The Dread Lord of Essos (Ch. 76)

( Every character in this story is a legal adult over the age of 18 )

The Dread Lord of Essos

Chapter 76

The cold inside the Corpse City made Hogwarts winters feel like a picnic in May. Harry led Melisandre and Kinvara through the gatehouse and into the fortress’s outer court. Nothing in King’s Landing or Oldtown could have prepared them for Stygai’s stink. The smell of stagnant, mineral-heavy water from some ancient reservoir mixed with the scent of rot. The mist rising from the flagstones condensed on their skin and froze in the dark.

Overhead, a ball of light drifted in the gloom. Harry kept it above his head with a wordless spell, giving them a sourceless glow to see by. The shadows didn’t scatter, though. They clung to the walls and the empty windows. Sometimes they seemed to move.

Kinvara whispered, “There’s magic in the fog. I can feel it caressing my skin.”

Harry didn’t answer. He felt the power around him, too. As a god, Harry learned to tune out the voices in his head a long time ago, but the Shadowlands had a voice of their own. It was so loud that even he couldn’t ignore it. It sounded hungry.

Melisandre said, “We shouldn’t linger.” Harry tended to agree.

They crossed the court, their footsteps slapping against damp stone. Something thumped far away. A shriek, half-human, half-bird, cut through the air. It echoed for a long time before dying. Kinvara huddled closer to Harry, one hand on his armored forearm.

The main door to the inner keep was twice Harry’s height. The blackened bronze was covered in magic that made his skin crawl. He motioned for the women to get behind him, then lifted his hand, and the door swung open with a rusty moan.

Inside, it was colder still. The first room was empty, except for the remnants of old tapestries and a pile of what looked like sticks in the middle. Harry edged around it, his sword in his free hand. Kinvara touched the sticks with the tip of her boot. They weren’t sticks. They were child-sized bones with scraps of clothing fused to them by age.

Something scuttled in the shadows above. Harry flexed his hand and increased the light. The thing that dropped was fast and silent. It hit the stone at Melisandre’s back, and only then did it snarl. She whirled and batted it aside with a fireburst, but the creature landed on all fours. It was shaped like a child, but stretched and wrong. Its limbs were long and bony. Its skin was gray, flaking, and tightly stretched over the skull. The eyes were rotted, sunken pits, but they followed Harry’s movement.

He didn’t give it time to leap again. His sword sliced down, and the blow was so sharp and heavy that it took the creature at the clavicle and drove through to the groin in a clean split. Both halves spasmed on the ground. The smell was worse than before. It was sickly sweet, like vomit roasting in the summer sun.

Kinvara gagged and stepped back. Melisandre kicked one half of the body. “What are they?”

“Most likely failed sacrifices,” Harry said, “It seems they were put to use guarding this place.” The two women stared at each other. They were no strangers to sacrifices after all. 

Something howled, closer this time. There was a scraping noise, then another. Harry shone his light down the next corridor. There were more of the things, four or five perhaps, and hunched over a heap of bones and cloth. One raised its head and hissed at him, its needle teeth glinting. The others tensed to leap.

He flicked his wrist and threw a wave of fire down the hall. It roared through the air, setting their rags and skins alight. The creatures wailed and thrashed, slamming their heads against the stone to put out the flames. One ran straight at Harry, arms open. He drove his boot into its chest. The ribs folded inward like wet cardboard, and it sailed back into the burning heap.

Kinvara gasped, but Melisandre looked excited, as she always did when Harry broke out the fire magic. She said to Kinvara, gesturing at Harry. “He has the fire of R’hllor.”

“Let’s keep moving,” Harry said.

They made for the central staircase. Shadows shifted along the walls. Sometimes Harry caught glimpses of faces of old men, pale-eyed girls, a lion with no fur, but nothing solid, only afterimages in his periphery. Kinvara clung to his arm, her usual poise gone. He’d never seen her this rattled.

“Steady your nerves,” he told her. “It’ll likely get worse from here.”

“You say that as if I could,” she answered in a shaky, high-pitched voice. 

The stairs were choked with more bones and bits of old tapestry. Their boots crunched and left tracks in the frost. At the landing, a door hung askew. Inside, it looked like an old council chamber. There were rows of splintered chairs, and a long table warped by dampness and rot. Something greasy and black slowly dripped from the ceiling. Harry kept his sword ready. He heard scraping from under the table. He waited, prepared for anything.

