My thanks to MandTeKad who serves as a sounding board and beta for this and my other stories.

This story was released around three weeks ago to those on the Discord server for the story, and anywhere from 1 to 4 months ago to those who support my writing.

All links are at the end of the chapter.

NOTICE: The chapter was delayed due to multiple real-life issues ranging from personal matters to holidays. Going forward, this will be the rough date for when a chapter comes out from now on (I hope).

36: The Water Runs Red 1

… …

I lifted my head from the chart as someone knocked at the door to my solar in Northpoint. "Come," I replied, rolling up the map. By the time I had it secured, Edric and Trystane had entered, Daemon behind them closing the door. "Ah, good, you are here." I stood, closing the window to the solar so none could see in. No one could climb through the window, as it wasn't wide enough for a child, but there was still a chance someone could listen in. "Please, sit."

To help limit the chances of that, the guards outside had orders to randomly patrol around the building to check that window and the few others the building held. At night, the windows were barred, preventing anyone from tossing anything into the room, while more guards were placed on duty to monitor the building. Perhaps I was being overly cautious, but with most of my men being former pirates who'd been forced at sword-point to bend the knee, I was taking nothing for granted.

With the window secured, I walked around the desk, placing my hand down near Kaa. The viper lifted his head, and understanding what I wanted, began slithering toward my arm as I rested against the front of the desk, towering over my squires as they sat in two chairs just in front of me.

"Ser Daemon says you wish to discuss our training, My Lord."

I nodded at Trystane, still finding it odd for a Prince of Dorne to call me a Lord. I wasn't, but it was easier to accept than having them call me Ser. If we were alone, and it was clear I wasn't acting as their knight, then they were free to call me by my name – we were cousins after all – however, for training, and in public they had to use either 'My Lord' or 'Ser'.

Technically I wasn't a Lord, though most of the men who served me, along with every villager in Northpoint and several merchants in Sunspear used the term when addressing me. While I had land now, with Dustspear being mine to rule as I saw fit, I didn't feel comfortable in the role. I wasn't a Pirate Lord – a title I disliked but used simply because it helped signify the major figures in the Stepstones – nor was my holding recognized by any of the major powers on either side of the Narrow Sea as being subservient to them. At least not officially.

Doran considered me the Lord of Dustspear, though he could never use that term in public. Adding territory in the Stepstones like that would place him against the Free Cities in Essos, and possibly even the Iron Throne. While I knew he planned for that one day by marrying Ari to Viserys, he didn't know I knew, and even then, had warned me that it was only a matter of time until King's Landing and the Free Cities learnt of our connection.

I'd already been aware of that, as while the Martells had good control over information that flowed in and out of the Shadow City – something I'd had a hand in with the idea of purchasing stakes in the various brothels and taverns in the city – Varys had his little birds everywhere. From there the matter would be taken to the Hand and the Small Council.

It was unlikely that Robert would give two fucks about my actions, bar perhaps, regretting not being able to join the fight but from King's Landing news of my actions would reach the ears of others. The obvious figures who'd learn of it, in theory, were Ned, Tywin Lannister, and Olenna Tyrell. I didn't think my uncle would care about my choices, only that Beron and Alysanne weren't with me, which they weren't. Olenna might not give much credence or have much care for my actions, but as the true power in the Reach, she'd be curious as to what Doran was doing by having me take Dustspear. Tywin would probably have a similar reaction, bar perhaps remembering our meetings during the Greyjoy Rebellion, events that had transpired to leave us both with Valyrian Steel blades.

I'd received word that the Lord of Casterly Rock had Nightfall reforged into something more suitable for House Lannister. I hadn't yet had it confirmed who had done the work, but I suspected it was Tobho Mott. The Master blacksmith in King's Landing was the one who'd reforged Ice and was claimed to have the skill to do such work. I had little interest in going to King's Landing – for a multitude of reasons – currently, but I knew that inside the next year or so, I would get Mott or someone else as skilled to reforge Red Rain for me to better suit my needs.

Thinking of the Greyjoy Rebellion, my thoughts turned for a brief moment to Asha, and I wondered how she and the child growing within her were doing. I didn't have ravens to send, so it was hard to keep in regular contact, but once Redwater was taken, I hoped to return to Sunspear in time for the child's birth.

"My Lord?"

I blinked, realising I'd gotten lost in my thoughts for a moment. "My Apologies. My mind was elsewhere." I looked down at the squires offering the pair a warm smile even as Kaa's head came to rest on my shoulder, his body draped like a loose scarf around my neck.

Doran's logic in having me take Trystane as my squire made perfect sense. At least when one knew of the magic I had, and the young Prince held the potential to wield. As a third child, and second son, Trystane's options for life were limited to marrying a Lady in Dorne who inherited a keep, some minor holdfast of his own, or remaining in Sunspear to serve Ari's children. Much as Manfrey Martell had done.

Edric was, even now, the more unexpected choice. His mother hated me – because I was a bastard, and because she considered me a threat to Edric's place as heir to Starfall, and because I worshipped the Old Gods. Frankly, if I never had to deal with that stuck-up Reach bitch again, I'd be glad. However, it seemed that Eric had done enough to convince his father that I was a suitable figure to train him to knighthood. I was sure Lord Aldric was getting regular earfuls from his wife, but that was his problem, not mine.

"How are you enjoying Northpoint?" I asked for the sake of easing the pair into today's meeting.

"It is small, My Lord, but the people here are committed."

"Yes," Edric agreed with his friend, "though many of your men are, um…"

I chuckled and shared a look with Daemon. "They are scum, Edric. Most barely worthy of being alive, but they bent the knee, signed the same charter you two have, and I have use of them. Even so, I suspect many would, given the chance, return to their former lives, which is why they are little more than tools for me to throw at my enemies in the Steps."

"Is that not a touch harsh, My Lord?"

"It is," I replied to Trystane, which earned a chuckle from Daemon. "However, to take the rest of the Stepstones, or at the very least hold what I now have, I need men willing to fight. At least enough that they fear death by my hand over that of my enemies. The sellswords, such as Bronn and Cadye, are better and slightly more trustworthy. However, their loyalty is controlled by whoever pays them best. For now, that is me, but it might not always remain so."

"Ser Bronn is a skilled warrior, My Lord."

I threw my head back and laughed even as Ymir, roused by my reaction, started stretching. "Bronn is no knight, Edric. Nor is Cayde or any of the others. They are as skilled as many knights, perhaps even a match for Prince Oberyn in the case of Bronn, but none have ever been knighted."

"Gods, the idea of dropping any of that lot in court and expecting them to behave is as likely as you worshipping the Seven," Daemon suggested, making me laugh once more even as Ymir made his way to me.

"Less so, I would say. Which is saying something." Daemon had, since we'd repaired our friendship, asked about my worship, and if it were part of why I could skinchange. He wasn't particularly religious and had never had – even when we were at odds – an issue about my worship of the Old Gods, and I suspected some of the new curiosity came from his pursuit of Alysanne. I'd explained that skinchanging, while a Northern ability, was tied more to blood than the worship of the Old Gods; though I suspected it didn't hurt to pay respect to the Gods.

"However," I said, shifting the topic as Ymir reached my side, pushing his massive head under my free hand so I could scratch him as he settled against my desk, "that is not why I summoned you today. As Daemon said, I have training for you to begin. However, it is not something I suspect either of you have considered, and this training is not. Outside of those in this room or certain members of House Martell, to be discussed with anyone."

"Yes, My Lord." The pair replied together, though it was clear both were curious and a little apprehensive, about what was going on.

"Tell me, what is the position of The Faith regarding magic?" the pair blinked, confused by the seemingly random shift in topic even as Ymir stared at the pair. I gave the direwolf a – for him – gentle push, and after looking at me to confirm, shifted. As he moved toward the pair, he drew their attention. "I believe I asked a question," I commented as the boys petted Ymir as soon as he was close enough, thinking he was simply seeking attention from them as mine was talking.

"The Septons preach that it is used by those in service to the Lord of the Seven Hells, My Lord," Trystane replied, his hand scratching behind one of Ymir's ears while Edric scratched the other. "Any who use it are little better than demons to be killed for the good of others before they use their vile powers to corrupt and seduce those who follow the Seven."

I growled slightly, annoyed at the bile that had poured into the young prince's mind over the years. "Do you agree with that, Edric?" I asked my cousin, pushing aside the urge to slip into Rian's mind and command him to rip out Septon Dontar's eyes and tongue.

"I… Um." Edric looked down from me to Ymir and then to Kaa who rested peacefully on my shoulder. Few were comfortable with the viper's location, but that was perhaps why I insisted on letting the metre-plus snake use my shoulders as a resting position. "No, My Lord."

My brow rose at the conviction in Edric's tone. "Oh? And why is that?" I wondered if he'd heard or seen something in Sunspear that had him questioning the Faith.

