Chapter 53 (Patreon)

93 AC. The Stepstones. Bloodstone

The next day, as soon as dawn broke, the Velaryon host surrounded the mountain at whose foot lay the entrances to the caves. The pirates called the place the Red Gates, for the reddish stone of the cliffs around the main entrance. The tunnels inside the mountain ran for many hundreds of paces, branching, joining one another, and opening onto the surface in eight different places. For years the pirates had used them as storehouses and hideouts, and anyone who tried to drive them out by force would have lost hundreds of men in those narrow passages. That was exactly what Craghas Drahar had counted on when he retreated into the mountains.

But thanks to the assassins, Corlys knew where every tunnel led and where every exit lay. The evening before, together with Ser Adam and the company commanders, he had drawn up a plan that would force the pirates to come out on their own. Now companies of soldiers stood at each of the eight entrances. The main entrance, the widest of them all, opened onto a rocky clearing at the foot of the mountain, beyond which a slope ran down toward the forest. It was here that Corlys ordered his main strength drawn up. The Unsullied formed several ranks in a half-circle around the clearing, shields locked, with archers behind them and companies of guardsmen holding the flanks.

At the other seven entrances, all was ready. At Corlys's signal, given by horn, the soldiers of each of the seven companies began to enter the caves. They advanced slowly and carefully, covering one another with their shields, and behind them several men rolled large barrels, tightly sealed and daubed with pitch. Few knew what was inside those barrels. Corlys himself had devised the mixture back on Driftmark, and everyone who was to handle it had been strictly ordered not to open the barrels before the time came and to keep well away from the smoke.

Inside the caves it was dark and quiet. The soldiers pressed on by torchlight, and only now and then did voices and rustling drift up from the depths of the tunnels. The pirates were waiting for them farther in, where the passages grew especially narrow and an ambush would be easiest to spring. But the Velaryon soldiers had no intention of going that far. After about a hundred paces they halted, set the barrels down in the middle of the tunnels, knocked off the lids, and set the contents alight with their torches.

The mixture did not start smoking at once. At first it only smouldered, but soon the fire spread through the whole barrel, and thick yellow-grey smoke with a sharp, acrid stench came billowing out. It rose to the roofs of the caves and spread through the tunnels, drawn deep into the mountain by the currents of air. The soldiers who had lit the barrels immediately turned and strode quickly toward the exits, covering their faces with wet rags, yet even they, though they had been near the smoke only briefly, were left coughing and wiping their streaming eyes when they made it outside.

As soon as the last soldier had left the caves, sacks of powder prepared in advance were placed at each of the seven entrances. The company commanders led their men back to a safe distance and lit the fuses, and seven explosions thundered over the mountain one after another. The ground shuddered underfoot, stones came tumbling down the slopes, and pillars of dust rose above the cave mouths. When the dust had settled a little, it could be seen that all seven entrances were choked with broken rock, so that not even a rat could have squeezed through. Now the pirates had only one way out, the very one where Corlys was waiting for them.

Corlys stood on a rise at the edge of the clearing, from which he had a good view of the main entrance, and watched the first smoke begin to creep out of the dark opening in the rock. Beside him stood Ser Adam, Ser Duncan, and Ser Arthur, and at his feet sat Ares, sniffing at the acrid smell and wrinkling his nose in displeasure.

"They'll start coming out soon," Corlys said, never taking his eyes off the cave mouth. "First one at a time or in small groups, because they'll be choking and unable to see. Then, once they realize there's no way out, they'll rush out all at once. Remember my order. Spare none of the pirates and take no prisoners. Even if they throw down their weapons and fall to their knees. Every one of these men has traded in human flesh for years, and not one of them will leave this cave alive."

"And Craghas Drahar, my lord?" asked one of the commanders, a young knight from Driftmark, clutching his helm in his hands. "Should he be killed on the spot as well, if he comes out?"

"If he comes out, don't go after him unless you must," Corlys answered, turning to him. "Drahar is mine. But if he threatens any of you, don't wait for me. Kill him."

"The archers are ready, my lord," Ser Adam reported. "The Unsullied as well. We've closed off the whole slope, and even if some pirate breaks through the first rank, there are three more behind it."

"Good," Corlys nodded. "Then we wait."

