Jon remained at the rail as the fleet drew away from Bloodstone. Behind Goro's three galleys, the sea was clear of red sails. He checked again when a sailor shouted from the steering platform, then made himself listen. The man was calling for a line to be eased.
They were going home. He had given the order himself. For the first time since they had landed, he could think beyond the next few moments, and his thoughts went straight back to the fighting.
He had ordered Denys to hold the passage for the last boats, even if a merchant came under attack. Those ships carried people who had trusted him to get them off the island. He had left their safety to the escorts because taking Denys away would have trapped the rearguard ashore. Given the same choice, he would give the same order. He was grateful he had not been made to watch what it might have cost.
The merchant sails moved ahead of them, their decks crowded with the people they had freed. Some of those people had helped carry his wounded down to the water. They were alive because his men had held. Jon watched the nearest ship rise upon the swell and felt a fierce relief that they had managed to bring her out.
Then a cry came from beneath the sailcloth behind him. A wounded man was being moved, and every shift of his weight hurt. Jon looked down at his own bandaged hand. He had wanted ships and silver to hasten the work on Dragonstone. The men groaning upon this deck had paid for that haste, and the covered bodies near the bow would never come home to see what he built.
He went back over Hewyn's withdrawal, the way the narrower line had freed men to carry the wounded. There had been no time to ask Jon's leave. Hewyn had judged what was needed and done it. Jon needed to hear the rest from him, and from Brus and Denys, while they still remembered where the plans had held and where they had nearly failed. He owed the men more than relief that the fleet had escaped.
Alasdair came to him while he was still watching the ships. He had finished counting the household.
"Fergus is dead, my lord. Two others badly hurt. I've accounted for the rest."
Jon turned from the rail. The captain had taken off his helmet. His hair lay flat against his forehead, and his eyes were red.
Alasdair reported on the wounded. The man struck on the helm was still dazed; the one Rolo had caught with his axe lay beneath the sailcloth, with someone pressing a folded dressing against his wound. Several others needed cuts bound or armour loosened before they could rest. Alasdair had set the sound men to helping them.
"None of the wounded stands guard tonight," Jon told him. "Tell Hewyn what men you need to relieve them."
"Some will say they can manage."
"I want them resting. Tell them that comes from me."
Alasdair nodded. He glanced towards the bow.
"Fergus is there. Hewyn has his things wrapped."
Jon knew where he lay. He had stood over him beside the stone store, held his shield while the bearers lifted him, told Alasdair where to take him. There had still been men coming down the lane then. He had given the order and turned back to them.
Now he could look along the deck without looking for another attack. Fergus lay among the covered bodies, beyond the men who might yet live.
"I called for him," Alasdair admitted.
Jon looked back.
"When we were laying out the wounded. I needed someone to help with a man's armour, and I called for Fergus." He swallowed. "I knew where he was. I'd helped carry him."
Jon remembered the sleeping hall at Winterfell, Fergus arguing for the bed against the wall while the others were still bringing in their bundles. Round cheeks, uneven front teeth, a grin he could never quite hide when he thought he had got the better of someone. Rylas had told him to wait for winter before deciding he wanted the wall.
He had been so pleased to have a bed of his own.
Jon drew a breath and found he could not finish it. He gripped the rail with his good hand until the tightness in his throat eased.
"He was fastening another man's chinstrap before I sent them down," he managed. "I saw him stop to do it."
Alasdair rubbed a hand across his mouth. For a moment Jon thought he meant to speak. Instead he looked towards the bodies again.
"Can we take him home?"
Jon had brought Finnan, Keir and Struan back from the wolfswood. Their families had been able to touch them, dress them, choose where they would lie. Fergus's family would receive a bundle of clothes and a sword.
"We can't keep him through the voyage." The words came reluctantly. "We'll bury him at sea with the others."
Alasdair's face tightened. He nodded once, then stood with his head bent.
Jon put his hand on the captain's shoulder.
"His family will hear from me. I'll tell them what happened, and what I saw him do. His wages and his belongings go to them."
"I'll take care of his things."
"I know you will."
Alasdair pressed his lips together, trying to master the trembling in them. When he lifted his face, tears had run through the dirt on his cheeks. Jon's own eyes stung. He kept his hand where it was until Alasdair could speak again.
"I'll see to the men."
"Eat with them first. They've had enough orders for a little while."
Alasdair wiped his face with his sleeve and went forward. Jon watched him stop beside the wounded guard and crouch to hear what he was saying. Then he looked for Arthur beneath the shelter.
