The wind filled the sails as the fleet under Kevan Lannister’s command slowly but steadily made its way toward Pyke aboard the luxurious Lion Star.
Waves crashed against the hulls, while the crews, somewhat tense at the prospect of an imminent battle, went about their routine duties.
The lookouts, however, kept their eyes fixed on the horizon, waiting for any sign of the enemy.
Not long ago, they’d passed through the narrow strait separating Fair Isle from the mainland and were now sailing along the western shore of the largest island.
Its beautiful countryside had been badly scarred by the war that had come to the region.
Even from a distance, Arthur could make out the blackened remains of burned docks and partially destroyed houses along the coast.
It was probably the first time he’d seen the aftermath of war with his own eyes.
“Bloody pirates,” Ray spat when he noticed the destruction left behind by the Ironborn.
“Looks like they were too scared to go after the Farmans’ castle after Seagard…”
Arthur remembered the tall towers he’d seen rising above the treetops.
“Didn’t they capture everything there?” Arthur asked in surprise.
After spending hours sailing along what seemed like an endless coastline, with human bodies occasionally visible along the shore, he’d started to assume the entire island had already been conquered and looted.
“No…
I don’t think so,” Ray said, shaking his head.
“We would’ve heard about it by now.
And Faircastle isn’t exactly easy to take.
It was built back in the Age of Heroes, when the Farmans were kings.
They could hold out under siege for months.
So they probably just took some slaves, looted the villages and the town, and left.”
“So Lord Farman just…
hid?” Arthur asked incredulously.
“Wasn’t he supposed to protect them?”
“Supposed to, not supposed to…
It’s not that simple, Arkt.”
The second boatswain sighed and ruffled Arthur’s black hair.
Despite the boy’s unusually sharp mind and the fact that he’d already had his first taste of killing, Ray still thought Arthur was rather naïve about certain things.
“And I doubt they would’ve stood much of a chance against a fleet of krakens anyway.
The Farmans used to be kings, sure.
These days, the only fleet they have left is a couple of galleys painted on their banners.”
“But why?”
“They’re Lannister vassals now.
And there was apparently some story involving them…”
The experienced sellsword actually knew plenty of stories, probably even more than Paul.
Unfortunately, unlike the talkative older sailor, getting Ray to tell Arthur those stories wasn’t always easy.
By the time the fleet had passed Fair Isle, one of the lookouts suddenly shouted:
“Movement off the port side!”
Similar cries immediately rang out from the other ships.
The sailors turned their heads toward the indicated direction.
Far away, barely visible above the white crests of the waves, dark silhouettes appeared on the horizon.
Ships.
They were sailing south on a parallel course.
Small, nimble Ironborn vessels, longships with black sails.
There were only twelve of them, and they clearly hadn’t expected to run into the royal fleet.
“Looks like it’s starting,” Ray muttered.
He was standing beside Arthur, but immediately turned and headed toward his cabin.
Chaos erupted across the decks.
Orders rang out as sailors rushed to their assigned positions.
At Kevan Lannister’s command, the fleet changed formation and began closing in on the enemy, gradually surrounding them in a half-circle.
Oars struck the water in rhythm with the drums, accelerating the ships and rapidly shortening the distance between them and the Ironborn, who had now spotted them as well.
Sailors checked their weapons, drew their bows, and loaded bolts into the scorpions.
Incendiary pots were passed from ship to ship, ready to be thrown at the enemy when the right moment came.
They were waiting for the main Ironborn fleet…
But if they had a chance to bloody the krakens before the decisive battle, Kevan Lannister certainly wasn’t going to pass it up.
His expression was focused, his green eyes fixed on the horizon as he counted the enemy ships.
Only twelve.
He carefully studied the light longships that were still keeping their distance, wondering where the main force could be.
These ships certainly didn’t look like the ones the Greyjoys had used to attack Lannisport.
“Close the distance,” he ordered his first officer.
Trumpets sounded, their signals understood only by the captains.
Then the drums began.
The guardsmen gathered on the upper deck looked eager to settle the score with the krakens after their earlier defeat.
Only the tall man standing behind Kevan seemed uncomfortable.
One side of his scarred face was hidden beneath his hair, and he grimaced every time he glanced at the fire burning in a large brazier on the deck.
At the right moment, skilled hands would throw alchemical powder into it, turning the smoke thick and yellow.
The Ironborn longships suddenly changed course.
They weren’t going to fight.
They were turning away, pulling their sails away from the royal fleet.
“They’re leaving…” someone muttered.
“Running,” said the young sailor standing beside Arthur, his face covered in bright red freckles.
Arthur thought his name was Cormick.
“Bloody rats!
Are they really going to get away?”
“No…” Paul said, staring toward the horizon.
“We’ve got more sails than they do.
We’ll catch them.”
The drums thundered faster and faster, setting the rhythm for the oars as the Lion Star and the other ships of the fleet closed in on the Ironborn longships.
