“Ser Cregan!”
The shout from Edric, who was outside the office, had my attention instantly. As he pushed open the door, I was already standing, securing Red Rain to my waist. The documents I’d been looking over scattered chaotically by me leaping to my feet.
“Ser Cregan!”
“What?”
“Scouts are back from the tower. Men approaching the walls!”
I moved forward, picking up my helm, sliding it over my head and then grasped my axe. Normally, I’d wait and get my gauntlets and shield secured, but from the tension in Edric’s voice, I doubted there’d be time to secure them properly.
As I stepped outside, I saw men moving around, preparing for battle. “Ready the ships for sail!” I ordered. It was unlikely that we’d be forced to abandon the port, but with everything of value on the ships, the option was there, and I wanted it to remain open until I knew what was going on.
Men snapped too, obeying my orders even as I turned and moved toward the main gates of the port. The ones connecting the path between this port and the one in the bay. As I neared the gates, I cursed the condition of the walls. Since an attack overland was unlikely – given the hills and mountains that lay to the south and north of the port, cutting off easy access from lands held by Vaegon and Allerion, Rakakz hadn’t spent time ensuring the land-based defences were up to scratch. A failure that I and my men might now have to endure.
As I neared the gate, I saw Jaeronos slipping out of a building. Like me, he was armoured in a mix of half-plate and mail, though it seemed he’d had time to get his gauntlets on, whereas I had yet to do so.
“Report!” I shouted as I came into sight of the gates.
Horden, who it seemed had reached the gates first and taken command, turned at my call. “Scouts from the tower reported a large group of men moving from the bay port, Mi’lord.”
“How many?” I asked, seeing the group of men sent to monitor Rakakz’s movements from the tower between the ports nearby. The group were breathing heavier than the rest of my men, but not hard enough that it suggested they’d run all the way back. That, in of itself, was encouraging that this wasn’t an all-out attack, but I wasn’t going to take any chances.
“We counted close to a hundred before we abandoned the tower, mi’lord.” The report came from one of the pirates who’d bent the knee in The Whores. So far, the man had proven himself dependable, but I wasn’t trusting him or the others who’d joined during that campaign just yet.
“I see them!” the call came from a man on the wall next to the gate. “Just passing the tower now.”
“Close the gates and man the walls!” I ordered before turning and moving toward a building slightly back of the walls. Jaeronos saw me moving, and after I pointed upward, he nodded and stepped forward. “You heard him! Get ready you fuckers!”
While he took command, I slipped away, moving to a quieter section of the port. Edric and Trystane, who’d arrived while I’d been getting the situation report, came with me. Once out of sight of the majority of my men, I turned away, leaned against a wall, and closed my eyes.
A moment later, I took in the port and men approaching it through Rian’s gaze. As I’d asked him, he was holding position over the island between the two ports. Below him, I saw the men – which looked to be a hundred as the scout had reported – moving forward slowly. At the head of the force was the gauntleted left arm of Rakakz, meaning this was either an attack or a recon in force. The latter was unlikely, as even if the men he’d formerly commanded before I’d take the port turned their cloaks against me, I still had a clear numerical advantage.
Using the sharpness of Rian’s eyes, I scanned the forest on either side of the path, looking for movement. It was hard to make out much, as the canopy on both sides was thick; the forest growing wild and untouched for so long. However, through the small gaps that did exist, neither Rian nor I spotted anything that suggested men moving in the woods.
Turning our attention to the bay port, I quickly counted around forty men moving there along with two longboats at sea. That meant the force coming toward me and my men was all there was. Or at least the overwhelming majority of them, as based on earlier flights, I knew the bay port seemed to hold less than two hundred men.
Turning Rian, I had him look out to sea, wanting to be sure there was no threat coming from that way. While two galleys bearing the sails of the Lotus Prince lay far to the east, there was no hint of ships moving southward down the coast of Redwater. Indeed, it seemed Allerion’s north-eastern port had deployed most of its ships, including what appeared to be a war galley if not something slightly larger, toward the sea between Redwater and Misthaven.
There, ahead of the fleet of four, three cogs were moving as quickly as they could trying to outrun the pursuing pirates, and entirely unaware of other galleys, though ones not aligned with Allerion. The fate of those traders was out of my hands, and as I slipped from Rian’s mind back to my body, I refocused on my situation.
