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Chapter 88
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 21:16:41 +0000 UTC“The Alchemist’s Guildhall?” Aegor frowned. The name felt even more out of place than the building itself. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had transmigrated into some sort of game world. “What do they do? Can alchemists perform magic?”
“You’ve probably heard their other titles—‘pyromancers’ and ‘wildfire,’” Tyrion replied with a shrug. Seeing Aegor halt his horse, Tyrion signaled for his attendants, Jack and Morris, to stop as well. “What is it? That’s not exactly the sort of place you’d find fun.”
Aegor turned to face him. “If I wanted to visit, could I get in?”
“Easily. The pyromancers used to be the Targaryens’ darlings, but now they’ve fallen so low that anyone can walk in, spit on them, or kick them around,” Tyrion said with a wry smile. “As long as you have money, they’ll let you in. If it weren’t for the excessive amounts of wildfire stored beneath the place, that building would’ve been torn down ages ago. The people inside, though, are a little unhinged... maybe even pitiable. Falling from heaven to hell—that’s their story.”
“Let’s take a look.”
Tyrion raised an eyebrow, surprised, but didn’t press. He was used to Aegor’s sudden whims. With some effort, the dwarf climbed down from his custom saddle and joined Aegor and the others.
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“How do we get in?”
“Through the door.”
Aegor rolled his eyes. “The door’s closed.”
Tyrion rolled his eyes right back. “Ever heard of knocking?”
Could it really be that simple? Leaving Morris to guard the horses, the remaining three ascended the steps and knocked on the seemingly ancient wooden door.
To Aegor’s surprise, the door creaked open far faster than he expected. An old man, his face as sly and unpleasant as a rat, peeked out.
“What do you want? Here to buy the substance?”
“Yes.” Tyrion casually patted his coin pouch, letting the clinking of gold dragons and silver stags do the talking.
The door opened wider. “Come in. Why are you dressed so lightly?”
What’s that supposed to mean? Aegor was puzzled but chose not to question it. Seeing Tyrion’s confident demeanor, he simply followed. Soon enough, he realized they weren’t heading upstairs as he had assumed but rather descending.
“What’s your name?” Tyrion asked the old man.
“Call me Wise Master Hallyne,” the man said haughtily. “How much do you want?”
“Ask my friend here. He’s the one curious about wildfire.”
How much do I want? Aegor’s mind was a mess. Who am I? Where am I? And what am I doing?
Oh, right. He was Aegor West, Chief Logistics Officer of the Night’s Watch, here to learn about wildfire.
But judging by the conversation between Tyrion and Hallyne, this mysterious green liquid—so mythical in Aegor’s mind—was being sold as casually as wine.
This was liquid fire! Liquid explosives!
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“Wearing black, huh? Lost someone, did you? Using the substance for cremation isn’t a bad idea.”
Aegor’s expression darkened. “I’m a brother of the Night’s Watch. Mind your own business and tell me about this ‘substance.’”
“Fine, fine. You lot are always so curious, like squirrels sniffing around for nuts.” Hallyne grumbled and turned to Tyrion. “I’ll introduce him to the substance, but you’d better buy at least ten silver stags’ worth.”
“Do you know who I am?” Tyrion asked with a smirk. “Do you know my family could buy your entire guild?”
Hallyne stared at Tyrion for a long moment, his suspicious expression suggesting he genuinely had no idea who the Lannister dwarf was.
But regardless, Tyrion’s demeanor and wealth cowed him into silence. Picking up a lantern from the wall, Hallyne gestured for them to follow as he led them deeper into the underground passage.
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“Do you know about dragons?” Hallyne began, his tone theatrical. “Terrible creatures, wings so vast they could block out the sun, flames that could consume the world. Where do you think their fire comes from?”
“Magic?”
“No, it’s an organ in their chest,” the self-proclaimed Wise Master explained smugly. “This organ constantly secretes a remarkable substance. When the dragon breathes fire, the organ compresses, expelling the liquid. The substance is atomized and ignited by a touch of magic to create dragonflame.”