They did not have to wait long. The smoke pouring from the cave grew ever thicker, and soon shouting and the ragged coughing of many men could be heard from within. The first pirates came running out very shortly after. They stumbled out of the cave, tripping and falling on the stones, clutching at their throats, rubbing their reddened eyes, looking about and trying to catch their breath. Many of them weren't even holding weapons. But the moment they appeared in the clearing, arrows flew toward them. The Velaryon archers shot accurately and without haste, and the first pirates fell before they could even understand where they had come out or who was waiting for them. Others came running out after them and were met the same way.

At first the pirates tried to go back into the cave to shelter from the arrows, but inside only the acrid smoke awaited them, burning their eyes and tearing at their chests. Some of them, after a few more moments inside, came running out again, coughing up blood. Those who came out with raised hands and threw their weapons to the ground died just like all the rest. Soon even the dullest of them understood that there would be no mercy and that they could not go back into the caves.

And so they charged. A whole mob of pirates poured out of the opening in the rock, armed with sabers, axes, spears, and boarding hooks. They ran across the clearing, leaping over the bodies of their comrades and paying no heed to the arrows that kept cutting down their ranks. They screamed in many tongues, and in their cries rang the fury and despair of men with nothing left to lose. They hoped to break through the Velaryon cordon and escape into the forest, where they might hide and survive at least a little longer.

But the line of Unsullied did not waver. The pirates crashed into the shield wall, and the Unsullied met them with spear thrusts without giving a single step. The first ranks of pirates went down at once. Those behind tried to break through the shields, hacking at them with axes, trying to hook them and drag them aside, climbing over the bodies of the slain, but each time they ran onto spears that struck fast and true. The Unsullied did not shout or curse, they simply did their work, and with every thrust the ground at their feet was covered with more bodies. The pirates fell back, gathered their strength, and threw themselves forward again, and again they were beaten. The few who managed to slip between the shields died at once at the hands of the second rank, while the archers kept shooting at those still running out of the cave.

It was a slaughter. Corlys watched it from the rise, never once looking away, and from time to time gave brief orders to his commanders, who passed them on to their companies at once. He saw how the pirates, realizing the shield wall in the center could not be broken, began searching for weak points on the flanks, and how the Velaryon guardsmen met them there just as the Unsullied met them in the center. He saw how one of the pirate leaders, a red-bearded giant with a two-handed axe, managed to hack his way through two ranks of Unsullied before he was lifted on their spears. Redbeard, Corlys remembered from the assassins' reports. One of Drahar's captains.

And then Craghas Drahar himself came out of the cave, and Corlys recognized him at once. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a long black beard plaited into braids woven with rings and coins, and a curved saber in his hand. He emerged from the smoke surrounded by a score of his personal guards, and unlike the other pirates he neither coughed nor rubbed his eyes, though his face was red and tears from the acrid smoke ran down his cheeks. He looked over the ground strewn with the bodies of his men, saw the line of Unsullied, the archers on the slope, and the seahorse banners, and then his gaze settled on the rise where Corlys stood. Craghas Drahar raised his saber, pointed it at Corlys, and shouted something to his men, then charged forward with them, straight at the line of Unsullied.

Corlys drew his sword, curtly told his commanders to hold the line, and leapt down from the rise, heading straight for the spot where Drahar's pirates had collided with the Unsullied.

"My lord!" cried Ser Adam, rushing after him, but Corlys didn't even look back.

The Unsullied, seeing their lord, parted to let him through, and Corlys crashed into the crowd of pirates surrounding Craghas Drahar. Ares followed at his heels. The panther leapt upon any pirate who tried to come at Corlys from behind or from the side, knocking him down and tearing out his throat before he could raise his weapon. One of Drahar's guards swung an axe at Corlys, but Ares sprang onto his back, and the axe fell from the pirate's hands along with half his shoulder.

Ser Duncan advanced on Corlys's right, towering a head above the pirates, cutting left and right with his enormous sword as easily as if the men around him were not armed warriors but straw dummies in a training yard.

"Stay with Lord Corlys!" Ser Duncan roared, his voice carrying over the clash of steel and the screams of the wounded. "Keep close to him, in the name of the Seven! Anyone who falls behind will answer to me!"

Hearing him, the Velaryon guardsmen closed around Corlys in a tight ring. Ser Adam and Ser Arthur fought on the left, covering their lord, and step by step they cut their way through Drahar's guards until no enemy remained before Corlys but Craghas Drahar himself.