A new creature lunged, claws first. He ducked, slashed upward, and took its arm off at the elbow. The wound didn’t bleed, but the thing didn’t stop. It climbed onto the table and came for his face. Melisandre roasted it with a wordless exhalation of fire, charring it to crisp before it landed. The smoking husk settled on the table, and the head rolled off and hit Kinvara’s foot. She kicked it away and spat in disgust.

“There will be more,” Melisandre said.

“Maybe a lot more,” Harry agreed. “Does anyone need to rest?”

Kinvara shook her head. Her eyes were wide and nervous, but her hands had stopped shaking. They moved through the council room and into a hall lined with arched doorways. Each opening led to a small room. All were empty, but Harry felt eyes on him every step of the way. He opened one door and found another clutch of the child-sized creatures. They didn’t wake, but they looked fresher.

“Are they waiting for something?” Kinvara asked.

Harry studied the bodies. “I don’t know. Maybe for us.” Harry took care of them with a wave of fire. 

At the end of the hall, a spiral staircase led up. Harry gestured for the women to wait, then crept up the steps alone. The air thickened. Every hair on his body tried to stand up. He listened closely. He heard the sound of wet, phlegmy breathing. 

At the top, he found a balcony that overlooked a larger room. It was perhaps a throne room or a temple.  The ceiling was hung with old, battered tapestries, and the walls were covered with faces. They weren’t painted or carved, but real human faces, dried and stitched together into a vast mural. The faces looked old, sad, or frozen in terror. Some blinked.

On the floor below, a congregation of the small monsters stood in neat rows. At the far end, a dais held an altar and a throne made of bones. A woman was sitting on it, her body huge and swollen, and her skin was the color of raw chicken. She wore a robe of human hair, and her face was hidden by a mask of gold.

Harry went back down. He told Melisandre and Kinvara what he saw.

“We should burn them all,” Melisandre said, her expression fearful.

“They outnumber us fifty to one,” Harry said. “We’ll need a distraction.”

“I can do it,” Kinvara said. Her voice was steadier now.

Harry nodded. “When I say so, light them up. Melisandre, cover the stairs behind us.”

“Alright … Be careful, My Lord,” Melisandre said.

They went back up the spiral staircase together, silent as a grave. Harry gave the signal, and Kinvara whispered a word. The ancient tapestries ignited in a rush of flame, shedding sparks and molten thread onto the heads below. Instantly, the crowd of creatures screamed and writhed, half of them catching fire before they could react.

Melisandre stood guard at the top, shooting fire down the stairwell at anything that tried to climb. Harry vaulted the rail and landed in the midst of the chaos. His sword met resistance with every stroke. Limbs flew off, and necks opened up. The child-things bled black, viscous stuff that hissed on the stone. He fought his way to the altar, cutting a bloody line through the mob.

The woman on the throne didn’t move. She watched him, one hand resting on a skull-topped staff. When Harry reached her, he raised his sword. The woman hissed a word, and Harry’s head rang with the force of it. He staggered while she rose, towering over him, her mask gleaming.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “You’re not the first to try that, love.”

He slashed at her legs. She dodged insanely fast, despite her size. He pressed the attack, chopping, then swinging low. She caught his blade in one fat hand and squeezed. The edge bit into her palm, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she yanked him close and tried to bite his face off.

He headbutted her in the mask. The gold bent inward, and she shrieked, letting go. He broke free and planted the sword in her chest, up to the hilt. She staggered, then began to melt. First, her face sizzled, then her entire body followed, collapsing in a heap of boiling meat. The small creatures shrieked and convulsed. Some ran while the women rained fireballs down on them. Harry walked through the crowd of convulsing creatures, plunging his blade into their chests and heads. When it was done, Harry wiped his sword and turned to see Kinvara and Melisandre still at the rail, watching.

“Is it done?” Kinvara called.

“It is,” Harry said. “For now.”

The rest of the fortress was quiet for the time being. There were no more monsters and no more voices. There was just the sound of the three of them breathing in the aftermath of their destruction.

The next chamber was a banquet hall, as big as any throne room in Westeros. The long tables sagged under piles of rotted meat and velvet-draped bones. Empty chairs stretched to the far wall. Most were broken or splintered.