The knight sat with his armour piled beside him. His sleeve had been cut open, exposing a broad bruise across the shoulder. The man tending him was folding a length of linen into a sling.
Jon stopped beside the chest. He had seen Arthur reach the ship, had watched him sit down, and still needed to hear how badly he was hurt.
"Is it broken?" he asked the man.
"I don't believe so. He'll need to rest it."
"You heard him."
"I hear him very well." Arthur's gaze dropped. "Your hand is bleeding through."
Jon looked down. A little red had crept around the bandage beneath his thumb. He had not felt it start again.
"I was coming to have it seen to."
"Were you?"
Jon sat on the chest beside him. "Eventually."
They waited while the man fitted the sling around Arthur's arm. Beneath the shelter, someone began to snore. Another wounded man called for him to stop, then gave a weary laugh when the snoring continued.
"I thought we were going to lose you in that boat," Arthur said.
Jon turned towards him. "When that galley crossed our path, I wasn't sure we'd reach you."
"And then you stayed below. I could see Alasdair's shield, but I couldn't see you."
"The wounded couldn't climb. Someone had to help lift them."
"I know why you stayed." Arthur looked down at the blood on Jon's bandage. "I kept expecting them to carry you up next."
Jon had known the risk. He had also known that scrambling over the wounded to reach the ladder would help no one.
"I'm glad it was you holding them off," Jon told him. "You and Malcolm gave us the time we needed."
Arthur nodded. He sat back against the mast while the man finished knotting the sling, and some of the strain eased from his face.
The man with the linen turned to Jon, who offered his right hand.
Taking the old dressing off hurt more than he expected. He gripped the edge of the chest and watched the sea until the man had finished. The fingers of his right hand would not close without pulling at the cut.
"I wanted to stay with Gerralt."
Arthur looked at him. "At the steps?"
Jon nodded. "Rolo was still at them. Alasdair put me in the boat, and I went."
"You were hurt."
"So were they."
Arthur was quiet for a moment. "Gerralt needed the stair clear to get his men down."
"I know." Jon looked at his open hand. "I still wish I'd been beside them."
He let the man ease his fingers apart to clean the wound. He could remember the sound of Gerralt's shield splitting, and the boat dipping as the last man jumped aboard.
Across the water, Brus's prize laboured after the merchant ships, her replacement steering oar moving cautiously. Corwyn's larger galley kept close beside her. Farther astern, three sound galleys followed beneath blue banners.
Those ships had men enough to work their oars. Jon had counted the places left empty aboard his own prizes.
"He's still following," Arthur observed.
"Goro wants his captain back."
"And you?"
Jon looked towards the shelter. Hewyn knelt beside a wounded spearman, holding a cup while the man drank.
"I want to stop coming home like this."
Arthur's expression changed. "You brought us out of a harbour they had closed around us."
"After taking us into it."
"Aye."
Jon turned to him. Arthur held his gaze. There would be no comfort in pretending that the decision had belonged to someone else.
"They went where you ordered," the knight continued. "They'll want to hear what you have to say about it."
"I know."
The fresh dressing was pulled tight. Jon hissed through his teeth.
"A little looser," Jon told the man. "It's pulling at the cut."
By the time the bandage was finished, Denys had shortened sail. The merchants ahead were answering his signal; their scattered hulls drew into a closer company. Bloodstone lay low behind them in the fading light. No red sails followed.
Aurane came aft carrying a bowl in his sound hand. Salt had dried white along the seams of his coat. His pale hair was stiff with spray, and a streak of soot crossed one cheek.
"Eat," he told Jon.
There was boiled barley in the bowl and something that might once have been onion. Jon had not noticed his hunger until he smelled it.
"You brought the ferry back."
"Denys has mentioned it."
"You brought us back in it."
Aurane's smile faded a little. He looked towards the bodies near the bow, then back at Jon.
"Most of you."
"You brought everyone who reached those steps. I saw you waiting."
For a moment Aurane seemed uncertain what to do with the praise. He scratched at the dried salt beneath his collar.
"Denys would only have sent me back for you."
Jon smiled despite himself. "Sit down. Have you eaten?"
"He has," Denys called from the steering platform. "Twice. Don't let him tell you otherwise."
Aurane looked offended. "The first bowl went over the side."
"You dropped it."
"With this hand. Which your lord has just been thanking me for using."
Arthur made a small sound that might have been a laugh. Jon ate before the barley could cool. Around them, men who had heard Denys began arguing over whether Aurane ought to be charged for the bowl.
Ser Elyas Sunglass brought Ser Garon Bar Emmon over once there was food for him. Guncer's nephew had spent the fight with the ship's bowmen; the fingers of his drawing hand were raw, and he kept them curled away from the hot bowl. Soot had settled into the creases beside his nose. Both knights paused when they saw Jon seated there.
