Chapter 49 (Patreon)

93 AC. Driftmark

The sun was already sinking toward the horizon, staining the waters of Blackwater Bay a deep copper, when the Sea Snake rounded the headland and set her course for the harbor of Spicetown. Corlys stood on deck beside the captain, hands clasped behind his back, silently watching the approaching shore. Smoke rose above the town from hundreds of hearths, and the port, as always, was crowded with ships flying every sort of banner: Braavosi, Pentoshi, Volantene, even a pair of great trading vessels from the Summer Isles, whose bright, many-colored sails could never be mistaken for any others. Spicetown had long since ceased to be merely the port beneath the Velaryon castle and had become one of the busiest trading towns in all of Westeros, and it was precisely this that troubled Corlys most right now.

They had put the Unsullied ashore earlier, in a secluded cove some six miles from the town, where, on Veylor's orders, a camp had been prepared in advance, with stores of provisions, tents and fresh water, hidden from prying eyes by hills and a strip of pine forest. Corlys trusted his people and knew that none of the sailors or guardsmen of House Velaryon would say a word too many. But dozens of ships from all over the world called at Spicetown every day, and if thousands of armed warriors in spiked helms had appeared in the town for even a single day, within a week the tale would be told in every tavern from Oldtown to King's Landing. That was why the brothers had decided during the voyage that the Unsullied would remain a secret until the very day the first of them set foot on the shores of the Stepstones.

Daeron came up on deck and stood beside his brother, leaning on the rail.

"I never thought I'd be so glad to see this port," he said, looking at the docks, where people who had recognized the familiar ship were already beginning to gather. "Two months ago I thought the only things I'd miss were my wife and children, and now I'm ready to kiss even the dockhands."

"Just don't tell Thea that," Corlys said with a smirk, never taking his eyes off the shore. "Otherwise she'll decide you lost what little sense you had during the campaign and lock you in your chambers."

The Sea Snake glided smoothly up to the main pier, the sailors threw the mooring lines, and soon the gangplank was lowered onto the dock. The first person the brothers saw below was Veylor. The youngest of the Velaryon brothers stood at the very edge of the pier surrounded by several guardsmen, shifting impatiently from foot to foot, clearly struggling to restrain himself from running up onto the ship before it was even properly moored. As soon as Corlys and Daeron stepped ashore, Veylor strode forward and embraced first one brother, then the other, paying no heed whatsoever to the curious stares of the dock workers.

"Thank the gods you're both whole," he said, stepping back and looking his brothers over from head to toe, as if checking that everything was still in its place. "Your entries in the book were reassuring, of course, but it's one thing to read that all is well and quite another to see you alive with my own eyes."

"And I see you haven't changed a bit while we were gone," Daeron replied, clapping his younger brother on the shoulder. "Still worrying about us more than Mother does."

"Somebody has to," Veylor said with a shrug, then turned to Corlys and lowered his voice so that the men standing nearby would not hear. "The camp is ready. Everything you asked for was delivered there last week. Our men will guard the approaches to the cove and won't let a single stray traveler near it."

"Good," Corlys nodded. "We'll speak of the rest at the castle. There are too many ears here."

Servants brought up saddled horses, and the three brothers, accompanied by Ares and the guardsmen, set off for High Tide. Their way lay through the main streets of Spicetown, which even at so late an hour were full of people. Merchants were closing their shops, music and laughter drifted out of the taverns, and carts loaded with barrels and bales of goods rolled over the cobblestones. The townsfolk, recognizing their lord, parted before the riders, many bowed and called out greetings, glad of the return of Corlys and Daeron. Corlys answered them with a brief nod, but his thoughts were already far away, in the solar of the castle, where they would have to discuss everything that could not be entrusted even to the enchanted book.

When the gates of High Tide closed behind them and the brothers dismounted in the inner yard, the doors of the main entrance swung open, and Viserra and Thea came out to meet them. Thea was the first to run down the steps and throw her arms around her husband's neck, not caring in the least how it looked. Daeron swept her up and spun her around, laughing so loudly that several grooms turned to look. Viserra descended the steps more slowly, keeping the dignity befitting a princess, but the moment she reached Corlys, all her restraint vanished at once, and she embraced her husband tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.

"I'm glad you're back," Viserra said quietly, without letting go. "You can't imagine how long these two months have dragged on."

