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Part 12 – Purchasing the Unsullied
It felt as though, just like last time, he’d been in that silent, empty darkness for an eternity before he finally began to sense… a smell. A sharp, acrid scent of hot sand and sweat, mixed with something more vile—the suffocating stench of raw meat and leather left under the blazing sun. His nostrils stung, and he flinched as the hot breath of wind hit his face, nudging him back toward reality.
He opened his eyes, squinting momentarily at the harsh sunlight. 'Damn it, this heat again?!' he thought irritably, feeling sweat start to drip down his temples. Anger began to boil inside him. Back here again, back in this insanity.
When his vision cleared, he saw before him a vast army of Unsullied—standing in perfectly straight lines, their faces blank and indifferent, as though carved from stone. Their spears gleamed in the sun, and even in their still formation, there was an overwhelming sense of power and threat, like a weapon ready for a command to strike.
To his left stood a slavemaster with a smug and obviously arrogant grin, holding a chain attached to a massive medallion—the symbol of ownership over the Unsullied. He looked at Bruce with a condescending expression, clearly convinced he was in control. Behind him, other slavemasters crowded together, watching with interest and blatant contempt.
Bruce, barely containing his irritation and tension, struggled to gather his thoughts.
— Where the hell am I now? — he muttered, mostly to himself. And although his voice was quieter than he’d intended, there was still a rough, barely restrained fury in it. His words seemed to hang in the air, and for a moment, it felt as if everyone around him had heard that raw aggression. Some of the slavemasters exchanged surprised glances at the bold tone of this troublemaker, but their smug expressions remained.
The head slavemaster, the one with the medallion, raised his chin and smirked, as though he’d just heard an amusing joke.
— Your Grace, — he said with mock respect, — it seems the sun has scrambled your senses a bit, — the slavemaster feigned concern, his lips curling into a sneer, — you are in Astapor, the blessed city, where strength and power belong to those who know how to pay for it, — he announced, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. — Today, you have become the owner of an army of Unsullied—the strongest and most obedient warriors in the world. — He rattled the medallion in his hands as if to remind Bruce that its holder was now the ruler of this army. — But don’t forget that your dragon is part of the deal.
Bruce frowned, barely containing his anger. The dragon… He glanced to the side, where it waited—not quite the enormous monster he had seen in those caves. This dragon was about the size of a large stallion, yet it inspired no less fear than the larger dragons he’d heard about. Its dark scales glinted in the sun, and from its mouth came a menacing growl, as if it sensed an approaching storm. Bruce held his breath involuntarily; he could never get used to these creatures.