The pirate halted a few paces from Corlys and, breathing heavily, looked him in the face. The battle still raged around them, but Drahar had no guards left, and the Velaryon guardsmen, mindful of their lord's order, did not interfere, but only formed a wide ring around the two, keeping the remaining pirates away.

"Corlys Velaryon," said Craghas Drahar, spitting out each word with hatred, and shifted his grip on his saber. "The Sea Snake himself. I hoped you'd dare to come to me yourself, instead of hiding behind your eunuchs to the very end."

"You could have come to me yourself three days ago, on the shore," Corlys replied calmly, raising his sword. "But then you chose to run for the mountains."

Craghas Drahar roared and threw himself at him. It had to be said in his favor that he was a skilled fighter. He had not survived so many years on the Stepstones, where every other man dreamed of taking his place, for nothing, nor earned his name for nothing. His saber moved fast, his blows came one after another, and any ordinary warrior would long since have let one of them through. But even a man who knew nothing of the art of war would have seen that Corlys was the better swordsman. He moved lightly and without wasted motion, turning aside Drahar's strikes and slipping off the line of attack as if he knew in advance where the blow would land. Each time Drahar's saber met Corlys's blade, a new notch ran along its edge, while the dark Valyrian steel bore not the slightest mark.

Craghas Drahar understood this too. He stepped back to catch his breath, cast a quick glance at his saber, then looked at Corlys again.

"You're a coward, Velaryon," he hissed, slowly circling Corlys. "You poisoned my men like rats in a granary. Thousands of warriors died in their sleep without ever taking up their arms. You knew you couldn't beat us any other way, so you sent your poisoners. No true warrior would stoop to that. In Westeros they love to prattle about knightly honor, yet they make war with poison, like Lysene whores."

"In war, any means will serve," Corlys answered, never taking his eyes off him and not moving from his place. "Especially against those who trade in men and slaughter whole villages for the sake of a few slaves. Your men died in their sleep, but how many people died because of you in the holds of your ships? You don't even remember. And if you hoped to provoke me with insults, so that in my anger I'd make a mistake and open myself to your blow, then I must disappoint you. Such cheap tricks don't work on me."

Drahar's face twisted with rage, and he charged again. But this time Corlys stopped toying with him. He stepped forward to meet him and went on the attack himself, striking so fast that Drahar could barely parry. The pirate's saber darted from side to side, beating back Corlys's blade, but each time slower and less certain. After several exchanges, Corlys's sword slid along Drahar's saber and laid open his left shoulder. Drahar snarled in pain and tried to strike back, but Corlys had already stepped aside and slashed him across the ribs, cleaving his leather armor. Drahar staggered and fell back a step, and in that instant Corlys ducked under his saber and with one precise stroke cut the tendons of his right leg.

Craghas Drahar crashed to his knees. The saber fell from his hand and rang against the stones, and he tried to rise, but his leg would no longer hold him. Corlys kicked the saber aside and stood directly before him. All around them the fighting was slowly dying down. The last pirates were falling beneath the spears of the Unsullied, and those still alive were throwing down their weapons, seeing their leader on his knees before Lord Velaryon.

Corlys looked Craghas Drahar straight in the eyes. The pirate was breathing heavily, blood running down his face and mingling with the tears from the acrid smoke, but he did not look away.

"I am Lord Corlys Velaryon, Master of Driftmark, Lord of the Tides and of the Narrow Sea," Corlys said in an even voice, so that all who stood around could hear him. "For piracy, for plunder, for selling men into slavery, for crimes committed against the people and the inhabitants of Westeros, I sentence you, Craghas Drahar, to death."

Craghas Drahar opened his mouth as if to answer, but Corlys did not listen. He raised his sword and with a single stroke struck off the pirate's head.

93 AC. King's Landing

The first talk began while the lower districts of the capital were still clearing away the filth the storm had left behind. Six septons, who until then had each served in his own sept and scarcely knew one another, began speaking to their flocks about the same thing almost at once. Septon Edwin spoke of it to the fishermen and fishwives from the fish market who came to him by the River Gate. Septon Allard preached in the poorest alleys of Flea Bottom, where people listened to him sitting right on the steps and on upturned baskets. And old Septon Meryn told the same to the sick and wounded in the infirmary of the city's chief sept, as he bandaged those hurt in the storm. At first their words were passed along in whispers, as any news is passed in a great city, but with every week their listeners grew more numerous.