The chase lasted quite a while, at least from Arthur’s perspective.
Just as Ray had explained, naval battles weren’t quick affairs.
But now the fastest ships in the fleet were already within bow range.
“Fire when ready!” the first boatswain bellowed, repeating the order from Seivort.
Arrows whistled through the air.
Soon the sky was filled with their ominous buzzing.
The Ironborn answered with volleys of their own.
Short arrows with heavy heads flew from their ships, designed to punch through both flesh and mail.
The return volley was expected.
Ray spotted the approaching cloud of arrows and shouted a warning, sending everyone on deck scrambling behind their large shields.
But not everyone was fast enough.
A loud scream came from somewhere behind Arthur.
One of the sailors clutched his throat, an arrow buried with horrifying precision in his neck.
He collapsed onto the deck, his blood immediately mixing with the seawater washing across the planks. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
“Hell!
They got Innek…” someone shouted angrily.
Arthur didn’t turn around.
Judging by the strange accent, it was probably Cormick again.
Incendiary pots were passed along the fleet, and soon the first scarlet flames erupted, devouring sails and illuminating the chaos that was rapidly approaching.
The Lion Star’s scorpions fired first.
Heavy bolts slammed into the hulls of the longships, punching deep holes through the wood and killing or maiming the rowers.
One of the enemy vessels began to slow.
Its oars lost their rhythm.
Damaged and falling behind, it was now separated from the rest of the formation.
Kevan Lannister, watching the battle from the captain’s platform, immediately spotted the opportunity.
“Course for that one!”
His nostrils flared with anticipation.
The chance to settle the score had come sooner than he’d expected.
The Lion Star, guided by its helmsman, accelerated.
The rowers struck their oars harder.
Soon the isolated longship was directly in front of the galley.
Its crew scrambled desperately, trying to turn or at least soften the impact.
But it was too late.
A deep, thunderous crack echoed across the water as the galley’s ram slammed into the enemy ship’s side, punching through it like a spear.
The longship shuddered.
Cracks raced through its hull.
A moment later, it began to list and sink.
Ironborn screamed from the deck.
Some jumped overboard.
Others desperately grabbed onto pieces of wreckage disappearing beneath the waves.
But the battle wasn’t over.
Two other longships, realizing they wouldn’t be able to escape, slowed down and closed in on the ships that had pushed ahead, forcing a close-quarters fight.
One of them slammed into the Black Betha, smashing several oars.
Grappling hooks flew through the air and caught on the railings.
Ironborn warriors shouted as they climbed aboard the Black Betha from the burning ship.
“Boarders!
Everyone on deck!”
Hal’s voice rang across the ship.
Arthur was breathing hard, his fingers white around the hilt of his sword.
Until now, he’d only been hiding behind his large shield, flinching whenever arrows slammed into it.
But the shield couldn’t protect him anymore.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
Blood roared in his ears.
“Throw them overboard!”
Ray shouted as he cut off the hand of one of the first attackers, forcing the man to scream and collapse.
Arthur rushed toward the railing as well.
The first attacker, a young, beardless man who awkwardly jumped onto the deck, was caught by Arthur’s shield.
Arthur shoved him straight overboard.
The young man in mail fell screaming into the foaming water, his eyes widening in terror before he disappeared beneath the waves.
Arthur barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief.
Another enemy appeared in front of him.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with a shaggy beard.
He carried an enormous axe and moved surprisingly quickly despite his heavy mail.
An arrow had lodged itself in his arm, apparently deliberately broken off near the tip.
“Bloody brat!” the man snarled as he advanced.
Arthur barely managed to jump backward as the axe blade whistled through the air in front of his face.
Another fraction of a second and his head would’ve been rolling across the deck.
Fear and tension made him forget all about his shield.
His sweaty fingers tightened around his sword.
But Arthur was filled with a strange, furious determination.
The Ironborn roared and raised his axe for another strike.
This time, Arthur raised his shield.
That was a mistake.
Pain shot through his arm.
The axe cleaved almost straight through the heavy ship’s shield, ripping through the iron reinforcement and coming dangerously close to his wrist.
Arthur felt a chill run down his spine.
The shield had saved him.
Barely.
But the axe had become stuck in it.
That gave Arthur his opening.
He dropped the shield and moved to the side, circling his opponent.
Then he attacked.
One strike.
A move he’d practiced over and over during training.
His blade slashed across the man’s exposed leg, cutting through the leather boot and deep into the flesh.
The Ironborn roared in pain and collapsed onto the deck, drawing a strange, faceted dagger.
But Arthur was faster.
He stepped forward and swung with all his strength, cutting through the man’s arm.
Then his blade drove into the man’s throat.
The man gurgled.
Blood poured from his mouth and ran down through his beard.
His eyes went blank.
Arthur, breathing heavily, ripped his sword free.
A fountain of blood erupted from the man’s neck, splattering the deck and covering Arthur in red.
