39: The Water Runs Red 4

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I forced my mind to bear the weight of the strain, gazing down upon the twin ports of Rakakz. The third port did not concern me. Jaeronos would handle that. My focus lay on the two before me, and more specifically, the tower between them.

Thoughts came in fragments, rough and jagged, as my mind struggled beneath the pressure. I was not merely in one gull, but four, all soaring above the Redwater. The flood of sensations, the weight of controlling their flight, pressed hard against my skull. Too much to process, too much to sift through. Rian was near, seen by all four gulls. They trembled, wanting to flee. Rian meant death to them. I could feel their panic. But I held them fast. They served me.

Below, the land blurred by in a smear of brown and green, the path between the two ports marked by a line of dirt and rock. Two figures moved along it, coming from the bay, heading toward the tower. My prey. But I waited, biding my time, forcing patience where instinct screamed for haste.

To seize the mind of a man would be easier. Simpler. But far more dangerous. The act of taking over a man’s mind was a line I did not wish to cross again. The Whores had been forced upon me. This would not. No, I would suffer the gulls, the strain of their collective minds pulling at mine. Still, the weight…

I forced three of the gulls to close their eyes, granting me a brief respite. The strain eased, if only slightly. With fewer images and fewer sensations to parse, my thoughts cleared. But even now, with their eyes closed, I couldn’t afford to strike. This moment was nothing more than a pause in the agony, a chance to gather myself while the waiting continued.

The gulls had no will of their own, not anymore. Rian’s presence sparked their instincts, but that was all that remained of them—their shattered minds and broken wills were my tools now. I was their master, even as the effort of controlling four at once gnawed at my reserves. Magic... such a fickle thing these days. Whatever curse lay upon the world twisted its use, made it brittle and unpredictable. Not just for me, but for any who wielded power. But I knew something the others did not. I knew why magic was faltering, and I had a plan—though the solution was far from my reach, still a year and a half away.

The Red Comet had seen the return of dragons, those living engines of magic. Their rebirth had stirred the old forces awake, but the Comet itself held the key to clearing the taint that blocked the ability of those with the gift to wield magic. Yet until that fateful day arrived, I would continue to strain against this limit I despised. What I did today would nearly drain me, leave me hollow, but it was necessary. Rakakz could not know his eastern port was already under siege, not until it was too late—until it was mine.

As the two men reached the tower, I turned my focus to them and their location. The other gulls remained with their eyes closed, instincts allowing them to circle easily on the winds swirling around the island; captured by the range of high hills to the south and the mountains to the north. Those mountains separated Rakakz’s territory from Allerion’s, while the hills separated Rakakz from Vaegon. I had hopes that both places might have suitable minerals and resources for mining, but that was a project for a later time. Not least only once Southpoint was inhabited and defended as much as Northpoint currently was.

At the tower, two men emerged, greeting their cohorts. Using the gull whose eyes remained open, I swooped down lower. Not low enough that any of the four men might consider loosing an arrow, but so that I might catch movements of their lips. It was hard to make out what was being said – the gull’s mind was not trained to process the movements of lips as Ymir could, and as I’d learnt to do while inside the minds of Kaa and Rian – but no codes appeared to be said.

The two men from the tower moved away, heading for the bay port. I had to wait and make sure they were far enough away that the commotion I was about to unleash wouldn’t be heard. Once far enough away, and the new men at the tower emerged back out from it, I commanded the other gulls to open their eyes.

The pain returned. Four minds, four visions, all for me to control. The first gull circled low. Two of the other three began to follow. One target climbed the ladder, heading for the platform on the tower. The other went inside. The lowest gull aimed for the watchman.

He saw me but thought little of it. His gaze turned east, toward Essos. With prey marked by me, the gull’s instincts took over. Wings were drawn to the body. The beak angled down, cutting the air. Tighter the gull held itself, and faster it fell. Like a massive bolt pulled down by gravity.