"B-Beron speak of how his brother, Robb, has a direwolf like Ymir, My Lord." Edric's eyes stayed on me as he spoke, even as his hand continued to scratch Ymir. "From the way he speaks, I think Beron is jealous of his brother, and how close his friendship with Quicksilver is."

"Something I suspect he also feels toward me and Ymir."

"Yes. Along with Rian and Kaa." Edric gulped even as Trystane gave him a side-on glance. "H-he also has told us of the legends of the Kings of Winter. How, from the time of Brandon the Builder until King Torrhen, it was said that the Starks were men and beasts. How the direwolf w-was more than just the sigil of their house, and…" He gulped and looked down, unable to hold my gaze any longer.

"About how it is said that the Starks could commune with breasts, with direwolves. Something that the Faith, in all their glory," I rolled my eyes to make clear my opinion on that matter, "feel is the domain of demons and their worshipers. That it is the Old gods who are demons that need to be purged."

I stopped there, feeling my anger begin to boil. Though when both boys nodded, the fury rose further. "Remind me," I said to Daemon as the boys refused to meet my gaze, though neither stopped petting Ymir; as if drawing strength from him. "When we return to Sunspear to have words with Septon Dontar."

"So long as it remains only words," Daemon replied cautiously. "I would rather not be forced to flee Westeros because the Faith wants our heads."

"In the name of the Gods, I promise that I shall not draw steel or raise my fist to the Septon, or any of his misguided flock." A smirk came to my lips as I replied, already wondering what the Septon might do to anger any of my companions. As if sensing my idea, Kaa hissed loudly, drawing concerned looks from my squires along with a roll of the eyes from Daemon.

"A-" Trystane began cautiously, regaining my focus, "Are the legends true?"

"Do you wish they were true?" I replied with a wide smile, enjoying their reactions. Seeing how people first reacted to magic, and what I could do, was something I always enjoyed. Oberyn had been the most laid back, both because he'd already suspected what I could do while the boys were reacting similarly to how others their age had.

"I…" Trystane again gulped before really speaking. "Yes, My Lord. I do."

"As do I," Edric chimed in, the fear giving way to excitement.

"Even if it means everything you learnt from Septons, Septas, and others regarding it, the Old Gods, and other things are not just wrong, but blatant lies designed to push an agenda?" The pair nodded, which had my smile grow. "Excellent, though you should be careful about what you wish for," I added with what, to others, possibly sounded like a deranged crackle. "Now, while my ability to bond with Ymir, Kaa, and Rian is not something either of you should be capable of – it's a gift for those with the blood of the first men after all – though I will demonstrate it to you later, perhaps there are other forms of magic you might have some inclination toward. Something, perhaps, that is from the history of your Houses." I looked at both equally, but my mind was on Trystane wondering if he'd get the hint.

"Water!" The Martell boy called out, causing Ymir to pull his head and fix the boy with a withering glare. "I, uh…" Trystane continued, his eyes darting between me and the offended direwolf. "I mean that House Nymeros Martell has a connection to the Rhoynar. They were said to be capable water mages who rivalled the Valyrian Freehold for a time." As he explained, his hand came back to Ymir, the direwolf relaxing as he resumed petting the beast.

"The Rhoynar were powerful mages, a trait that has been lost for centuries, but still resides in your blood." Trystane frowned, not getting the meaning in my words while Edric looked lost. That made sense as he had likely never considered other forms of magic. "The ability to shape, control, and direct water – and other liquids – is one that House Nymeros Martell has held ever since Princess Nymeria married Mors Martell to unite the cultures." As I spoke I moved my free hand toward a goblet that I'd purposely left out and filled for this meeting. "Your family, and others, believed that the magic was a myth; something added to stories to give them flavour. However, magic is not a myth, merely dormant."

As I continued, my hand moved over the goblet, summoning the wine within it. It rose in a column, twisting around like rope before I fashioned a rough facsimile of a snake out of the burgundy fluid. Kaa hissed challengingly, not liking the shape of the wine, yet confused by the lack of heat and smell he'd expect of another snake. My squires had stopped moving, much to Ymir's disapproval, as the wine rose into the air, and they only took their attention from the wine when I chuckled.

"Trystane, your father, uncle, sister, and some of your cousins have unlocked the gift within their blood, and it is why…" I stopped, pulling back as Kaa flew through my vision. The viper clasped his jaw down on the body of the wine-serpent, and I chuckled as I sensed his confusion at why he couldn't taste his kill.

The long tongue flicked out, tasting the wine, making him rear back. A shake of his head was followed by him turning to look at me, his nose almost touching mine. I grinned, enjoying his irritation as the attack was something he'd done whenever I created a serpent from water or wine. He knew I was the cause of the false challenge, and I delighted in his continuing to attack such creations.

Eventually, he turned away, slithering around my shoulders to find a new resting position. "As I was saying," I resumed as Kaa moved around, "the ability to harness water magic was one of the major reasons your father allowed you to become my squire."

"But you are not a Martell," Edric blurted out angrily. "At least not by blood."

"He is right. The last Martell to marry the Lord of Starfall was over a century ago," Trystane added.

"Indeed, it was, though water magic isn't the only gift that I possess," I replied with a wide, all-knowing smile. "Beyond skinchanging, which I will demonstrate later, I have several other tricks." At that, my hand reached out toward them. Turning it palm-upward, the pair pulled back as a small ball of fire blossomed from nowhere above my skin. "Water is but one of the four basic elements that a mage can potentially wield. It, along with fire, wind, and earth, are magic I am capable of controlling, though my strength lies within the flames."

As I spoke the fireball shifted, turning into the firebird – I refused to call it a phoenix – that lifted off from my palm with a sweep of its wings. The firebird didn't need to lift off as a flesh and blood bird did, but I found the action instinctual; memories of my time sharing Rian's mind shaped how the firebird moved.

"Command over the elements comes not from my father, so it must come from my mother. Lady Ashara of House Dayne." At that, Edric's eyes snapped from the now circling firebird, which Kaa ignored as it was far enough away to not be a potential challenge or meal. "It is said Dawn was forged by the founder of House Dayne from the metal of a fallen star, and with the gifts I have, I wonder if perhaps that was not all the star blessed our family with."

The hints of anger and jealousy that had marred Edric's expression when he felt Trystane had something he'd never have, had faded. Now all that existed on his face was a mixture of wonder, excitement, and curiosity. Something mirrored by Trystane, the Martell boy's eyes kept drifting toward the goblet from which I'd summoned the wine-serpent.

Truthfully, I wasn't sure if Edric had a gift for magic, but it was a possibility that deserved to be explored. From all I understood, magic in this world flowed through blood, meaning my source of elemental magic had to come from somewhere. Since it wasn't from the Starks, it had to be through the Daynes. There was no connection to House Targaryen, at least not where any female of that family had married directly into House Dayne, but even if there had been, it wouldn't explain anything beyond my command of fire.

I knew there was a chance the beings that had allowed me to shape my new life, and then created or altered this world before I was reborn, might have not cared about how I gained my magic, however, I felt it more likely they'd changed some minor details to ease my existence. At least enough that it didn't derail whatever enjoyment or reason they had for allowing me this opportunity. If no other Dayne could wield the elements to any degree, then questions about my parentage would form. Honestly, I expected they would anyway, but if I could unlock magic in Edric, even if it wasn't entirely like mine, then those questions wouldn't be as prevalent.

There would be those, who feared my powers or what they might represent, who'd seek to destroy me for wielding them, but I'd been aware of that threat for a very long time. The Faith were the largest, and at least so long as I wasn't on Redwater, the closest of those threats, but they were also one I knew I could handle. Others, from the North and East, were more challenging. Not least as they, in theory, could also use magic; likely in ways I hadn't considered, or simply would never learn to do. Still, it was something that had shaped my motives for telling those I trusted of my gifts, and ensuring that if they could, they also unlocked their potential. Yes, it made the world a much more dangerous place if the wrong person gained access to magic, but the more mages there were, the more chance we had against the Others.

"Yo…" Edric's partial word, which died as he licked his lips, and probably gathered his thoughts, drew my focus back to my solar. "You believe that Trystane and I can learn to do what you do?"

"If you mean to command the elements, then yes." At that, the firebird swooped down, forcing both boys to pull back in fear. Ymir lifted his head, not liking the sudden loss of attention and tiredly growled at the firebird. The firebird turned naturally, my understanding of how the animal would move better than all bar the most learned individuals at the Citadel and elsewhere. "the question," I continued, the firebird circling back to me, "is if you believe you can, and are willing to endure the training it will take to do so."

The pair's gaze shifted to the firebird as it dove toward my palm, seemingly to attack. I raised my hand, and the bird exploded as it struck my hand, engulfing the limb in flame. Gasps filled the room as the flames died away, and my hand showed no damage from the attack. That wasn't because I was immune to fire, simply because I had control of the flames and ensured that they never touched my skin enough to singe the flesh.

The boys returned their focus to me and eagerly nodded. "Good," I said, pushing off the desk. "Now, who would like a demonstration of skinchanging?"