“Near a hundred men,” I whispered to my squires as I shook my head, adjusting to the weaker eyes of my body. “Forest appears clear, but there might be a handful in there.” The boys shared a look before Trystane turned and rushed back to the gates. He’d pass the intel to Jaeronos, meaning any changes in the defensive positions would be in effect before I returned.
Finding my balance, I moved toward the gates, my mind playing, readying myself for whatever game Rakakz was about to begin. The fact I knew how many he was coming with, and that there weren’t significant men in the forest was a trump card I enjoyed having. Most of my men knew I could wield magic, but the abilities granted to me by Rina, Ymir, and Kaa weren’t public knowledge, and I had no intention of revealing them.
Many of the men with me, while pirates and sellswords, had grown up in Westeros and the Faith had done its utmost to demonise the ability linked to the First Men. Being able to ignite my blade was a, to most, parlour trick but the truth of what I could do, and how I did it, was kept hidden or, via the necklace I wore around my wrist, misdirected.
“Send orders to the galleys,” I heard Jaeronos call, “stand down and bring the men here.”
He was countermanding my earlier orders, but with the intelligence gained via Rian, there was no need to keep half our forces at the docks. Even with the men here, I felt we could take Rakakz and those with him if they attacked, but there was nothing wrong with overwhelming force to either end a battle quickly or convince the enemy to surrender without a fight.
Once at the gates, I joined Jaeronos waiting for Rakakz and his men to arrive. Knowing I had enough time, I turned to Edric. I gave him a look over, making sure his armour was on and then, as my hands were uncovered, securing his shield.
As I was securing his shield, Trystane returned, along with three dozen men, and my gauntlets. Edric had, in our haste to reach the gate, forgotten them. Something that he would be punished for later as such a mistake was unacceptable of a squire. My shield wasn’t with Trystane, but as I had my axe I could allow that mistake to slide.
Turning back to the gates, I pulled Red Rain and my axe from their sheath and my belt. “Wait for my signal,” I ordered firmly but without shouting. Rakakz would know we’d know he was approaching, but there was no reason to tip my hand about the number of men awaiting him.
“Oi!” A gruff voice called out from the other side of the gates. “You so-called Bloody Wolf! Get your arse out here!” The man spoke in bastardised Valyrian, though there was no hint as to where on Essos he originally came from.
Stolen story; please report.
“Thanks for the invite, but I never swallow swords,” I shouted back in Valyrian. Those around me who knew the tongue chuckled at my dismissal. “Besides, I do not even know who is propositioning me.”
"I am Rakakz, the Gilded Hand of Redwater! Scourge of the Stepstones, and Lord of Redwater!" His voice boomed like thunder, cutting through the salty air, the bravado of a man who had long sought to carve his name into the annals of infamy.
"I wonder if there is more to the Gilded Hand title than just the gauntlet," Jaeronos remarked, a smirk dancing across his lips. The jest ignited laughter among my squires and a few of our men, the camaraderie infectious. I turned my gaze to Jaeronos, unable to suppress a grin. "What?" he asked, feigning ignorance. "We both remember the suggestions from Bronn and Cayde."
"Yes," I replied, the smile turning wry. "But I was trying my hardest to forget them." I raised my voice, directing it at Rakakz, cutting off any retort from Jaeronos. "Lord of Redwater?" I scoffed. "Even before my arrival, you were not the most powerful of the pirates here, let alone worthy of the title you claim."
"Allerion and Vaegon are false lords!" Rakakz shot back, ire flickering in his dark eyes, either oblivious to or choosing to ignore my slight on his claim. I had used the term merely to denote the power players among the swarming piratical rabble, for I held no pretence of nobility. "Only Rakakz can rule Redwater."
"Funny," I retorted. "I think Vaegon thought the same, at least until one of my men removed his head!"
The air hung thick with tension before Rakakz's raucous laughter broke the silence, echoing off the craggy cliffs. "Vaegon’s dead?"
"If you seek proof, I can send you to meet him," I snapped, impatience gnawing at my gut. The chatter was a distraction, a delay of the violence I craved.
"Based on his voice, you would be doing us a favour," Jaeronos muttered, prompting more laughter from the gathered men.
"Shame," Rakakz said, amusement flickering across his features. "I would have preferred to send him to Hell myself. Still, you saved me the effort, along with the bounty I had offered my men for dealing with that fucking cunt. Unless your man wishes to change his loyalty."