The man turned, looking in my direction. His eyes widened as he saw my gull-body. Limbs moved frantically. The prey knew it was in danger. A glint of something came from its middle. The man’s pupils widened pathetically. I forced the gull to not slow, not pull back as it should. As gaps in the man’s shirt became crystal clear, I snapped from the gull’s mind.

I watched from the eyes of the other gulls, my connection to the first gull broken. Its wings moved out, trying to slow itself. The action was too late. I’d timed my departure perfectly. The gull’s beak slammed into the man’s chest. The pair fell back, the bird limply falling against the man’s chest. The beak was embedded; the bird dead. A pained sound came from the man’s mouth, along with blood, as he was knocked from the platform.

I snarled inside my mind, enjoying the painful death I’d unleashed. My focus shifted. The other man coming out of the tower. The death cries of his partner had reached him. Coming around, he stopped. Frozen at the sight of the other dead from a gull strike. With his gaze down, the two gulls I was driving with raced toward him.

The man moved; his stupor ended. He turned, one hand going to his middle. A leg dropped, the other hand going to the impaled man. An arm lifted weakly. I saw the dying man mumble something. The alive man turned, a glint of light coming from his hip.

I pulled from the mind of the first of the two gulls targeting him. His weapon had been drawn, intending to strike the gull I’d just left. Steel found flesh, but too late and the gull slammed into the man’s side, sending him and the now-dead gull to the ground. The weapon, an axe, was knocked from his grasp.

He fumbled on the ground, trying to recover. The third gull, unsighted by him, dove closer. The man pushed himself over, his eyes widening as he saw the gull. Arms moved, trying to protect him. If the gull I was controlling could smile, the bloodthirsty grin I was projecting would’ve been the last sight the man had.

Slipped from the gull’s mind, I looked down from the last remaining gull, it having slowly circled lower in case I needed to sacrifice it. The third gull had slammed beak-first into the downed pirate’s face. Even if an arm had blocked some of the force, the way his head snapped to one side, blood all but exploding from bird and face, it was clear he was down for the count.

Movement of the body suggested the man had survived, but as the remaining gull focused its gaze on the man and his companion, it was clear neither was getting up any time soon. Certainly not before I took the eastern port. Even if they survived this attack, they’d not last long. Not without access to a Maester with supplies only found in the richest of keeps. On a remote location in the Stepstones, the pair were dead; all that remained for them was a very painful last few hours.

The gull’s gaze shifted to the path, tracking the pair of pirates heading to the bay port. They’d stopped, the sounds of the attack possibly reaching them. Not wanting them to turn, I swooped lower and had the gull call out. The pair looked up, seeing the gull I controlled.

One man shoulder-tapped the other, the pair sharing a joke before resuming their walk to the bay port. I smirked internally, amused that their desire for a meal and a good bed overrode any thoughts of checking on the tower, and once they’d taken a good fifty steps, the gull turned, heading eastward toward my ships.

With that done, I slipped from the gull’s mind; bracing for the pain I was about to experience.

“Aghh.” The groan slipped from my throat as I fell to one side. My head clattered against something hard, drawing a hiss as everything spun and hurt. I knew this was going to be bad, but I wasn’t sure what was going on, nor where and who I was.

My chest hurt, and recognizing the sensation, I barely managed to turn my head before my mouth opened and I expelled whatever was inside my body. As I wretched and coughed, a stray thought offered a small prayer to the Gods that I’d been smart enough to not eat properly before taking control of the gulls. Otherwise, as much as I might not believe it possible currently, things would’ve been worse.

I felt several small somethings touch my back and side. “.re…gan……u…al…ht.” I turned my head at the fucked-up sounds, unable to process what was beings said. My eyes offered little help to knowing who spoke; only showing me a blurred purple figure; one I knew was far smaller than I should be. The figure had two small unfocused extensions touching my side. Behind it, something orange shifted, and my head snapped to see what it was.

I groaned loudly, my head falling slightly as my body protested against the sudden movement.

“…” my mouth opened, but the words I wanted to get out failed to slip from my throat. Instead, another round of heaving began, though this time at least there was nothing for my body to expel.