The septons said that the Stepstones would soon be cleansed of pirates. They reminded the people that the pirates on those islands did not merely plunder merchant ships. They took fishermen, sailors, women, and children captive, put them in chains, and sold them in Lys, Tyrosh, and Slaver's Bay like cattle at a fair. This was a sin, the septons said, that the Seven condemned even more than the murder of one's neighbor. A murderer takes a man's life, but a slaver takes his very soul, stripping him of his will, his name, and his right to pray to his gods, and does it not in anger or despair but for profit. The patience of the gods was not endless, and they had already given the people signs that the hour of reckoning was near. The septons spoke of these signs cautiously and never named them outright, but each of them repeated that the people would soon see everything with their own eyes.

Many listened to the septons with interest, and some with hope. King's Landing had no shortage of families from whom the pirates had, in one year or another, taken a father, a brother, or a son who went to sea and never came home. To such people these words sounded like a promise of justice they had never even dared to think of. But most of the townsfolk still had their doubts. In recent years the capital had seen far too many septons who spoke of mercy in the morning and guided folk onto the righteous path, and in the evening counted the alms collected for the orphans. After last year's scandal, people were in no hurry to believe anything a septon said. Some said the septons were simply frightened by the storm and were searching it for a meaning that wasn't there. Others said that prophets always appear after such disasters and vanish just as quickly as they came. And in the taverns by the port they even laughed that if the gods truly meant to punish the pirates, for some reason they had started with the royal fleet.

Everything changed two days ago, when the High Septon himself unexpectedly arrived in the capital from Oldtown. He came without long warning and without a grand retinue, accompanied only by a few septons from the Starry Sept and a small company of personal guards, and on his very first day he held a service in the Sept of Remembrance. The sept could not hold all who wished to come, and people stood on the steps, in the square before it, and even in the neighboring streets, passing his words along to one another. The High Septon said the same things the six septons had said before him. He spoke of the sin of slavery, of the Stepstones that would soon be cleansed, and of a man chosen by the Father. But unlike them, he did not speak in hints.

"I have come to you not because I was told of this, but because I saw it myself," the High Septon said, and his voice carried beneath the vaults of the sept so that even those standing by the very doors could hear him. "The Seven sent me visions. Night after night they showed me the same thing, until I understood I had no right to stay silent. And when I learned that six servants of the Faith here in King's Landing, men I had never met and who had never met one another, had seen the very same thing down to the smallest detail, I understood that the gods had spoken. I do not know exactly when it will come to pass. But it will come to pass soon, and then you will understand that all you were told was true."

After that, the doubts among the faithful vanished almost entirely. Six septons from the poor quarters might still be called frightened old men, but the High Septon was the voice of the Seven themselves in Westeros, and no one dared argue with him. By the evening of that same day his sermon was being discussed in every market and every tavern. Worshippers retold it to their neighbors, market women repeated it to their customers, and sailors carried the rumors on their ships to other ports. In the retelling, as always happens, people added new details of their own. Some claimed the High Septon had named the day it would happen, others said the man chosen by the Father would come from the sea, and still others insisted that the storm itself had been the first of the promised signs. None of them knew who was meant. But by the end of the second day there was scarcely anyone left in King's Landing who had not heard of the prophecy.

The small council chamber was stifling despite the open windows. A faint breeze blew in from the bay, but it brought almost no coolness, only the sound of hammers, the shouts of stevedores, and the creak of winches from the port. A week ago, nothing could be seen from here but the stumps of masts jutting from the water and the broken hulls of ships along the quays, but now most of the harbor had been cleared, and merchant ships were once again coming in to the piers.

King Jaehaerys sat at the head of the table. On his right sat Queen Alysanne, and beside her Prince Aemon, who as always held a stack of papers before him, though he rarely looked at them. On the king's left sat the Hand, Septon Barth, and beyond him the master of coin, Martyn Tyrell, and Grand Maester Elysar, who as was his habit slowly fingered the links of his chain. The new master of ships, Paxter Redwyne, sat at the end of the table with a map of the narrow sea spread before him, and his face made it plain that over the past weeks he had slept far less than he would have liked. The seat of the master of whisperers stood empty.

"We'll begin without Lord Rosby," the king said, casting a brief glance at the empty chair, then turned to Paxter. "Lord Redwyne, last time you said you needed time to clear the port. Judging by what I can see from the window, you've had some success."

