The tall "slave" who spoke up was none other than Caggo. His words quickly sparked a response from the others.
"Yes! We've eaten the meat, so there's nothing to regret!"
"Protect the master!"
"Protect the master!"
The slaves began shouting, as if they had found a purpose. Yet, to anyone listening closely, it was clear they were trying to muster their own courage.
Planting Caggo among the slaves was a tactic Viserys had borrowed from warlords—an effective method for rousing a crowd. It's said that a certain historical figure, notorious for his oratory, also used to place supporters in his audiences to guide the mood. So far, it seemed to be working.
At that moment, the low, rapid tolling of a bell echoed from the direction of the palace, drawing the attention of nearly half the crowd. However, most still focused on Viserys. He raised his hand, signaling for silence.
"Everyone, I understand how you feel, but we can't possibly stand against a hundred thousand heavily armed soldiers. You should leave, run for your lives!"
"Run for our lives?"
"Leave?"
"Go where?"
Confusion spread through the ranks. The slaves had no idea where they could run to. With hundreds of thousands of soldiers surrounding them and less than 300,000 people in all of Tyrosh, escape seemed impossible. The city walls and the sea trapped them in every direction.
At that moment, another voice rose from the crowd—a medium-sized black "slave" called out: "Lord, we have nowhere to go. Please, lead us to safety! I heard you're the champion of the tournament, the strongest warrior in the world. With you leading us, we will survive!"
This "slave," like Caggo, was planted by Viserys. His words, delivered with confidence, sparked hope among the others.
"Champion? Tournament champion? What does that mean?"
"It means he's the best fighter, the most powerful warrior!"
Some of the more knowledgeable slaves explained to their less-informed companions. Though these claims were exaggerated and full of holes, what the slaves needed now wasn't logic—it was hope.
"Master! Lead us to safety!"
"Master, take us with you!"
"Master, we're not going anywhere without you!"
The slaves, who had been directionless just moments before, now showed a fierce determination. Their faces, illuminated by the orange glow of the braziers, revealed a primal excitement—the thrill of impending bloodshed, born from the deepest, most instinctual part of their beings.
Another blast of the horn rang out, but this time, few shifted their gaze from Viserys. Jorah, standing behind him, felt a shiver run down his spine as he witnessed the scene before him. Although he had known Viserys's plan in advance, seeing the raw intensity of the mobilization shocked him to his core. He hadn't expected it to be this powerful.
Jorah realized that Viserys was truly a master of manipulating hearts and minds.
Seeing the moment was ripe, Viserys finally spoke. "Good! If you want to live, I have a way."
Thousands of slaves looked up at him, eager to hear his plan. Viserys surveyed the crowd, their faces tinged with yellow from the braziers' flames. He let the tension build, saying nothing for a long moment.
'We can live!' they thought, the anticipation building with every second of silence.
The longer he remained quiet, the more desperate and anxious the crowd became.
Just as the tension reached its peak, Viserys finally spoke. "Kill the Archon! He is the one who attacked Lys, the one who brought disaster upon us. Kill him, and we shall live!"
The command sent a ripple of shock through the crowd. For many, the very idea was terrifying. The Archon was a figure akin to a god, someone beyond the reach of lowly slaves. To kill him felt not just like rebellion but blasphemy.
"Kill the Archon! Live!" Viserys's planted agents among the slaves began murmuring, their voices spreading like a contagion through the crowd. "Kill the Archon! Live!" they whispered, coaxing others to join the chant.
Gradually, the slogan took hold, whispered first by a few bold voices, then echoed by more and more.
"Kill the Archon! Live!"
What began as a trickle grew into a surging torrent. The phrase "Kill the Archon! Live!" seemed to possess a magical power, and soon the miners were chanting it in unison, their whispers turning into a roar.
The bell tolled once more, but this time it wasn't a call to action—it was the death knell of Tyrosh.
Viserys, Jorah, Conwyra, and Regis quickly divided the miners into three groups, each headed toward the nearby mines. They had to act swiftly, mobilizing more slaves to storm the palace and seize the Archon. With no fences or defenses between the mines—just simple markings—and the surrounding slave owners unaware of what was happening, resistance was minimal. The entire mining area was guarded by only a thousand soldiers, most of whom were stationed on the city walls.
Viserys had 300 elite soldiers and a thousand enraged slaves, and it wasn't long before their numbers swelled. The rallying cry, "Kill the Archon and live!" resonated with the slaves, even if they didn't fully grasp its meaning. To them, it simply meant that killing the Archon would prevent them from being sent to the battlefield as cannon fodder.