"I can," Corlys answered, running his palm over her silver hair. "They dragged on no less for me. How are the children?"

"The children are already asleep," Viserra replied, finally drawing back and looking up at him. "They were put to bed only a little while ago, and I don't want them woken now. Later, once we've had supper and you've finished with all your business, you can visit them in the nursery."

"I've gone more than two months without seeing my own son and daughter," Daeron broke in, his arm still around Thea's shoulders. "If need be, I can wait until morning somehow. Though I confess it'll be the longest night of the whole campaign."

Thea playfully swatted him on the chest and remarked that if he dared wake the children, the night really would be a very long one for him, because he would be spending it alone.

At that moment Lady Alice appeared in the doorway. The brothers' mother paused on the top step, her gaze lingering on her sons for a moment, as if she wished to make certain they truly stood before her, and then she came down and embraced first Corlys, then Daeron, holding each of them a little longer than was necessary.

"I'm glad you have both come home safe and sound," she said, stepping back and looking her sons over with a mother's attentive eye. "Every time you go to sea, I tell myself that you are grown men and perfectly capable of looking after yourselves, and every time it does not help in the slightest."

"We promised to come back, Mother," Corlys answered gently. "And a Velaryon keeps his word."

"You promised," Lady Alice agreed, and there was a faint note of amusement in her voice. "But I know all too well what the promises of men going off to war are worth. Enough, now, of standing on the threshold. The servants have already prepared your supper, and I won't have it go cold while you stand here embracing. Everyone to the table."

Supper was laid in the small dining hall, where the family usually gathered when there were no guests. On the table were baked fish, roast mutton, fresh bread, cheeses and flagons of wine: simple but hearty fare that both brothers had come to miss during the long weeks of ship's salt beef and hardtack. Veylor and Elise took their seats across the table, Thea sat beside Daeron, Viserra at Corlys's right hand, and Lady Alice, as always, at the head of the table. The conversation over supper was light and easy. The women talked about the children: how little Rhaella had learned to grab the hair of anyone who leaned over her cradle, and how Corwyn and Aurane, in the absence of their father and uncle, had managed to stir up a good deal of mischief and had learned to hide from their nursemaids while exploring the castle. Corlys listened, allowing himself, for the first time in many weeks, simply to rest without thinking about war.

When the plates were empty and the servants had cleared away the remains of the meal, Corlys rose from the table.

"We need to talk," he said, looking around at those gathered. "All of us together. Let's go up to my solar."

Corlys's solar was in the western tower of the castle, and on a clear day the whole town could be seen from its windows. Now darkness was already gathering outside, and the servants lit the candles and kindled a fire in the hearth. Corlys took his seat behind the massive table, on which lay an unrolled map of the Stepstones, covered in markings. Daeron sat at his brother's right hand, Veylor at his left. Viserra settled into a chair by the fire, Lady Alice sat down beside her, and Thea and Elise took the settee by the wall, talking quietly between themselves while everyone found their seats.

Veylor was the first to break the silence, by all appearances, he had been waiting the whole time for a chance to ask the question that had been gnawing at him.

"How much time do we have left?" he asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "Before Essos, and then Westeros, learn what we did in Slaver's Bay? Three cities don't simply vanish without a trace, Corlys. Sooner or later someone will go there and see what happened."

"More than you think," Corlys replied, leaning back in his chair. "After we took Astapor, the ships we captured in the port patrolled the approaches to the bay and turned back every vessel bound for the city. The captains were told that the grey plague had broken out in Astapor and the city was closed under quarantine. Then our spies spread rumors through the cities of Essos that the sickness had spread to Yunkai and Meereen. No captain in his right mind will risk his crew and cargo to sail into a plague port, so for the next two weeks or so no one will go there."

"And after that?" asked Lady Alice.

"After that the news will begin to spread across Essos, and there will be no way for us to prevent it," Corlys went on calmly. "But don't forget the distance. For an ordinary ship the voyage from Slaver's Bay to Westeros takes about two months, or even longer if the winds are unfavorable. We made it back in a month only thanks to our ships, and because the Sea Snake is capable of things no other vessel can do. So Westeros will not learn of any of this for a long while yet. That should give us enough time to invade the Stepstones and secure our hold there."

