NOVEL NEXT Chapter 11: The Path of Magic
Chapter 11: The Path of Magic
The air in Ivar's study was heavy with the scent of burning wax and parchment. A dozen books and scrolls, each detailing fragments of ancient Valyrian lore, lay spread out across his desk. The candlelight flickered as Ivar ran his fingers over the brittle pages of an old tome, his brow furrowed in concentration.
It had taken months of subtle inquiries and discreet purchases through intermediaries to gather these texts. Valyrian magic, once the foundation of the greatest empire in history, was nearly lost to the world. Yet here, in these pages, lay the keys to unlocking its secrets.
"Do you really think this is the path forward?" Timothy asked from the corner of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
"I don't think," Ivar replied without looking up. "I know. Magic won't win wars alone, but it can give us an edge no one else has."
Timothy smirked. "And here I thought dragons were the extent of your ambitions."
Ivar glanced up, his expression cold. "Dragons are power. But knowledge is the key to wielding it."
The Arrival of the Mage
Days later, a figure arrived at Sunblode Isle under the cover of night. The man was draped in a tattered cloak, his face obscured by a hood. He moved with a deliberate, cautious gait, his piercing green eyes scanning his surroundings as if searching for unseen threats.
Timothy met him at the docks, flanked by two enhanced soldiers. "You must be Gaemon," Timothy said, his tone measured.
The man inclined his head. "I am. Lord Sunblode sent for me, yes?" His voice was low, with a faint accent that hinted at Essos.
"He did," Timothy said, motioning for Gaemon to follow. "And he doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Gaemon followed in silence as they ascended the path to the manor. When they entered the study, Ivar stood by the window, his back to the door. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the crackling hearth.
"Gaemon of Lys," Ivar said, turning to face him. "A practitioner of the arcane arts. Do you know why I sent for you?"
Gaemon pulled back his hood, revealing a weathered face marked by years of experience. "You seek to understand the magic of Valyria," he said. "To wield its power. But I must warn you—magic is not a tool to be used lightly. It exacts a price."
"I'm prepared to pay it," Ivar said, his voice firm. "If you can teach me."
Gaemon studied him for a moment before nodding. "Very well. But understand this, Lord Sunblode: magic is not like the sword or the bow. It cannot be mastered through strength alone. It requires patience, discipline, and sacrifice."
"I have all three," Ivar replied.
The First Lesson
The following weeks were grueling. Gaemon was a harsh teacher, his lessons filled with cryptic riddles and grueling exercises that tested Ivar's patience.
"Magic is not about bending the world to your will," Gaemon said during one session. "It is about understanding the flow of power and aligning yourself with it."
Ivar stood in the center of a circle drawn in ash, his hands outstretched as he focused on a flickering candle before him. Sweat dripped down his face as he struggled to summon the flame, his mind racing with the incantation Gaemon had taught him.
"Focus," Gaemon said sharply. "Feel the power within you. Let it flow through you, not against you."
With a deep breath, Ivar calmed his racing thoughts. Slowly, the candle's flame grew brighter, its light illuminating the dark room.
Gaemon nodded. "Good. But this is only the beginning."
Military Expansion
While Ivar delved into his studies, his council continued to oversee the expansion of Sunblode Isle's military. The training grounds buzzed with activity as new recruits drilled alongside the enhanced soldiers.
Duncan Greenfield stood at the edge of the field, barking orders as the recruits practiced forming shield walls. "Hold the line!" he shouted. "If one of you breaks, you all fall!"
Roland Emberhill joined him, his sharp eyes scanning the troops. "They're improving," Roland said. "But they're not ready for a real battle yet."
"They'll have to be," Duncan replied. "With the Freys and Brackens stirring up trouble, we can't afford to wait."
At the far end of the field, Astrid Goldbrook supervised the construction of new siege engines. A massive trebuchet stood half-finished, its wooden frame towering over the workers assembling it.
"Will it be ready in time?" Roland asked as he approached her.
"It'll be ready," Astrid said, wiping sweat from her brow. "And when it is, it'll be the most powerful weapon in the Riverlands."
A Message from Riverrun
One evening, a raven arrived from Riverrun. Ivar opened the scroll, his expression hardening as he read its contents.
To Lord Sunblode,
Your growing power has not gone unnoticed. Riverrun calls upon you to send troops in support of House Tully's efforts to quell unrest in the Riverlands. Your assistance will not be forgotten.
Signed, Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun.
Ivar read the message aloud to his council.
"They're testing us," Timothy said. "They want to see if we'll follow their lead—or defy them."
"It's a calculated move," Roland added. "If we send troops, it strengthens our alliance. If we refuse, it gives them an excuse to undermine us."
Ivar folded the scroll, his expression unreadable. "We'll send troops," he said. "But not without conditions. Lysa, draft a letter to Lord Tully. Offer our support, but make it clear that we expect compensation—land, resources, and political backing."
"And if they refuse?" Timothy asked.
"They won't," Ivar said. "They can't afford to. The Riverlands are already on the brink of chaos. They need us more than we need them."
The First Expedition
A contingent of 200 soldiers, led by Roland and Timothy, departed for Riverrun the following week. Among them were 50 enhanced soldiers, their presence a show of strength that sent a clear message to the other Riverlords.
The journey was uneventful until they reached a small village near the border of Tully lands. Smoke rose from the thatched roofs, and the ground was littered with bodies. The stench of death filled the air.
"It's the work of raiders," Roland said, his voice grim. "Could be bandits, or worse—Ironborn."
Timothy dismounted his horse, surveying the carnage with a cold eye. "Whoever it was, they didn't leave any survivors."
"Search the area," Roland ordered. "If there's anyone left, we need to find them."
The soldiers fanned out, combing the village for clues. After an hour, they found a single survivor—a boy no older than ten, hiding in the ruins of a barn.
"Who did this?" Timothy asked, kneeling before the boy.
The boy's eyes were wide with fear as he whispered, "They came from the river. They had sails… sails with krakens."
Roland's expression darkened. "Ironborn."
The Return to Riverrun
When the soldiers arrived at Riverrun with news of the Ironborn attack, Lord Hoster Tully was waiting for them in the great hall. His face grew pale as he listened to Roland's report.
"The Ironborn grow bolder by the day," Hoster said. "If we don't stop them now, they'll push deeper into the Riverlands."
"You'll have our support," Roland said. "But we expect Lord Sunblode's terms to be met."
Hoster hesitated, then nodded. "If your forces can drive the Ironborn from our lands, you'll have what you ask for."
Back on Sunblode Isle
When word of the agreement reached Ivar, he smiled faintly. "This is how we win," he said to Timothy. "Not through brute force, but by making ourselves indispensable. Let them think they're using us. In the end, we'll be the ones in control."