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The orange figure came closer and dropped down. It brought something of a dark colour to my face. The smell of it was familiar, and, after pushing myself upward away from the vomit on the floor, I reached for the dark object. My hand closed around what I knew as a mug, and I lifted it unsteadily to my lips.

The contents slid slowly into my mouth and then down my throat, washing away the taste of whatever I’d eaten earlier; drowning it in the tart aftertaste of a Dornish Red. The wine came back up slightly as I coughed, having gulped too fast even though I’d tried to slow my drinking. There was an urge to retch once more, but I pushed it down. I didn’t know why, but I knew I didn’t have time to stay here and act like some newborn babe needing the help of its mother.

I took another sip of the wine, letting it slide down my throat. Stopping, I waited for more coughing, and when none came took a longer sip. Feeling slightly better, I closed my eyes and forced my mind to refocus.

Opening my eyes again, I saw the figures in front of me were my squires, Edric Dayne and Trystane Martell. The colours I’d seen before were the surcoats they wore marking their houses.

“Are you well?”

I grimaced, the quietly asked question hurting my ears. Turning to Edric, and not sure I could speak clearly yet, I nodded and with one hand, patted his arm to let him know I was getting there.

After sipping the rest of the wine in the mug, I held it out – still too unsteadily for my liking – for Trystane. The boy took the cup and, with some help from Edric, I stood. “Y-es. E-d-ric,” I managed to get out as the hand that had held the mug was now pressing against the wall, using it for stability. “T-ell, M-en. At-ack.”

Edric nodded, and faster than my brain would’ve liked, he was up and rushing toward the door of my cabin. Trystane came closer, what appeared to be a refilled mug in his hands. I took it gratefully, offering him a nod of thanks, and sipped the entire thing in one long go.

With the mug finished, I licked my lips. “Watch. Tower. Gone.” I said, each word coming out clearly but slowly. “Not. Fun.”

Trystane nodded, though I knew he didn’t understand what I’d endured. Outside of my cousins of House Stark, I wasn’t sure any of them could and even then, only Robb might have an inkling as only he had a skinchanging bond. That said, once I returned to Sunspear – whenever that would be – I’d be spending time with Alysanne and Beron to see how their training with the ability was going.

“How. Long.” I knew the sun was rising as I’d seen it through the eyes of the gulls, but I didn’t know how far my ships were from the port, nor how long it’d taken me to recover from orchestrating the gull attack.

“The sun is rising behind us,” Trystane said as he moved through my cabin, heading to where a pitcher of wine rested. I turned my head slowly, taking in the viewports of my cabin, noting that while all were still covered light was leaking in around the edges of the covers. “We should be in range soon.”

I nodded. “Good. I need to…” my words stopped as I pushed myself from the wall and almost fell over before using Trystane for support. The room spun as I moved, and the motion of the vessel, along with the gentle pounding of a drum for the rowers to keep pace, did little to help.

“Should you not rest before the attack begins?”

I chuckled and shook my head. “No. While many of the men know I can wield magic; they don’t understand how I do so.” My eyes drifted to my wrist where a seemingly innocuous necklace was wrapped around my forearm. “If I choose to not take part in the initial assault when I have the best bow for it, then they might question my resolve. The last thing either us or Edric want is to have them change allegiance before Jaeronos and reinforcements can reach us.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Trystane replied, making me roll my eyes at him falling back to type and calling me Lord. It was a minor issue, but one I continued to stress was incorrect as I was not a Lord.

I pushed Trystane away, feeling better about standing under my power, and as he moved to gather my weapons and armour, I looked down at the necklace, using my other hand to push it under the sleeve of my gambeson.

The necklace was nothing of importance, a simple trinket of no great value. Yet, since my last departure from Sunspear, I had taken to wearing it less and less. However, during any public displays of magic before my men, I ensured it hung around my neck, a subtle show of power. It was Doran’s idea, clever in its simplicity—a ruse to disguise the fact that I required no aid to summon fire. Should any of the men grow bold enough to betray me, the necklace would be seen as the supposed source of my magic. And when the time came, if some fool tried to take it from me to steal my power, they would find only ashes for their trouble.