"That is about as likely as a fucking dragon sucking your cock!" I spat, unable to contain the disdain in my tone.
Again, Rakakz barked an irritating laugh. "Now that is some image there. You certainly have a mouth on you, Wolf."
"What the fuck do you want, Rakakz? If it is death, my men and I will be more than happy to oblige."
"Oh, I know that one day I shall die. As will you. All men must die." He paused, savouring the weight of his words. "But today, I came to talk."
“Last I checked, you did not need a hundred men with you to talk.”
“Look, just open the fucking gate!” Rakakz snapped, his irritation bubbling beneath the surface as if he were a cauldron on the brink of boiling over. He seemed vexed by my unwillingness to meet him eye-to-eye. “As you just said, I do not have the men to take your port.”
“Or so you claim,” I shot back, my suspicion thickening the air between us. While I knew there were not significant numbers of men lurking in the forest, it would only take a few dozen slipping through the gaps in the wall elsewhere to sow chaos in our rear, turning my numerical advantage into a precarious weakness.
“For fuck’s sake, you paranoid fucker!” I heard something clatter to the ground—his weapon unless my ears deceived me. “There! Your men can see I have dropped my blade. Now open the fucking gate so we can talk like men!”
I glanced at the men manning the wall to my left. Several nodded, confirming Rakakz had indeed tossed down his blade, but I was not foolish enough to believe that was his only weapon.
My mind churned over the myriad reasons Rakakz had come in force to speak with me. While a suicidal battle was a possibility, this man, as annoying as he was, did not strike me as a fool. If he had wanted a fight, he would have brought more men and committed to battle rather than walking directly along an exposed path toward the walls of the port.
“Open it.”
“What?!” Jaeronos snapped, spinning to face me. “This is a fucking trap!”
“If it is, it is the dumbest one I have ever heard of or seen,” I shot back. “Even if the men who surrendered to me turn on us, we have the numbers.” Looking around at many of those who had, until a few days ago, served Rakakz, I saw a mix of shame and defiance; a few scowled at me for questioning their honour, but given their past as pirates, they had little enough to begin with. “Besides, I half want him to attack,” I added, flicking my wrist to summon flames that danced along my blade. “Better than listening to him keep talking.”
Jaeronos shrugged. “Fair point.” He nodded to the men at the gates. “You heard your lord. Open the gates.”
As the men moved to remove the plank from the back of the gates, I stepped forward, holding Red Rain to my side. The flames along the blade flickered and leapt, granting the weapon an almost demonic quality.
As those outside came into view, I tensed, expecting a surge forward. However, no such thing happened. The eyes of many flickered to my blade, a good portion of Rakakz’s men taking a step back. I hoped their retreat stemmed from fear of the flames rather than any fervent devotion to the Lord of Light. My focus remained on the man at the front of the group.
Rakakz stood out, the gauntlet he wore on his left hand and forearm drawing the eye. Crafted from dark steel that gleamed with an unnatural lustre, it was adorned with intricate engravings that twisted like the roots of ancient trees. The fingertips were elongated, tapering to sharp points, designed not merely for grasping but for inflicting pain. A band of gold encircled the wrist, glinting in the torchlight, a stark contrast to the grim metal and hinting at the wealth he had amassed through his piratical ventures.
“Ah, so you are the fuck that has taken my ports and killed Vaegon?” Rakakz asked as he took a step forward. Behind me, I sensed my men readying themselves while Rakakz’s did likewise. Both of us held out an arm, stopping our men from acting rashly.
“Yes to the first. The honour, if one might call it that, for the second went to the man who holds Vaegon’s ports in my name.”
I held my ground as Rakakz continued to advance, now a good five metres from his men and exposed to my archers along the walls. “Eh, I shall meet him soon enough,” Rakakz stated, making me ready myself for battle. I could feel my muscles demanding the chance to surge, to strike at the challenger before me. However, I stayed my hand. Rakakz, who had now stopped about three metres from me, had dropped his main weapon before we had spoken. While the man had little honour, I would not strike him down without cause—not just yet. “Still, you are not what I expected of someone called the Bloody Wolf.”
“Why are you here?” I asked, my eyes glaring at the pirate as I fought back the urge to see if I could command my magic to burn him alive where he stood.
Rakakz held my gaze before throwing his arms up in exasperation and sighing loudly. “Gods, you are not the trusting type, are you?”
“Trusting a pirate is a good way to end up dead or in chains,” I replied, my voice steady.
