Chapter 52 (Patreon)

93 AC. The Stepstones. Bloodstone

Corlys's tent had been pitched on a low hill a few hundred paces from the cove, which gave a good view of both the shore and the path leading up into the mountains. Inside it was cramped but comfortable. A campaign table stood in the middle, buried under maps and reports. A rolled-up bedroll lay against the wall, and an oil lamp burned on an upturned chest, though it was still light outside. The tent flap had been thrown back, and through it came the voices of soldiers, the thud of axes, and the creak of the carts hauling supplies up from the shore. Ares lay at the entrance with his head on his paws, lazily watching the men passing by and twitching his ears now and then.

The landing had taken almost the entire day. After the Triarchy's fleet was broken and the remnants of the pirates had fallen back to the mountains, boats had plied between the ships and the shore until evening, ferrying soldiers, Unsullied, horses, weapons, water casks and sacks of provisions onto the island. Now the whole army Corlys had brought with him stood on the shores of Bloodstone. Of the sixty ships Craghas Drahar had kept at the island, most lay at the bottom of the sea or were still burning out on the shoals. Several dozen were so badly damaged that they could not put to sea without lengthy repairs, and only a small number remained intact. Those were mostly the ships that, after Drahar ordered the retreat, had managed to reach the cove and run themselves aground before the Velaryon ships could catch them.

Corlys sat at the table, checking the casualty lists his captains had brought him. The losses were light, far lighter than he had expected when he planned this war. Two ships had been holed by pirate scorpions, another had lost nearly a third of its crew during a boarding action, and about a hundred men had been killed or wounded in the landing. Corlys read every name carefully before setting the list aside. He knew the numbers could have been far worse, but that did not make them any easier to bear.

The tent flap was pushed wider, and Ser Adam stooped slightly as he stepped inside. His armor was covered in dust and dried blood, and there was a fresh scratch on his face that he had evidently not even bothered to wash. Ares raised his head, recognized him, and laid it back down on his paws.

"My lord," Ser Adam said, stopping at the table with a slight bow. "I've come to report how matters stand as of this hour."

"Speak, Adam," Corlys replied, pushing the papers away and leaning back in his chair. "And sit, if you like. You've been on your feet all day."

"Thank you, my lord, but if I sit down now, I won't get up again until morning," Ser Adam said with a grin. Resting a hand on the edge of the table, he went on more seriously. "Work on the camp is going well. The Unsullied have nearly finished the ditch on the northern and eastern sides, and by nightfall they'll have a palisade up around the whole perimeter. We're taking the logs from the forest beyond the hill, and there's enough there to last us a good while. The temporary fortifications on the path to the mountains are ready as well. If the pirates decide to come down that way, they'll run straight onto our spears."

"And the sea?" Corlys asked, glancing at the map of the island lying before him.

"Our fleet holds the coastal waters of Bloodstone completely," Ser Adam answered, tracing a line around the island on the map with his finger. "We have ships at every cove Aguilar's people pointed out to us, and a few more patrolling the coast so that not a single boat can slip out to sea unnoticed. I've also sent several detachments to sweep the ground east and south of the camp, to find out where the pirates have dug in and how many of them are left. So far they've only found small groups that didn't make it to the mountains in time, and most of those don't even try to fight."

Corlys nodded thoughtfully and looked toward the entrance of the tent. The sun was sinking toward the sea, and the shadows of the tents and the palisade were growing longer and longer.

"Recall the men," he said, turning back to Ser Adam. "It will be dark soon, and in the dark we don't know this ground the way the pirates do. I don't want to lose soldiers because one of them falls into a crevice or stumbles into an ambush in the woods. Post sentries around the camp and on the path to the mountains, and have them relieved every few hours so no one falls asleep at his post."

"You think they'll try to attack in the night?" Ser Adam asked, though his tone made it clear he doubted it himself.

"No, I don't," Corlys said, shaking his head. "After what happened to them today, Craghas Drahar simply doesn't have the strength to attack us. Thousands of his men died last night, his fleet burned before his eyes, and those who survived fled into the mountains without even waiting for orders. Right now he isn't thinking about an attack. He's thinking about how to keep his men from deserting and cutting each other's throats. But the sentries are needed all the same. Desperate men sometimes do foolish things, and I don't want one such foolishness to cost us lives."

"It will be done, my lord," Ser Adam said with a nod.

"And one more thing, Adam," Corlys added, his voice softening a little. "Tell the men that today they did their duty well. The sailors, the guardsmen and the Unsullied alike. Let them rest properly tonight, eat, and get a good night's sleep. Give them wine from our stores, but in moderation, so that no one complains of a heavy head in the morning. Tomorrow at dawn we march inland to clear the island of the surviving pirates, and I need them fresh and well rested."

