Late but not failing.
Year 108 A.C.
POV: Denovan
A few days had passed since our encounter with that unfortunate merchant ship. The calm, dark waters of the Narrow Sea gradually gave way to more treacherous currents and jagged rocks that tore through the surface like rotten teeth.
We were, finally, in the Stepstones.
Ahead of us, cutting through the morning mist, three large galleon approached. They were robust ships, with dark sails and oars that beat the water in a predatory rhythm. Thanks to the panoramic view Heimdall had provided me earlier, I already knew what they were: Triarchy pirates. Crabfeeder's men. But unlike any sensible captain who would feel a chill down their spine upon coming face to face with corsairs in those waters, all I felt was profound relief. Finally. I was anxious to take everything those bastards had.
I wasn't the only one anxious, but there was a small "detail" on my deck that bothered me deeply.
I looked down. Fenrir, my giant wolf with thick scars, was lying down, occupying the space of three rowers, grumbling at the sway of the sea. Aside from serving as my furry pillow at night, there was no point in keeping him there. I had been stupid to bring him on a naval campaign. The sea was no place for him. As soon as I returned to the North, I would have to leave him on dry land. Or perhaps, who knows, release him in the Reach for a while; the southern forests might hide interesting things for him to hunt and find for me. I remember seeing that the shadowcats in the Reach were different from those in the North; perhaps Fenrir will find one to satisfy my curiosity, and maybe I'll even catch one for myself.
I turned my attention back to the front. Our six drakkars were closing the distance quickly.
My men gripped the hilts of their new swords and axes of southern steel. Since the runes were engraved on their bodies, giving them more vigor, endurance, and strength, I noticed they had become a bit arrogant. The newly discovered power had inflated my warriors' egos. They thought they were invincible. Honestly, I hoped the enemy steel would inflict a few superficial wounds today, just enough to remind them that they could still bleed.
"Prepare to attack!" I roared, my voice drowning out the sound of the wind. "Korr! Morn! You lead the flanks! Take the second and third ships! The one in the center is mine!"
The drums sounded. The battle was about to begin.
As the pirates began to prepare their bows and ballistae, I smiled and sent the mental command. The waters between us and the main ship of the enemy fleet began to foam.
Orochi emerged. The colossal sea serpent didn't just attack; she used her size to our advantage. With a crash that made the sea tremble, Orochi raised part of her massive body, resting her scaly belly against the side of our drakkar and sinking her fangs into the gunwale of the pirate ship, forming a living and terrifying bridge of dark scales.
"Stay on the drakkar! This one is mine!" I shouted to my crew. I looked at the wolf. "Let's go, boy. Time to stretch those legs!"
Fenrir let out a howl that curdled the pirates' blood from ten meters away. I ran at full speed over Orochi's back, feeling the serpent's muscles contract under my boots. The giant wolf bolted beside me.
Contrary to what it seemed, the scales were not entirely smooth—not after she had molted. Once her scales turned black, they became even stronger and somewhat rough.
In less than three seconds, we leaped from the "bridge" directly onto the deck of the enemy flagship, alone, ready for the massacre.
The moment we landed, Orochi let go of the ship, diving back into the depths to assist the other drakkars. The true slaughter began.
POV: Korr
Adrenaline burned in my veins. Seeing the Chief and that monstrous wolf board the main ship alone was inspiring, worthy of the legends my father used to tell me about the ancient Kings-Beyond-the-Wall. But I couldn't afford to be just a spectator; I had my own target. The pirate ship to our right turned sideways, trying to intercept us and crush us with its colossal size against our drakkar.
"Quick! Pull the oars!" I shouted, the rune on my arm pulsing with heat and power.
Before the enemy's hull could shatter us, a black shadow emerged beneath the foaming waters. Orochi, fresh from her "bridge" on Denovan's ship, delivered a brutal headbutt to the keel of the pirate galleon that threatened us.
The impact was devastating. Water splashed dozens of meters high. The pirate ship tilted violently to starboard. The oars on that side snapped and broke like twigs under the weight, and the corsairs on deck lost their balance, rolling like ragdolls.
"Now! Hooks!"
We threw the ropes and climbed the side of the vessel in a matter of seconds. When I stepped onto the wet wooden deck, my new castle-steel longsword sang. A pirate, his face covered in exotic paintings, charged with a scimitar. I parried the blow easily—he was predictable and far too slow for my new reflexes—and, with a quick spin, used the sword's pommel to smash his nose, knocking him out cold.
"Kill those who resist, but leave some alive! Especially the leader! The Chief wants to ask questions!" I ordered, cutting a path through the scum.
The pirates were fierce warriors, no doubt used to plundering merchant ships, but they had never faced the Marks of the Far North. Much less Marks equipped with southern steel and runic magic in their veins. The clash of swords filled the air, but we advanced like a relentless blizzard. They didn't stand a chance.
POV: Morn
I was old enough to know that overconfidence kills more than sharp blades.
Our drakkar approached the third enemy ship from the left flank. These bastards were smart; seeing what the serpent did to the other two, they quickly pulled in their oars and prepared a line of archers at the gunwale.