"Sit," Jon told them. "You can give me your reports after you've eaten."
Garon thanked him and lowered himself onto a coil of rope. He had slept there briefly after the escape; now he held the bowl between both hands to steady it. Elyas sat beside him.
"The men from the loft?" he asked.
"Off with us," Garon answered. "I went up for the last of them."
Elyas let out a breath. "I sent them, and then I couldn't see where they were."
"They knew their work." Jon rested his bowl upon his knee. "Your man kept them shooting where we needed them. Ask him what he saw when he's rested. I want to hear it."
Elyas nodded, rubbing his fingertips together. Garon began to eat. After a while he asked whether Elyas's new star tables had survived.
"In the chest."
"You should put your next meal there before Aurane finds it."
"If you've strength for that," Aurane replied, "you've strength to fetch my supper."
"Your third," Denys called without looking down.
Garon smiled at that, then glanced towards Jon before returning to his food. Elyas shifted closer so the wind did not take the warmth from their bowls. Jon remembered Mylenda's objections when he had named Garon for the expedition, and Guncer reminding him of his nephew's youth. He had insisted that their houses send men. Now those men had fought under his orders, and their families would hear how he had used them.
"When we're home, you'll each tell your house what happened," he told them. "What you saw yourselves. If there's something you need to ask me first, ask."
Garon swallowed before answering. "Lady Mylenda will want to know what it cost us, my lord."
"Then tell her. Hewyn will have the full count. Ask him when he's rested."
Garon looked towards the covered bodies at the bow. "Yes, my lord."
The boat from Goro's galley reached them before the last light had gone.
* * *
Goro left his sword with Alasdair and came aboard alone. His boatmen waited below the rail.
He was broader through the shoulders than Jon had expected, with a heavy nose and black beard flecked with grey. A torn ear had been bound in a strip of dirty cloth. He touched it when he looked towards the wounded, then stopped himself.
"Where is he?"
"Aboard the smaller western prize. His leg has been dressed."
"I want to see him."
"You may, before you go back."
Goro studied Jon's face. His eyes paused at the white forelock, then at the fresh bandage. Jon knew the look by now: the quick reassessment when a man came close enough to see how young he was.
"Brus gave his word he'd be brought to you alive."
"And he has kept it."
"The knight gave his word too."
"Vhalar stays alive while we discuss his ransom. You have my word."
Goro's mouth closed. He looked towards Alasdair, who remained beside the surrendered sword.
Jon set his empty bowl down. "Sit."
They used two low chests near the after rail. Denys remained within hearing, occupied with the men bringing in the boat's painter. Arthur stayed beneath the shelter. Jon had no desire to pack his cabin with wounded men merely to make a prisoner's ransom look grander.
"What can you pay?"
Goro looked at the strongboxes lashed beneath the steering platform.
"I imagine you've already counted most of it."
"There are three ships behind you."
"They have crews."
"I can see them."
"Then you can see what happens if I hand you their ship and tell them to swim."
There was anger in the answer, but Goro kept it under control. Jon had expected a man pleading for his captain. This one had come ready to bargain.
"I have ships with empty benches," Jon replied. "What I lack is men who know their work."
Goro glanced at Corwyn's galley. Even in the dusk, her uneven stroke was plain.
"Some of those men were in Moreo's garrison."
"They rowed for Brus."
"Against us."
"To get off that island."
Goro tugged his coat straight where the sword belt had creased it. "And when you reach home?"
"They were promised their freedom. They'll have it."
"He promised wages too."
"Then they're owed wages."
Denys looked over. Jon beckoned him closer.
"Brus freed twenty-two of Moreo's men to help crew the western prizes. He promised them the same wage as the other rowers, and passage to Dragonstone. Pay them from the captured silver when we make harbour. If any want to stay, you can ask them then."
"Some will." Denys glanced towards the slow galley. "They'll want different oarsmen beside them."
"Let them teach the soldiers while we're at sea."
Goro waited until Denys had gone back to the steering platform.
"You mean to buy mine as well."
"I mean to employ them."
"And Vhalar?"
"That depends on what he has to say."
The pirate leaned forward. "He won't thank you for taking his ships."
"He needn't thank me. I want men who can sail. He knows these waters and the men who prey upon them. That may be worth more to me than a ransom."
Goro's gaze moved across the flagship: the damaged rail, the men sleeping beside their shields, the black cloth above the stern. Jon let him look.
"You have money now," Goro allowed. "A crew eats after the money's spent."
