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Chapter 214: A Chance Encounter with the Sphinx Maester
🕑 Added 2025-03-18 13:08:18 +0000 UTCThe name The Flatlands may seem unremarkable, but it perfectly suits the region’s geography. Located northwest of Myr and east and south of Pentos, the area is exactly as its name suggests—an expansive plain stretching as far as the eye can see, without any natural obstructions.
Unlike the Disputed Lands, where various city-states constantly vie for control, the Flatlands have always remained under the dominion of Pentos.
Thanks to its fertile soil and vast open fields, the Flatlands have become the primary agricultural hub of the Free Cities. More than seventy percent of the grain consumed throughout the Free Cities originates from these lands.
However, its lack of natural defenses—nothing but flat, open terrain—has historically made it an easy target for Dothraki raids.
The people of Pentos, however, have their own way of thinking. They believe that any problem that can be solved with money should not be resolved through war. So instead of seeking vengeance after being raided or investing in fortifications and a standing army, they chose to pay off the Dothraki khals, offering them lavish tributes in exchange for peace.
At one point, they even proposed building a grand palace in Pentos for Khal Drogo, hoping to win his favor.
Humiliating as this approach may have seemed, it proved highly effective. After years of paying tribute and appeasing the Dothraki, the number of raids on the Flatlands dropped significantly. Some of the more powerful khals who had accepted these payments even began protecting the region, warning other Dothraki clans to stay away—as if they now considered the Flatlands and Pentos part of their own domain.
Because of this relative security, merchants from Myr often avoided the well-paved Valyrian roads—despite their convenience for carts—and instead took a detour through the Flatlands, traveling along its rougher dirt roads.
...
“Lord Ornstein, just ahead is the Inn of the Silverfinch,” said one of the caravan leaders, pointing down the road. “We’ll rest there for the night, then continue on in the morning. If all goes well, we should reach Pentos by afternoon.”
He spoke while glancing, with a mix of reverence and unease, at the heavily laden cart behind Lynd and the long caravan trailing behind them—an unbroken line of travelers stretching as far as the eye could see.
The cart was piled high with severed heads, each one carefully preserved through special treatments to prevent decay for at least ten days. Even so, the overwhelming stench of death lingered, creating a wide, empty space around the cart. No one dared to get too close.
These weren’t just any heads. Every single one belonged to a notorious outlaw—men who had been wanted in Pentos and other Free Cities for years.
The weaker ones had long since been hunted down by bounty hunters or mercenary bands. The ones that remained—the ones Lynd had taken—were the most dangerous of them all. They were bandit leaders and warlords, men powerful enough that no lone bounty hunter or small mercenary team could handle them.
For years, the Free Cities had struggled to deal with these criminals. They had even gone so far as to hire large mercenary companies—groups like the Golden Company and the Windblown—to eliminate them. But the results were disastrous.
The mercenaries were expensive, and the bandits, knowing they couldn’t win a direct fight, simply fled whenever a major force approached. Once the hired swords left, the outlaws would return to their hideouts, resuming their raids as if nothing had happened.
Some had even suggested taking the same approach they had used with the Dothraki—paying the bandits off. But this idea was rejected outright.
It was already shameful enough to bribe the Dothraki for protection. If they had to start paying off bandits as well, they would lose all standing in dealings with other Free Cities.
Later attempts to counter the outlaws by increasing patrols were equally ineffective.
Perhaps the authorities had simply given up, realizing that the bandits weren’t doing enough damage to truly threaten their wealth. In the end, they treated them like an unavoidable nuisance—merely adjusting bounty rewards from time to time so that mercenaries and bounty hunters would keep the pressure on them.
...
Lynd hadn’t originally planned to deal with these bandits.
Unfortunately for them, they had been too blind to recognize death when they saw it.
Spotting a warrior clad in golden armor, they mistook him for easy prey—a wealthy fool ripe for the taking.
Instead, they found themselves facing the Stranger.
By the time he reached this point in his journey, the cart behind him carried over a hundred severed heads. Each belonged to a wanted criminal with a price on their head in one Free City or another.
As for the ones who weren’t on any bounty lists? Lynd hadn’t even bothered with them.
It was only after collecting the heads of bandits for bounties that Lynd suddenly realized something—somewhere along the way, a part of his personality had changed. It wasn’t a drastic or troubling shift, but rather an unexpected reawakening of the collector’s obsession he had in his past life, when he used to hoard items in games.
This tendency had already emerged during the War for the Stepstones, though it hadn’t been as pronounced. Back then, he had simply salvaged a few half-wrecked pirate ships to see if they could still be put to use.