Kinvara wrinkled her nose. “Why do these places always stink?”

Harry chuckled. “Because something’s always dead inside.”

Melisandre was already gliding between tables. “We must cross to the next hall. Quickly.”

They moved together, Harry at the lead. At the midpoint, Melisandre froze. “Listen,” she whispered. Harry listened. For a moment, there was only the whistle of wind and the drip of water. Then there was a patter. It was soft at first, like rain on a wooden shingle. It grew louder and closer. Harry’s light floated up to the rafters.

Hundreds of pale hands clung to the beams.

He barely had time to shout before the ceiling opened and the monsters rained down, one for every chair at the table. They hit the floor in a shattering wave, then leaped and scrambled for living flesh.

Melisandre vanished under a dogpile of arms and gnashing teeth. Kinvara shrieked as a pair of them clawed her from behind. Harry lost sight of the women in a heartbeat.

He felt the panic rise, and he let it. He used it to motivate himself. He slashed his sword in a wide arc, carving a path through four, five, then six of the little flesh eaters. Black blood sprayed into the air. Another jumped at his neck. He grabbed it by the skull and hurled it into a table, splitting both.

He flung out his hand, and the air filled with a wall of fire. The front rank of monsters roasted instantly, but more spilled over the burning bodies, eyes fixed on him, in a wave of gray, twitching skin. Harry dropped to one knee, ducked a flailing hand, and gutted the monster trying to chew his ear off. He rolled over the table, cut down two more, and kicked a third in the chest. It shrieked and bit his boot, its teeth snapping in frantic hunger.

He scanned for Melisandre and Kinvara. Kinvara’s head surfaced near the back, a white hand yanking her hair. Melisandre was on the floor, pinned under a dozen creatures. She fought them with bare hands, her fingers digging into their skulls. Where she touched them, they caught fire.

Harry carved a line through the horde, firing wordless blasts of flame ahead of him. He felt the skin on his face crackle from the heat, but he pressed on. He stomped on one of their heads, the bones crunching and the brain spraying the floor. He yanked Melisandre free by the wrist.

“You took your time,” she said, breathing heavily. She didn’t seem to be in a very good mood.

“Hold that thought.” Harry spun, used her as a pivot, and hurled a ball of fire at the ceiling. The rafters exploded. Burning bodies and splintered wood crashed onto the tables.

Kinvara screamed again. Harry spun, saw her being dragged toward a side door. Two creatures had her by the ankles, a third by the throat. She clawed at the stones, kicking, cursing in High Valyrian.

Harry pointed at her, and a pulse of magic snapped the creatures’ bones and flung them against the far wall. Kinvara rolled over, coughed loudly, and shakily stood up. She then gathered herself, screamed angrily, and began throwing fireballs at anything that moved. He finished the last of them in a blur of hacking, burning, and crushing until only his own ragged breath remained. The hall was carpeted in ruined corpses and stinking, oily smoke.

He sheathed his sword. “Come over here and let me examine you,” he said to the two women. They quickly joined him, and Harry looked them over. “Looks like my magical protections worked. I don’t see a single scratch.”

Kinvara looked like her legs were about to give out. Melisandre shook her aching wrist. “They will not trouble us again.”

Harry looked at the carnage, then at the two Red Women. Both were breathing heavily, their faces smeared with black blood and soot. He felt his own heart hammering and couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping.

They moved to the far end of the hall. Two staircases met them there, one leading up into the darkness, the other plunging down into the cold. Melisandre paused. “Do we climb, or descend?”

Harry closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. Below them, the power beat like a war drum. It was thick, throbbing, and as old as Stygai itself. Above, there was nothing but more of those little creatures. 

He pointed down. “That’s where we want to go.”

“Lovely,” Kinvara said as her breathing slightly calmed. He led them down, deeper into Stygai’s heart.

They descended the steps, each flight colder than the last. Frost formed on the rails and the arches above. Harry led the way, his ball of light bobbing ahead like a searchlight, but the shadows never lost their grip on the walls. Every so often, a whisper or a distant sob drifted through the black, but never the same voice twice.