"The men will be glad to hear it," Ser Adam replied with a slight smile. "Many of them still can't believe it was all over so quickly. This morning on the ships, they were saying this day would cost us thousands of lives."

"The day isn't over yet, and the war even less so," Corlys answered. "So don't let them grow too easy just yet."

Ser Adam nodded but made no move to leave. He was silent for a moment, as if searching for the right words, and then asked, "What are your orders regarding the captured pirates, my lord? We've managed to take about three hundred men. Most were taken on the ships when they surrendered after being boarded, the rest were caught on the shore and in the woods. They're being held under Unsullied guard by the old pirate docks, but we have a great many mouths already, and feeding three hundred more won't be easy."

Corlys did not answer at once. He looked down at the map, where small marks showed the pirates' camps, their storehouses, and the places where, according to the assassins, slaves were kept. Then he looked back at Ser Adam, and in his eyes there was neither doubt nor anger, only the cold certainty of a man who had long since made up his mind.

"For many years these men plundered ships, traded in human beings, and broke people's lives," Corlys said slowly. "They sold men, women and children to Lys and Tyrosh. They killed those who tried to resist, and those too weak to fetch a good price. There isn't one among them whose hands aren't stained with the blood of innocents. Now the time has come for them to pay. Execute them all. Tonight."

Ser Adam straightened and gave a short nod. He had served Corlys long enough to know he did not give such orders in the heat of the moment, and he had seen enough of what the pirates had done in the Stepstones to feel no pity for them.

"It will be done, my lord," he repeated, and turning, he left the tent.

Corlys sat motionless for a while longer, watching the sunset beyond the tent flap. Then he pulled the map toward him again and went back to work.

The prisoners were executed that same night. In the morning, while the army prepared to march, Corlys ordered the pirate ships that could no longer be repaired after the sea battle to be broken up for firewood, and a funeral pyre to be built from the planks at the far end of the cove. The bodies of the executed were burned before the sun had fully risen over the sea, and the black smoke hung over the water for a long time before the wind carried it away to the south.

Immediately afterward, the Velaryon army set off into the interior of the island. Corlys rode at the head of the column, and beside him, as always, rode Ser Adam, Ser Duncan and Ser Arthur. Ares trotted at the feet of his master's horse, every now and then drifting to the edge of the path to sniff at the bushes before returning at once. The Velaryon soldiers had long since grown used to the presence of the huge black panther and paid it no more mind, while the Unsullied seemed never to have been surprised by its appearance at all. Only the new recruits from the ships, finding themselves so close to Ares for the first time, tried at first to keep their distance.

The army was guided by the assassins who had left the pirates' ranks the day before and joined the Velaryons on the shore. Among them was Jon, who in a year of living on Bloodstone had come to know the island better than many pirates who had lived there for years. He walked at the front of the column beside the scouts, pointing out where the path dropped away into a gorge, where the springs were, and where the pirates usually laid ambushes for those who tried to escape the camp. The men of the order knew every hut, every storehouse and every camp on the island, and thanks to them the Velaryon soldiers did not wander blindly through the woods.

Corlys's soldiers advanced in a single front. The Unsullied marched in a tight formation in the center, while detachments of guardsmen and sailors moved along the flanks, combing the woods and the rocks so that the pirates could not slip away. When they came upon the enemy, they did not halt or scatter in pursuit. Archers drove the pirates toward the line, and spearmen finished off those who tried to break through. Many pirates, seeing the army approach, threw down their weapons and fell to their knees begging for mercy, but Lord Corlys's order was known to all, and no one was spared. Slowly, step by step, the army cleared the island of slavers.

By midday they reached the main pirate camp, which sprawled across a wide valley at the foot of the mountains. Several hundred paces before they reached it, the soldiers caught the smell. Faint at first, it grew stronger with every step, until many had to cover their faces with cloths. Corlys reined in his horse at the edge of the valley and silently surveyed what lay before him.

The dead lay everywhere. They lay by burnt-out campfires, in tents and lean-tos, at the entrances of the large pavilions, and along the path leading to the caves. Some still clutched their cups, others lay wrapped in their cloaks as if they were still asleep. After a full day in the sun the bodies had begun to rot, and clouds of flies and flocks of ravens circled over the camp, the birds rising into the air with harsh cries whenever men came near. The dead numbered several thousand, and even hardened soldiers who had gone through Slaver's Bay with Corlys looked upon the sight with grim faces.