But now, after arriving on the continent of Essos, things had become different. Along the way, he had begun collecting warhorses and items that caught his eye, caring little for actual wealth—exactly like his old habits in video games.
And now, after encountering bandits, he was harvesting their heads for bounty rewards, stacking them onto a cart for transport. The whole thing struck him as deeply absurd. The rewards for these bandits were pitiful—over a hundred heads combined still didn’t amount to the value of the loot he had discarded from the Dothraki in the Disputed Lands.
Yet, for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to throw the heads away. The thought of discarding them felt like wasting an enormous fortune.
In the end, he lost the battle against his collector’s impulse and continued dragging the cart of severed heads along the road.
...
Lynd’s actions naturally drew the attention of passing caravans. Seeing that he had dealt with so many notorious bandits that had plagued the Free Cities for years, merchants began regarding him as a formidable knight. His lion-shaped armor only reinforced the image, as it resembled the depictions of the Lion of Night that many of them worshipped. They took it as a sign—a warrior sent to shield them from banditry.
And in truth, that was exactly what happened. Whenever bandits appeared, Lynd would ride ahead and cut them down before they could threaten the caravan. The merchants never had to lift a finger.
After dealing with each group of bandits, Lynd would have the merchants sort through the bodies, identifying which ones had bounties on their heads. The merchants would then handle the preservation of the severed heads themselves, sparing him the trouble.
This was why he didn’t mind leading such a large caravan—though it was hardly his original intention.
As more and more merchants joined their group, the caravan swelled to an enormous size. This came with both benefits and drawbacks. On the one hand, the sheer size of the group deterred bandits from even considering an attack. On the other hand, that meant fewer opportunities for Lynd to deal with them personally.
The caravan traveled at a slow pace, but they still managed to reach the Inn of the Silverfinch before nightfall.
...
The banners hanging outside the inn made it clear that the establishment belonged to a Magister of Pentos. In fact, not just the inn—the surrounding farmlands and estates all fell under the Magister’s ownership as well.
Architecturally, the inn wasn’t much different from the others Lynd had seen along the Flatlands. The only real distinction was its sheer size—it was large enough to accommodate the entire caravan that had been trailing behind him.
Of course, this didn’t mean everyone would have a room for the night. The majority of the caravan members would have to set up tents in the open fields around the inn, spending the night alongside their horses and pack animals.
Lynd, however, did not enter the inn. Instead, he made his way toward a nearby hill—or rather, what looked like a hill.
In truth, it wasn’t a natural hill at all, but a buried ruin.
From the moment he laid eyes on the Inn of the Silverfinch, he had recognized that it was built atop an ancient site. The original structures had long since crumbled, but the stone foundations remained intact. And more importantly, those foundations were made of black stone—the same material as the base of the Hightower in Oldtown.
By studying the layout of the black stone foundations, Lynd could tell that they had once been part of a massive structure. Part of its main body still lay beneath the nearby hill. That was why he chose to camp there.
...
The merchants and travelers found Lynd’s decision puzzling, but none dared to question him. By now, his actions had earned enough respect—if not fear—that they knew better than to pry.
Not only did they refrain from asking why he had chosen to sleep on a desolate hill instead of a comfortable room, but they even posted guards around the area to prevent anyone from disturbing him.
...
It was impossible to tell how many years had passed since this place had been abandoned. The ruins had been buried beneath layers of soil, with only a few surviving beams and pillars peeking out from the earth.
Lynd examined the carvings on the exposed stone pillars. From the intricate designs, he deduced that the structure had belonged to the Old Empire of Ghis.
The carvings bore numerous symbols of the Harpy, an emblem unique to the Ghiscari civilization. Such markings were only ever placed on the beams of important buildings, signifying that the structure was under the protection of the Harpy.
Before the rise of Valyria, the Old Empire of Ghis had ruled over much of western Essos, and its people had worshipped the Harpy as their divine protector.
Like all great civilizations of the past, the Ghiscari had constructed countless monumental buildings across their domain. The ruins beneath his feet were undoubtedly remnants of one of those structures.
...
Lynd crouched down, running his fingers over the stone surface. The pillars bore unmistakable signs of having been burned and melted under extreme heat.
It wasn’t difficult to deduce what had happened.
This place had been destroyed by dragonfire.
The Dragonlords of Valyria wouldn’t have wasted their time setting fire to a single isolated structure. If dragons had been unleashed upon this land, then beneath his feet must have once stood an entire Ghiscari city.
Perhaps, long ago, this city had been the precursor to Pentos.
