Moqorro."

Victarion's eyes narrowed. "Why do you say I am doomed to fail?"

"Do you not know? The Dragon Queen has already conquered Astapor. She commands the fearsome Unsullied and is accompanied by an even more fearsome man."

"Who?"

"The Blasphemer—Caesar."

"Samwell Caesar?"

"The very same."

Victarion clenched his fists. "So, she now has four dragons at her command?"

"Not anymore." Moqorro shook his head. "Caesar has taken his dragon to the Demon City, while the Dragon Queen has marched to Yunkai."

"Yunkai?" Victarion exhaled in relief. Truth be told, he preferred not to face Caesar. The Unsullied, however, didn't concern him.

The people of Westeros had heard of the reputation of these eunuchs, but had never fought against them.

Victarion also did not think that a group of castrated men could have much fighting power.

Let others fear eunuchs. Victarion doubted they could stand against true Ironborn warriors.

"Fine. I'll find the dragon girl in Yunkai. If you're lying, not even R'hllor can save you."

Moqorro seemed unfazed by the threat. Placing his hand over his chest, he intoned, "The Lord of Light has foretold your arrival. Victarion Greyjoy, I saw you walking through fire with blood dripping from your axe. Yet black tendrils wrapped around your wrists, throat, and ankles, pulling you into their dance. You danced, unaware."

"Dance?" Victarion snarled. "You think I'm someone's puppet?"

"These are the visions of the flames. I am but their interpreter."

"Your god lies," Victarion scoffed.

Maqorro's tone remained even. "The flames also show that if your fleet sails onward, you will capture two swift ships with many oars."

Victarion doubted him but soon had to admit the truth.

His fleet did indeed intercept two sleek galleys.

From their prisoners, he confirmed Moqqoro's claim: Daenerys had left Astapor and was marching on Yunkai.

---

"What else does your god say?" Victarion asked, beginning to take Moqqoro more seriously.

"The flames reveal that your death awaits in your cabin," Moqorro said.

Victarion glanced back toward his cabin, narrowing his eyes.

My death?

Could there be betrayal within his fleet?

No, he was beloved by his men, the Iron Captain of the Iron Fleet. Who could possibly betray him?

Then a name came to him—Euron "Crow's Eye."

Only Euron would betray him.

Victarion's thoughts turned to the massive horn Euron had gifted him—poison wrapped in promises.

Fetching it from his cabin, he showed it to Moqqoro.

"Do you know what this is?"

"The Dragonbinder," Moqorro said immediately. "Have you heard its sound?"

"Once." Victarion recalled the hellish noise at the Kingsmoot, when one of Euron's men had blown the horn. He shuddered. "It sounded as though it would ignite flesh and bone."

"And the one who blew it?"

"He died, of course."

"Indeed," Moqorro confirmed. "Unless one possesses the gift of being Unburnt, the horn demands the life of its blower."

Victarion felt a grim satisfaction. "Euron's gift is poisoned, as expected. But if using it costs a life, what value does it have?"

"You do not need to blow the horn yourself," Moqorro explained. "It matters not who blows it. The dragons will obey the horn's master."

"Then the horn's master is Euron, isn't it? No matter who blows it, the dragons will follow his command."

Moqoro nodded. "Precisely."

Victarion leaned closer. "Can I become its master?"

Moqorro pointed to the Valyrian glyphs etched on the horn. "Blood for fire. Fire for blood. Yes, you can. All it requires is a sacrifice of blood."

(End of Chapter)