Veylor rubbed his chin thoughtfully and turned his gaze to the map, where the archipelago was divided into dozens of separate islands, each marked with symbols that only the brothers themselves understood.

"Very well, let's say we have the time," he said. "But how exactly do we intend to take all the islands at once? The Stepstones aren't a single city you can take in one night by opening the gates. If we strike one island, the pirates on the others will know about it by morning, and then the war will drag on for months."

"That is exactly why we won't strike just one island," Corlys answered, drawing toward him a stack of papers lying at the edge of the table. "Two years ago Aguilar planted our assassins among the pirates. In that time they have risen to all sorts of positions: one became a helmsman, another a quartermaster, and one even commands a small company. Thanks to them we know the exact locations of every pirate base, their storerooms and supply depots, as well as maps of the tunnels and caves where the pirates usually hide when they sense danger."

Daeron, who during the voyage had gone over the spies' reports with Corlys and Aguilar dozens of times, nodded in confirmation of his brother's words.

"This will let us act with precision and not waste men combing every rock," he added, running his finger over one of the islands on the map. "We know where they keep their weapons, where their ships are anchored, and where they'll run once the fighting starts. Though, to be honest, I can hardly bring myself to call them pirates anymore. Pirates are rabble, dregs who rob merchants and scatter at the sight of a warship. These are another matter entirely. Their training and numbers are better suited to a real army than to a band of brigands."

"And what are their numbers?" asked Lady Alice, looking intently at her son.

"The Triarchy keeps a force of roughly twenty thousand so-called pirates on the Stepstones," Corlys answered. "They are scattered across every island of the archipelago, with only a few hundred men on some and several thousand on the largest. Besides that, they have about a hundred and thirty ships."

Viserra, who had been listening to the conversation in silence until now, raised her brows slightly.

"That's rather formidable," she said. "I knew the Triarchy kept considerable forces on the islands, but I didn't think there were so many."

"Many of the Lords Paramount of Westeros don't have so many men or such a fleet," Veylor agreed, shaking his head. "Twenty thousand warriors and a hundred and thirty ships. If the Lannisters or the Tyrells saw those numbers, they'd think long and hard before setting foot on the Stepstones."

"Their numbers don't surprise me in the least," Corlys answered with a shrug. "The Triarchy is an alliance of the three greatest Free Cities of Essos. Tyrosh, Lys and Myr together are richer than many a kingdom, and the Stepstones matter far too much to them to hold them with nothing more than a handful of ragged cutthroats. Half of all the trade of the narrow sea passes through the archipelago, and they understand perfectly well that whoever holds the islands holds that trade."

Lady Alice was silent for a time, her gaze moving from the map to her eldest son, and then she asked what had evidently been troubling her since the very day Corlys first announced the campaign.

"Is that why you insisted so on the expedition to Slaver's Bay?" she said. "To gain an army that outmatches the strength of the Triarchy?"

"That too," Corlys did not deny it. "We have a fleet and men-at-arms of the sea who are in no way fewer than the Triarchy's, and who even surpass them in training and equipment. But our men are good at fighting at sea: boarding, melee on the deck, maneuvering ships. On land, during the landings and the clearing of the islands, where the enemy will have to be smoked out of caves and tunnels, a different kind of warrior is needed. And in that work the Unsullied have no equal in all the known world."

Veylor shook his head, though there was no disagreement in the gesture, rather concern.

"I've heard what the Unsullied are capable of, and I won't argue with you," he said. "But for all their training, they are still men of flesh and blood, not stone statues. If we throw them in a frontal assault against fortified positions, we'll have losses, and heavy ones. Twenty thousand enemies dug into caves on their own ground aren't slavers who scatter at the first blow. We need a sound strategy for this war, or we'll win it and lose half our army."

"Daeron, Aguilar and I discussed it during the voyage," Corlys answered. "And we came up with something."

"What exactly?" Veylor asked, watching his elder brother closely.

Corlys fell silent for a moment, choosing his words, and then spoke in an even, calm voice, as though he were speaking of something ordinary rather than of war.

"During the taking of Yunkai and Meereen, the assassins proved themselves a very effective weapon, especially as an element of surprise the enemy doesn't expect. So we decided to send poison to our people among the pirates. On an appointed day, shortly before our attack, they will put it into the water and the food. In pirate camps, fresh water is usually drawn from a single source or kept in shared barrels, and food is cooked from common stores in great cauldrons. Of course, this won't kill all of our enemies. Some will be on watch that day, some at sea, and some simply won't have time to eat. But a good many will die, and those who remain will be too demoralized and frightened to offer us any serious resistance."