Rakakz chuckled, the sound low and sardonic. “True enough. However, as you can see, I am far from an average pirate.” He extended his arms and turned slowly as if posing before an imagined suitor. “Nor, it seems, are you,” he continued once he had completed his twirl. “Your Valyrian is commendable, but that accent… You are a gods-damn Westerosi. Which, given the sigils of those two boys behind you, makes perfect sense. A band of false gods-fearing heathens.”
“Says the man from a land that harbours literal goatfuckers and gods know what else,” I shot back, my irritation flaring.
“Ha!” Rakakz roared in delight. “Do not think the Qohorik would like to hear that.”
“Probably not,” I admitted, my patience fraying. “Now, I am a busy man with ports to capture and pirates to slay. So again, why in the seven hells are you here?”
“Yes, busy fits you well. This is what, four ports in five days?” he inquired, an amused glimmer in his eyes.
“Five in seven, actually,” I grunted, my patience nearing its end. The urge to run this insufferable prick through with my blade growing stronger by the moment. “Last time. What. The. Hell. Do. You. Want?”
The smile that had been almost permanently plastered across Rakakz’s face since my emergence from the port slipped, revealing a more serious countenance. It appeared he understood that I had grown weary of his antics. “I am here, you dim-witted fool, because of you!” he snarled, one hand reaching into the depths of his armour. “You took two of my ports, killed hundreds of my men, and then had the audacity to send me this!” He brandished a sheet of paper, and I quickly recognized it as my demand for his surrender. “Just how large are your balls?”
“You would have to inquire with the various women who share my bed,” I retorted, cursing myself inwardly for the slip. That was far too much a product of my father and my upbringing. While rubbing the fact that I had many bed companions in the faces of my friends was one thing, Rakakz was not worth the breath to boast of my exploits.
Rakakz held my gaze for a moment before the smile returned, his laughter echoing with an annoying mirth. “You are a funny fellow. A right pain in my arse, to be sure, but funny.” He shifted suddenly to one side, and I tensed, bracing for an attack. “Now,” he said, moving to my right, apparently oblivious to my reaction, “how should I respond to this demand?”
“I believe I was clear about your choices,” I replied, swirling Red Rain in a graceful arc. The flames danced in the air, mesmerising in their hypnotic flicker, drawing the attention of Rakakz and his men alike.
“Nice parlour trick,” Rakakz remarked, seemingly unfazed by the flames. “I saw priests performing such feats in Essos. Did not expect to see a Westerosi pulling it off, though.”
“I have my methods,” I responded cryptically. “Your choice?”
Rakakz’s expression darkened, annoyance flaring as he realized I had grown tired of his games. “You are a young lad, too eager to rush matters,” he stated, a hint of condescension creeping into his tone. I held back a retort about knowing when to press forward and when to hold back. “You may miss out on moments you ought to savour. Such as this one.”
He took another step toward me, and I remained tense, readying myself for combat. Rakakz noted my stance and sighed, shaking his head. “As I said, young. Brash too. But by the gods, you have made it work thus far.” To my astonishment, he fell to one knee, lowering his head to the ground in an unexpected gesture. “I yield. My remaining port is yours. My men, my ships, and myself are yours to command. All that I ask is to retain some power in your ranks and that my past actions be overlooked while I serve you.”
I remained where I stood, scrutinising Rakakz carefully for any hint of deception. This man had commanded ports and ruled over men with an iron fist. His swift kneeling felt far too easy, a tactic perhaps too transparent for my liking.
“Well,” he said, lifting his head to meet my gaze, “do you accept my fidelity?”
“I am considering it,” I replied honestly, even as I remained poised to act the moment he made any move. While the idea of him kneeling had been one potential outcome of my letter, it had been the least likely. Indeed, I had dismissed it as improbable even before the missive had been sent.
Yet now he was here, barely two days since I had sent the letter, kneeling before me. His men watched with bated breath; the lack of shock on those closest indicated they were aware of the plan. The rest of the men, however, did not hide their astonishment, a few even looking as if they might try something that could ruin Rakakz’s gesture.
Should they act, they would be put down—either by me or by Rakakz. That was a side issue, however. The main concern was how to handle the fact that one of the pirate lords of Redwater was submitting to my rule. I could either take him at his word while remaining distrustful, or I could strike him down and appear a tyrant to both his men and my own.
What a cursed choice I had to make.
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