"My ships will still need crews. I have a harbour to repair and trade to establish. There will be work."
"He'll ask what command he keeps."
"He can ask me."
"And if the answer displeases him?"
Jon looked towards the three galleys. "There are other men I can speak to."
Goro went still.
"Bring the other two captains tomorrow," Jon continued. "I'll hear what each of you wants. Your ships stay where they are tonight. You can see Vhalar now, with his guards present."
"He won't speak freely with your men listening."
"They can stand far enough away for you to speak quietly."
Goro rose, but did not turn towards the ladder.
"Those wounded aboard our ships. If their arms don't heal straight, or a leg won't bear them—does your work include them?"
Jon followed his glance. A lantern had been raised aboard the nearest galley. Beneath it, two men were holding a third upright while someone changed the cloth beneath him.
In another life he had read of Pompey settling surrendered pirates in towns, giving them land to work. It had been easy to admire the policy across two thousand years. Here a man wanted to know whether a cripple would be fed next month.
"If they enter my service, I'll keep them while they heal. Afterwards we'll find work they can do. A man needn't pull an oar to earn his keep."
Goro looked down at his own hands.
"I'll tell him."
* * *
Vhalar held his bound hands up to the lantern beneath the smaller prize's after shelter. He had worried at the knot until a nail split, and the rope was tighter than before. He pulled again. The cord bit into the raw skin beneath his thumbs.
"Fuck."
He dropped his hands onto the blanket. A roll of the ship dragged the coarse wool across his wounded thigh, and he braced himself against the deck until the pain eased. The pallet stank. Someone had folded a cloak beneath his head as though he were an honoured guest. He shoved it aside.
Moreo had died on his own steps. Vhalar could still see him there, and remember looking past the body towards the harbour. His harbour. With the stores and silver, he could pay the crews and replace the men lost on Drazen's voyage. Rolo would have to watch him grow strong again.
He had seen to the repairs himself. He had stood over the carpenter, found the coin for Sarro, placed every ship where he thought it would do most good. He could picture the southern watch even now, the water he had left between those ships and his own. Perhaps another galley there would have been enough. He tried to decide which one he could have spared.
Rolo would be drinking in that fort now. The Stark boy had the silver. Vhalar had been given a cup of water because someone had decided he should have no wine.
He stared at the rope joining his wrists and gave a short, wheezing laugh. He pressed his fists against his mouth, but the guard had already turned.
"Fucking fool," he muttered.
He struck the deck beside his hip. Pain ran through his hands, and he sat looking at them until the guard lost interest.
Goro had called him back. He had heard him plainly, but the knight was faltering and Vhalar had wanted to finish him. He remembered the blade beneath his chin afterwards, his own men watching him struggle to get up.
"The old bastard was right." He had barely breathed the words. Saying them aloud made him want to strike the deck again.
He heard Goro speaking to the guards beyond the shelter. Vhalar dragged the discarded cloak behind his shoulders and forced himself upright against it.
Goro crouched beside him. Vhalar's eyes went to the fresh cloth around his ear.
"They gave you that?"
"A woman in the boat. It was bleeding down my neck."
"You look well cared for."
Goro looked at the untouched cup beside the pallet. He lifted it.
"Drink."
Vhalar knocked his hand aside. Water spilled across the blanket.
The guards moved. Goro raised his empty hand towards them without turning his head.
"Leave us."
"We stand here," the older swordsman answered.
Vhalar knew that voice. Grey hair, a bandage around his brow, the same bastard who had put the blade into his thigh. He wanted to know the man's name, but nobody had given it to him.
Goro set the cup upright.
"How much?" Vhalar demanded.
"He hasn't named a ransom."
"Then why were you over there so long?"
"He wants our ships in his service."
Vhalar stared at him. For a moment the sounds of the deck seemed very far away: the oars, the water, somebody coughing forward.
Then he laughed.
It hurt his leg. That made him laugh harder, until Goro caught his shoulder and pressed him back against the rolled cloak.
"We give him the ships, and he lets me crawl after them?"
"He spoke of command."
"My command."
"Under his."
Vhalar looked past Goro at the black shields. The men carrying them watched without expression. They must have heard. Tomorrow they would tell it over their food: the pirate lord begging a child for permission to keep his own deck.
"Get me aboard my ship."
"I can't."
"You have three galleys. They can scarcely row this one."
"He has more ships than we do, and more men. Trained men. You saw what they did on the island." Goro lowered his voice. "Our decks are full of wounded. We would have to fight through his fleet to reach you. You would be dead before we touched the rail."
"Then find something else."