… …

… …

I looked to the stern, Northpoint was gone from sight and Dustspear was slowly fading into the horizon. While my fleet was sailing eastward, bound for Redwater, my thoughts were on several people to the west.

The first of those was Asha, who while I didn't intend to marry, had dominated my nightly thoughts regularly since I'd left Sunspear. Given she was carrying my child – probably the first of many I'd have – it was understandable that my thoughts turned to her. I worried for her health and found myself, each night before bed, offering a small prayer for her safety, and the birth of a strong, healthy child. Those prayers were only given to the Old Gods. The Seven could fuck right off, and the less said about the twisted Drowned God of the Ironborn, the better.

Whenever I thought about Asha, my thoughts turned to others in Sunspear, especially Ari. She seemed happy about Asha's pregnancy, but I worried about our future. Once Doran knew Viserys was dead, he might seek a husband for Ari to secure her rule over Dorne. The idea of another touching her or any of my ladies infuriated me, but I had little control over the matter. Ari was heir to Sunspear, and a bastard like me, even with my conquests, was unsuitable for her.

The only way to gain Ari's hand would be if she agreed to give Dorne to Quentyn and become Lady of the Stepstones, but Ari would never agree to that. My thoughts then drifted to Nym, Sarella, and Ty. Sarella was secretly studying at the Citadel in Oldtown, while Ty was finishing her time with the Silent Sisters or returning to Sunspear. I owed Ty an apology for my reaction to her helping Alysanne sneak out of Winterfell.

I missed Ty more with time. She was smart, quick-witted, and more intelligent than she let on. Before she left for Oldtown, she asked many questions about the Old Gods, and Oberyn thought she might convert. I wondered if her faith had changed or if she still trusted the Seven.

My mind after briefly passing over Beron, Alysanne, and others, shifted to Rian. Alongside Asha, it was he who spent the most time in my thoughts. I missed having him at my side, and while I could fly through the minds of the captured and broken gulls now with me – numbering twelve in total when we'd set sail from Northpoint – it wasn't the same. Rian was a part of me, more so than any of the ladies, and having him so distant made me feel incomplete. It had been the same with Kaa when I'd left him in Sunspear and Northpoint when attacking Dustspear and The Whores. However, that issue was soon to be resolved.

About a week after we'd arrived back in Northpoint, I'd sensed a shift in Rian's mind. It had taken me a few hours to work out what was happening, but I'd come to realise that Rian was returning to my side. Talon must've left the nest, at least enough that Rian was willing to no longer monitor his progeny. Each hour I'd sensed Rian come closer, much as I'd done when he'd returned from the Red Mountains with Riona, meaning he was bound for Northpoint. The issue was that, after another week of gathering supplies, training the men to work in units, and setting up Northpoint – primarily by assigning Phineas Irryl as mayor – I could no longer delay departing for Redwater. It had been a day since we'd left, spent rowing to push us eastward. Now, with a decent tailwind to carry us over the sea to our target, I wondered if we'd soon be too far gone for Rian to join us.

Another issue was Riona. Sunfyre eagles were believed to mate for life, and if that were the case the odds were that she'd be flying with Rian. While I felt he could manage the flight from the Broken Arm to Dustspear, I feared she might not. Now, there was a chance that she remained behind in Sunspear – something I suspected Ari and Alysanne among others would approve of – but I felt it was more probable she'd attempt the flight with Rian.

Provided she was able to reach Dustspear safely – which I felt she could as eagles had incredible range when soaring through the air - then Phineas and those who'd come from Sunspear would know the birds and ensure they were well looked after. However, the longer it took Rian to reach the settlement, with or without his mate, the smaller the odds became of him joining me for the new campaign.

The sound of the men, most manning the oars, moving in time – chanting, amusingly, Drunken Sailor as they worked – drew my focus back to my location. My flag was aboard the Red Kraken for this campaign. While I adored the Windchaser and considered her my ship, she wasn't, even with four scorpions on her deck, built for war. She was a fast transport vessel, and I'd assigned her to that role in Northpoint.

The Ilaerah's Luck had also remained behind as, once all the necessary supplies for the campaign – be those food, resources, or spare arrows and bolts – had been secured aboard the Pride of Saltbrook. The cog was the largest of the ships in my fleet, and since most of the trade goods that would head to Sunspear wouldn't need the large vessel, it had worked out well to have it carry all our supplies.

Daemon, along with his squire and page were aboard the Coral Howl, while Bronn, Cayde, and Jaeronos were on one of the four galleys in the fleet. The last was commanded by Dorvan Slate. The man was one Cayde had known since they were kids, and while trueborn, as a third son of a landed knight, had never been destined to inherit much. He had been taken as a squire by a hedge knight, but the man had died in a minor tourney somewhere in the Vale, and thus Dorvan turned to be a sellsword. There was likely more to his backstory, but that was all I'd gotten from him and Cayde when the latter had brought the man to me.

Two other sellswords, Jeffery and Illahdor, had also been made lieutenants in my ranks. The former was a lowborn who'd fought with us in The Whores and proven himself capable of leading men when the captain of the galley he was on had died and he'd assumed command. Jeffery wasn't as skilled as Bronn, nor, thankfully, as quick-witted and blunt, but he was a good hand. The same was true of Illahdor, who originally hailed from Volantis. The man had been with us from the beginning, and on the recommendation of others, had earned his promotion. Illahdor had asked me about how I'd ignited my blade, and after I'd explained it away as a trick of wildfire – which I wasn't sure he bought – he'd warned me that the priests of R'hllor would, once they learnt of it, possibly show interest in me.

That Volantis, or at least their religious base, would turn their attention my way was something I'd been expecting to eventually happen. Still, I had perhaps a year before the attention of Volantis, and other Free Cities, would focus on my actions in the Steps. Plans existed for how to handle that, or at least delay them attacking for as long as possible so I might gather my forces to counter them, but those were for another day.

The promotion of the four new officers – the last had taken the position as head of the guards in Northpoint – and the increased rank and pay for Daemon, Bronn, Cadye, and Jaeronos, were needed due to my enlarged forces. Across Northpoint and the fleet, I had close to eight hundred men at my command. Most were former pirates who'd bent the knee, but a good chunk were sellswords. All had signed the charter I'd created when I'd first planned the attacks against the Grim Prince, and while there'd been no major violation of the rules, I knew it was only a matter of time until it occurred. Still, the man losing a week's wages for theft of food from the stores on Northpoint had shown, I hoped, that I would enforce the rules.

While, if I took all my men and ships, I felt I could sweep most, if not all, of Redwater with relative ease, I couldn't do that. I needed to leave a decent force on Dustspear. While it was unlikely any of the Pirate Lords from other islands would attempt to test my defences – or even retaliate for my actions in The Whores – I couldn't take the chance. Without Northpoint, not only would my forces lose our only safe harbour in The Whores, but it would destroy my chances to build something designed to last beyond the battles that awaited me in the North and beyond.

As such, a bit over a hundred and fifty men, along with three galleys and the two surviving longboats, remained behind. The longboats were to patrol just out to sea in shifts, watching for approaching vessels, while the galleys were to remain ready to sail if needed. If a supply run to Sunspear was needed, then one of the galleys would escort Ilaerah's Luck there. That many men, along with the hundred settlers in Northpoint, should be enough to dissuade anything but the most determined of attacks; something I felt no Pirate Lord would attempt so quickly.

That left me around six hundred men – which included the crews – to man my fleet. That meant things were a touch tight across the seven vessels, but nothing that couldn't be endured for the week or so it should take to sail to Redwater.

With that force, I should be able to take Redwater, though I doubted that even unless most of the pirates there bent the knee when attacked, then I might not have the forces to maintain control of the entire island. Hells, even if all three Pirate Lords – and I disliked that title, but it worked to signify the power players in the Steps – swore fidelity I wasn't sure I could maintain control. Not in the way I wanted.

Of course, the Pirate Lords wouldn't bend the knee with all their men. Individually, I should be able to overwhelm any of them, but if they combined forces, I'd be looking at a two or three-to-one disadvantage. That meant I was going to have to fight smart to gain the island; or at the very least, majority control of it.

Fighting smart would also be needed for my squires. The boys were in their cabin – more accurately, a large storeroom that had been converted for their use – cleaning the weapons and armour we'd be using. Ymir was with them; the pair having adjusted well to the idea that they could communicate with me through the direwolf. Both had begun meditating in the hopes of unlocking magic and while I felt Trystane would unlock Water Magic soon enough, I hoped Edric had some ability to wield some form of magic. If he didn't, there was a good chance he'd grow jealous of Trystane's ability. Regardless of whether he did or not, I was hoping to train him, once he was a little older and stronger, to wield mass weapons. That should, I hoped, place the idea in his thoughts that he could become the Sword of the Morning, which was a fair conciliatory prize if he lacked the capacity for magic.