Silence fell over the solar, broken only by the crackling of logs in the hearth. Thea and Elise exchanged glances, and even Viserra turned her eyes toward the fire for a moment. Veylor was quiet for a long time, looking at the map, and then said slowly, as if weighing every word.

"That's cunning," he admitted at last. "Very cunning, and probably very effective. But you realize that in Westeros they'll call us cowards for such tactics? The lords prize open battle, single combat, facing your enemy eye to eye. To them, a lord who uses poison stands in the same rank as an oathbreaker."

"History is written by the victors, Veylor," Corlys replied calmly, his expression unchanged. "No one but us and those who carry it out will know exactly how the islands were won. And if anything does slip out, it will remain nothing but rumors that no one can prove. Pirates dying of the bloody flux in their camps - there's nothing unusual in that for such places. But even if the whole world learned of it, I don't intend to throw away thousands of my warriors for the sake of some imagined honor when I can use cunning and win with far fewer losses. In war, every means is fair, and those lords who prattle about honor prefer to do so in the safety of their own castles, not on the battlefield, watching their men die."

Lady Alice folded her hands in her lap and gazed thoughtfully into the fire.

"I'm no battle commander, and I won't presume to judge matters of war," she said after a pause. "But it seems to me a perfectly good plan. I lost my brother in the Dornish Marches, and I know all too well what it is to wait for news and pray that your loved ones come home alive. Every one of the warriors who will go to the Stepstones also has a mother, sisters and a wife. If cunning helps keep them alive, then let the lords of Westeros think what they will."

"Mother is right," Daeron agreed. "It's the safest and fastest way to finish the war before Westeros learns of everything. The longer we spend fussing over the islands, the greater the chance that someone will interfere. This way we'll break their back in a few days, and all that will remain is to finish off those still holding weapons."

Viserra, who had kept silent until then, turned from the fire toward her husband.

"And what happens afterward?" she asked, and there was tension in her voice. "What are we to do when the crown learns of everything? Father won't sit quietly and watch the Velaryons take for themselves the Stepstones he has already promised to other houses."

"Once we have taken the Stepstones, the crown will no longer be able to stop us," Corlys answered.

"Are you so certain of that?" Lady Alice interjected, and now there was unease in her voice. "The king may consider our actions treason. And most likely he will - Jaehaerys has never forgiven those who went against his will, and we will be defying it openly. What then? The crown could invade the Stepstones with its fleet and its dragons. What do we do then - unleash your dragons and start an all-out war with the Targaryens?"

"The crown will have no fleet with which to invade the Stepstones," Corlys answered calmly. "And then the king will be left with only one option - dragons. And that is a different conversation altogether, and a dangerous one for the Targaryens themselves."

Viserra frowned and leaned forward in her chair.

"What do you mean, no fleet?" she asked, making no attempt to hide her bewilderment. "Besides the ships we built for the crown ourselves, the Lannister fleet has already arrived in the capital. All of Blackwater Bay is crammed with their ships, and King's Landing is already preparing in earnest for war in the Stepstones. Even the merchants in our own port are talking about it."

Corlys merely shrugged, as though they were speaking of something entirely ordinary.

"The fact that the whole fleet has gathered in one place, in Blackwater Bay, only serves me well," he replied. "That way I can sink them all at once, without chasing every ship across the whole Narrow sea."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Viserra asked, watching her husband intently.

"My sailors often call me the lord of the seas," Corlys answered with a faint, barely noticeable smile. "It seems that soon I'll have to live up to the title."

Viserra fell silent for a moment, and then spoke more quietly, as if she herself did not want to hear her own words.

"There will be people aboard those ships, Corlys. Sailors who are guilty of nothing and are simply following orders."

"I pity them," Corlys answered, and this time there was neither mockery nor coldness in his voice. "I truly do. But in the event of war, those very men will be killing my men, and I have no other choice. If the crown has no fleet, we will have the advantage in negotiations over the fate of the Stepstones, and the king will be forced to sit down at the table rather than send armies. But if the fleet survives, the lords will believe in victory and march to war against us, and then not hundreds but thousands will die. I choose the lesser evil, Viserra, however bitter that may sound."