“AAAAH!”
Arthur screamed, adrenaline exploding through his body.
Behind him came the sounds of shouting, clashing swords, and shields smashing together.
Something instinctive made Arthur turn.
Another Ironborn was charging straight toward him, a blood-covered cleaver in his hands.
Arthur no longer had his shield.
And, in truth, it had only been getting in his way.
The heavy wooden shield, riddled with arrows and still bearing the axe buried in it, remained where it had fallen on the deck.
The Ironborn was a stocky, wiry man with wild eyes.
His cleaver was covered in fresh blood.
Someone else’s blood.
He was moving fast and didn’t react quickly enough to Arthur’s movements.
Arthur didn’t hesitate either.
The moment the enemy raised his cleaver, Arthur suddenly stepped to the side, dropping into a half-crouch before lunging forward.
His sword struck the man’s side, taking advantage of the difference in reach between their weapons.
The sharpened blade cut through the leather padding beneath the man’s armor, leaving a nasty but nonfatal wound.
The Ironborn snarled and tried to strike down at him.
But Arthur was already moving.
He slipped beneath the descending cleaver and immediately thrust again, low and fast, straight beneath the man’s ribs.
This time, the blade went deep.
But the man was still alive.
“Grrraah!”
The Ironborn staggered but refused to fall.
He gritted his teeth, grabbed Arthur by the shoulder, and pulled him closer, deliberately driving himself farther onto the sword.
Arthur couldn’t break free.
The force spun him around, and the cleaver was already coming toward his throat.
At the last possible second, almost purely on instinct, Arthur dropped onto his backside.
The blade passed over his head, cutting off several strands of hair.
From the ground, Arthur thrust his sword upward and, with a scream, dragged the blade from the man’s stomach toward his chest.
The poorly protected leather parted easily beneath the sharpened steel.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
Then a horrible stench hit Arthur’s face as the man’s split intestines spilled out.
The Ironborn choked and staggered.
His hands trembled.
Before he could fall, Arthur drove his sword into his neck, finishing him.
Blood erupted across the deck.
Arthur stepped backward, pulled his sword free, and immediately turned around.
Another enemy could appear at any moment.
But no one attacked him.
All around the Black Betha, the battle raged.
Men were dying.
Waves crashed against the hull.
Arthur could feel the ship rolling beneath his feet.
Saltwater filled his nostrils, mixing with the smell of blood and smoke.
The fighting on the deck was almost over.
There simply weren’t enough Ironborn left to put up serious resistance.
Pale-faced Mattos, dressed in sturdy mail and iron armor, stepped backward and wiped his forehead, leaving red streaks across his skin.
He’d just finished off his opponent.
A young Ironborn was clutching his pierced chest and desperately trying to breathe.
A moment later, he choked on his own blood.
Near Davos Seaworth, who was wearing full armor, three corpses already lay on the deck.
He was fighting a fourth, the captain of the longship, a red-bearded man.
Like Ser Davos, the enemy wore mail, an iron helmet, and carried a wooden shield bearing a coat of arms Arthur hadn’t been able to make out.
Ray had already dealt with his own opponents.
At some point, he simply walked up behind the captain and casually drove his sword into the man’s armpit.
Unlike Arthur’s expectations, Davos didn’t object to the interference.
He merely gave the second boatswain a tired pat on the shoulder before heading toward the upper deck.
Arthur was relieved to see Paul, Tom, and the other sailors he’d grown close to were still alive.
But many hadn’t been so lucky.
The sailors were finishing off the wounded.
No prisoners were wanted.
Arthur caught his breath and looked around.
It seemed the battle was finally over for today.
The enemy had been defeated, but chaos reigned everywhere.
Blood spread across the deck.
Dead bodies floated in the water like broken toys.
The cries of the wounded and the shouted orders of the officers blended together into one dull roar.
And then…
Horns sounded.
Arthur’s head snapped up.
He froze.
On the horizon were the silhouettes of numerous ships.
Large, heavy war galleys.
The sailors aboard the Lion Star were throwing the enemy warriors overboard without much ceremony.
Wounded men.
Disarmed men.
Men who could no longer fight.
Some desperately clung to ropes.
Others cried for help.
But the waves swallowed them one after another, dragging them into the depths.
“What is dead may never die…”
The last of the krakens disappeared into the sea.
The hand-to-hand fighting on the other two ships had also ended.
Lannister guardsmen were easily pushing the Ironborn back, their blades and discipline working with practiced efficiency.
It seemed like the battle would be over any moment.
“Eight ships sunk.
Two captured by boarding.
Two more longships managed to escape, my lord,” the captain of the guard reported to Kevan with a bow.
“As for casualties among our ships…”
And at that exact moment, a warning cry rang out.
“Fleet ahead!
Their main fleet!”
“Excellent!”
The man unexpectedly smiled, completely contradicting the pale faces of the guardsmen and sailors around him.
“Excellent…”