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Chapter 215: Malora's Blood Magic
🕑 Added 2025-03-19 12:58:59 +0000 UTC“Hugh of Qohor,” the old maester introduced himself.
“Lion Knight Ornstein,” Lynd responded.
Hugh asked curiously, “Are you a follower of the Lion of Night?”
“No,” Lynd shook his head.
The old maester continued, “Have you been to Qohor?”
“No,” Lynd replied simply.
Hugh hesitated for a moment before saying, “Your armor bears the forging techniques of Qohor—masterful craftsmanship. Even in Qohor, only a select few have mastered this skill, and those who do would never be permitted to leave. Furthermore…” He gestured toward the red patterns on the armor, said to be created by Malora using so-called black magic. “Your armor also incorporates blood magic. If I’m not mistaken, the smith who forged it for you must be a master of the Qohor’s cult.”
“You’re mistaken,” Lynd replied calmly.
“Am I?” The old maester looked puzzled.
Before Hugh could press further, Lynd asked, “Since you recognize the blood magic on my armor, do you know what kind it is?”
“May I take a closer look?” the old maester inquired.
“Yes,” Lynd nodded.
Hugh stepped closer, using the campfire’s light to carefully examine the blood-red patterns etched into the armor.
After a long moment, he stepped back, his face filled with doubt. “Whoever worked this blood magic understands it far better than I do—better than any blood mage I’ve ever encountered. She has seamlessly combined sacrificial glyphs from multiple blood magic traditions to create something entirely new. For years, the blood mages of Qohor have been searching for the secrets of ancient blood magic, yet she has moved beyond that—she is creating new blood magic, and doing so flawlessly. If the blood mages of Qohor saw your armor, they’d be beside themselves with excitement.”
The old maester grew more animated, his praise flowing rapidly as he marveled at the blood magic woven into Lynd’s armor.
Lynd, too, was surprised. He hadn’t expected Malora’s enchantments to be so advanced.
He had always known Malora never ceased her research into magic, but he had little understanding of her progress. He only knew that the dragon runes he had given her and the sacrificial tablet he had retrieved from beyond the Wall had propelled her studies forward significantly. How far they had advanced, however, he did not know.
He recalled when Malora had first presented him with the Lion Knight’s armor, explaining that she had imbued it with magic—magic that represented the culmination of her years of research.
At the time, he hadn’t paid much attention. He saw no trace of magical energy on the armor—not with his own eyes, nor through Glory’s vision. He had assumed Malora’s experiments had failed.
Now, it seemed, he had been wrong. She had succeeded—at least in form—enough to impress this learned maester from Qohor.
The old maester continued, “I’m not entirely sure what effects this blood magic produces, but from some of the glyphs, it appears to be tied to emotions.”
“Emotions?” Lynd frowned.
“Yes, emotions,” Hugh said seriously. “Blood magic is considered the most dangerous forbidden knowledge—even more so than necromancy—because its power is derived from exchange. Some spells demand life, others health, or even intangible forces like luck. In short, to gain power, one must offer something of equal value—whether from oneself or another. Regardless of the source, the process is inherently uncontrollable.”
He gestured to the armor once more. “But your armor is an exception. While my knowledge of blood magic is limited, I can tell that the magic here has been controlled by its caster. This master was able to direct the exchange to a specific subject—your emotions.”
“My emotions?” Lynd hesitated, then suddenly recalled his growing obsession with collecting. Since arriving on the continent of Essos, his compulsion had intensified significantly—and during that time, he had been wearing this very armor. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
If that was the case, then Malora’s research had indeed succeeded. But this magic was something different—some other form of mysterious power, not the kind that he or Glory’s eyes could perceive.
Perhaps his own strength was too overwhelming, rendering the effects of this blood magic imperceptible on him.
But then another thought struck him—this magic might work on ordinary people. Unlike his dragon runes, which would be lethal to anyone without his resilience, this magic could be safely wielded by others.
A noise from nearby interrupted his thoughts. Lynd looked up to see the maesters and students of the Sphinx Academy, now recovered from their initial panic, digging into the earth with their tools.
Lynd turned to the old maester, Hugh, and asked, “Are you trying to excavate the ruins of the Old Empire of Ghis beneath us? Why not dig during the day?”
“You already know these ruins belong to the Old Empire of Ghis?” Maester Hugh looked at Lynd in surprise.
“It’s easy to tell,” Lynd said, pointing at a beam behind him, where a harpy symbol was engraved.
“No, it’s much more difficult than you think. This symbol is a cipher, not a commonly used emblem. Ordinary people wouldn’t recognize what it represents.” Hugh shook his head. “The Dragonlords of the Valyrian Freehold utterly destroyed the Old Empire of Ghis. Most of its records were lost, with only a few surviving—some preserved in the Temple of the Graces in Meereen, others carried by refugees to the Citadel in Oldtown…” He trailed off for a moment as if something had clicked in his mind, then looked at Lynd and said, “You must be a maester from the Citadel, right?”
“No,” Lynd denied the assumption outright.
But Hugh didn’t seem convinced. He thought Lynd was merely pretending, after all—who would expect a man dressed as a knight to be a maester of the Citadel?
He also assumed that Lynd might be on some special mission in Essos and needed to disguise his identity. Rather than pressing the matter, Hugh shifted the conversation back. “We chose to dig at night to avoid the patrols of Magister Plos. No one wants to see their land riddled with holes.”
Lynd hesitated for a moment before asking, “So you don’t actually have Magister Plos’s permission to dig here? Then earlier…”
Hugh shrugged with a sly smile and said, “Earlier, I was merely stating the fact that this land belongs to Magister Plos. I never claimed to have his permission.”