"I have, Your Grace," Paxter replied, and for the first time in a long while something like relief sounded in his voice. "The workers you assigned me finished last night. We've raised from the bottom, or broken up right there underwater, nearly all the sunken ships that were blocking the way. The main quay and both northern piers are open again, and merchant ships can moor without delay. In the southern part of the port some wreckage still lies underwater, but it sits deep and doesn't hinder even large cogs. The timber we managed to salvage has been sent to the storehouses. Some of it will go for firewood, and some can still be used in the shipyards."

"That is good news," Queen Alysanne nodded, and turned to her son. "And what of the city, Aemon?"

"The city has fully recovered, Mother," Prince Aemon answered, pushing one of his sheets aside. "The streets in the lower districts have been cleared, the ruined houses torn down, and the old storehouses by the River Gate have been set aside for those left without a roof over their heads until new homes are built for them. The merchants who at first gave our port a wide berth have begun to return. According to the harbormaster, nearly as many ships entered the harbor this past week as before the storm."

"The duties have begun flowing into the treasury again," Martyn Tyrell added, tapping his fingers on his notes. "Not yet at the former level, but if things continue this way, by the end of the month we'll be back to our usual revenues. Which, I confess, is most welcome, considering what Lord Redwyne's workers have cost us."

Septon Barth, who had until then been silently making notes in his papers, raised his head and looked at the king over his parchment.

"The city is calmer now than one might have expected after such a calamity, Your Grace," he observed in his usual measured tone. "In part, that is the High Septon's doing. Since his sermon, people talk more about the Stepstones and portents than about the storm wrecking their homes. I cannot say the talk of prophecies pleases me, but as long as it helps people keep their hope, it does little harm."

"Let them talk about whatever they like, so long as it doesn't keep them from working," the king replied, wincing slightly, as though the subject displeased him. "What concerns me far more right now is not what they say in the streets, but how we are to begin the war we spent more than a year preparing for, and which a single night took from us. Lord Redwyne, you promised to prepare your thoughts on the fleet."

Paxter nodded and pushed the map closer to the middle of the table so that everyone present could see it.

"I have prepared them, Your Grace, though I must warn you at once that none of the options will be quick," he said, running a finger along the coast of the stormlands. "Building a new royal fleet this year is impossible. Even if every shipyard in the realm were put to work, a single warship would take no less than a month, and even longer, and we need dozens. So we shall have to gather what there is. The remnants of the Lannister fleet, those ships that were not in the bay, without putting the safety of the westerlands at risk. The ships of the Hightowers, if Lord Manfred agrees to provide them after all, and the merchant ships of my own house. They're no match for the Triarchy's fleet in battle, but they'll serve for carrying soldiers, horses, and supplies. Beyond that, we can buy or hire ships from merchants in Lannisport, Oldtown, and Pentos. Traders will gladly hire out their ships if the crown pays well."

"Pays well," Martyn Tyrell repeated, in a tone that suggested the words pained him. "Have you any notion, Lord Redwyne, how much the merchants will ask once they realize the crown needs their ships for war? Especially after all Westeros has seen what became of the royal fleet. No trader will risk his ship for ordinary pay. They'll demand twice as much, or even three times, and on top of that they'll want the crown to repay them the cost of their ships if they go to the bottom."

"I understand that, Lord Tyrell," Paxter answered calmly, without raising his eyes from the map. "But we have no other choice. Either we pay the merchants, or we wait several years until we've built a new fleet. And in those several years the Triarchy will fortify the Stepstones so well that driving it out will cost far more."

Queen Alysanne leaned over the map, studying the islands scattered between the Dornish coast and Essos.

"Carrying an army to the Stepstones is only half the task," she said, shifting her gaze from the map to Paxter. "If we land soldiers on the islands, they will have to be fed, watered, and supplied with arms for as long as the war lasts. And from what we know of the Stepstones, the war there could drag on for months. There is almost no fresh water on those islands, and almost nothing grows. How do you intend to bring supplies there, if the Triarchy has warships and we have only merchantmen?"

"That is the chief difficulty, Your Grace," Paxter admitted, and vexation showed on his face. "Merchant ships can be escorted by dragons, but the dragons can't guard every convoy. If the pirates intercept even a few of them, the army on the islands will be hard pressed."

Prince Aemon looked at the map in silence for a while, then reached out and pointed to a small town on the southern coast of the stormlands.