"Seven hells," Ser Duncan muttered, surveying the valley from the height of his saddle. "I knew Aguilar's people would do their job, but I didn't think there'd be so many. Half the pirates on the island must have died here."

"More than half," Jon answered quietly, coming up and stopping by Corlys's stirrup. "Most of Drahar's men lived in this camp. Those who spent the night on the ships and at the distant camps survived. The rest drank water from the casks in the cave."

Corlys was silent for some time, looking out over the valley. He felt neither joy nor regret, he only understood that each of these dead men meant one more Velaryon soldier who would return home to his family.

"The bodies must be burned," he said at last, addressing Ser Adam. "Every last one of them, and as quickly as possible. If they're left like this for a few more days, plague will break out on the island, and then we'll lose men not to pirate blades but to sickness. Have a detachment of sailors see to it, and the rest will move on. Where are the slaves kept?"

"In the pens behind the great rock, my lord," Jon replied, pointing toward the far end of the valley, where crude wooden fences could be seen at the foot of the mountain. "Martin should be there. He promised not to leave them until our people arrived."

Corlys urged his horse forward and, accompanied by his knights and a detachment of Unsullied, rode through the camp toward the pens. Along the way they came upon only a few living pirates, who had apparently been hiding among the dead, seeing the soldiers approach, they ran for the woods. The archers brought them down before they could reach the trees.

The pens turned out to be larger than Corlys had expected. They were several long fenced enclosures with sailcloth awnings, beneath which people sat and lay directly on the ground. There were several hundred of them. Men and women, old people and children, fair-haired Lyseni and dark-skinned Summer Islanders, Dornishmen and natives of the Free Cities. Many of them were in chains, and most bore the marks of beatings. Seeing armored soldiers, the captives shrank back against the far walls of the pens and huddled together, clutching their children. They did not understand what was happening. Only yesterday they had heard screams, had seen their overseers running through the camp and smoke rising over the sea, and now strange soldiers in bronze helmets were coming toward them, and none of the captives knew what fate awaited them.

At the gate of the pen they were met by a red-haired young man in a worn leather jerkin. He drew himself up when he saw Corlys and bowed, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Martin, my lord," he introduced himself, straightening. "Of the order. All the slaves are alive. None of them drank the poisoned water or ate from the common pots. The pirates managed to beat a couple of them to death yesterday when the panic started, but after that I didn't let anyone near them. I told the other overseers the slaves had the bloody flux, and they were too frightened to come in here themselves."

"You did well, Martin," Corlys said, dismounting and handing the reins to one of the guardsmen. "Open the gates and take off their chains. And tell them, in whatever tongues they understand, that they have nothing more to fear."

Martin nodded and hurried to carry out the order. When the gates of the pen swung open and the Unsullied went in and began breaking the chains from the captives' wrists and ankles, many of them at first could not believe what was happening. Some sat motionless, staring at the soldiers in terror, expecting to be led to the ships, others wept, still others simply held out their hands and let their shackles be struck off in silence. Only when Martin and several other assassins walked along the pens, repeating in different languages that the pirates were defeated and they were free, did a whisper run through the ranks of the captives, followed by loud voices.

Corlys was standing at the gate watching when an elderly man with a grey beard and a torn shirt limped up to him. He stopped a few paces away, because Ares had raised his head and was staring at him intently, and then, never taking his eyes off the panther, gave an uncertain bow.

"Forgive me, my lord," he said in the Common Tongue, and his voice carried the familiar accent of the Crownlands. "These people say you've come from Westeros. Is it true? Are you truly our own, from Westeros?"

"It's true," Corlys replied, signaling Ares not to frighten the old man. "I am Corlys Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark. And who are you, and where are you from?"

Hearing that name, the old man froze for a moment, and then his face crumpled and he sank to his knees right there in the dust.

"Hobert, my lord," he managed, barely holding back his tears. "Hobert of Duskendale. I was a fisherman. I had a boat, and a son who went to sea with me. Two years ago the pirates took us not far from Tarth. My son was sold to Lys in the very first month, and I was kept here because I was too old to fetch a good price. I mended their nets and boats. I thought I would die on this cursed island, my lord."

Corlys stepped toward him and, taking him by the shoulders, raised the old man from his knees.

"Rise, Hobert," he said firmly, but without harshness. "You need never kneel before anyone again. You will go home, like all the others. And tell my man Martin your son's name and the name of the man he was sold to. I can promise you nothing, but my people in Lys will try to find him."

