Above Gohor, the air was thick with dust and swirling sands that rose ten or fifteen feet high.
When Oberyn arrived, he saw Viserys had already begun laying the foundations for the rammed-earth walls of the new city.
Brickmaking had only just started.
From the size of the foundations, it was clear that this first wall would enclose a far larger area than originally planned.
This would be no small undertaking—and the daily grain consumption alone would be staggering.
Oberyn also noticed the vast numbers of laborers at work.
Among them were many olive-skinned Rhoynar.
Had Viserys already fought another battle? Oberyn wondered, noting how numerous these Rhoynar "captives" were.
Though the Martells of Dorne claimed descent from Nymaria, Oberyn harbored no special sympathy for these Rhoynar bloodlines—any local lord would exploit his people without mercy.
His only real concern was grain supply.
Freygo's provisions had been generous, and another shipment of cheap grain was on the way.
If the city required rations only for its original eighteen hundred inhabitants, Viserys could hold out for a year easily.
With Oberyn's Pentoshi grain, that timeline would stretch even further.
But judging by the scale of construction—soon to be added to by another wave of soldiers and these Rhoynar laborers—Viserys might be overextending himself.
When Viserys saw Oberyn's caravan approach, he came out to greet him personally.
Although Oberyn had spoken brusquely, the prince had delivered exactly what was promised—and deserved courtesy.
Oberyn wasted no time.
"Have you been back on the warpath?" he asked.
Viserys didn't answer at once but pointed toward the dusty horizon.
"Come—let's walk and talk."
Escorted by Arthur, they climbed a small rise overlooking the works. Below, the forced laborers toiled like ants, heaping earth into wooden frames.
In truth, this first rammed-earth wall enclosed only one-third of Gohor's ruins.
Viserys intended to build a larger outer wall next, dividing the city into an inner ward and outer ward.
Within the inner ward, he would then construct a proper castle—only then could Targaryens claim a firm foothold.
Watching the laborers, Viserys said, "I hired these workers with coin. I pay them wages—they must bring their own food."
To speed construction, he had recruited men who once hid in those mountain caves.
Since selling off old warships and repurposed merchant galleys, Viserys's treasury brims, despite scarcely touching Dragonstone's coffers.
Assured that grain supply was secure, Oberyn asked, "What of Illyrio?"
Viserys's expression darkened. "Illyrio's wife is Syla—of the Blackfyre line."
"The Blackfyres?" Oberyn exclaimed. He had no inkling of this hidden connection.
"Varys may well have been Blackfyre, too," Viserys continued. "They were, in truth, partners."
Oberyn recalled Viserys's claim that he had slain Varys. Yet how could someone so young know such things? Can he truly dream the future? And if so, why hadn't he foreseen Rhaegar's defeat at the Trident?
Every answer only bred more questions.
But even if he had dreamed it, what good would it have done? The Mad King would scarcely heed a child's visions.
"So what will you do? Do you plan to kill Illyrio?"
Viserys laughed. "Illyrio? A fly on an ox. Prince Oberyn, I apologize, but this world is far more dangerous than you imagine."
Oberyn bristled at being dismissed by a boy. Viserys's gaze drifted northwest, not toward Braavos, but beyond the Wall—into the Land of Always Winter.
He chose not to mention the Others. Instead, he returned to Illyrio.
"Since he hoped to use you to turn my own lords against me, you must help me play this out. Illyrio's coffers still hold much gold—I intend to strip him bare."
Oberyn could almost see Illyrio stripped of dignity, begging in the streets.
"Also—you said your next target would be the Rhoynar. Why then pay them to build your walls? With gold in hand, they could buy armor and weapons to defend against you."
Viserys turned and asked, "Tell me—how much does a good horse cost today?"
"About a dozen gold dragons," Oberyn answered after a moment's thought.
"And if the world's supply of gold were to double overnight, would a horse still cost a dozen dragons?"
"Of course not."
"Exactly. Grain is the same! The wages I give these Rhoynar let them buy more grain—but this land produces only so much.
"It is planting season now. The more Rhoynar labor here, the fewer farmers till the fields—and the higher grain prices will rise.
"With our gold, I can control the Rhoynar effortlessly—arriving as a savior rather than a conqueror."
Hearing Viserys outline this strategy, Oberyn felt as though he were observing a strange creature.
He no longer cared to dispute Aegon's claim. To tangle with a mind like Viserys's seemed a fool's errand—one that might ensnare him as well.
Yet, if Viserys ever harmed young Aegon to secure his own succession, Oberyn would stand against him—which, in itself, filled him with unease.
Once more, the intellectual pressure Viserys exerted weighed heavily on Oberyn—a scholar celebrated in Oldtown, now left unsettled.
Then Oberyn spotted a flaw in the plan.
"But… your strategy hinges on the number of horses remaining constant. The Rhoynar could simply import grain from elsewhere. If they did, what then?"
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