The rooms below were smaller, tighter, and crowded with the remains of things not meant to live. Every door they opened, another malformed thing lurched out. Sometimes it was a shambling skeleton, sometimes it was a beast with too many mouths, and other times it was a human with no face at all. Harry killed them without pausing. He moved on, his sword dripping black blood and his breath turning to mist.

Melisandre and Kinvara followed, their arms wrapped tightly around their curvy bodies. Even so, they shivered more with each landing. At first, they kept up, but after the fourth slaughter, Kinvara lagged behind, clutching her arms.

Melisandre’s lips had gone blue. “I can’t feel my feet.”

Harry stopped at the next threshold. He turned, took in their hunched figures. They were proud women, sorceresses both, but even the Lord of Light’s fire wasn’t enough against the cold here. He sheathed his sword, strode back, and pressed his palms to their shoulders.

“This will sting,” he warned, and pushed warmth into their bodies. It burned, and both women gasped, then sighed. Their cheeks flushed, and color returned to their lips. They straightened.

“That’s much better. Thank you, My Lord,” Kinvara said, her breath fogging. Harry then used his magic to envelope them in warmth. They shivered from the strange sensation. 

They pressed on, deeper and deeper. More monsters waited for them. They were bigger now, and less human. Sometimes they were just a boiling mass of flesh that couldn’t walk but could still scream. Harry butchered them, and the women incinerated the rest.

After what felt like hours, the stairs ended at a gate. It was a wall of fused bone and black iron, covered in carvings that made the skin on Harry’s arms writhe. At its center was a face that was part wolf and part man. Its jaw hung open with fangs as long as Harry’s hand.

Kinvara ran a finger over the carvings. “Do you know what these are?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve never seen them.”

“Old gods,” Melisandre whispered, “From long before the Dawn of Days. They have no names.”

He didn’t see the need to argue. He pointed his finger at the gate and tried to open it with magic. Nothing happened. He tried again, this time with a burst of raw force. The gate groaned but didn’t budge. Harry scowled. “Right, then.”

He flexed his hand, summoned black fire, and pushed it straight into the gate. The metal and bone sizzled, ran in rivulets, and the entire wall shuddered and cracked. He punched it again, this time with everything he had. The shockwave knocked the women back a step. The gate exploded inward, shards of bone skittering across the floor.

They stepped through, and on the other side, the only sounds were their footsteps and the tiny cracks of frost snapping in the air. Harry led them down the hall, each pace more tense than the last. Something watched and waited. He could feel it, just out of sight.

At the end of the hall was a set of double doors, twelve feet high, and sculpted from wood so black it reflected nothing. The doors were carved with scenes of mutilation and birth. Creatures split apart, men and beasts merged, and women birthed horrifying monsters. Every panel seemed to move ever so slightly, as if the wood was breathing. Melisandre reached for Harry’s arm. “This is the place. I can feel the power inside.”

He nodded, flexed his grip on his sword, and slammed the doors open with a wave of his hand. Darkness poured out. It wasn’t just the absence of light, but something heavier. It was like a weight on the mind. It crawled into their ears and mouths. Harry tried to lift his ball of light, but the darkness swallowed it whole.

Kinvara and Melisandre clung to him. “I can’t see,” Melisandre said. 

“Hold on.” Harry probed the blackness, searching for any sense of magic. The cold was a living thing here, as thick as honey. He reached deeper, found a current of power, and tapped it with his magic. At once, a ring of blue fire burst to life along the far wall. Hundreds of torches ignited one by one, casting a wild, dancing glow over the room.

The space was enormous, like a cathedral buried in the guts of the fortress. At its center was a plinth of greasy black stone, twice the size of a man. Perched atop it was a statue of three beautiful women, as perfect as marble, and naked except for sheer, clinging gowns that left nothing to the imagination. Each wore the distinctive Qartheen cut with one breast bare. Their faces were haughty and beautiful, but their stone eyes gleamed with life.

Melisandre and Kinvara stared in awe. Even Harry felt the hairs on his arms stand up. “Who are these women?” Kinvara asked, but Harry had no answers. 

Sudden laughter erupted from the far side of the room. It was high-pitched and mocking, in three harmonized voices. Harry snapped around, sword at the ready.

