Staring blankly at the remains of the dragon, Rhaegar felt a wave of disappointment wash over him. "It didn't escape; it died," he murmured. The loss weighed heavily on him, as he cherished the life of every dragon. This one hadn't perished in glorious battle or peacefully at the end of its life, but had instead been trapped and crushed in the collapse of the Dragonpit. Such an ignoble end felt unworthy of any adult dragon in Rhaegar's eyes.
"My lord, there's another passage in the corner of the cave," an alert mercenary reported.
Rhaegar descended from the giant dragon's remains, his expression flat. "Got it. Scout it out and report back."
The dragon's remains lay near a deep pool, its pitch-black tail bones trailing into the water. Rhaegar nimbly climbed up the rubble, coming face to face with the dragon's skull, its fangs interlocked in a final grimace. This dragon, in life, might have resembled Vermithor or Meleys, with a crown of dense horns and bone spurs protruding from its cervical vertebrae.
Rhaegar reached out and touched the hideous skull, hoping to trigger some sort of explorer's quest. He waited, but no familiar beep sounded in his ears. Disappointed, he withdrew his hand. A dragon's remains without reputation seemed insufficient to unlock relic exploration.
"Pity," Rhaegar muttered, comparing the size of the dragon's head with his hands. If circumstances allowed, he would have liked to cut off the cervical vertebrae and bring the dragon's head back to King's Landing for his collection. The skull was enormous, as large as a small bedroom, and would require seven or eight people to encircle it fully.
Moments later, the mercenary who had scouted ahead returned in haste. "My lord, I found a black-robed man!" he exclaimed eagerly.
Rhaegar abandoned his thoughts of taking the dragon's head and asked urgently, "Are you sure it's a Shadowbinder?"
"Seems so. Cloaked in black robes and wearing a lacquered red mask," the mercenary replied, gulping nervously.
"Lead the way. No Shadowbinders can be spared," Rhaegar ordered, drawing the Dragon Claw sword at his waist. Shadowbinders of Asshai, always traveled with mysterious purpose.
Their presence in these ruins was no coincidence—it involved the Dragonlord's legacy, and outsiders could not be allowed to uncover its secrets.
Rhaegar led the way, over thirty mercenaries following close behind with torches. They had already lost a dozen men to a round of attacks by the Stone men. As they entered the passageway within the stone wall, the cave fell into another deathly silence.
Suddenly, the deep pool rippled, creating a series of waves that cast a shadow over the entire pool, adding another layer of ominous tension to the scene.
...
On the other side, Rhaegar advanced through the passageway, the faint sound of rushing water echoing in his ears. "There's a dark river at the end," he thought silently.
After a few more steps, a dim light appeared ahead. He signaled the mercenaries to slow down, their footsteps quieting. As they reached the edge of the passageway, a burst of unintelligible, almost demonic whispers filled the air.
Outside the passage lay a stone palace reminiscent of the Dragonpit hall. The palace walls had been crushed and deformed by external forces, with intricate patterns barely visible beneath the dust. Several stone pillars supported the structure, though half were broken, and the collapsed roof revealed patches of soil.
The floor was cracked down the center, forming a deep chasm leading to the shattered wall's rear, where the sound of flowing water came from a tributary of the dark river.
A slim figure in black robes and a red-painted mask stood with his back to the passageway, facing an intact stone wall. He muttered odd incantations under his breath.
Rhaegar ignored the strange sounds, focusing instead on the Shadowbinder's withered hands raised above his head. In one hand, he held a green dragon egg, smeared with dragon dung; in the other, a yellowed parchment book lay open.
As the Shadowbinder chanted, the parchment stirred as if blown by an unseen wind, and a wisp of black smoke emerged, enveloping the stone wall. "There's definitely something here," Rhaegar thought, his eyes flicking between the dragon egg and the wall.
From his distance, he couldn't discern many details about the dragon egg, which looked much like the fossilized eggs he had excavated earlier. The carvings on the stone wall, however, shocked him deeply. The pattern began with fourteen flames, followed by a group of shepherds and a dragon.
The carvings, divided into sections by cuts in the stone, depicted history in a blend of images and High Valyrian text.
Rhaegar could clearly read the top few words: "Belaerys... Dragon Taming... Binding Spell..."