The answer came as readily as it always had. Drazen would have bowed his head. Drazen would have stood there taking the insults until he found the words Vhalar wanted.
Goro did not bow.
"There is nothing else tonight."
Vhalar gripped the rope about his wrists. His tongue found the swollen place inside his cheek where the crab knight had struck him. Behind his eyes rose the yard at home, his father reaching for his collar. He drove the memory away before the hand could close.
"We can go to Tyrosh."
"With what to pay the harbour men?"
"There are captains who know me."
"Aye. And they'll want to know what you've brought them."
"Three galleys."
"And which will you sell to pay them? You told me to keep all three."
Vhalar turned his face away.
Beyond the open side of the shelter, one of his blue banners rose and dipped in the lantern light. He had stood beneath it that morning. Men had moved when he lifted a hand. He had been angry then too, but there had still been things to take, men to strike, a fort he could win back if he drove hard enough.
Now he could not reach the rail without help.
"Drazen would have found the money."
Goro's face hardened. "Drazen is dead."
"I saw him."
"So did I."
Vhalar looked back sharply. Goro's jaw worked beneath his beard.
"I brought his men off the island," he continued. "What was left of them. Some can't walk. One keeps asking if we've seen his brother. I've told him twice."
Vhalar wanted him to stop.
"You think I don't know what we've lost?"
"Then think about the men who are still here. Of every four who followed you, one is left with us. We have only three galleys left. Rolo has the fort, the harbour and the stores."
"The ships are sound."
"Aye. The men aren't. I need somewhere to take them."
The older guard glanced towards them. Goro waited until he looked away.
"I called you back in that lane."
"I heard you."
"Then why didn't you come?"
Because the knight was yielding. Because Rolo had laughed. Because Drazen had begged for wine and Vhalar had made him beg again. Because there had been a moment when killing the man before him seemed easier than enduring another word from the dead man in his head.
"I thought I could break them."
Goro sat back upon his heels. It was the first answer Vhalar had given him that did not demand something impossible.
For a while neither spoke.
Vhalar caught Goro's sleeve and drew him closer. The guards remained at the edge of the shelter. He waited until Goro bent his head before speaking again.
"Let him feed the men and mend the ships," he whispered. "Once I'm back on my feet, we needn't stay where he puts us."
Goro's eyes narrowed. His reply was scarcely louder. "You mean to take what he gives you and run."
"I mean to command my own men again."
"Then think where you'd take them. Rolo has our harbour. Turn on the boy as well, and we'll be looking for somewhere to put in with two fleets hunting us."
Vhalar let go of his sleeve and looked towards the blue banner beyond the shelter. The ship was still his. He would remember that, whatever words the boy demanded tomorrow.
"Has he offered you my ship?" Vhalar asked at last.
"He wants the captains aboard tomorrow."
That was answer enough.
Vhalar looked at him until Goro met his eyes.
"Will you go?"
"I came this far for you."
"That isn't what I asked."
Goro picked up the cup. There was a little water left in it. This time Vhalar let him hold it while he drank.
"I'll hear him," Goro replied. "You should too."
* * *
At dawn, Jon stood before the men who had brought their dead aboard the flagship.
Brus's boats had come across while the fleet lay under shortened sail. The bodies from the western fight had been laid beside those from the eastern landing. Their companions had washed what they could and wrapped them in spare sailcloth. The men who had wanted time alone had been given it.
Corwyn stood beside Donnel. A strip of white linen disappeared beneath Corwyn's sleeve; dried blood remained in the corner of his mouth. When Jon approached, he straightened as though he had been caught neglecting some duty.
"He kept hold of his shield," Corwyn murmured.
Jon looked down.
"After he was struck. I tried to get it out of the way so we could pull him back. He wouldn't let go."
Brus stood on Donnel's other side, his torn coat fastened crookedly. "You brought him in."
Corwyn nodded, though his face showed no comfort in it.
Jon moved along the bodies. He knew some of the men well enough to remember their voices immediately. With others he had only fragments: a question after drill, a grin when the pay was counted out, a man stopping to tighten another's loose strap. He wished he had paid better attention.
The surviving household gathered close. Alasdair held Fergus's wrapped sword and cloak. Gerralt still carried the two pieces of the shield Rolo had split. He looked down at them, then laid them beside his feet. Garon and Elyas stood farther back with the men they had served beside during the fighting.
Jon faced the men.
"I ordered you ashore. I sent some of you over those hills, and I kept others in the lane while the boats filled. The men lying here went where I sent them."
He had meant to speak steadily. He stopped until he could.