The old man could only nod, unable to say a word, and, still wiping away his tears, stepped aside. After him, others began to approach Corlys. Among the captives were about three dozen Westerosi: fishermen and merchants from the Stormlands, sailors from trading ships taken off the coast of Dorne, a woman from Oldtown whom the pirates had seized along with her daughter while sailing to Pentos, and two young men from Tarth who kept close together the whole time and looked at the Velaryon soldiers as if they had stepped out of the pages of books about the warriors of the Age of Heroes. Each of them came up to Corlys and thanked him, some kissed his hand, others simply bowed in silence. Those freed from Essos thanked him just as fervently as the Westerosi, though many of them did not understand a word of the Common Tongue and addressed Corlys in their own tongues.

Ser Arthur, standing beside Corlys, watched the pens in silence for a long while. Eight years ago he himself had sat in a pen just like these in Essos, waiting to be sold to the fighting pits of Meereen.

"When they brought me to the market, I prayed to the gods that someone would come and take us away from there," he said quietly, without turning to Corlys. "No one ever came. These people don't know how lucky they are, my lord."

"They know, Ser Arthur," Corlys answered just as quietly, looking at old Hobert, who sat on the ground by the awning, still weeping with his face in his hands. "Look at them. They know it very well."

Corlys ordered that the freed captives be fed and given clean water and clothing, and led under guard to the camp on the shore, where the maesters would tend to the wounded and the sick. After that, the army moved on.

The next two days passed in the same way. Velaryon detachments moved across the island, combing the woods, the rocks and the coastal coves, hunting down the pirates who had scattered across Bloodstone in small groups. The assassins pointed out their hideouts and fallback camps, and the soldiers found the pirates where they had believed themselves safe. Some tried to fight back, others tried to flee to the sea, hoping to find a boat and sail away, but at every cove they were met by Velaryon ships. By the end of the third day of the invasion, every pirate still left on the island had been either killed or driven into the tunnels and caves in the mountains. According to the assassins, about two thousand men were hiding in those caves together with Craghas Drahar himself.

On the evening of the third day, when Corlys returned to his tent, Aguilar was already waiting for him there. The head of the assassins' guild stood in the corner by the tent flap, so still that he might have been mistaken for a shadow, and only when Corlys entered did he step forward and bow. Ares, who had followed his master into the tent, sniffed at Aguilar but immediately lost interest in him and lay down in his usual place by the entrance.

"My lord," Aguilar said in his level voice, devoid of any feeling. "I have news from Tyrosh."

"Speak," Corlys replied, unbuckling his scabbarded sword and laying it on the stand beside his bed.

"Our people in Tyrosh report that on the day of our landing in the Stepstones, one of the pirate ships managed to slip past our fleet," Aguilar went on, clasping his hands behind his back. "It was a small ship with good oarsmen. It left the Quiet Cove on the southern side of the island in the night and put out to sea before our ships could close all the passages. Aboard was a Lyseni named Mello, Craghas Drahar's second. Two days ago he reached Tyrosh, and that same evening he stood before the council of magisters."

Corlys turned slowly toward him and frowned. He had understood that sooner or later the Triarchy would learn of the invasion, but he had hoped they would have more time.

"So Tyrosh already knows everything," he said, leaning his hands on the edge of the table.

"They know, my lord," Aguilar confirmed. "Mello told them about the poisoning, about the destruction of the fleet, about the green fire, and about the Unsullied. Our man, who serves as a scribe to one of the magisters, says there was real panic in the council. At first the magisters refused to believe it had all happened so quickly, but then word came from the other islands, and they were left with no doubt. Tyrosh has already begun gathering sellswords to send to the pirates' aid. They are hiring everyone they can find in the port, buying ships from merchants, and they have sent envoys to Lys and Myr asking them to contribute their own forces. Exactly how many men they will manage to gather and when they will put to sea is not yet known. But our people are watching."

Corlys considered what he had heard in silence for some time. Then he looked up at Aguilar and nodded.

"Thank you, Aguilar," he said. "Your people have done more in this war than anyone else, and I will not forget it. Let them keep watching Tyrosh, and Lys and Myr as well. As soon as it's known how many ships they've gathered and when they mean to put to sea, I want to be the first to hear of it. And now leave me. I need to think."

Aguilar bowed again and left the tent as silently as he had appeared in it. Corlys stood by the table a little longer, then went to the entrance and called to one of the guardsmen standing outside.

"Find Captain Hale and bring him to me," he ordered. "Tell him the matter is urgent."

Captain Ormund Hale, who commanded the Velaryon ships in the waters of Bloodstone while Corlys was ashore, arrived quite quickly. He was a short, stoutly built man of about forty-five with a short grey beard and a weathered face, who had spent more of his life at sea than on land and had served Corlys's grandfather before him. Entering the tent, he took off his cap and bowed.