"Then we must shorten the route those convoys take," he said, tapping the map with his finger. "If we ship supplies from King's Landing or from Oldtown, the ships will spend weeks sailing along the coast, and every day of the voyage will be a danger to them. But Rain House, the seat of House Wylde, lies almost directly across from the Stepstones. If we set up the main storehouses there, bring grain in from the Reach and the stormlands and arms from the westerlands, and gather horses and soldiers in the surrounding country, then the passage to the islands will take only a few days. Another storehouse could be set up on Tarth. Lord Tarth won't refuse the crown, and his island guards the approaches to the bay from the sea."

"Rain House is not large, Aemon," the queen remarked, studying the map thoughtfully. "Its harbor won't take as many ships as we'll need."

"Perhaps it won't," the prince agreed. "But the ships needn't be kept in the harbor itself. They can lie at anchor along the coast, while the town holds only the storehouses and the men responsible for loading. What we need is for supply ships to sail for the islands constantly, in small batches, rather than waiting for a great convoy to gather. That way, even if the pirates take one ship, the army on the islands won't go hungry."

Paxter nodded, clearly weighing the prince's proposal, and made several marks along the edge of the map.

"That could work, Your Highness," he said. "Though it will take a great many men to watch over the storehouses and the dispatch of ships. Every barrel and every sack will have to be accounted for, or half the supplies will vanish into people's pockets before they ever reach the ships."

"That was how the fleet's supply was arranged under Lord Corlys," Grand Maester Elysar observed quietly, looking up from his chain. "An account of every barrel and every sack. It is quite achievable."

An awkward silence hung over the chamber for a moment. The king gave the Grand Maester a heavy look, and Elysar, realizing he had said too much, lowered his eyes to his chain once more. Paxter pretended not to have noticed, and Martyn Tyrell became far too absorbed in his notes.

It was at that moment that the chamber door opened and Lord Gilbert Rosby came in. He looked even paler than usual, and beads of sweat glistened on his brow, as though he had nearly run the whole way to the small council chamber. Pressing a handkerchief to his lips, he bowed to the king and queen and hurried to his seat.

The king followed him with his eyes and, waiting until Rosby had lowered himself into his chair, said in a cold tone, "Lord Rosby, it ill becomes you to be late to a meeting of the small council. Especially now, when the capital is only beginning to recover from the storm and we are discussing a war we should have begun a month ago. If the master of whisperers has no time for the council, perhaps I ought to find someone who does?!"

Gilbert Rosby coughed into his handkerchief and, catching his breath, answered without raising his eyes to the king.

"I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace," he said in a hoarse voice. "I would never have allowed myself to be late without good reason. I was delayed in order to verify certain tidings, and, regrettably, they proved most troubling."

Jaehaerys frowned, and the irritation on his face gave way to wariness.

"What tidings are these?" he asked, leaning forward.

Rosby put away his handkerchief, folded his hands on the table, and began to speak, choosing his words with care.

"Yesterday my men on Driftmark reported to me, Your Grace," he said. "They told me that in recent weeks an unusual number of ships had been entering the port of Spicetown. That alone would not have been anything strange, but according to them, these ships were being loaded not with cloth or wine or any other goods, but with provisions and arms. Casks of salt beef, sacks of grain, crates of arrows, bundles of spears. Beyond that, I was told that more than a week ago Lord Corlys left Spicetown aboard his flagship, the Sea Snake, and put out to sea escorted by ten warships. Where exactly he was bound, my men could not say."

Queen Alysanne slowly straightened in her chair, and unease came into her eyes.

"That is very troubling, Lord Rosby," she said, watching the master of whisperers closely. "But how certain are you that these truly were arms and provisions, and not ordinary goods for sale? Spicetown is a great trading town, dozens of ships laden with goods pass through it every day, if not more. Did your men see what exactly was being carried, or are they merely repeating rumors?"

"I would wish it were exactly so, Your Grace," Rosby replied, and his voice made it clear he spoke sincerely. "Last night I doubted these reports myself, and so I did not bring them to the king at once. But this morning I met with merchants who had just arrived in the capital from Essos, and what they told me confirmed the worst fears. It was because of that conversation that I was late to the council."

Prince Aemon set his papers aside and looked hard at Rosby.

"What did you learn today, Lord Gilbert?" he asked directly, wasting no time on courtesies.

Gilbert Rosby opened his mouth, then closed it again at once. He shifted his gaze from the prince to the king, then to the queen, and then to his own folded hands, as though hoping to find words that might soften what he had to say. The pause dragged on so long that the king began drumming his fingers impatiently on the table. At last Rosby raised his head.