"When the line gave ground, you stayed together. When a man fell, you brought him back. The people aboard those merchant ships are alive because you held long enough to put them there. So am I."
Alasdair kept his eyes upon Jon. One of the younger household boys drew close beside him, his mouth trembling.
"You've heard me curse you for a crooked shield and make you do the same thing until you hated the sound of my voice. Yesterday you used what we learned. You gave one another time to live."
Jon looked down at the wrapped figure nearest him.
"I wanted to bring every one of you home. I'll have to face their families and tell them why I couldn't. Their wages will go home. Their belongings will go home. Their families will have my help."
He raised his eyes again.
"There will be a funeral at Dragonstone. Their kin on the island will hear from us there. For any whose families are still in the north, we'll send their belongings and letters telling what happened. They won't be left waiting for a son who isn't coming home."
Hewyn took off his cap. The men who followed the Seven murmured their prayers; Jon bowed his head for his own, though the words he found were only the names he knew.
They committed the dead to the sea one at a time. Friends carried each burden to the rail. Jon took the wrapped sword from Alasdair, who went to help carry Fergus to the rail.
When the last body had gone, the household remained gathered beside the empty space. Jon stayed with them until the sailors needed the deck.
Corwyn found him afterwards beneath the steering platform.
"I hear you're keeping Vhalar."
"I mean to hear him."
"He's already been heard. He had plenty to say with our men's blood still on his sword."
Jon let the anger pass without answering it. Corwyn's injured hand had curled beneath his opposite arm.
"He was brought to me alive, as promised. What becomes of him is my decision."
"Then don't put him over the men who carried our dead down those steps."
"He won't command them."
"And if he refuses your terms?" Corwyn asked.
"He remains my prisoner."
"While his men wait for us to sleep."
Jon turned fully towards him and held his gaze.
"Enough, ser. I have heard your objections. I will decide whether Vhalar enters my service."
Corwyn's jaw tightened. "My lord, I don't trust him."
"Then watch him, and bring me anything I should know. But when I give an order, I expect it obeyed."
For a moment Corwyn said nothing.
"Is that understood?"
"Yes, my lord."
Jon dismissed him with a nod. Corwyn bowed and left, his injured hand pressed against his coat.
* * *
Garon was waiting near the forward rail when Corwyn returned. Elyas stood beside him with a clean cloth wrapped around his drawing fingers. Aurane had come down from the steering platform to ask where Corwyn needed to go.
"The larger prize," Corwyn told him. "When the boatmen are ready."
Garon moved aside to let two sailors carry a bucket past. They were washing the place where the bodies had lain. He had avoided looking at the water after the last burial, but the splash beside the hull made him turn.
"Did you speak to him?" Elyas asked Corwyn.
"He means to offer Vhalar service."
Aurane looked aft. "And the three ships?"
"Those too." Corwyn pressed his injured wrist against his coat. "We've barely buried the men we lost."
Garon had watched the western men bring their dead aboard. He had seen Corwyn remain beside the bodies while the others went to find food.
"What did Jon tell you?"
"That Vhalar won't command our men. And that the decision is his."
"He needs sailors," Aurane replied. "You've had trouble enough keeping your prize moving."
Corwyn's face tightened. "I know what she needs."
Aurane stopped watching the prize and looked at him. Garon kept quiet; the Celtigar knight looked ready to quarrel with anyone who made the bargain sound easy.
"I told him I didn't trust Vhalar. He told me to report anything I saw."
"Then do," Garon urged. "He'll have to hear it."
Corwyn glanced at him. "He heard me well enough. He still means to do it."
For a while they watched the sailors work. At Sharp Point, Garon had been useful with accounts and repairs. When Jon called for a man from each house, Lady Mylenda had objected to losing him and spoken of his good service. He had been proud to hear that before the others, even while hoping Jon would name someone else.
He had never intended to spend a battle running between a shield line and a loft with arrows striking the walls. Twice, perhaps three times, he had almost stopped in a doorway instead of going on. When Jon sent him again, the boy lord was still there among the men defending the steps. Garon had gone.
He could remember the orders now more clearly than Jon's face.
"What will you tell your uncle?" he asked Elyas.
Elyas looked down at the cloth around his fingers. "That I did what the captain told me."
"About Jon."
The younger knight took time over that.
"I thought he'd keep me close. Have me carry things, so my uncle could hear I'd been useful without being in anyone's way. Instead, he put me with the ship's bowmen and told me to obey the captain. When Denys needed men ashore, I sent a man who knew where to put them."
Elyas glanced towards the after shelter, where the wounded lay.
"I'm glad I did. I'd have been trying to learn the work with men waiting on my orders."