Viserra looked at her husband for a long while, and several feelings warred in her gaze at once: anxiety for people she did not even know, fear of the future, and the understanding that Corlys was right. She knew her husband too well and understood that once he had made a decision, no one could change his mind, not even she. In the end she sighed heavily and leaned back in her chair.

"When do you mean to begin the invasion?" she asked quietly.

"In a week," Corlys answered. "Before then we need to prepare everything: provisions, weapons, ships. The warriors and the Unsullied must rest properly after the long sea voyage, because there will be no time for rest on the Stepstones. In the meantime Aguilar will send our people on the islands everything they need and set the day. And then we sail for the Stepstones."

"A week, then," Veylor repeated, looking at the map. "In that case, first thing tomorrow morning I'll see to the provisions and count the stores in the warehouses. If anything is lacking, we'll have time to buy more from the merchants in the port without arousing suspicion."

"See to it," Corlys nodded. "Daeron will take charge of the Unsullied and the camp, and I'll see to the ships."

With that, the conversation came to an end. Lady Alice was the first to rise from her chair, she bade everyone good night and, squeezing her eldest son's hand once more in farewell, went to her chambers. Veylor and Elise soon followed her. Corlys and Daeron, accompanied by Viserra and Thea, went to the nursery, where all the children of the family were sleeping.

The nursery was in the family wing of the castle, a spacious room with tall windows overlooking the sea. The nursemaid, dozing in a chair by the door, started at their entrance, but Viserra gestured for her not to rise. Only a single candle burned in the room, and in its dim light one could make out the large cradle by the wall where the youngest members of the family slept - little Victor, Elia and Rhaella. The babes were only a few months old and slept soundly, entirely unaware of the grown-ups who had come in. Elia and Rhaella were quite literally hugging each other, snuffling softly with their noses pressed together, while Victor slept a little apart from the girls, his tiny arms flung wide, as if even in his sleep he demanded more room for himself.

At the other end of the room, in beds of their own, slept the older children - Corwyn, Aurane and Daemon. Corwyn had kicked his blanket onto the floor, Aurane slept curled up in a ball, and Daemon lay on his back, clutching the edge of his pillow in his fist.

Corlys went to the cradle and gently stroked his son's silver hair, trying to touch it as lightly as he could. Victor wrinkled his little nose but did not wake. Daeron, meanwhile, bent over the cradle from the other side and lightly ran his finger along Rhaella's plump cheek, unable to hold back a smile.

"She's grown so much," he whispered, never taking his eyes off his daughter. "When I left, she fit in one of my palms."

"Don't touch them," Thea hissed at the men, shooting her husband a stern look. "If they wake up now, they'll scream until morning, and the two of you will be the ones putting them back to sleep."

Corlys and Daeron exchanged glances like two boys caught in mischief and obediently stepped away from the cradle, heading toward the beds of their elder sons. Corlys stopped by Daemon's bed and looked at him for a long time without touching him. The boy, nearly two years old, was a very light sleeper, and Corlys knew the slightest touch would be enough to wake him and rouse the entire castle. Daeron, meanwhile, picked the fallen blanket up off the floor, covered Corwyn with it, and for a few moments simply gazed at his son, who in two months seemed to have grown even taller.

At last the brothers left the nursery, stepping as quietly as they could, and in the corridor they went their separate ways, each to his own chambers with his wife. Daeron clapped his brother on the shoulder one last time and wished him good night, while Thea took her husband's arm and led him down the corridor, quietly scolding him about something.

As soon as the door of their chambers closed behind Corlys and Viserra, all the restraint they had kept before the family vanished without a trace. Viserra wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and drew him to her, and Corlys answered her with an equally hungry kiss, as if trying to make up for every day they had spent apart. Without breaking the kiss, he led her to the bed and lowered himself onto it with his wife, not letting her go for a moment.

An hour passed before the two of them had at last had their fill of each other. Viserra lay with her head on her husband's chest, and Corlys slowly ran his fingers through her hair, listening as her breathing gradually evened out.

"I missed this," she murmured sleepily, without opening her eyes. "Don't go away for so long again."

"I'll try," Corlys answered quietly, kissing the top of her head.

Soon Viserra fell asleep, allowing herself, for the first time in two months, to truly relax in her husband's arms.