"Fetch my bow first," I called out to Trystane, who stood by the weapons stand. Red Rain and my axe usually hung from my belt, but I had stowed them away before slipping into the minds of the gulls, wary of what might happen when I released control. The last thing I needed was to stumble and impale myself on my own blade. As I stepped gingerly around a jagged edge in the floor, I found myself grateful for that bit of foresight.

"You intend to shoot?" Trystane asked. There was a familiarity in his tone that might have been impertinent from another, but I allowed it. He had served me well enough.

"I will not hit anyone worth a damn," I admitted, "but drawing and loosing a few arrows will be enough. It will look as though I am trying. That way, no one will question my condition, and I will have a bit of peace to recover before the true battle begins." Trystane nodded, bringing the bow, a full quiver of arrows, and my helm. He turned back to fetch my blade, axe, and gauntlets, his movements practised and sure. The gauntlets would only hinder me while shooting, and I had no desire to risk snapping the bowstring. A broken bow would be of no use to me for the remainder of my time on Redwater.

"Once I take up position with the bow," I said, sliding my helm over my head, "I want you and Edric in full armour. You do not have the strength to fire from the distance I will be shooting. And when we land and take the port, I want you both protected. No risks. Not until we hold the port in our hands."

I intended to be the first over the bow, with the pair just behind me. Normally, I’d have Ymir, Bronn, or Jaeronos stay close to them as I didn’t want to lose either of them. Especially not on my first campaign with them as my squires. Since I didn’t have that option, they had orders to remain close to me, which while I intended to be in the thick of battle, shouldn’t be a major problem.

They were well-trained, likely more so than ninety per cent of the pirates in the Stepstones, and their armour was generally superior as well. The surcoats they wore, much like mine, would mark them as men of standing. Theirs, however, bore the sigils of more recognizable families, at least to those familiar with Dornish nobility. Mine, while brighter in design, was unknown, a sigil that would draw more eyes, especially as I led the assault. Having them close by, bearing their familiar coats of arms, was the best option I had for keeping the attention off myself.

My eyes tracked the arrow’s flight, and even as I instinctively drew another, I allowed myself a smirk. The shot flew true. The man I had targeted, a pirate with a bow of his own, was struck square in the chest. He toppled backwards, arms flailing, the bolt he had been preparing for the ship’s scorpion clattering uselessly to the deck.

His companion at the naval artillery paid him no heed, moving quickly to retrieve the fallen bolt. As he rose, the second arrow I had nocked struck him in the shoulder. It was not a killing blow, but the force of it sent him stumbling, his balance lost. His momentum carried him over the railing, and he disappeared into the sea below.

Either side of me the four scorpions mounted on the Red Kraken’s bow opened fire on the port directly. They had targeted the two docked galleys, but I’d ordered them to concentrate on the port as I wanted both ships sea-worthy as soon as the battle was over. The men who had tried to load one of the pirate scorpions had been my targets as we neared, and by the time the dozen other archers on the Kraken were in range to help, I’d taken out most of the pirates I needed to target. The one who’d just gone overboard was the last to remain on the galleys, and already the archers had joined the scorpions in targeting men in the port.

My gaze slid down the galley and along the dock toward the port. There men were readying themselves for battle. Several crates and an upturned cart were the only shelter at the edge of the docks, and the men there were either pinned down by incoming fire or in the case of the cart, forced from cover as that was struck by two of the Kraken’s bolts.

I loosed an arrow, striking one of the men forced from cover, the others were soon struck by arrows from my men. The pirates had about twenty men – at least from my quick scan of the port – who were returning fire with bows, but with the scorpions peppering wherever the pirates took cover, they either had withdrawn for better cover or where they hadn’t they couldn’t fire in sufficient numbers to be much of a threat to me or my men.