"You sent for me, my lord?" Captain Hale asked, glancing at the maps spread out on the table.

"I did, Ormund," Corlys replied, beckoning him closer. "I've just learned that on the day of our landing one of the pirate ships managed to escape us and reach Tyrosh. The magisters already know everything that happened here and have begun gathering sellswords. Most likely, before long, a fleet will be sent from Tyrosh to the Stepstones, and it will be larger than the remnants we found here."

Captain Hale frowned and rubbed his beard.

"So we let one ship get away," he muttered in vexation. "I gave orders to close off every cove. Forgive me, my lord. The fault is mine."

"We had too much on our hands that day to keep track of every boat," Corlys said, shaking his head. "Sooner or later they would have found out anyway. What matters more is what we do next. Tell all the captains to be vigilant. Have them strengthen the patrols on the southern and eastern approaches to the Stepstones, and keep a few fast ships farther out on the open sea, so that we can spot the Triarchy's fleet long before it reaches the islands. I don't want us to be caught off guard the way we caught Drahar."

"It will be done, my lord," Captain Hale said with a nod. "But if they gather a large fleet, it will be hard for us to hold all the islands at once. Ships are needed here and with your brothers as well."

"That's exactly why I don't intend to wait for them at the islands," Corlys replied, running his finger across the map from Tyrosh to the Stepstones. "Aguilar's people will tell us when the sellswords put to sea and how many there are. I want to know the exact time, intercept them on the open sea, and destroy them before they ever reach the Stepstones. Sellswords sitting in the holds of other men's ships will be able to do nothing against our scorpions. In the meantime, keep the ships ready to sail at the first order."

Captain Hale nodded, bowed once more, and left. Corlys waited until his footsteps faded, then went to the chest standing by his bed. Opening it, he took out a book bound in dark leather, no different in appearance from an ordinary travel journal. But it was no ordinary book. Whatever one of the brothers wrote in it immediately appeared in the two other identical books that Corlys had enchanted. He sat down at the table, opened it, and saw that new entries had already appeared on its pages.

The first was Daeron's, written in an even, neat hand. His brother wrote that the Triarchy's fleet at Torturer's Deep had been broken and the landing had gone well. As expected, the pirates on the island had been demoralized by the poisoning and had offered almost no resistance on the shore, and now they had retreated into the tunnels. Losses were light. Below, in a more sprawling hand, Veylor had written. His fleet had also won its sea battle, though the pirates at Grey Gallows had managed to set two of his ships alight, and he had already landed on the island and was pressing the enemy back toward the mountains. At the end, Veylor added that all was well with him and that Corlys need not worry, though from those very words Corlys understood that his younger brother was far more anxious than he wanted to let on.

Corlys smiled, took up a quill, and wrote his brothers a reply. He told them the news from Tyrosh. He asked them to stay on their guard and not leave the coves unwatched, and not to rush into the tunnels if the pirates did not wish to come out on their own. When he had finished, he closed the book, put it back in the chest, and pulled the maps of the islands toward him.

He studied them for a long time, checking them against the scouts' reports and the assassins' notes. When Ser Adam came into the tent to report that the sentries had been posted, Corlys was still bent over the maps and did not raise his head right away.

"My brothers have done their part too," Corlys said, without waiting to be asked, tapping his finger on two islands to the south of Bloodstone. "Daeron has landed on Torturer's Deep, Veylor on Grey Gallows. The Triarchy's fleets have been broken on all three fronts, and the pirates have been driven into the mountains."

"That's good news, my lord," Ser Adam replied with relief, coming up to the table and looking at the map. "So everything is going just as you planned."

"For now, yes," Corlys nodded. "A week at most, and all three main islands will be taken. The rest will fall even faster, because there's no one left to defend them. All the Triarchy's ships and all its best fighters were here, on the lesser islands there are only camps, storehouses and small garrisons. Within a month we should have a firm hold on the Stepstones. Raise forts at the main coves, repair the captured ships, and establish supply lines from Driftmark."

"And after that?" Ser Adam asked, watching his lord closely.

"After that, we'll have to deal with the consequences," Corlys replied, setting the map aside. "With the Triarchy, which won't give up the Stepstones so easily. With King Jaehaerys, who will learn that I've taken what he himself meant to take. And with those lords at court who will whisper to him that the Velaryons have grown too strong. But that will come later. First we must finish what we started here. Tomorrow we smoke Drahar out of his burrow."