"You'll learn," Aurane offered.
"I'd like to learn before he sends me."
Garon understood that. He would have liked a great many things explained before the first arrow had passed his head.
Aurane leaned his sound hand upon the rail. "Monford told me to bring him an account of Jon. What sort of man he is, how he commands. I'll tell him he stayed ashore while we loaded the wounded."
"He sent me back for the last bowmen," Garon recalled. "I thought the boats would be gone when I came down."
"I was waiting for you."
"I know that now."
Aurane's expression sobered. "We weren't leaving you."
Garon nodded. He had been too breathless to thank Aurane at the steps. He did so now.
Across the deck Jon stopped beside a wounded spearman. He crouched to hear him over the work around them, one bandaged hand resting upon his knee. Garon watched the soldier speak. The man's voice carried no farther than the shelter.
"What sort of man," Elyas repeated quietly. "He's just a boy. Look at him."
"He remembered he was our lord well enough," Corwyn muttered.
"That isn't what I mean. When he speaks to me, I keep forgetting how young he is. Then I look at him and wonder why I'm standing there as though my uncle had summoned me."
Garon rubbed a patch of dried mortar from his sleeve. "I wanted him to promise the boats would wait when he sent me back. He'd already turned to the next man. He was certain I'd go."
"You did go," Aurane observed.
"Aye. But I'd like to know how he was so certain."
Near the shelter, one of Jon's household was helping a wounded man adjust his sling. He had a boy's face too.
"Some of his own men can scarcely be older," Garon continued. "They stood in that lane with Rolo coming at them. When the order came to fall back, they went by pairs. I was afraid they'd all turn and run."
"They came aboard where they were told," Aurane replied. "Even the ones who'd seen the other boats leave. Monford will understand what that means."
Corwyn looked towards his prize. "One of Brus's men fell beside me. Another had his shield in the gap before I could turn. There were more behind him, waiting to come forward."
"Will you tell Lord Ardrian that?"
"Of course I will." Corwyn turned back to Garon. "It takes drilling to do that with men trying to kill you. I never said they couldn't fight."
"Jon spoke of drilling them himself," Elyas put in. "How long can he have been doing it?"
Aurane followed his gaze across the deck. "Monford will ask me that too."
Garon had expected Jon to talk about the prizes that morning. Four ships were a thing to put before the lords who had refused him theirs. Instead he had stood before the bodies and named the orders he had given. Garon would tell Mylenda that, though he did not yet know what she would make of it.
"Do you think he'll take us out again?" Elyas asked.
"Ask him," Corwyn answered.
Garon looked at him. "Would you go?"
Corwyn shifted his feet. A boat had come alongside, and one of her men was calling for him.
"If I'm ordered. Lord Ardrian sent me to serve under him." He looked towards Jon. "I won't tell Ardrian I like this bargain."
"Nor should you," Garon agreed.
Corwyn went to the ladder. Aurane caught his elbow when he tried to put weight upon the wounded wrist; the knight accepted the help without speaking. Then he was down in the boat, calling to his men to make room.
Garon watched him go. He still had a report to carry home for Lady Mylenda. It would be harder to write than the reckoning of a damaged galley, and he meant to get it right.
Beyond Corwyn's boat another approached, bearing Vhalar and his guards.
* * *
They carried Vhalar aboard upon a door.
He had demanded to climb. The first attempt to stand had left him shaking against the guard who caught him, and Goro had ended the argument by calling for the bearers.
Now he lay beneath the eyes of sailors who had heard him curse all the way up the side. The boy lord waited beside a table lashed near the after rail. He wore black, with a clean strip of linen around one hand. In daylight the pale streak in his hair looked almost white. His face was too young for the stillness with which he watched them approach.
Vhalar looked for the man who would do the talking for the boy.
The knight beneath the shelter had dark hair and a grey-white cloak drawn over his knees. Vhalar knew him by the way the men gave him room. The household captain stood nearer, broad across the chest, one hand resting on his sword belt. Neither moved forward.
"Put him here," Jon directed.
The bearers settled the door upon two low chests. Someone had placed a folded cloak where Vhalar's head would lie. He pushed it away and forced himself up upon an elbow.
"A chair."
Goro opened his mouth.
"Give him one," Jon ordered.
Getting him into it hurt worse than the climb would have done. He knew it, Goro knew it, and the boy had the sense to say nothing while he swallowed his cry. They placed another chest beneath his leg.
The two other captains waited on the far side of the table.