Thoughts raced through Rhaegar's mind as a glint of realization flashed in his eyes. During his youth, educated by the maesters of the Citadel, he had encountered many speculations about ancient Valyria, particularly the Dragonlords' methods for taming dragons.
The maesters deduced from sparse ancient texts that the Dragonlords possessed some form of magic, referred to in the texts as the "binding spell," which compelled dragons to obey their commands.
Rhaegar had delved into the knowledge from the "Belaerys" family's ancient books, which hinted at the existence of a "dragon's horn" and vaguely referenced the "binding spell."
The Belaerys family was a prominent Dragonlord house, known for their mastery of powerful magical spells and artifacts. The Targaryens, however, had never reached such heights of power.
Taking a deep breath, Rhaegar suppressed his excitement and resolved, "Whether true or not, I must obtain the binding spell." The Targaryen dragons were not yet numerous or powerful enough to subdue Westeros and Essos. With the binding spell, the Targaryens could potentially revive the glory of a top Dragonlord family.
"Do we have any arrows left?" Rhaegar whispered.
The commander behind him hastily handed over two arrows, saying, "My lord, we've used most of our arrows. These are the only ones left."
Rhaegar accepted them, confident. "It's enough," he said. Proficient in swordsmanship, spearmanship, and archery, Rhaegar knew he could make the shots count.
Moving stealthily, he nocked an arrow and drew his longbow, aiming at the defenseless Shadowbinder. A direct confrontation was unwise; striking from behind was the best strategy.
Crunch...
The drawing of the bow made a strange sound, causing the Shadowbinder to turn violently. Behind his red-painted mask, he shouted, "Who's there?"
Whoosh-
The bowstring released and the iron-tipped arrow shot out with deadly speed. The Shadowbinder couldn't react in time and took the arrow right in the chest, the force throwing him against the stone wall.
"Kill him!" Rhaegar ordered, his voice cold. He drew his remaining arrow and fired.
The mercenaries rushed forward, swords drawn, toward the Shadowbinder pinned against the wall.
Ahem...
The Shadowbinder slumped to the ground, blood seeping from beneath his mask, his eyes filled with resentment. "The Lord of Light will not forgive you. You all deserve to die," he spat, smearing the blood on his mask.
A second arrow flew toward the Shadowbinder's head. But just as it was about to strike, the rope holding the mask snapped. Shadows rose from the ground, wrapped around the mask, and lifted it into the air.
The next moment, the shadow transformed into a humanoid figure, complete with a red mask.
Clang-
The Shadow drew a heavy greatsword from the Shadowbinder's grasp and sliced through the arrow.
"An abomination!"
"Beware, it's Shadow Sorcery!"
The mercenaries stopped, fear gripping them. Magic had been a rarity since the Doom, and this sudden appearance of evil sorcery stunned them.
"Don't run!" Rhaegar shouted, dropping his longbow and stepping forward. He ignited his sword by rubbing it against a torch, flames enveloping the blade. "Kill the Shadowbinder!"
Inspired by their leader's bravery, the mercenaries rallied, brandishing their swords and surrounding the shadow and its master. The Shadowbinder, weakened by summoning the shadow, cowered under his robes.
"Kill him!" roared the commander, charging.
Suddenly, the shadow moved with uncanny speed, slicing through the commander's neck. Blood sprayed as his head fell.
The shadow continued its deadly dance, cutting down mercenaries who dared approach.
"Use your torches! The shadow fears fire!" Rhaegar shouted.
The mercenaries gathered, waving their torches. The shadow recoiled, shielding its mask with its greatsword.
"Where do you think you're going?" Rhaegar bellowed, rushing in with his flaming sword. He slashed at the shadow, and it stiffened under the firelight.
Pff—
Rhaegar's blade sliced through the shadow's waist, splitting it in two.
"Die!" he cried, stabbing the lacquered red mask. Flames erupted, consuming the mask and the shadow.
Sizzle...
The lacquered red mask burned to ashes, and the shadow melted into a puddle before evaporating.
Rhaegar sheathed his sword, his eyes cold. "Arrest the Shadowbinder. I will interrogate him personally."
"Yes, my lord," the mercenaries responded, dragging the Shadowbinder away.
The mercenaries hurried to capture the Shadowbinder, who had lost the ability to resist. Rhaegar's eyes fell on the heavy greatsword. Its blade was cold, adorned with water-like patterns, and the hilt, cast in gold, ended in a lion's head.
(Word count: 1,520)