"Shields up!" I roared, crouching beneath the reinforced wood.
Arrows rained down on us. Two hit the drakkar's deck near my boot. The rune on my chest glowed beneath my skin, giving me the stamina of a man half my age, but I was not immortal. As we threw the hooks and began to climb, a skinny pirate with a spear leaned over the gunwale and thrust quickly downward.
I twisted my body to dodge, but space was tight. The iron tip tore through the side of my shoulder, cutting leather and flesh. I stung with pain, but I gave a fierce smile.
Since the runes were engraved on my body, this was the first time I've been wounded, I thought, feeling the warm blood. Good. A reminder that I am still human.
I grabbed the shaft of the enemy's spear with my good hand and pulled with all my strength, wrenching the wretch right off the ship. He screamed before falling heavily into the sea, and I used the momentum of the pull to vault over the gunwale and land on the deck.
I landed in the middle of three of them. With my axe in one hand and my body weight in my favor, I forced my way through. My warriors climbed up right behind me, bellowing. Steel clashed against wooden shields, bones broke, and pirate blood began to wash the planks.
Fighting on a ship in the open sea was something I wasn't entirely used to. The constant swaying of the waves made the inexperienced lose their balance easily, turning the fight into a dirty, claustrophobic dance. I took another grazing cut on my thigh, and I saw two of my men fall to their knees with arrows in their shoulders, but we didn't retreat a single inch.
In less than ten minutes of brutal combat, we cornered their captain—a man with a bifurcated beard and expensive but torn silk clothes—against the main mast, forcing him to drop his scimitars. The ship was ours.
POV: Denovan
The metallic smell of blood mixed with the sea spray choked the air.
I wiped the blade of my tomahawk on a dead pirate's silk tunic and tucked it into my belt. My deck was clear. The pirates who were stupid enough to try and face me head-on were sprawled on the floor, lifeless.
Fenrir, his snout and front paws stained a dark red, was panting but looked extremely satisfied with himself. Having a giant wolf in such a contained space proved to be a weapon of absolute psychological shock; half the men panicked and surrendered just at the sight of the beast. After all, what pirate in their right mind expects to see a colossal wolf in the middle of a deck in the Narrow Sea? It was madness. The battle there was quick and, from what I could tell, my ship had the lowest death toll. An absolutely unstoppable man and animal made more soldiers drop their weapons than a small army would.
I looked around, checking the situation. The galleon captured by Korr was secure. Morn's also showed our men waving their arms in victory, though I noticed Morn limping slightly, tying a rag with his teeth around his shoulder.
We would have to clean those wounds soon. I took a quick look at my warriors and could see a few with small cuts here and there. Nothing serious, which was a relief. But it served as a bitter reminder that, although magic ran through their skin, it didn't make them immortal.
However, I dare say that the number of wounded will tend to decrease drastically with every battle. They will get used to naval combat quickly. And the adaptation will be even faster because of the "Mark of the Beast" on their bodies; the capacity for motor and physical learning that rune provided was insane.
We gathered on the flagship shortly after, bringing the three pirate captains handcuffed and kneeling before me. The few enemy crew members who survived and didn't jump into the sea were tied up in the hold.
Korr and Morn approached, assessing the spoils around us. There were three large ships, full of fresh provisions, some chests of stolen gold, and sea charts of the Stepstones region—though they weren't very well-drawn maps.
"It was a good hunt, Chief," Korr said, sporting a fierce smile.
"It was," I agreed, crossing my thick arms and looking at our makeshift fleet. Six drakkars and now three large pirate galleon Nine vessels in total.
"But we have a math problem," I continued, letting a serious expression take over my face.
Morn frowned, clutching the wound on his shoulder. "What do you mean?"
"We have one hundred and twenty men in total," I explained, pointing to the span of the ships. "Our drakkars need constant rowers to be efficient, and these galleon are heavy. They each need dozens of experienced men to sail and, especially, to fight. If we divide our crew evenly among these nine ships, we'll have just over twelve warriors per vessel."
Silence fell over the two leaders. They understood the point quickly. Twelve warriors on a ship designed for fifty left us not only slow but incredibly vulnerable to a mass boarding.
Korr scratched his thick beard. "We can't just sink them. We need these cargo ships to transport people and goods when we return to the North."
"Exactly... you're getting smart, Korr," I said playfully, patting his shoulder, and then I began unfolding one of the stolen maps over a barrel lid. Black smoke from fires on nearby islands stained the pale horizon.
We had to make a tactical decision now. Should we anchor the galleon in some hidden cove and continue agile attacks with only the drakkars? Should we fill these three ships with the newly acquired spoils and weapons and send half our force back to the North this very day, while the rest stayed behind, surviving in the shadows? Or would we risk sailing with the entire fleet operating at minimum capacity in the middle of a chaotic war zone?
I looked at the kneeling pirate captains. They watched me with a mix of hatred and dread. One thing was certain: the Triarchy would soon know they weren't dealing with polished lords from Westeros, but with the true predators of the North. The Marks. I believe that would become a good title for us in these waters. The question was how we would use this new reputation to our advantage.