My head spun there, sensing a familiar presence calling out to me. A Myrish Eye was lifted to my sight, and I scanned the horizon, trying desperately to spot a familiar shape moving above Dustspear. "Hello there," I muttered warmly as I found the speck in the sky above the island. However, as I watched, I saw another speck appear in the sky and knew Riona was there as well.

I was happy for him, though I knew that Rian would have to rest for a while before coming after us. For a moment, I considered ordering the fleet to slow, but after the day of rowing, and with the breeze in our sails coming from Dustspear, I knew that it wouldn't take Rian long to catch up. At the height he flew, the air moved quicker, and I expected him to arrive by the evening. If he didn't, I'd have a torch lit to guide him. Regardless, I would be waiting.

… …

That evening, I was back on the quarterdeck of the Red Kraken. My meal was eaten quickly as I sensed the impending arrival of my final companion for the campaign. At my side, Ymir circled, either sensing my agitation and excitement at Rian's return or looking forward to the event as well. Kaa was nearby, curried up on top of a barrel. Normally at this hour, the viper would be snoozing in my cabin, but when I'd stood to return to the quarterdeck, he'd made clear his intent to come. Once here, as if knowing who would soon be arriving, he'd shifted from my shoulders to the barrel. While he appeared to be sleeping, the occasional flick of his tongue, along with how his head shifted whenever I moved too much made it clear he was only resting.

Even in the dwindling light, I didn't need help spotting Rian. He was far above the setting sun, and angling toward us from the south. As he moved closer, gliding gracefully through the sky, I struggled to remain calm. The man at the helm kept looking at me as I paced, waiting for Rian to return, and cursing the seconds for seemingly growing longer with each passing one.

Eventually, Rian was closer enough that I could make out the markings of his feathers, noting the shifting of colour in his plumage. Seeing us below, he circled the Kraken, his high-pitched whistle drawing the attention of the helmsman along with others on the deck. Those who knew the bird returned to their work, those who didn't whispered among themselves, a few pointing excitedly at the eagle. If any one of them went for a weapon, they'd be dead before they had time to point it at the eagle.

As Rian circled back toward me I felt his joy at our reunion mix with mine, and as he swooped down I stepped to one side, extending my arm. Normally, I'd not let him land there, both due to his size and the sharpness of his talons, but I'd come prepared. While lacking metal vambraces, I'd wrapped some cord around the forearm and felt I could endure the weight for a while.

Rian agreed, as when he finished his dive toward us, his wings swooping out and causing the helmsman to stumble back in fear at how massive they were, he flapped over and then grasped onto my arm. I grunted, not used to the weight after some time apart. While I'd seen him in Sunspear, I'd not let him land on my arm for several months, or more accurately, he'd chosen not to, choosing instead to remain close to the nest.

"Hey there, boy," I said with a wide smile threatening to split my face in half. My other hand came up, and he leaned into the touch, letting me scratch him at the back of his skull. A few excited chirped whistles exited his beak as I scratched him, which drew happy grunts and moans from Ymir. "Rejoining us?" I asked, drawing an energetic bobbing of Rian's head.

I laughed at the display, knowing he understood me. "Good. I can not wait to fly with you again. Though this time, I can be beside you." Rian tilted his head, not understanding my intentions. "you shall find out tomorrow," I continued, figuring that conversation could wait. "For now, we shall head to the cabin.

I was sure the helmsman if he'd recovered from the appearance of the massive – I'd place Rian's wingspan at about ten feet – bird land on my arm would think me mad for talking to Rian as if he were human. I, however, didn't care. Rian was back, and for the first time, I was sailing into battle with all my bestial companions. While I'd still use the gulls, as there was no way I was risking Rian for what I planned to use those birds for, it felt great. As if finally, after a long time, I was finally whole again.

… …

… …

I looked around, the enhanced eyesight allowing me, along with how I was, to let me see the island that sat in Redwater Bay even as I crossed over the southern coast of the main island. The port there, located at a point where the coats veered in, had been scouted and now it was the turn of the northern port.

That southern port contained about forty buildings, though perhaps half were in a state of disrepair. The buildings that weren't abandoned had sections missing, suggesting the pirates had taken planks from them to repair other buildings, or even the vessels at the docks. There were four galleys there, though one had slipped its moorings while I'd circled above, and another galley – which was heading north from the port – was already at sea.

Assuming the port had enough men to man all the ships to a minimum level, it meant the southern port contained more than two hundred men, though I suspected more as they'd want some men to remain and guard the port if all the vessels were at sea. That was a concern as while it was in line with the intelligence I'd received about the island's forces, those estimates had been the mid to high expectations. Now, at a thousand pirates minimum, I was already looking at a two-to-one disadvantage. However, if the ports were manned as I would have had them, with spare crews for at least half the vessels docked there, then there could be nearly two thousand pirates on the island. And that was if the other ports weren't bigger than the first one I'd reconned, and that there weren't others I didn't know about dotted elsewhere on the island.

Another issue that arose, at least for engaging Vaegon the Firetouched – he controlled the southern third of the island – was that even before I'd turned away from the southern port I could see the northern one. The ports were located at the narrowest section of the southern end of the island, which was a smart move. Likely that decision had been made by a Pirate Lord who'd ruled here long before Vaegon, but it was still something that would require careful planning for, and until proved otherwise, I'd work on the assumption that Vaegon had placed his ports and created the tracks himself. It was always wiser to believe an opponent was smarter than they truly were than dumber.

What would also have to be considered for the attack plans was the track that ran between the two ports. It was wide, perhaps good enough for two carts to pass on, but only simple dirt. However, it ran almost directly from one port to the other. The only point where it didn't, and the section that ensured neither port could see the other with a Myrish Eye, was a large hill which the track snaked past.

Swooping lower, a concerned whistle came from above and behind me. That was Rian who, while disliking me flying in the mind of anyone but him, was learning to enjoy the experience of having a partner. The first gull I'd dominated and flown had met an unfortunate accident when, while diving around the skies, playing with Rain, the eagle had extended his claws and captured the gull in mid-flight. It had taken me a few hours to recover from the experience of having my wing severed, but I'd slid from the gull's mind quickly, fearing what it would feel like when Rian killed the gull.

He hadn't, and as I, back in my body, I'd watched him release the gull. The damaged and broken creature fell to the sea below, unable in its last moments to understand what had happened and where it was. Rian had screeched painfully when the gull had fallen, but after slipping into his mind he calmed; assured that I was safe. He'd then spent the time before I'd entered this gull watching me; his concern radiating outward so clearly that I didn't need a bond between us to help me sense it.

With this gull he was remaining further from me, staying higher to act as my lookout. If there were any birds of prey on the island – which was a possibility – he'd warm me of their approach. So far, the skies had been clear save for other gulls and birds that inhabited, but I remained concerned that I would soon be forced to fly defensively. If not because of an attack from above, then potentially from one below.

Circling around the hill, I slid lower and closer, seeking to find any type of watchtower on it. I was surprised to find none as, before reaching the southern port, I'd spotted one at the southwestern tip of the island. Or, more accurately, they'd found me when I'd had to pull back and avoid an arrow that had raced toward me when I circled the point over land. The tower was designed, based on its location, to spot any vessels sailing to the south, or trying to sneak around the tip of the island to assault the southern port. It didn't, thankfully, have a clear line of sight toward Dustspear, otherwise, our fleet might well be spotted by it on approach. However, if there were other towers along the edge of the island, ones that allowed Vaegon to monitor the movement of ships to the west as well as south, then they'd be an obstacle to overcome.

The fleet was still three, perhaps four days from Redwater, and even with a Myrish Eye was little more than a fudged line on the horizon. However, by the end of the day tomorrow, I should be able to make out some features. It would take any lookout there longer to spot my fleet, but if there were towers along the coast, then they would. That was why, once I'd scouted the northern port, I planned to sweep the coast from it back to where I'd discovered the watchtower, seeking to see how many more Vaegon had active.

The only upside, potentially, was that the watchtower I'd been sniped at from, didn't appear to have a Myrish Eye. Or at least I'd not seen any of the trio of men there with such a thing in their hands, nor in the tower. They might have had one in the small cabin beneath it – though calling it a cabin was a stretch – but that was unlikely as it wouldn't make sense to keep it stored there on a decently clear day such as today.

Content that the hill didn't contain a watchtower, at least one that allowed clear sight and communication with the two ports, I flapped my wings and rose upward. Above me, Rian circled, ever watchful. Once the scouting was done, I'd play with him again, letting him chase this gull; perhaps even allowing him to feast on it – though only after I'd slipped from its mind. The gull was replaceable, and while it would take time to locate a gull and then crush its mind, I wasn't going to deny Rian some fun and reward for a day of simply gliding around watching my back.