“Move aside! Who gave you permission to block this area? This land belongs to Lord Magister Plos...”
Just as Lynd was about to use the power of the dragon runes to explore the ruins buried beneath the hill, hoping to uncover something ancient and interesting, his concentration was broken by the sound of an argument below.
From the content of the dispute, it wasn’t difficult to infer that it stemmed from the caravan members surrounding the hill. Though their intent had been to prevent anyone from disturbing him, this had been entirely their own decision. Now that it had caused trouble, Lynd felt that ignoring it completely wouldn’t be the best course of action.
So, he descended from the hill and approached the gathered crowd.
The moment he appeared, the caravan members fell silent, looking at him awkwardly.
Meanwhile, seven or eight individuals dressed in scholarly attire gazed at Lynd in shock. His imposing presence, clad in full lion-engraved armor, had clearly startled them.
Lynd scanned the group and said in a firm voice, “I’m only spending the night on the hill. I didn’t ask you to block it. Don’t meddle—go back to your own business. We have a long journey ahead tomorrow.”
With that, he ignored the rest and returned to the hilltop.
...
By now, his interest in studying the ancient ruins had waned. Instead, he took some firewood from his cart, stacked it into a bonfire, lit it, and casually laid out a fur blanket beside the fire. He leaned back against the exposed beam of the ruins, preparing for the night.
Soon, the scholarly figures who had been arguing at the base of the hill cautiously made their way up as well. They hesitated upon seeing Lynd again, their expressions carrying traces of fear—no doubt a result of whatever had been said about him down below.
“Ah! Human heads!”
One of them gasped in horror upon noticing the cart piled with severed heads.
Several of the more timid individuals recoiled, some even collapsing to the ground in fright. However, one elderly man with long white hair and a beard—braided into two distinct strands and dyed at the tips—remained unshaken.
Raising his hand, he signaled to his companions not to panic. Then, he calmly walked up to the cart, scrutinizing the severed heads without the slightest hint of disgust for the stench of decay.
“Bloody Duck Darkfy, Wild Dog Longo, Forked Tongue Kalika...”
The old man seemed eerily familiar with them. As he examined the heads, he effortlessly recited their names one by one.
After circling the cart, he finally approached Lynd’s bonfire and, without any formality, sat down beside him.
“Not counting the heads buried within, just this outer layer is worth at least fifty Chosen Golden Dragons,” he remarked with a casual air. “Looks like you’ve had quite the profitable hunt.”
...
Lynd hadn’t paid much attention to these foreign scholars earlier, but now he studied the elderly man more carefully. His gaze drifted over the man’s attire before settling on the golden button at his cuff.
“The Golden Scholar of the Sphinx Academy.”
The old man followed Lynd’s gaze to his sleeve and chuckled.
“This robe belongs to a friend of mine. I am not yet qualified to wear gold insignia.” He lifted his hand, revealing a silver chain around his neck and a silver emblem hanging from it. “I am merely a Silver Maester.”
...
The Sphinx Academy had been founded over two hundred years ago by a Magister of Pentos who had studied at the Citadel. He had sought to establish an institution similar to the Citadel and had even imitated its system, creating three academic ranks: Golden Scholars, Silver Maesters, and Black Iron Students—mirroring the Citadel’s Archmaesters, Maesters, and Apprentices.
The vision had been ambitious, and for a time, the Sphinx Academy had become the intellectual center of the Free Cities. However, after the founding Magister’s death, his successor lacked interest in scholarship and ceased investing in the Academy, seeing it as a bottomless pit. Other Magisters, equally indifferent, refused to take up the responsibility, leading to the Academy’s decline.
Despite this, over the past two centuries, a few wealthy merchants from Pentos had continued making donations, allowing the Academy to persist in collecting and preserving knowledge.
...
Lynd was familiar with the Sphinx Academy because several of his own officials had trained there as Silver Maesters. Compared to the Maesters of the Citadel, these scholars from Pentos were far more adaptable and skilled in trade and commerce—an expertise that made them highly useful in governance.
However, what truly piqued Lynd’s interest in the Sphinx Academy was something Malora had once mentioned: The Academy housed an extensive collection of books on the ancient and mystical civilizations of Essos.
While their quantity could not match the Citadel’s, their depth of knowledge was comparable. In some cases, the Academy’s records even surpassed those of the Citadel, making them a valuable source of untapped historical insight.
This was one of the primary reasons Lynd had traveled to Pentos—to visit the Sphinx Academy himself.
Yet, to his surprise, he had encountered its scholars before even reaching the city.