Corlys lay still for some time longer, staring at the ceiling and listening to his wife's steady breathing. Once he was sure Viserra was sound asleep, he carefully slipped out of her embrace, covered her with the blanket and rose noiselessly from the bed. Dressing in the dark, he left the chambers and made his way to his solar, where everything he needed was kept in a hidden drawer of the table. There he threw a dark traveling cloak over his shoulders, checked that the dagger was in place at his belt, and took from the drawer a small pouch of thick leather containing a stone the size of a hen's egg. Corlys froze for a moment, holding the pouch in his hand, as though weighing his decision one last time, and then tucked it into an inner pocket of his cloak and apparated.

He appeared on a deserted, rocky shore of Blackwater Bay, a few miles from King's Landing. It was the dead of night, the sky was veiled with thin clouds, through which the moonlight broke only now and then, and an ordinary man would have struggled to make out even his own hands here. But Corlys's sight, long since strengthened by magic, let him see everything around him clearly. He saw the high walls of the capital sprawled across its hills, the dark silhouette of the Red Keep atop Aegon's High Hill, and the enormous outline of the Dragonpit on the Hill of Rhaenys. And he saw the fleet. Nearly two hundred ships lay at anchor in the harbor and far beyond it, filling the whole bay - new warships built in the Velaryon shipyards to Corlys's own designs, and beside them dozens of Lannister vessels flying crimson banners with the golden lion. The ships rocked gently on the water, lanterns burned aboard some of them, and even from here one could make out the figures of sailors idling on the decks.

Corlys pitied the seamen aboard those ships. He had grown up among sailors himself, knew their way of life and their cares, and understood that most of them were simple men who had nothing to do with the king's decisions. But he took comfort in the fact that the ships now held only the bare minimum of men needed to watch over the vessels and, if necessary, to sail them. Most of the crews and soldiers were spending the night in the city, in the barracks and taverns near the port, awaiting the order to put to sea.

Corlys drew the pouch from his pocket and shook the stone out onto his palm. In the darkness it glowed with a soft blue light, and within it, as if in the depths of seawater, pale veins slowly shimmered. It was an amplifier - a stone in which magic had been gathering for a long time. It took no less than two years to store the required amount of magical power in one, and all that time the stone had to be kept in a special place and fed regularly. Including this one, Corlys had only three such stones, and he had been saving them for the direst need. Tonight that need had come.

He drew his dagger and made a shallow cut across his right palm, then placed the stone directly on the wound.

The blue glow instantly intensified, flooding the shore with cold light, and Corlys felt the stone begin to drain magic from him in frightening quantities. It was as if someone were drawing the very life out of his body - his legs went weak, his temples pounded, and dark spots swam before his eyes. Corlys clenched his teeth and kept his hand closed, holding the stone to the very end. After a minute that seemed to him an eternity, the process finally stopped. The glow became steady and bright, and Corlys understood that the amplifier was now bound to him and could be used for its purpose.

He slowly straightened, catching his breath, and looked at the sleeping city, then turned his gaze to where the Red Keep loomed upon its hill.

"You wanted this yourself, Jaehaerys," Corlys said quietly, looking at the dark towers of the castle where the king now slept. "I offered you an alliance, wealth, and islands that would have brought the crown more than all your lords put together. And you humiliated me and my family before the whole court, just so the Stepstones would not go to the Velaryons. Now I will not back down. My pride will not let me forgive such a thing."

He drew back his arm and threw the stone into the water. The instant it touched the surface of the bay, ripples spread out in every direction from where it fell, glowing with a faint blue light. The wave spread in circles further and further, until it had reached hundreds of yards out and dissolved into the darkness. This ritual allowed him to take control of the weather for two hours within a radius of several miles, and to sense everything at sea within that radius - every ship, every boat, and every man aboard.

Corlys closed his eyes and began to concentrate, chanting a spell in Latin. The words of the ancient language of his past life sounded muffled and measured in the stillness of the night, and with every new word he sensed the sea around him more and more clearly. He felt the weight of the anchors dragging the ships toward the bottom, felt the wood of the hulls and the taut ropes, felt the tiny sparks of life on the decks - sailors asleep in their cabins, a ship's boy dozing against the mast. He felt the currents, the wind over the water, the clouds hanging above the bay.