“What does this have to do with wildfire? Are you saying it’s made from that substance?” Aegor asked, frowning. His imagination ran wild: Does every jar of wildfire mean a dragonling slaughtered? No sale, no killing! Boycott wildfire, starting with me!
Could the extinction of dragons have been caused by overharvesting their “substance”?
Of course not. Even if dragons produced such a liquid, humans would likely find a “gentler” method to extract it—like milking a bear for bile.
What concerned Aegor more was this: How could such a vital military resource—a literal superweapon—be sold so casually? And why did it seem to be gathering dust as an unsold commodity?
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“No, no. The substance doesn’t come from dragons. We simply took inspiration from it and, with the aid of technology and magic, created it.”
“Why not just call it ‘wildfire’? Why insist on saying ‘the substance’ all the time?” Aegor snapped, exasperated. He already had to deal with Jaqen’s cryptic nonsense—he didn’t need it from a pyromancer too.
“‘Wildfire’ is what laymen call it!” Hallyne said indignantly. “It’s not wild—it can be controlled, provided safety measures and fire magic are in place—”
“Do you know any fire magic?” Tyrion interjected with a derisive snort. “If wildfire could truly be controlled, the Targaryens would still sit the Iron Throne. Your ‘substance’ wouldn’t be sold for pocket change; it’d be a tightly guarded national treasure.”
Hallyne had no response to that. Mumbling under his breath, he continued leading them deeper underground.
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Aegor quickly understood why Hallyne had asked why they were dressed so lightly. As they descended further into the guild’s cellars, the temperature plummeted. The chill was sharp, cutting through to the bone. It was as if they had stepped into a vault of winter. Outside, the air might have been thirty degrees; down here, it was closer to ten. Aegor’s skin prickled with goosebumps before they even reached the bottom.
Finally, they emerged into a dark corridor. Aegor’s teeth chattered, and if not for his curiosity and determination, he would have turned back immediately.
The damp stone walls were coated in saltpeter, and the only light came from the sealed lantern Hallyne carried, its glass reinforced by iron strips.
After what felt like an eternity, Hallyne stopped in front of a heavy door. He handed the lantern to Aegor, pulled out a key, and unlocked it.
“Don’t come in!” the old man barked suddenly. “Stay at the door. The light and heat could destabilize the substance.”
Aegor froze, lantern in hand. Suddenly, it all made sense why wildfire wasn’t widely used—it was too unstable. If even a single sealed lantern posed a risk, how could it ever be practical?
Peering into the dimly lit room, Aegor saw rows upon rows of shelves, each lined with round, crimson clay jars. They looked like oversized, bulbous pomegranates.
“Help me,” Hallyne called from inside, motioning for assistance as he steadied one of the jars.
Aegor handed the lantern to Jack and stepped forward, carefully holding the fragile container.
“Easy—these jars are thin,” Hallyne warned, pulling out a small vial. After confirming Aegor’s order for ten silver stags’ worth, the pyromancer began pouring the wildfire into the vial.
The substance flowed slowly, its dark green hue shimmering like honey under the faint light.
“Don’t touch it. Even body heat can destabilize it.”
“Body heat could ignite it?” Aegor nearly dropped the jar in shock.
“No, not quite... At least, there’s no record of that happening—yet,” Hallyne admitted awkwardly. “But the longer wildfire is stored, the more volatile it becomes. For your own safety, it’s best to be cautious.”
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Soon, the vial was filled—a container slightly larger than a soda bottle. Hallyne insisted that the amount exceeded ten stags’ worth but graciously called the extra a gift. After paying, Aegor left the guildhall with a bottle of the terrifying green liquid.
“I’m quite interested in this substance, Wise Master Hallyne,” Aegor said, carefully storing the vial as instructed. He handed Hallyne a card. “If you’re free, come to the Night’s Watch office in King’s Landing within two days. It’s across from the City Watch barracks. We can discuss a big deal.”
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