Three shapes waddled from the shadow behind the statue. They were huge, bloated, and barely human. Their skin was a quilt of scars and burns. Their faces were twisted in obscene caricatures of the statue’s beauty, each mouth crowded with black, rotted teeth. Boils and weeping sores covered their bodies. They wore Qartheen gowns, but these were filthy, falling apart, and stained with old blood.

The center one cackled. “You like our handiwork, little sorcerer?”

Kinvara retched and covered her nose. Melisandre braced herself, flames licking from her fingers. Harry stared at the three women. “You must be the welcoming committee.”

The left crone lifted a claw and pointed at Harry. “We smell fire on you. Old fire. Fire that does not belong.”

“Who are you?” Harry asked without a hint of fear. 

The right crone licked her crusty lips, her tongue black and forked. “We were noble, once. We were brides-to-be, promised to the king of Stygai.”

“And look how you turned out,” Harry said, as they circled his group.

He was about to take a step forward when the crones shuffled to block his path. “He betrayed us,” the center one said. “He made a pact with the shadows. Kept our dowries, our eggs, and left us in the dark.”

“Eggs?” Melisandre echoed.

“Dragon eggs,” the right crone purred, staring at Kinvara. “We could have ruled the world. Instead, we rot here, waiting for the next fool to bring us new gifts.”

Harry grinned cheekily. “Sorry, love, I left mine at home.”

All three crones hissed and swelled with anger. Their claws cracked, and their eyes bulged with hatred. “You have fire inside you. We want it. We’ll drink it from your bones.”

Melisandre said, “We do not fear you.”

The center crone leered at her. “We see the future. We see you burning, and the girl beside you. The man … he will last longer. He will scream for centuries.”

Harry let them talk. He used their bluster to memorize the way they moved. He noted the thin line of stone at the base of the statue, the oily sheen on the plinth, and the way the crones avoided stepping in the blue fire’s circle.

He smiled. “The only thing you bitches can see is each other’s ugly faces. Shall we get started?”

The three crones shrieked as one and charged.

The crones moved faster than anything so huge should have. They didn’t run, they slid with their bellies scraping the flagstones. All three split to encircle Harry, Melisandre, and Kinvara. They swiped with claws, leaving grooves in the stone.

Harry dodged left, sword up. Melisandre conjured a whip of fire and lashed the center crone across the chest. It howled and recoiled, but the flames didn’t stick. Kinvara went for the rightmost, hurling fireballs, but the crone batted them aside with a laugh.

“We ate better men than you,” the crone said. “We chewed their hearts and spat out the bones.”

Harry jabbed at her with his sword. She parried with her claws and tried to gut him, but he rolled under her and slashed the back of her knee. Black, tar-like blood spilled down her calf.

The center crone lunged at Melisandre. She raised her arm to throw a fireball, but the crone grabbed her by the waist and squeezed, lifting her off her feet. Melisandre screamed. Kinvara rushed in and raked the crone’s face with a lash of fire, which left a red, burning furrow

.

The crone dropped Melisandre, stunned, then backhanded Kinvara so hard she hit the wall and slid down, wheezing. The leftmost crone came after Harry, mouth wide and drooling. He feinted, let her overcommit, and stabbed his sword straight into her chest.

She shrieked, then just as quickly yanked the blade out and tossed it aside. Harry dove after the sword, rolled, and came up with it in his hand.

“Come on, you hag,” he spat.

All three converged and charged. Then Melisandre and Kinvara, side by side, let loose with their fire at the same instant. A column of flame caught the left crone right in the face. She staggered, clawing at the air, but her flesh did not burn. The center crone laughed, circled, and began to chant in a language that made the room colder.

“Don’t let her finish that!” Harry barked. He spun, sword in one hand, and cut a burning arc through the air. The left crone dodged at the last second and only lost a clump of dirty, greasy hair. 

Melisandre hurled a glob of flame at the center crone, but it missed and struck the statue’s outstretched hand. The stone woman’s hand glowed, just for a moment. The center crone screamed and clutched her own hand, which blistered and cracked. Harry’s mind clicked. They were linked to the statue.

The crones were almost on top of him. Harry pointed his hand at them, and a fist of invisible force hurled them back against the far wall. They slammed into it hard and crumpled to the ground.

Harry ran to the statue and held up his flaming sword. He pierced the statue’s heart and poured all the fire he could muster into it. The greasy stone glowed, then cracked. The crones wailed, clutching their chests.