Once high enough, I flew north, using the path to guide me. Though if today had been less clear, then I'd have been able to follow the breeze. It was blowing from the northeast, and it was hard to miss the smells left by humans. While Rian replied on his sight and hearing to hunt, gulls had a sharp sense of smell as well. That meant I was forced to endure the disgusting scents coming from the pirates. Hopefully, it was because they refused to bathe – which my men wouldn't be doing as I'd located a small river a few clicks north of the southern port – and not because of the general smell of the port. Otherwise, even if it weren't feasible for a long time, the urge to tear the place down and rebuild it would be hard to ignore.

The first thing that stood out about the northern port was that it had defences. Or at least far more than the southern port. That port had a badly damaged wall covering the island-facing sides along with two towers at either side of the port from which archers could target approaching vessels. The northern port, however, was far more heavily defended.

A wall ran around this port as well, though on the eastern side of the gate for the track, that sat on top of a small earthen embankment. The area outside the wall on both sides had been cleared, at least partially, for about ten metres meaning an easy attack on the wall wasn't doable. Circling overhead, I focused on the wall from the inside, noting that while the eastern side was solid and well manned – counted a dozen men working in pairs along that section of the wall – the western side had holes in it, and perhaps half as many men guarding the approaches. That made it clear that Vaegon was concerned about an attack from the east, likely something Rakakz – who controlled the centre of the island – had done in the past. The gaps in the western wall were well-trodden, suggesting paths led into the forest to watchtowers, or hidden hunting grounds or stores.

As I circled I counted about fifty bodies moving around the port, though as some had ropes around their necks, or lacked weapons, and were getting pushed and bossed around, it was clear Vaegon kept slaves to handle the menial labour. I'd seen a handful in the southern port, though there were more here. Given the buildings here were in a better condition, or at least a higher percentage were, I suggested the manpower based here was greater as well. That added another fucking wrinkle to my plans, but one I felt I could work around.

The reason Vaegon had the extra men here would be that Rakakz and Allerion had ports in Redwater Bay as well, and it would be the more logical place for them to skirmish with each other. That also explained why the ships in port, along with two more floating on the waves in the bay, were all longboats. The smaller craft had a lower draft, meaning they could sail closer to the coast, using it for cover to approach enemy positions. Hells, if there was a major river, the longboats could sail up it at least partially. The galleys in the southern port, and I assumed in the ports controlled by Rakakz and Allerion on the other coasts of the island, would be for striking at passing vessels, or larger attacks on open waters near the ports of the other Pirate Lords.

The two longboats at sea had their sails furled and were resting in place meaning they'd dropped anchor. Either they were scouts, monitoring for an attack from another Pirate Lord, or waiting for other ships to join them before moving to raid. Regardless, the fact that Vaegon and the other Pirate Lords used the bay for constant skirmishing, had been the final nail in the idea of using the small island that sat in the bay and was something I'd have to deal with once I controlled Vaegon's ports.

The island in the bay was smaller than any of the seven islands in The Whores, but had a perfect location to both control the bay and monitor the sea between Redwater and Dustspear. I had some plans for the island, mainly to use it as a military location for projecting power, but those were far into the future. Before I could enact them, I'd need full and proper control of Redwater, along with examining the island. According to some pirates, it was claimed the island was cursed, and that any man who ventured there came back broken in the head, or never returned. While I wasn't discounting magic being involved in those events, I suspected the true reason was due to some form of predator that dominated the location. How it could survive on the small island, one that looked very much like the peak of a mountain poking out from below the water, wasn't something I knew, but nor was it something to concern myself with currently.

Turning my focus back to the port, I watched how the men moved. I noted which buildings they entered or emerged from, how they were armed, and where any stores were held. While taking them out was an option, I wanted them intact if possible. My men needed food and having the buildings intact would allow the Pride of Saltbrook to not be our only storage location.

Lifting my head slightly, I caught sight of Rian above me. There was a faint burst of worry – a remnant of the gull's mind – but it was shattered before it could become an issue. While Rian disliked me in the mind of the gull, feeling I was somehow undervaluing him, I'd convinced him while sharing his thoughts that this way he wouldn't be in danger from a stray arrow. Something that was proven when I'd stumbled on the watchtower when I'd reached the island.

Dominating the gull also helped me push Skinchanging on further. My bonds with my companions were high – Kaa's was maxed at Level 10, while Rian and Ymir were at Levels 9 and 7 respectively – but I'd not yet gotten Skinchanging to Level 100. It was sitting comfortably at Level 92, and while the practice of breaking the minds of the gulls had granted me another level, I was cautious about reaching Level 100.

At that point, I should gain another Instinctual Bond slot, and I wasn't sure which animals I'd like to grant that to. Now, I'd not actively chosen the bonds with Kaa, Rian, or Ymir, but with the direwolf I'd been drawn to him, suggesting the bond was something I had some control over forming. I had some ideas for what animal I'd like to bond with – including insane ones of a dragon or kraken – but I'd have to wait and see what it would be.

The other issue was that I felt Level 100 would be the maximum for Skinchanging. Fire Magic was at Level 100 and had been for about three-quarters of a year, and while it was possible to move to the next tier, I didn't feel Skinchanging would be capable of doing so. Not without the taking of a Trait. For Fire Magic, I'd done a lot of mediating near open fires, even renting out a blacksmith's shop in the Shadow City to mediate near the furnace there, but I'd not yet discovered what would help me unlock the next tier. It was possible that I simply couldn't do so until whatever event – I suspected the Red Comet – happened, but I'd continue attempting to unlock it regardless.

My attention returned to the port below as a group of men emerged from one of the main buildings near the dock. The group moved in unison, six others standing around one who both led and was escorted by the others. The lead man's shirt was bright – insanely so to the gull's sight – but it was the man that drew my initial attention.

There was no hair on his head, instead, the skin and part of his face were scarred. Those marks I knew were the result of extensive burns, which meant this man was Vaegon the Firetouched. The way the pirates in the port scurried to appear busy, and the slaves moved to avoid Vaegon's gaze, made it even clearer I was looking at the opposite commander. My gaze then turned to the weapon he carried on his back.

A large axe designed for two hands to wield was secured there. A closer inspection confirmed it but the slightly warn grip along the throat of the shaft suggested it saw regular action as well.

I watched as Vaegon and his group moved to the dock, the men there hurrying to ready two of the ships. They might've been heading out to replace the longboats holding watch in the bay, but I doubted that. Such behaviour wouldn't need Vaegon, and what looked like his commanders, to come to the dock together. That meant the group was heading off to raid, something confirmed when Vaegon turned and grasped arms with two of the six men with him. Those two each headed for one of the longboats, the crews pulling up the deck plank the moment the commanders stepped onboard.

For a moment I considered following them, using their movement and attack to determine the locations of the ports of Rakakz and Allerion that lay in the bay, however, I decided against it. While that intel would be useful, I wanted to scout the coast from here to the watchtower I'd found to the south. That would take time to do, something I'd not be able to manage if I followed the raiding party.

Once I was sure the coast was clear or not, and how that would alter the battle plan forming in my head, then I could return with Rian to scout the bay fully. Though first I'd return to the Red Kraken, or more accurately my body. From there, I'd relay what I'd found to Edric and Trystane who'd transcribe it, and then add some markings to my map of the Stepstones. At some point, I'd have another such map commissioned as this one was proving extremely helpful for my campaigns, but details about The Whores and Redwater were understandably inaccurate.

Eventually, I hoped to have the most accurate map of the Stepstones in the world, but that was going to take years to build, and I'd need others to scout locations for me. Until then, this map was what I'd work from.

… …

… …

(Bronn's POV)

As he moved forward slowly, making sure to push aside branches and avoid causing anything underfoot to crack and give away his position, Bronn wondered how the fuck he had ended up here. Well, he knew how, but that so much had changed in the last year still took him by surprise, but finding himself leading men through a forest in the Stepstones, intending to attack another port controlled by pirates wasn't how he saw the year going.

Running into those drunk fools in the Vale, and learning of their arrangement to bring a boy to Sunspear for seventy-five Dragons, had seemed like an easy payday. The boy delivered to the Dornish city was the bastard son of Roose Bolton, but Bronn didn't care. He had no interest in ever going to the North – too fucking cold – nor in dealing with a bloody lord. Still, the boy had done something to anger Cregan, as after leaving with his pay, Bronn never heard nor saw the Bolton bastard again.

What had been unexpected was Cregan, though he had not learnt the name, had asked Bronn to remain in Sunspear for a while as he might have more work for him. Bronn, with the pouch full of Dragons in his hand, had agreed. He hadn't expected that to lead anywhere, but the chance to make more coin had been all the convincing Bronn needed to remain. Especially as Cregan didn't give the impression he planned to silence Bronn to protect the death of the Bolton bastard.

Yet, after he had enjoyed his share of wine and women in the Shadow City, Bronn had met Cregan again, this time learning who Cregan was. The idea to attack an island in the Stepstones, under orders of Prince Doran no less, had intrigued Bronn. The promise of good pay serving to convince him to sign on.