"Mare et caelum, audite me. Venti, ad me venite. Fluctus, surgite," he spoke the final words of the spell and opened his eyes.

For the first moment, nothing happened. And then a wind blew in from the sea. Light at first, barely noticeable, it quickly gathered strength, tearing salt spray from the crests of the waves and rocking the ships at anchor. The clouds over the bay began to thicken, merging into a heavy black mass, and soon the first drops of rain fell upon the shore. Five minutes later the rain had become a true downpour, crashing down upon the bay and the city in a solid wall. The first bolt of lightning split the sky, lighting the harbor and the ships with a deathly white glare, and it was followed by a clap of thunder so loud that the very ground underfoot seemed to tremble. Such a roar must have woken every soul in the capital, from the lowliest beggar in Flea Bottom to the king himself in his chambers.

Corlys stood on the shore, paying no heed to the rain lashing his face, and continued to guide the storm. He felt the sea as though it had become an extension of his own body, and slowly, step by step, he began to raise the waves. First three feet high, then six, then nine, then twelve. The waves rose ever higher and, obeying his will, rolled toward the capital, breaking against the piers and flooding the docks. The tempest grew worse with every minute. The ships were tossed at anchor like woodchips, the cables snapped one after another, and soon the first vessels, torn from their anchors, began crashing into one another and into the ships around them.

Panic reigned on the decks. Corlys felt the fear of the men aboard as clearly as he felt the water itself. Sailors rushed about the decks trying to secure the rigging, some shouted for help, others prayed to the Seven. The most seasoned and quick-witted captains, those who had spent the night aboard their ships, soon realized that things were dire and that there was no riding out such a storm at anchor. They began cutting their anchor cables and steering their ships as close to shore as they could, hoping to run aground but save their crews.

Corlys saw in this a chance for the sailors to survive and seized upon it. He began carefully guiding the ships, pushing them with wave and wind toward the gently sloping stretches of shore, away from the rocks and the stone piers. That way the ships would not sink in the middle of the bay, dragging their men down with them, but would be wrecked upon the shore, where the sailors would have a chance to leap into the shallows and make their way onto dry land. This demanded far more strength and concentration than if he had simply capsized every ship at once - holding hundreds of vessels at the same time, steering each one where it needed to go and keeping it from overturning. Sweat mingled with rain on his face, and his fingers cramped with the strain, but Corlys did not stop.

He kept at it for a full hour. One ship after another was flung onto the shore, breaking its keel on stone and sand, and the sailors leapt over the sides into the water and, clinging to one another, struggled onto dry land. Corlys felt the sparks of life leave the ships one by one and move onto the shore, and only when the last of them had reached land and not a single living soul remained on the decks did he allow himself to catch his breath. Some, of course, had died regardless - in such a storm it was impossible to save everyone, and Corlys had known that from the very start. But most of the sailors had survived, and that was the best he could do for them.

Now all that remained was to finish what he had begun. Corlys raised his arms and drew upon all the power stored in the stone. The bay seemed to draw breath, and right in the middle of the harbor a colossal wave began to rise, as tall as a castle wall - no less than sixty feet. For a moment it hung motionless above the ships strewn along the shore and the shallows, and then it came crashing down upon them with all its weight, snapping masts, splitting hulls, and turning proud warships into heaps of wreckage. A second wave rose behind it, then a third. Corlys methodically brought them down one after another upon the ships until he was certain that not a single vessel would ever put to sea again. The ships that had been moored in the port itself were already all but destroyed - over the past hour they had been dashed against the stone piers more times than could be counted, and of many nothing remained but broken mast stumps jutting from the water and shattered hulls.

When it was all over, Corlys lowered his arms. The wind began to die down, the downpour gradually weakened into a light drizzle, and the waves, released from his will, slowly calmed, losing their destructive force. A din of voices hung over King's Landing: the surviving sailors were gathering on the shore, people with torches were running from the city, and somewhere bells were ringing. Corlys watched the scene for a while, feeling his knees tremble with exhaustion, and then once more turned his gaze to the Red Keep, where lights were kindling in the windows one after another.

"The die is cast," he said quietly. "From now on, there is no turning back."

Corlys pulled his soaked cloak tighter around him and apparated back to High Tide, leaving behind him Blackwater Bay, strewn with the wreckage of the royal fleet.