A chain reaction began. A thousand became two thousand, two thousand became five thousand, and soon they were ten thousand strong. And once they reached ten thousand, there was no stopping the tide. By the time the slave army had swept through the entire mining area, their numbers had swelled to nearly twenty thousand.
Through the eyes of his golden eagle, Viserys observed the mass of assembled miners. Each held a pickaxe or torch, their flickering lights a spark ready to ignite a wildfire, illuminating the night. But Viserys knew that this unruly mob wasn't yet an army. They could only succeed if they struck the palace in one decisive blow. If their momentum faltered, they would surely fail.
According to plan, Daenerys was leading a similar uprising, though her task was somewhat easier. By now, the name "Young Mother" had become a symbol of hope, a beacon that sustained the will of many slaves.
In the moonlight, Daenerys—her silver hair gleaming as she rode her white horse—looked like a goddess, radiating a soft yet unyielding strength. Hundreds of slaves surrounded her, listening in quiet reverence. Before them lay several half-dead slave owners, including Koxhmar, who had caused trouble recently. Earlier that day, he had been drinking in his garden, brooding over the state of affairs. But to his shock, the usually docile slaves had turned on him, binding him with ropes. He had tried to call for help, but most of the guards were already stationed on the city walls.
Now, he lay before Daenerys, the first sacrificial offering in her bid to liberate the oppressed.
"Slaves, this is the last time I will call you that," Daenerys shouted from atop her horse, her voice carrying over the crowd. "The so-called Archon has brought disaster upon us all! He hides in his fortress, safe behind its walls, while you are expected to use your flesh as shields and your bones as spears for his ambition!"
Her voice trembled slightly, and faint blue veins stood out on her neck. Though she was nervous—so much so that she secretly pinched her thigh for courage—thinking of the slaves who had died before her eyes steeled her resolve. The words Viserys had taught her now rang sincere and heartfelt.
The slaves, seeing Daenerys as if bathed in a radiant light, felt their determination solidify under her gaze.
Ding-dong, ding-dong... The bell tolled relentlessly, a reminder of the urgency of their mission.
"Break your shackles and claim the freedom you were born to have!" Daenerys cried, her voice fierce and clear. As she finished, she rode up to Koxhmar.
For Koxhmar, the world suddenly became blindingly bright, and then plunged into darkness. The last thing he heard was the thunderous cheers of the slaves.
Ding-dong, ding-dong...
"It's time," Red Viper murmured, listening to the faint bells tolling from Tyrosh as he glanced up at the moon. He was just about to give the order to attack when a seagull swooped down, delivering a letter to him.
"A white raven? No, it's a seagull!" Arianne exclaimed, watching in shock as the Red Viper removed a note from the bird's leg. She had never imagined that seagulls could be used for such a purpose.
'Is this more of his magic?' she wondered, an image of Viserys flashing through her mind. She quickly ran to her uncle's side, eager to see what the note said, but being too short, she couldn't quite reach it, even on her tiptoes.
Red Viper's mind swirled with questions as he read the message. "He's attacking the palace? Where did he get an army?" he mused aloud. "Is his magic so powerful that he can conjure up soldiers? And wasn't he supposed to be at Dragon's Flame Fortress? How did he end up in Tyrosh?"
Arianne finally caught a glimpse of the note and her face lit up with excitement. "Uncle! Let's attack now!"
Before Red Viper could respond, his eldest daughter, Obara, who towered over Arianne, sternly reminded her, "Arianne, don't interfere with father's command."
Realizing her mistake, Arianne shrank back, chastened. Anyone else who had dared to speak to Red Viper that way might not have lived to tell the tale.
Though Red Viper couldn't quite comprehend where Viserys had mustered an army, he decided to trust him, as Viserys had proven himself capable of miracles before.
"Pass my order! The fleet is to advance to the coast!" he commanded.
If this gamble paid off, Dorne would no longer have to fear the threat from the Stepstones. Instead, they would enjoy substantial new revenue from taxes.
As the fleet from Sunspear began to move, the defenders on the shore sounded the alarm, their horns blaring into the night. The fleets from Myr and Pentos, too, set sail under the moonlight. Despite their desire to preserve their strength, Sunspear's forces, which made up one-third of the alliance, had no choice but to join the fray, at least to make a show of force.