Learning that he'd be working for the young man – no one who got that much pussy could be called a boy – was not something Bronn had been sure of, but seeing the plans Cregan had for Dustspear, and his willingness to fight dirty to win offered encouragement. Yet, after Dustspear was taken, and they'd gained a small fortune in the process, Cregan had revealed an intent to carve out an empire in the Steps for himself and those willing to follow.

Bronn was not one to care about politics. He cared only for coin, pussy, and battle: The latter only preferred if the chances of him dying were low. Still, Cregan had been true to his word in Sunspear, and again on Dustspear when he'd talked of raiding The Whores, and he paid very well. Certainly, better than any company Bronn had served with in Essos during his travels there. Though Bronn knew in those he'd been a fucking grunt expected to die in the first battle, with Cregan he was an officer; a Captain no less.

Bronn liked the new rank, mainly for the increased pay it brought, but he disliked having to lead men. or at least men as fucking undisciplined and unskilled as those who had knelt before Cregan. Bronn knew these men, and calling them that was a fucking disgrace, were nothing more than bodies for Cregan to throw into battle, but Bronn now had to lead them. Which meant ensuring they didn't do anything stupid that resulted in Bronn's death.

The slightest hint of movement ahead of him caused Bronn to tense. The shift in the shadows that caught his eye grew larger, revealing the form of the massive fucking direwolf that followed Cregan around. How such a beast could move so silently to sneak up on him and others, Bronn didn't know, but he was glad whatever gods had created such a monster that it was on his side.

"Fuck!" a man a few steps behind Bronn hissed out. "That fucking thing almost stopped my heart."

"Just be glad he's on our side," Bronn whispered back, keeping his voice low because of where they were, and to remind the idiot to mind his tongue.

"Aye. Heard what it can do. Not seen it though."

Bronn turned back to Ymir, the beast's eyes locking onto his as if knowing it was being talked about. Which, given its intelligence, it might well could. "Not sure you want to," Bronn remembered vividly seeing the direwolf rip limbs from men as if snapping kindling for a fire and had no interest in experiencing that firsthand.

That Cregan had such beasts had not come as a surprise to Bronn. Many nobles, and even some bastards, kept rare and unusual animals for amusing the dumb fucks that hung around them. What had confused Bronn for a long time was how close Cregan was with them. Letting a viper known to kill men with a single bite coil around your neck was normally the mark of a very stupid man. Bronn had understood quickly that Cregan was brave but far from stupid, though it was only in the last few moons that Bronn had learnt the truth. Hells, he was still at times finding it hard to believe, even with having seen small displays of magic and trickery in Essos.

Ymir being here allowed Cregan to remain aware of their movements, and while Bronn could not deny the benefits of that, it still unnerved him. He could never tell, even when made aware when Cregan was inside the beast, or when it was just Ymir looking back at him. Bronn would also never admit to anyone that the idea of seeing the world through the eyes of an eagle intrigued him.

He had stood at the top of several high places in Westeros and Essos and always marvelled at how those down below looked like ants. To see them from the clouds would be something else entirely. And yes, Bronn knew that many would call what Cregan – and maybe others with Stark blood – could do as evil, but those people were all dumb cunts. Seeing things from above, or through the eyes of a fucking direwolf, would offer advantages that anyone who understood war would kill for.

That was proven, again, when the fleet had once they had reached Redwater. Hearing Cregan detail Vaegon the Firetouched bases, manpower, ships, the location of watchtowers, and the path between the bases was impressive. And with them having already dispatched men to take out the southern watchtower, something they were actively using. Several of the men had asked how Bronn, Daemon, Cregan and others knew of the watchtowers, but the dumb fucks didn't deserve to know the truth. Hells, many might not accept it. Cregan, the smart bugger that he was, lied his arse off well enough to cover things that Bronn would've believed Cregan if he'd not known the truth.

Movement to the far left drew Bronn's focus, his hand settling over the hilt of his blade. However, it was Daemon Sand. The Bastard of Godsgrace, and Sworn Shield of Cregan's princess, was the one in command of the men already on the island. While Daemon was far younger than Bronn, Bronn had no issues following the knight's command. Compared to some of the stupid arseholes he'd had to fight for, Daemon was a genius in comparison, and while he wasn't on Bronn's level, the young knight had skill with a blade. Perhaps not with his tongue or cock though as he'd yet to bed the young pup he'd set his eyes upon.

That girl, who was pretty but far too nice and unseasoned for Bronn's tastes, was a fun way to tease the Dornishman. And before they'd sailed for Redwater, Bronn had made sure the whore he'd hired from the small number in Northpoint spent the night being very vocal about their fucking. Both because Bronn had fucked her hard, and because Daemon was in the room nearby and needed to hear how you handled a woman.

Daemon made a few motions with his hand, and after deciphering the message, Bronn replied in kind. The commands were simple but effective. That Cregan, as with his crews, had created a set of commands for them and the officers to use that was both similar yet different from commands Bronn had encountered in sellsword companies was another mark in Cregan's favour. Or at least Bronn's interest in continuing to be paid to fight for the Bloody Wolf.

While some might feel Cregan was building a sellsword company to command, Bronn, like the other leaders who had been with him since before the taking of Dustspear, knew different. Cregan was planning to become Lord of the Stepstones or at least a large portion of it. It was a fucking ambitious plan, but so far Bronn hadn't seen any signs Cregan wouldn't manage to control a good portion of the islands. That, as much as it might surprise many who knew him, had him turning his thoughts to a longer-term view.

Bronn had never considered what his future might hold, but seeing what Cregan was creating in the Steps had him wondering about his place in that. Cregan was, to many in Northpoint, among the men, and back in Dorne, a Lord in name already. Yet he could not rule all the islands or even most of them. He'd need to place others in command of them.

Daemon was the obvious choice; the knight was close to Cregan and was courting his cousin, however, Bronn did wonder if perhaps, one day, he might gain command of an island. He knew he'd grow restless of staying in one place of dealing with the bullshit that Cregan dealt with in Northpoint, but the idea of having a location to return to, of men and fleets to command held appeal. Those ideas though were fleeting dreams of what might be, not what was.

Cregan would probably fail in his goals – Bronn expected it whenever the wolf moved against The Shrouded Isle or Bloodstone – so it was pointless to focus on the idea of becoming something more than a sellsword. It was safer, and wiser to continue serving for now and earning a large amount of coin. Then, when it looked Cregan would fail, or someone offered him more for his services, Bronn would leave. And with that coin, his blade wet with the blood of others, and his heart racing from the excitement of battle, Bronn would return to the Shadow City and find that lovely YiTish whore to enjoy a few more nights of pleasure from her skilful hands, mouth, and cunt.

… …

… …

(Cregan's POV)

I turned my head, using the Myrish Eye to scan the coast of Redwater from the foredeck of the Red Kraken. We were sailing around the southern edge of the island, bringing the watchtower there into view. I was pleased to see that while there were bodies there, none reacted to the emergence of my fleet into their sight range. That meant Daemon had secured the tower, but as intended left the men upright to project the idea the post was still manned if any spotted it at a distance. It was likely men would be sent to relieve the dead, but Daemon had orders to use about twenty men to move slowly along any path from the watchtower toward the southern port.

The rest of the men would move toward the hill that the track between Vaegon's two ports banked around. That was the obvious weak point in the track and with the number of men I'd sent with Daemon and Bronn, along with Ymir so that I might stay in contact with them, ensuring the ports were cut off when the fleet attacked the southern port shouldn't be an issue.

Only one other watchtower had been spotted on my recon flights, and that was placed along the coast from Vaegon's northern port. From there, they could see the movement of ships in the bay if they tried to slip around the small island, or if anything sailed in the sea near Redwater. That watchtower was to be ignored for now, as taking that out would alert the northern port to a threat, and I wanted them to remain as unprepared as possible.

In Vaegon's place, in addition to the watchtowers to the east of each port, I'd have placed men on the hill along the track between the ports, and if manageable, bells in each location and on the hill. That would allow the rapid transfer of warnings between the ports, and cause an attacker serious issues. That Vaegon hadn't done that was something that was helping my plans, and suggested that attacks on either port were only ever intended to harass and not secure. Vaegon might have watchtowers to the west, designed to monitor movement by Rakakz which would explain why the eastern coast had so few monitoring stations, and the ports lacked a quick and easy way to warn of danger. However, until I had him, or one of his lieutenants, on their knees before me, it was unlikely I'd discover if that was the case.

Once Redwater was secure, manning, securing, and expanding the defences on the south of the island would be my priority. I didn't have the manpower to secure the entire island from the get-go, but the place had more potential than Dustspear for supporting settlements. At a guess, I'd say with time and proper protection the island could comfortably provide for ten to twenty thousand, however, until I was able to examine the entirety of the island I couldn't make anything more than a rough estimate of the island's potential. Beyond the wider world issues that awaited Westeros in the next few years, the more obvious issue with developing Redwater was the other Pirate Lords. Specifically, Salladhor Saan, The Lotus Prince, and the lord of Stormwatch.