"Lord Corlys has invaded the Stepstones, Your Grace," he said.

The chamber fell silent. Even the noise drifting up from the inner yard of the Red Keep seemed to grow muffled. Martyn Tyrell froze with his quill in hand, Paxter Redwyne slowly raised his head from his map, and Grand Maester Elysar sat up straight in his chair.

"Lord Corlys did what?" the king demanded sternly, and his voice rang so cold that Rosby shrank back into his chair despite himself.

"The merchants I spoke with were coming from Volantis and sailed past the Stepstones, Your Grace," Rosby went on, trying to keep his voice steady, though his fingers were visibly trembling. "They kept well clear of the islands, as every merchant ship has done in recent years, but even from afar they could see that the Triarchy's fleet was burning. By their account, dozens of ships were burning down to the waterline in the bays of Bloodstone, and the water all around was covered in wreckage. When they drew nearer to the strait, they saw bloated pirate corpses floating everywhere on the surface. And off the islands lay a great many ships under raised sails bearing a seahorse. One of the captains told me there were no fewer than a hundred of them, but that may be an exaggeration. He himself did not dare come close, fearing he would be taken for a pirate."

Queen Alysanne went pale. She slowly lowered her hand to the edge of the table, as though she suddenly needed something to lean on, and looked at her husband. Jaehaerys was silent for a time, staring at Rosby as if hoping he would say he had been mistaken.

"Are you telling me, Lord Rosby," he said at last, slowly pronouncing every word, "that Corlys Velaryon has begun a war with the Triarchy without a direct command from his king?"

"There is still much I do not know, Your Grace," Rosby answered, lowering his eyes. "I do not know how many men he has, which islands he has already taken, or how firmly he holds them. The merchants did not go ashore and spoke with none of Lord Corlys's men. But it seems that is exactly so."

The king slammed his palm down on the table so hard that the wine cups jumped and one of them toppled over, the wine spreading across the edge of Paxter's map. No one so much as stirred.

"How did Corlys Velaryon even dare to do such a thing?" Jaehaerys growled, rising from his chair. "Without my knowledge, without my command, without a single word to his king! He has begun a war in the name of a crown that never charged him with it! He has dragged the Seven Kingdoms into war with three of the Free Cities as though it were his own private affair, and has not even troubled to tell me of it! I learn that my vassal is at war with the Triarchy from merchants out of Volantis!"

Queen Alysanne rose after her husband and gently laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Jaehaerys, please, calm yourself," she said, quietly but insistently, looking into his face. "We still know nothing for certain. All we have heard is what the merchants saw from afar, from the deck of their ship. Before we decide anything, we must learn what truly happened on the Stepstones, and only then act. If we give in to anger now, we may make a mistake we will not be able to undo."

The king stood motionless for a few moments, breathing heavily, and then sank back into his chair, though his hands remained clenched into fists. The queen sat down beside him, keeping her hand on his.

Martyn Tyrell cleared his throat cautiously and looked at the king, clearly deciding whether now was the time to speak.

"If I may, Your Grace," he said at last, "it seems to me that matters are not as dire as they may appear at first glance. No one disputes that Lord Corlys has the strongest fleet in Westeros. If he resolved to burn the Triarchy's ships, he may well have succeeded, especially after the pirates learned of the loss of our fleet and surely grew careless. But a fleet is only ships. To take the Stepstones, one must land on the islands and drive the pirates out, and there are thousands of them there. And to hold the islands, one needs garrisons. Where will Velaryon find so many men? Driftmark is a small island, and even if Lord Corlys summoned every last man of his vassals, he would not muster even five thousand. With such strength he might take one island, but he could not hold the whole chain of the Stepstones against the Triarchy."

Queen Alysanne made no reply. She was looking at Paxter's map, where the wine was slowly spreading in a dark stain along the edge of the narrow sea, and remembering a conversation held in this very chamber before that ill-fated feast. Corlys had stood before her and Jaehaerys then and calmly, without the slightest doubt, proposed to take the Stepstones with the strength of House Velaryon alone. He had said he needed neither royal troops nor dragons, only the right to hold the islands he would win with his own blood. He had promised he would take the Stepstones within a few months. At the time it had seemed to Alysanne the arrogance of a man who held himself too high. But now she understood that Corlys had proposed nothing idly. In all the years he had served the crown, he had never once promised what he could not deliver. If he said he could take the Stepstones by his own strength, then he had already known how to do it, and where he would find the men for it.