“More!” Melisandre shouted.

She and Kinvara threw their fire at the statue’s faces, burning away the perfect features. With each blast, the crones lost mass, their skin peeling off in ribbons, and their voices rising in desperation. Harry pumped as much magic as he could into his sword, and the statue split along a hundred cracks, then exploded outward, shards flying across the room. The crones gave final, rattling screams. 

Instantly, the darkness lifted. Torches snapped to normal yellow flame. The weight in the air vanished. Even the cold lessened. Harry let his sword disappear and stood panting, his hair dripping sweat despite the cold. Melisandre and Kinvara watched the statue’s ruined stump, trembling. Harry wiped his forehead, then grinned at the women. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.”

Melisandre huffed, but her eyes gleamed. Kinvara just laughed, a wild, giddy sound. “Thank R’hllor it's over.”

The Dread Lord of Essos

Above, Stygai began to change. Shadows lifted off the walls like morning fog. In the court and the towers, the creatures shrank from the sun, then lay still, cold and dead. From Stygai all the way to Asshai, the veil of darkness thinned, and the world breathed a little easier.

Harry led Melisandre and Kinvara straight for the patch of wet stone where the crones had fallen. He expected to find rotted corpses or a smear, but what lay there made him pause.

Three women were on the floor, breathing and beautiful. There were no boils and no razor-sharp claws. They were completely naked with skin as pale as milk. Each with a mane of black, gold, or red hair spread around their heads. They were unconscious, but clearly alive. Melisandre knelt and brushed the hair from one woman’s face. “They look like the statues.”

“They were cursed,” Kinvara said. “Like all pretty things in this city.”

He pointed his finger at them and hit them with his magic. The three women fell deeper into sleep, their breathing slow and regular.

“Why not kill them?” Melisandre asked.

“If they can be rehabilitated, they might have useful information. I’ll keep them secluded until I know they’re not a danger to anyone.” He looked at the two Red Priestesses. They were worn out and needed a long break.

On the far wall, behind the broken statue, a door shimmered. There was no handle or lock, just a seam and a faint design of three dragon heads. Harry tried the usual spells, but nothing so much as twitched.

“Stand back,” he said. He drew his sword and tried to pry the door open with brute force. The blade skidded off, sparks flying.

Melisandre stepped up and peered at the seam. “There’s something here … an opening, but it’s too small for a hand.”

Kinvara leaned in, eyes lighting up. “It looks like a keyhole. Remember the key you found in Asshai? It had the same symbol on it.”

Harry frowned. He hadn’t thought about that thing in weeks. A group of drones appeared out of thin air and handed him the key. “Take the women to my castle. Keep them isolated until I arrive,” he ordered. His drones nodded respectfully and went to gather the unconscious women. 

He held up the key, eyed it, and then slotted it into the door. It fit perfectly. He turned it. The wall shuddered, then slid open with a hiss. Inside was a massive vault, glittering with gold and gemstones. There were piles of coins, rings, swords, and cups. In the far corner, there were three eggs, each the size of Harry’s head. They were red, blue, and green. Kinvara whistled. “Do you think they’re real?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Harry said, striding in.

He passed piles of treasure, picking up trinkets as he went. One was a goblet with obsidian snakes, and another was a necklace of rubies as big as cherries. The air was sweet with ancient perfume and the iron tang of wealth. When he reached the eggs, he paused before touching them. They looked old … almost petrified. A pulse of heat ran through his palm when he touched them.

Melisandre pressed close. “They could change everything if you could hatch them. Nothing will be able to stop you,” she said with lust in her eyes. Kinvara joined them and played with the hair on the back of his neck. Nothing turned these women on more than power. 

He gathered the eggs and cradled them to his chest. Harry then turned to the women. “Let’s get out of here. My drones will collect all of this. I’ve had enough darkness for one lifetime.”

“May I suggest we retire early? There’s a nice warm bed back in the tent, and I could use a rest,” Melisandre said, looking at him with lustful eyes. Her fingers were tracing seductive circles on the back of his hand. Harry knew the last thing she wanted right now was to rest. Kinvara seemed to agree with her idea. Harry smiled at the two women.

“That sounds wonderful,” he said before all three disappeared. In the morning, they would set off for home, where he could start planning his next big adventure.