Seeing one of the pirate archers further back from the main line, feeling safe in the meagre shelter he had found, I drew my bow and let an arrow fly. Two more followed in quick succession. The first struck true, driving the man from his cover, and the second embedded itself in his gut. As he crumpled forward, a third arrow found a nearby pirate, who froze in place, staring wide-eyed as his companion fell.

The men around them hesitated, fear creeping into their movements. They pulled back from the dock, exactly as I had intended. I shifted my focus, eyes scanning for others who might be closer to the shore—those who would be the first to face me once my boots touched solid ground. I spotted a pair poorly hidden and loosed another small volley.

Two arrows found their mark. The first struck a man in the shoulder, and the second caught another in the throat. I had not aimed for the neck, but as the pirate dropped, clutching at the blood pouring from his wound, I felt no need to complain about the shot.

Before lowering my bow, I fired another half-dozen arrows. Five found their targets. The last missed by a hair’s breadth, thudding into the building behind the retreating pirate. With that, I handed the bow to Edric. The squire turned without a word, carrying it back to my cabin. There was no sense in leaving the weapon at the bow when the time came to charge into battle.

I stepped back, away from the prow, and raised my arms, my eyes carefully avoiding the rising sun emblazoned at our bow. Trystane moved forward to secure my gauntlets, his hands quick and sure. Once they were fastened tightly, I slid my arm through the hoop on my shield and grasped the handle. Trystane pulled the strap tight, pressing the shield firmly against my forearm.

With that done, I turned back toward the rapidly approaching port. Trystane, and the now-returning Edric, would have the others help them don their armour soon enough. Movement in the air caught my eye, and I raised my shield just in time. An incoming arrow struck it harmlessly, clattering off the metal surface. It did no damage at this distance, but as we neared, that would change. Still, with our metal shields, it would take more than a pirate’s bow to lodge an arrow deep enough to trouble us.

As the dock loomed closer, the path down it becoming clearer, I lowered my head behind my shield and turned to my squires. "Stay close," I ordered, my voice steady. "Both to me and to each other."

"Yes, Ser," they replied in unison, nodding. They understood well enough. Like me, they would be prime targets. Most of the pirates would see only armoured figures, but the clever ones might recognize their surcoats and see the coin behind the steel. Trystane would fetch a higher price in ransom, but both were worth their weight in gold to their families.

There was no trace of nerves in their voices; they believed they had seen battle before. Perhaps they had, but this would be nothing like the taking of Vaegon’s ports. During that campaign, I, and by extension my squires, had been on the outskirts of the fighting. Here, things would be different. We would be in the thick of it. I wondered how long their confidence would hold once blood began to spill.

As the Kraken reached the edge of the docks, pulling alongside one of the pirate galleys, I gripped the railing at the bow with my free hand. Peering over, I could see the dock not far from the ship's hull. The planks looked sturdy enough, though weathered by salt and sea. Lifting myself onto the railing, I leapt down, landing with a heavy thud.

The wooden planks groaned under my weight but held firm. Glancing to the side, I saw the water wasn’t deep—fortunate enough, as I had no desire to slog through chest-high waves with battle raging around me. I wanted to be where the action was, not floundering in the sea while the fighting passed me by.

I moved swiftly, charging past spots where a pirate might have ambushed me. None appeared. Either they had shown some intelligence by avoiding the exposed dock, or they had been killed aboard the galleys before we arrived. No matter. The real fight lay ahead.

As I neared the port, movement stirred. Pirates began to ready themselves, weapons drawn and eyes scanning for threats. Sensing an opportunity to strike first and craving the reaction it always brought, I swirled my blade in an exaggerated arc. The sunlight caught the ripples in the red Valyrian steel, drawing the attention of many of the pirates. Some faltered, while others froze in place as flames suddenly erupted along the length of my sword, summoned by my magic.

I lunged, the fiery blade cutting through the air. My target’s eyes went wide with shock as the steel pierced him. I pulled the blade free and stepped aside, slipping around him as he crumpled to the ground. The flames still danced along Red Rain’s edge, and I knew before the sun had fully risen, the blade would live up to its bloody name once more.

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