"Corlys would not have begun this war unless he was certain he could win it," she said quietly, without taking her eyes from the map. "Do you remember what he proposed to us when he asked us to give him the Stepstones? To take them without the crown's help, with the strength of his own house alone. We thought he was exaggerating. And now, it seems, he has simply done what he promised."

The king said nothing, but from the way his jaw tightened it was plain he had come to the same conclusion.

Prince Aemon, who had been listening silently to the others all this while, turned to Rosby.

"Lord Gilbert, did my sister go with Corlys?" he asked, and for the first time there was worry in his voice. "Did Viserra fly to the Stepstones on her dragon?"

"As far as I know, no, Your Highness," Rosby answered, shaking his head. "My men on Driftmark report that Princess Viserra is still at High Tide with the children and Lady Alice. Her dragon has been seen over the island in recent days, but no one has seen it fly out toward the sea."

Aemon gave a short nod, clearly relieved, and then turned to his father.

"Then I will go to High Tide myself," he said firmly. "If Corlys was preparing for this war, Viserra cannot have been ignorant of it. I will speak with her and learn everything from her in person. How many men Corlys has, which islands he means to take, and what he is after. That will be faster and more reliable than waiting for Lord Rosby's spies to gather word from merchants."

Grand Maester Elysar raised his head and looked at the prince with concern.

"Prince Aemon, allow me to voice a doubt," he said cautiously. "If Lord Corlys has truly begun a war without the crown's leave, his act may be regarded as open defiance. There is no knowing how his people at High Tide will behave if the heir to the throne arrives there. Would it not be dangerous for you to go without proper guard?"

Aemon shot the Grand Maester an irritated look, as though he had said something utterly absurd.

"Caraxes is my guard, Maester Elysar," he answered sharply. "And I am not flying to an enemy castle, but to my sister. Even if Corlys has lost his wits entirely, I do not think anyone at High Tide would dare raise a hand against their own lady's brother and the heir to the throne."

The king considered what he had heard in silence for a time, looking at his son.

"Go at once, Aemon," he said firmly. "Today. Learn everything you can from Viserra and return to me as soon as possible. But you will not fly alone. Take Baelon with you. With Caraxes and Vhagar in the skies over Driftmark, no one on that island will so much as think of harming you, be they Corlys's men or anyone else."

"Very well, Father," Aemon nodded, though his face showed he thought the precaution unnecessary.

Queen Alysanne turned to her son and gently squeezed his hand where it lay on the table.

"Take Rhaenys with you too," she advised softly. "Viserra is surely hurt with all of us after what happened at the feast, and she may not wish to speak openly with either you or Baelon. But Rhaenys is her dearest friend. Viserra trusts her more than anyone in our family, and if anyone can soften her, it is she. Do not press your sister, Aemon. You will get far more from her if she sees that you have come as family, and not as the king's envoys."

Aemon considered this for a moment, then nodded to his mother.

"You're right, Mother," he agreed. "I will take Rhaenys. Viserra will speak with her more willingly than with me."

Septon Barth, who had been silently watching all that passed, set down his quill and looked at the king. His face was grave, and when he spoke, his voice was even.

"Your Grace, before Prince Aemon leaves the council, I must ask a question that will have to be asked regardless," he said. "What do you intend to do if Lord Corlys has truly invaded the Stepstones? Whatever the outcome of this war, he began it without the crown's command and against your decision, which you have already announced to the lords. A lord who leads his forces into battle of his own accord and drags the realm into war with foreign powers breaks the king's peace. By the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, such acts are tantamount to treason."

At the word "treason," Martyn Tyrell exchanged an involuntary glance with Paxter Redwyne, and Gilbert Rosby fell to coughing into his handkerchief again. Prince Aemon frowned and looked at his father as if about to object, but the queen gave the barest shake of her head, and he held his tongue.

Jaehaerys did not answer for a long time. He stared ahead at the dark stain of wine that had spread across the map precisely where the Stepstones were drawn, and his fingers slowly clenched and unclenched on the arm of his chair. When at last he spoke, his voice was quiet, yet every word was heard so distinctly that no one at the table doubted the king meant it.

"If all this is true, Barth," Jaehaerys said, "then Lord Corlys and all of House Velaryon will pay for what they have done."