Lynd couldn’t help but chuckle. The maesters of the Sphinx Academy reminded him of his own subordinates—pragmatic, adaptable, and not bound by rigid rules. He considered the possibility of establishing a similar academy within his own domain, one that could cultivate the talent his expanding territory needed.
As his lands grew, so did the demand for capable individuals. Although he had repeatedly requested maesters and even apprentices from the Citadel—and while they had sent a number of scholars to Summerhall—it was still far from sufficient.
However, nurturing talent required time, and time was a luxury he didn’t have. Even if he were to establish an academy now, it would take years before it produced capable individuals.
Yet, the old maester before him had inadvertently provided a solution: rather than building something from scratch, why not bring the Sphinx Academy of Pentos to Summerhall? If the institution itself moved, so would its scholars and students, effectively integrating them into his domain.
With that thought in mind, Lynd decided to build rapport. Feigning concern, he said, “If you keep digging in secret like this, how long will it take to fully excavate the ruins? You might not see any problems now, but if you keep expanding the site, the daytime patrols will eventually take notice. When that happens, all your efforts will be wasted.”
Maester Hugh frowned. He had already considered this problem before coming here, but he hadn’t been able to find a solution.
He had met with Magister Plos five or six times, and each time, he had been rejected. If he didn’t take matters into his own hands, he might never find out what lay buried beneath these ruins.
“I’ll help you,” Lynd said as he stood up and walked toward the excavation site.
Hugh was skeptical. One extra person wouldn’t significantly speed up the process, but help was help.
However, to his surprise, the enthusiastic Lion Knight didn’t pick up a tool or start digging. Instead, he walked past the excavation site and made his way down the hill.
Before long, Lynd returned, leading a large group of mercenaries. Without a word, he pointed first at the cart filled with the severed heads of bandits, then at the excavation site.
Immediately, the mercenaries grabbed tools and started digging. Those without tools simply snatched them from the maesters, and some—lacking any equipment—resorted to using their own weapons to dig into the earth.
“This is the power of wealth,” Lynd said as he returned to sit by the campfire.
Maester Hugh stared at him in surprise before asking again, “Are you truly not a follower of the Lion of Night?”
“No,” Lynd answered just as he had before.
With the mercenaries joining in, the excavation progressed much faster. The maesters and students of the Sphinx Academy shifted from laborers to overseers, organizing the dig sites and collecting any small artifacts that emerged.
The hill itself wasn’t very large, and the soil covering the ruins wasn’t particularly deep. By midnight, half of the hill had already been dug away, revealing part of the buried ruins of the Old Empire of Ghis.
However, when Maester Hugh saw what had been uncovered, a look of inevitable disappointment crossed his face. He signaled for the excavation to stop.
The reason was simple—there was nothing worthwhile left to uncover. The Valyrian dragonlords had been thorough when they destroyed this place, burning it so completely that even the stone had melted into magma. Only a few black stone pillars, once used for decoration, had survived. There was no point in digging any further.
Hugh then directed his people to load the surviving pillars onto the carts he had prepared. Since the excavation had gone much smoother than expected, he didn’t have enough carts to transport everything. As a result, he had to hire additional carts to haul the pillars back to the Sphinx Academy overnight.
Before departing, Maester Hugh extended an invitation to Lynd. “Lord Ornstein, when you arrive in Pentos, come find me at the Sphinx Academy. I believe the Archmaester would be very interested in meeting you.”
Lynd, who had planned to visit the Sphinx Academy anyway, naturally accepted the invitation.
After the maesters and students left, Lynd ordered the severed heads in the carts to be distributed among the mercenaries as payment for their labor in excavating the ruins.
...
The next morning, when the patrol arrived at the inn and saw the half-excavated hill, they were stunned. Some even rubbed their eyes to make sure they weren’t seeing things.
Once they learned what had happened and attempted to track down the mercenaries responsible, they quickly realized that it wasn’t just a handful of men—they weren’t dealing with a dozen or even twenty—but hundreds. And every single one of them had a severed head hanging from their belt.
The more observant patrolmen recognized that these were the heads of infamous bandits from the bounty lists.
Realizing their mistake, the patrolmen wisely decided against confronting the mercenaries. Instead, they acted as if they had seen nothing and simply continued along their usual patrol route.
...
By this point, Lynd was close enough to Pentos that the area was regularly patrolled. Security was no longer a major concern.
At dawn, before the sun had fully risen, he set off alone, leaving the caravan behind.
Traveling alone, he moved quickly. By the time the sun had fully risen above the horizon, he had reached the outskirts of Pentos.
His original plan was to find a secluded spot to change out of his armor and, as he had done in Myr, disguise himself as a common mercenary before entering the city.
However, before he could find a suitable place, a group of cavalry approached from the direction of Pentos. The moment they spotted him, they quickened their pace.
Seeing this, Lynd immediately assessed the situation. This cavalry unit was clearly coming for him. He made no move to evade them. Instead, he calmly reached for the spear hanging from his saddle, removed its sheath, and prepared to deal with them if necessary.
Yet, as the riders drew closer, they abruptly slowed down. Instead of reaching for their weapons, they raised their hands in a gesture meant to show they meant no harm.
The lead knight approached and, with respectful demeanor, asked, “Are you the Lion Knight, Lord Ornstein?”
Lynd gave a slight nod. “Who are you?”
The knight quickly replied, “We serve Master Illyrio. He has ordered us to escort you to his estate.”
Lynd wasn’t surprised that Illyrio had uncovered his identity. What did surprise him was how quickly Illyrio had pinpointed his exact location.
After a brief moment of thought, Lynd nodded. “Lead the way.”
Rather than entering the city, the group rode along the outer walls of Pentos, following a winding route toward the outskirts. Eventually, they arrived at a villa estate perched on a coastal hillside. Without hesitation, they entered one of the grand seaside estates.