Those three controlled the islands to the west of Redwater, and could if they wanted, move to take the island. Of the three, only Saan had the forces to attack and hold the island, though if he did, The Lotus Prince would likely sail with him as an ally. The intel I had, which I admitted was spotty at best, suggested the pair had an alliance. They both focused on taxing vessels sailing near their islands and offering protection for the full journey. That did suggest the pair might be open to a peace treaty of sorts, but I'd only be dealing with them, and the lord of Stormwatch – who, it was claimed had ties to Lys – once Redwater was under my banner.

My gaze shifted, moving along the coast toward where the port lay. It was still too far away to be easily visible through the Eye, but because I knew where to look I could just pick out the faint haze of the port. "Scouts have secured the tower," I said without lowering the Eye. "Signal the other vessels to form up."

Behind me, Edric and Trystane stood. I heard one of them, Edric I suspected, turn. He should be signalling the other ships, alerting them that the path was clear. I'd had the pair learn the system of flag signals and positions I'd developed for me men, and Edric had picked it up quicker. While there were standard signals used by fleets in Westeros and Essos, I wanted something just for my men. That would, in theory, make it harder for anyone to capture one of my vessels and sail it into Northpoint or close to another ship without giving themselves away. The issue was that, because it was an entirely new system, I had to keep it simple and only have my officers, along with the various ship Captains and First Mates learn them. There were also a few gestures I'd created that wouldn't stand out to others, but could help, in theory, signal that their vessel was carrying enemies and they had been captured.

It was a risk to have former pirates and sellswords learn these commands, as it wouldn't take much for most to reveal those commands under torture, but I felt it was a worthwhile idea to implement. As a bonus, it would help generate a sense of camaraderie between my senior warriors, making them loyal to each other and me.

After ensuring that, as far as I could tell, there was no movement in the port, I lowered the Eye. Rian was high above the island, keeping watch of the comings and goings of men and ships from both ports, though he'd only alert me if something happened in the southern port.

As I slid the Eye back into the padded container it stayed in, I looked at the Kraken and the rest of the fleet. With about a hundred and fifty men on the island, it meant each ship was running light on crew. Since the wind was carrying us to the east, that hadn't yet been an issue, but as we approached the port and had to row hard to rush them, it might well be. If the men in the port chose to stand and fight, then I'd need Daemon's men to strike from the north as we beached our warships. That would be easy to communicate because of Ymir, but it was only one of three choices the pirates in the port could take. The other two, which were to sail forth and engage, or attempt to flee on their galleys, were more problematic.

A direct assault was unlikely, as I had the numerical advantage. Something that was further enhanced by the fact I had two war galleys, and every ship carried double the number of scorpions they had when I'd captured them. The ability to launch volleys of bolts at anything that neared us – each war galley had four forward-facing scorpions and two more along each side while the galleys had half that – would make a naval battle one-sided and hopefully convince those battling us to either turn and run or surrender. Given my lack of manpower on my ships, those were preferable to boarding actions, however, if the pirates turned and ran; even after getting close enough that my fleet to attack them with bolts, it would cause me issues.

Taking the port, and then moving overland to the other under Vaegon's control, would be problematic if even two galleys remained at sea. They could either land along the coasts and attempt to harass those holding the port or after the majority left to take the other base, assault it. I couldn't risk losing my fleet, nor being trapped between forces in both ports, however, I had a few plans to ensure the pirates that would soon see my fleet didn't attempt an outright flee.

The first, and it was one the fleet was slowly shifting into, was a formation designed to hide my numbers. The two war galleys would take the lead, sailing close together without risking the oars becoming entangled. The galleys would slip in behind us, hiding as best they could from sight from the port. If there were men along the coast, then they'd see it was more than just two vessels approaching the port, but it was unlikely that was the case, and even if it were, they'd have to sprint to the port to arrive before we did.

The other plan was a more unusual one, and something that when I'd mentioned it to Daemon and the others, they'd looked at me as if I'd gone mad. However, I had faith in my plan and had the birds to pull it off.

… …

"Very well then," I muttered about two hours later as I once more looked through the Myrish Eye at Vaegon's southern port.

The ships there – only three of the four galleys I'd spotted during my aerial recon – were readying themselves to sally forth. Since they, hopefully, were only seeing two war galleys bearing down on them, they might well feel they had a chance to capture one or both vessels. Either that or they planned to sail to wherever the other galley was, and then, if we moved to take the port, attack us from the sea.

"Signal for attack formation," I said without lowering the Eye as the first galley slid forward. Edric would ensure the signal was sent, and as the pirate vessels prepared to slip from the port, they'd find themselves facing six ships instead of two moving in a simple, but effective Flying-V formation.

At that point, the base commander would be more inclined to run than fight, either at sea or on land. He might, however, decide it wiser to abandon the port entirely and retreat to the northern one. That would be my least preferred option, but with one… no two galleys free of their lines, they'd be short on manpower. Enough that Daemon's men should be able to ambush them and either force a surrender or hold them long enough that my men could rush out to strike the pirates from the rear.

If the last galley slipped its mooring, which looked likely, then I suspected they'd turn north. Through Rian I'd discovered two galleys sailing that way, seemingly having come from this port, toward a port further northward. They were either going to raid Rakakz's port or sail close enough to it to draw men out. Either way, that meant a good percentage of Vaegon's men in my targeted port were absent. They were far enough away that they shouldn't be an issue for taking the port, but I didn't want the other galleys and men aboard them linking up with those two.

I'd already alerted Daemon and Bronn that we were nearing the port when I'd last spoken to them via Ymir. While Bronn had found it funny watching Daemon speak to the direwolf, at least until I growled at him, they were ready for runners heading to alert the northern port, at least if they travelled via the track. While it was unlikely the commander of this port would do so, seeing ships approaching from the west, and not having been alerted by the watchtower, I'd send men through the forest to the north, flanking the track on the chance there were men there ready to attack the port. There was a chance I was overthinking things, but I felt safer assuming my opposite number was smart as I was less likely to be surprised by them doing something than if I assumed they were nothing more than dumb pirates.

The last galley slipped from the dock, and I smiled. "Warn the men to prepare for attack speed." The sound of footsteps meant Trystane had left the foredeck. He'd pass the orders along to the captain and officers of the Kraken. Regardless of the pirate galleys turned to attack or run, we'd be hunting them down.

A small, possibly vicious smile crept onto my face as I continued to watch the galleys. Part of me hoped they'd turn and run. Not only would it save me from committing men to a sea battle, but I'd also get the chance to test out my newest offensive tactic. One that I felt had never been seen in these seas, if not anywhere on the planet. Not since magic had run rampant, and skinchanging was more accepted and encouraged.

… …

… …

(Pirate POV)

The commander looked back from the quarterdeck of his galley. Curses rattled around his head, aimed at whoever led the fleet chasing them, which was responsible for driving them from the port. The sails of all four ships bore a sigil he'd never seen before. The only thing that stood out about it, bar the black wolf's head that dominated the mark, was that it bore more similarity to something from Westeros than Essos.

He had hoped the fleet would let them slip away and sail straight into the port, but the man commanding that fleet was smarter than that. While two of the fleet, simply galleys akin to his, had sailed into the port, the rest had turned to pursue. While the commander feared the war galleys might row them down, it seemed they were slower than his ships, probably because they'd rowed hard to reach the port in the hope of trapping him, his ships, and his men there.

While he had been forced to abandon the port, something Vaegon would understand when he explained it to him, it angered the commander to do so. He'd worked from that port for ten years, commanding it for the last four. It was his home, and allowing anyone else in, even for a morning, was too long. Still, Vaegon would soon receive the runners the Commander had sent and be preparing a force to retake the port.

While that was going on, and with it adding two new ships to their fleet, the commander intended to draw those chasing him away. His two other galleys were to the north, watching the movements of Rakakz's men and seeing if there might be a lone trade vessel to attack. Meeting up with those ships would give the commander the numbers to turn and engage his pursuers, the trick was to ensure the chasing fleet remained close enough to want to pursue, but not close enough that the scorpions – the commander had seen three possibly four on the foredeck of the lead war galley – could attempt to damage his galleys.

Shouts of confusion had the commander turn, and as he looked at the deck, he saw several men near the main mast had stopped rowing. A few had even stood, pulling back from two locations. "The fuck are they doing," he snarled, marching past the helmsman toward the confusion. "The fuck is going on?" He shouted as he leapt down the small set of steps to the main deck.

Most of the men who'd abandoned their post quickly shifted to return to them, not wanting to anger the commander. Others, particularly those who'd moved away, didn't though, with several pointing at the mast. Looking up, the commander cursed when he saw a small hole in the centre of the sail. A grunt of annoyance slipped from him a moment later when the hole tore wider.

"Row harder, you fuckers!" he shouted, wanting the men to pick up the slack because of the damaged sail. Yet, as he focused on the tear, watching it widen some more, he wondered how it had happened. Sails didn't suddenly rip, and certainly not in their centre where they were strongest. It was possible one of the slaves had fucked up when repairing the sail, but that idea was dismissed as he knew the sail had last been repaired half a moon ago, with the galley having gone to sea a half dozen times since then.

