Aggo spared no effort, and three days later, he reached a small village near Qarth. By the time Dany and her companions could prepare to depart, a caravan of three hundred camels, loaded with supplies, was already en route to White Cloud City.The khalasar had marched for four arduous days, losing seventy or eighty horses along the way and nearly exhausting their water and mare's milk reserves before finally encountering scouts from the caravan. Thus, the baton in their thousand-kilometer relay was finally passed, and Dany felt a surge of relief. With that task secured, she could now turn her attention to more pressing concerns.The prophecy of the Mirri witch, combined with the presence of the dragon seekers, had convinced Dany that this world was far richer in magic than she had imagined. Dragons were only the beginning. Magic and sorcery existed, hidden yet potent, and she needed guidance. Quaithe, the shadowbinder from Asshai, was the key.Xaro, ever the cautious merchant, had spoken ill of wizards in her presence. "Wizards once held great power," he whispered conspiratorially when the others were absent, "even the dragonlords of Valyria regarded them with awe. But today? Those blue-lipped ones are shadows of their former selves. Frail veterans lingering in dockside taverns, boasting of powers long gone, reading decayed scrolls, drinking water infused with Nightshade until their lips turn blue. They speak of terrible magic—but it is hollow. Mere illusions of their predecessors' might.""And Quaithe?" Dany asked, curiosity piqued.Xaro's eyes glimmered with respect tinged with fear. "That woman… she comes from Asshai, in the Shadowlands. As the saying goes, 'Better to swallow a scorpion than trust a shadowborn.' Her power is real, Khaleesi. But she is dangerous—trust her, and it may cost you dearly."Dany finally understood. The one who had prophesied her existence was not the wizard Haiya, whose tales of the occult had fascinated her, but the enigmatic Quaithe, whose presence had always been subtle, almost invisible. This woman was no ordinary sorceress.Seeing an opportunity, Dany steered her camel closer to the shadowbinder, whispering softly, "Miss Quaithe, do you know the art of prophecy?"Quaithe, her eyes hidden beneath the lacquered mask and turban, turned her head toward Dany. Her expression remained unreadable."Daenerys," she said sharply, "the word 'Miss' is not customary in Asshai."Dany nodded quickly. "Yes, Master Quaithe. Can you tell me… will I ever have another child? Poor Rhaegal… the sorceress Mirri said my womb would bear no life again."Her voice faltered, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.Quaithe paused, then finally spoke words that made Dany's heart lift slightly. "Put aside your sorrows of the past. There are far greater things awaiting you. As for the child… alas, that is not something I can see."Dany frowned. "Why? You haven't even met me before, yet you know I hatched dragons, raised them here in the Red Waste?" She adjusted her silk scarf, trying to hide her emotions."Prophecy is an elusive magic," Quaithe explained. "When the Bleeding Star appeared, I sensed the tides of magic returning, like a wave sweeping over a town on the embankment. I opened my eyes to see the world at its essence. I saw you, taming dragons in the wasteland. That is all I can tell you."Dany admitted honestly, "I do not fully understand.""Mortals fear magic," Quaithe said, "yet it is wisdom few are suited to wield. Its essence is as simple as seeing the eastern sky turn crimson, signaling the sun's rise. Some cannot see, even when it is before them."Dany smiled wryly. "Then I am merely ordinary, unfit for such insight."Quaithe laughed, a rare, soft sound. "An ordinary person can indeed make the world surge with magic again."She continued, patiently explaining for a third time: "I saw the eastern sky tinged with red, and thus knew the sun was about to rise. Prophecy is simply the world revealing itself. You see, and so you know. As for your child, the threads of that future have yet to form; no signal has emerged. The tide has not yet stirred."Dany's thoughts clicked into place. Prophecy, she realized, was much like analyzing vast streams of information—a mystical form of big data. The dragons amplified the flow of magic, allowing Quaithe to perceive it clearly. Yet personal matters, like childbirth, did not yet influence the "tide."She turned to Quaithe, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. "Can you teach me magic?"Quaithe's reply was swift and unhesitating. "Come to Asshai. There, all knowledge you seek awaits you."Dany hesitated, then realized a truth she had always known: no one treats her with care without reason. Quaithe would never act from love, only necessity. Clearly, Quaithe's allegiance lay elsewhere—perhaps with her dragons."I am the Stormborn Princess of Dragonstone," Dany whispered to herself. "Restoring the Targaryen dynasty is my duty. My path lies west, to Westeros. I cannot turn away."Quaithe resumed her taciturn demeanor, signaling that further guidance would only come in Asshai. Dany knew she needed a contingency plan—Qarth was too close, too uncertain, and the dragons' future demanded preparation.Later, after the day's journey, she approached Bayapuri, the high warlock, while the others rested. "My Lord, have you heard that spells are a language unto themselves, separate from spoken words?"Bayapuri's blue lips curled in delight. "Khaleesi, your curiosity honors you! Indeed, mystical arts are vast. Many disciplines exist: shadowbinders, sorcerers, alchemists, moonsingers, red monks, dark sorcerers, necromancers, cloud wizards, pyromancers, blood wizards, torturers, inquisitors, poisoners, priestesses, night walkers, and skinchangers."Dany's eyes widened. The world was more fantastical than she had imagined. "Why not a universal system of spells?"Bayapuri hesitated. "Different civilizations, different origins. Valyrian blood wizards and us—the wizards of the West—developed independently."Dany frowned. "Even if separated by a vast distance, fundamental truths should be the same. This… seems arbitrary."Bayapuri shrugged, sensing her skepticism.Quaithe then demonstrated a simple, yet profound lesson. She held a small polished stick. To each observer, it appeared differently: a man to Jorah, a woman to Irri, a lion to Aggo, and finally, the full sculpture—a three-headed figure—was revealed to Dany.The lesson was clear: perception shapes understanding. Even the most knowledgeable wizard sees only part of the truth.Jorah, still processing, asked, "When you spoke of skinchangers, did you mean the Children of the Forest?"The northern knight recalled tales of shape-shifters with awe.Quaithe's tone was cold but informative. "Legends are truths misremembered. Skinchangers still exist. I once traded with one in Asshai—his falcon plucked red lotuses from mountaintops.""Have they all fled to Asshai?" Jorah asked, both surprised and relieved.Quaithe merely nodded, leaving Dany uneasy. Magic had always seemed distant and foreign in Westeros, but here it was tangible, existing outside the realms of the Old Gods. The world of sorcery was far wider and stranger than she had ever imagined.Dany glanced at her dragons, feeling their latent power resonate in her veins. This was the age of magic's return, and she, Stormborn, was at its center.(End of Chapter 38)--
more chapter available in p@tréøñ(Atoki_29)