"Well, first of all, let's disembark. We need dry land to rest for a day or two, heal the wounded, and then decide our next move."
I turned slowly and faced the pirate captain in the center.
"Well then, pirate?" I said, the sarcasm evident in my voice.
Some of my men let out amused sighs and short laughs upon hearing the dangerous tone.
"Tell me... which of the islands is safest for a clean landing? And which one is most infested with pirates?"
The captain, a man sporting heavy gold earrings and rubies set in his rings, lifted his chin.
"Nothing in the Stepstones is safe... serpent monster," he spat.
I brought my face close to his. "Then tell me which is the most dangerous hole. I need to sate myself with blood. If you don't point out a target, I'll have to settle for yours." My golden eyes glowed with an animal intensity, and I flashed a smile showing my canines, sharper than they ought to be.
The man faltered, his bravado crumbling under my gaze. "Tsk... bring me a map," he grumbled, defeated.
I signaled to the man beside me, who quickly went to the captain's cabin to fetch the most detailed parchment we had found. He spread it on the floor before the pirate.
He looked at the geographical outlines and pointed to two pieces of land.
"Most of the larger islands have makeshift ports where captains stop to resupply and unload war spoils. They're full of supplies and guards... but this one," he said, placing his finger on a small piece of land on the map. "This one is relatively empty. There's almost nothing there. Just sand, jagged rocks, and some withered coconut trees."
I remained silent. When he mentioned the word "spoils," a part of me, focused on the need to enrich the North, felt tempted.
"Show me another," I ordered. "A good island. A base you would use to hide your own treasure. Tell me of a place you would surely plunder if you had the fleet and the courage..."
I watched his eyes. "You've had these thoughts about some of your 'allies'' ports, haven't you? Show me. Take me there. In exchange, I'll let you take a few items and slip away before I burn everything down. What do you think?"
The pirate looked at me, and I saw the unmistakable glint of greed, malice, and calculation in his expression.
"This one," he pointed firmly to a larger island. "It's an extensive island. Almost every corsair who sails this sea has stopped and anchored there at least once. It's a black market trade point." From the map, there even seemed to be a small forested area in the interior.
"Is that where the Crabfeeder stays?" I asked.
The pirate let out a harsh laugh. "Ha! You're crazy. Craghas Drahar doesn't stay in that open place. He stays in these." He pointed to a cluster of smaller, crooked rocky islets. "He always seems to be near this set of rocks... though no one knows why. There's nothing of value there. Just flooded caves and hard rock."
A wide, dark smile spread across my face. To them, corsairs of the sea, Drahar's reason for choosing bare stones wasn't obvious. But to me, who knew the flow of this war, it was the most obvious thing in the world. Drahar would hide and delay the end of the conflict, coming out of his burrows only when there were no dragons flying in the skies.
The deep caves were a perfect means of escaping Targaryen fire and Daemon's blades. The only means of survival against the winged beasts.
But to me, that wasn't an impregnable fortress. It was just ants cornering themselves in their own anthill, patiently waiting for the ground slaughter.
"Get up, Captain," I said. "Let's go. Guide us to the island you so dream of plundering."
I ordered them to untie the captain and a few essential sailors, allowing them to pilot the heavy galleon for us.
I wasn't being merciful, and certainly not naive. I didn't trust them one bit. But using their native knowledge to dock our vessels safely at an island with enough resources to sustain my men—at least until the return trip to the North began—was the best move.
Since we didn't have enough Marks to pilot the large galleon alone, we would park them all at that port with the forced help of the pirates. Once the anchors hit bottom, I would lock them up again. Later, who knows, I could use their own tactic against them: sell them as galleon slaves in the Free Cities and use the gold to buy useful artisans in Slaver's Bay.
Was it a dirty thought? Yes. My actions in the South and East would likely not be at all pleasing to the eyes of the honorable lords of Westeros. Many would criticize me. But it was what needed to be done to ensure the future of my people. And in the end, the slaves I intended to buy with this pirate blood wouldn't be treated like cattle in the North; they would be the foundation of a kingdom.
I approached Morn, who was finishing adjusting the bandage on his shoulder.
"Go rest for a bit on one of the drakkars. Let the younger men row while we heal that," I ordered.
I turned to Korr. "Leave ten of our best warriors on each of the other two galleon to ensure the pirates don't try anything stupid."
"And this one?" Korr asked.
"The flagship, where our friend is," I nodded toward the golden-earring captain, "stays with me. I'll watch the route myself. I'm not giving them the chance to commit the stupidity of betraying us."
Korr nodded and began to divide the men. Gradually, the nine ships began to move in unison. Our new flagship galleon led the formation, tearing through the sea.
I stood on the sterncastle. The sight of being in command of a galleon that size was imposing. I was never much for the sea; I preferred the firm ice and solid ground beneath my feet. But gradually, after weeks swaying over the waves, the wind in my face, and the power of a steel fleet crossing turbulent waters... I began to appreciate the feeling.