The commander's attention shifted to the two small groups of men who hadn't resumed rowing. Their faces – names if he could remember them – went in his memory, the lot due for a flogging for their fucking actions unless they had good reason to abandon their posts. He moved to the closest group first, seeing one of the pair picking up a seagull.

A glance back at the sail, and the commander understood the bird had flown into the sail. Why it would do such a thing, he couldn't say, nor did he care. All that mattered was the dead thing had ripped the sail, costing them speed. A problem that was going to grow worse. "Toss it overboard and then back to your oars or you gonna join it!" The commander snarled. Turning from them, he looked at the crew not manning the oars. "Trim the sail as best you can. I do not want that tear widening and costing us speed," He said, thrusting an arm toward the damaged main sail.

As the men moved to obey, the commander moved to the other group that was standing. Those were on the other side of the mast, and four men were stomping panickily at something on the deck. The men nearby were glancing at the actions but were smart enough to keep rowing.

"What the fuck is going on?" The commander snarled, making the men stop. One man, who'd stop with his leg reared up to stamp on the deck, stumbled back, landing on others who were busy rowing. "Watch what you fucking doing fool!"

His hand moved to his hilt, preparing to gut this idiot and toss the body into the sea only to pause as something on the deck caught his eye. Looking down, the commander gasped, wondering how the small section of rope had ended up on their deck, and why in the Gods' names, was it burning. Under the flickers of flame, he saw the rope was darkened, which was even odder as rope didn't do that unless it had burnt for a long time and this section looked to be otherwise in good condition.

"Toss it," he ordered, his gaze turning to the men trying pathetically to stamp it out. The man stopped; confused or concerned by the order. "Do it or you be the one going over." Grumbling, though not loud enough that the commander heard and had a reason to gut him, the man looked around frantically, seeing something to grasp the burning rope with. As he did, the commander knelt, examining the rope. He frowned when he caught the smell coming from the rope. "The fuck?" He muttered, wondering why the rope was soaked in tar. That was beyond fucking stupid and meant the men who'd been stamping on the rope would never put it out. Hells, even tossing it in the water might not extinguish the flames, but at least it would be off his ship.

The man ordered to remove it came closer, a bucket in hand. The commander stepped back, watching the man pathetically kick the rope into the bucket. Thick fumes rose for the bucket as it was lifted, and the commander turned, glad this stupidly odd moment was over.

"Sir!" The call came from one of the men not manning the oars. "The Fear's ablaze!"

The commander spun, not believing the words, and when he looked at the galley that lay off their starboard, about half a length behind, he didn't see any hint of fire. At least not until he glanced at the Fear's main sail. It was a minor thing, unworthy of the suggestion the ship was ablaze, but the sail was on fire.

The commander's eyes narrowed as, under the small but growing flames, he saw a hole in the sail. It was in roughly the same location as the one in the sails aboard his ship. That another ship had suffered damage to its sail in the same location was insanely fucking unlikely. Add in that the growing fire that would engulf the sail before the tear destroyed it, possibly if it grew strong enough, damage the main mast, and the commander understood they were under attack. The question was how it wa…

His eyes shifted, seeing the carcass of the recently tossed gull catch one of the Fear's oars. "Fuck me sideways," he muttered. His mind was putting the pieces together, and while they seemed impossible, it was the only explanation he could come up with.

"Archers!" He called, turning back to his men. "To the ready!" the men, archer or not, all turned to look at him; most of those manning the oars slowing or stopping their action. "NOW! GODS DAMNIT!" The commander roared, his hand grasping the hilt of his blade to make clear that disobeying wasn't an option.

Since many of the archers were manning the sails, it meant they had to scramble from their benches. That the bows were stored at either end of the main deck added to the confusion, though as the commander turned, looking back at the Fear, he knew it was needed.

Somehow, someone was making birds – he couldn't be sure a gull had attacked the Fear, but it seemed likely – attack their sails while carrying tar-soaked burning sections of rope. The majority of his mind was reeling, struggling to believe what he was seeing, but it was the only explanation, even as beyond insane as it sounded, that made any sense.

"Fuck!" The Commander cursed as the flames spread over the Fear's sail, the cloth carrying the flames outward. While there was a chance the wind might extinguish the fire before it engulfed the entire sail, the Fear was already slowing, now nearly a full length behind his vessel.

He turned around, wanting to see if the Terror was under attack, yet as his eyes drifted westward he stopped. He swore he saw something in the air behind them. Pushing his way to the quarterdeck as the men rushed to ready bows and gather their quivers, he leapt up the short flight of stairs to stand next to the helmsman. The man tried to keep his eyes forward, but the commander could see the confusion in the man's eyes; and the hints of fear that the commander was going insane.

The commander ignored it, not least as he was still struggling to accept what he felt was happening and moved to the stern, gazing at the chasing fleet. He cursed his luck that, in the haste to rush to attack the galleys he'd forgotten his Myrish Eye. He'd not thought they'd need it as the two war galleys had been sailing straight for the port suggesting they wanted battle. He understood the larger ships had simply been covering for those behind them, and he respected whoever was commanding the fleet for forcing him to turn and run, but it still didn't excuse his failure to not bring the Eye.

His gaze shifted, catching again the speck in the sky. Hints of red or orange against the dull blue sky made the object stand out. The commander watched as the flickers grew larger, and when the flaps of wings became visible, he had his proof of what was happening. He still struggled to believe it, but dwelling on the how and why could wait until after the attack was ended.

"Motherfucker!" he shouted, knowing that someone on the chasing fleet was behind this, even as he watched the bird, and its burning cargo, drifted away from his vessel. "Signal the Terror!" He shouted. "Tell them to shoot that bird!" He added, pointing at the offending creature.

"Sir?"

At the confused response from his First Mate, he turned, his arm staying up and in the rough direction of the bird. "DO IT! NOW!" the First Mate nodded, before turning and relaying the order to the signalman. Yet even as that man lifted the flags, the commander knew it was too little, too late. The Terror's captain wouldn't understand the order, and that delay, along with getting his archers ready, would mean the bird would crash into the Terror's sails. Just as one had for his ship and the Fear.

The commander watched the bird as it turned, angling toward its target, totally unconcerned by the fact flames were brushing against its feather. His mind returned to the gull that had landed on his deck. The feathers on the bird's underside had been darkened, but the commander had ignored it, believing it was just a trick of the light or an unusual pattern. Now though he understood, however reluctantly, that the bird had been burnt by the burning rope as it carried it toward him.

Nothing about that made sense, as no animal willingly held something that harmed them, nor ignored the pain burning skin and flesh caused. Yet this was the third bird that had done so. And, as he watched it dive toward the Terror, he knew it was doing it intentionally.

Nothing, absolutely nothing about this made any sense. Not unless someone on the chasing fleet was some twisted sorcerer. The commander had heard the stories of what men did in the Far East; rumours of the dark arts practised in Qarth, YiTi, and Asshai, but he'd never believed them. Or more accurately, that what the stories said was fully true. Yet, as the bird slammed into the Terror's main sail, he accepted that perhaps there was more than just a hint of truth to those stories.

He also knew what had happened with his vessel. The bird attacking them had come in at too sharp an angle. The bird had pierced the sails, but the speed had carried it and the flaming rope through the sail before the cloth could catch alight. Again, even though he knew that was what had happened, he struggled to accept it, even as the crew of the Terror reacted in panic to the flames that appeared on their sail.

The commander turned back to the chasing fleet, watching as their sails extended, the war galleys pushing ahead of their escorts, confirming this was all their doing. "Damn you!" The commander snarled, shaking an impotent fist at their pursuers. "Damn, you all straight to the gates of Hell!"

The war galleys didn't respond, at least beyond continuing to close on his small fleet. A few moments later, as the Terror started to slow, and the Fear continued to fall back, the commander saw another bird rise from the lead war galley. Or more accurately, he caught the flicker of flame from the bird's dangerous cargo.

"Fuck!" He snarled as the flicker rose higher and then another moment later the war galley launched bolts at the Fear. Only one struck, but it was luck and caught the mizzen sail, removing the last chance the galley had of using the wind to outrun the larger vessels bearing down on it.

"Fuck!" He cursed again, knowing what he had to do. Turning, he moved toward the main deck. "Archers, to your oars!" Many of the crew looked at him as if he'd lost his mind again, yet he didn't care. The bird in the air was heading for them, and their only real chance was to attempt to outrun it while those chasing them captured or sunk the Fear and Terror. Vaegon might well string him alive for losing the port and two of his galleys, but for now all the commander cared about was surviving to fight another day, and escaping the evil that was chasing him. "NOW!"

… …

… …

A/N: The idea for how to use skinchanging as a weapon came from my beta/co-author.

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This story is cross-posted on Questionable Questing, Archive of our Own and Royal Road.

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