Moryn, who had captained the second galley through three winters, had a square face weathered dark and a thumb missing from his left hand. He looked at Vhalar's bindings before he looked at Jon. Beside him stood Captain Sallo, younger and narrow-faced, with neat black whiskers and a blue scarf wound about his throat. Sallo's eyes had already measured the strongboxes beneath the platform.
They should have been standing behind Vhalar.
Goro took a place beside his chair.
"Loose his hands," Jon told the guard.
The broad man hesitated only long enough to look at Vhalar's face. Then he cut the rope. Vhalar rubbed his wrists and kept his gaze upon the lord.
"Name your ransom."
"You heard what I offered Goro."
"I heard you want my ships."
"I want your ships and the men who know how to use them. You know where the raiders water, where they sell their prizes and which captains can be bought. I have work for that knowledge."
Vhalar leaned back carefully. "Then you should have come to me before you burned your men getting into my fort."
The household captain's expression hardened. The boy's did not.
"You couldn't keep it."
Vhalar moved before he meant to. His foot struck the chest supporting his leg. Pain ran through him, and Goro caught his arm.
He shook him off.
Jon had seen Goro steady him. Vhalar hated the boy for it.
"Rolo has it now," he forced out. "You left the gates open for him."
"Yes."
"He'll be drinking my wine."
"Then listen while he's occupied."
Sallo's whiskers twitched. Vhalar turned upon him, and the younger captain became solemn.
"I can put you back at sea with pay and a harbour behind you," Jon continued. "There will be a holding on Dragonstone for you, granted for your service. A house and land enough to support it. You will hold it of me."
Vhalar had prepared himself for threats. He watched the boy, waiting for the rest.
"Land gives you something you can keep without a sword in your hand every hour of the day. My protection gives you time to build upon it. Power and legitimacy, Vhalar. You need both if you mean to leave your children more than a ship somebody stronger can take."
His father had used those words.
For an instant Vhalar could smell the lamp oil in the fort's upper room. He had been young enough then to resent every evening spent there. Beyond the shutters, men were singing in the yard. He had promised to meet them after his father finished with the reports.
The reports covered half the table. There were letters from Tyrosh, the last reckoning of their stores and a chart held flat beneath a cup. His father had set little piles of coins beside the names of captains whose service he hoped to buy. One pile was scarcely worth gathering.
"A few more years," his father told him. "Another safe anchorage. Ships we own outright, with crews who have been paid. We build carefully, and when the right men in Tyrosh quarrel, we shall be ready."
He drew a letter from beneath the chart and smoothed a bent corner with his thumb.
"If my time comes before then, it will be your honour to take back what is ours."
Vhalar leaned back in his chair. He could hear the song clearly now; someone in the yard had forgotten the words and was being jeered at by the others.
"Why would we go back?"
His father's thumb stopped.
"What?"
"To Tyrosh. Why spend all this to go back? We live like kings here. We take what we want. Nobody summons you to answer for it, and nobody tells us what we may do with our own ships."
He had expected an argument about duty. There had been so many of those that he scarcely listened to the beginnings any more. When his father pushed back his chair, Vhalar rose too, glad to escape the room.
"Sit, boy."
Vhalar sat.
His father came around the table. The gold chain of his old office gleamed at his collar. He did not shout. That had been worse. He stopped close enough that Vhalar had to tilt his head to meet his eyes.
"You foolish boy. You think this is a life for us?"
"We have more here than—"
"Our family was noble when Tyrosh was an outpost of the Freehold. Before those merchants learned to put on purple robes and call themselves our betters. You would have our descendants grow old in this place, fighting every new thief who finds a boat?"
Vhalar looked past him at the letters. He hated the names in them: men who had taken years to answer, men who wanted silver before they would remember an old friendship. He hated being told to revere a city he knew chiefly through his father's losses.
"Then we take the rest of the islands."
His father's expression changed. Vhalar mistook it for interest and hurried on.
"You were an admiral. You know more than any of these captains. Get them under one command. Build the forts properly. Make the merchants pay for safe passage. If the sea's ours, Tyrosh will have to deal with us."
His father laughed. Once, without pleasure.
"Take it over. Have you learned nothing at this table?"
Vhalar's face burned. "You keep telling me to think."
"And this is what you've thought of."
His father caught the chart by its edge and drew it towards them, scattering one of the smaller piles of silver. A coin struck Vhalar's knee and rolled beneath his chair.
"Who buys your plunder? Who sells you grain when the stores run low? Tyrosh. Lys. Myr. Men who are pleased enough to profit from a hundred captains who cannot agree." His finger came down upon the straits. "Let one man claim a kingdom here and decide what passes between their ports. See how long they remain content."
"If we're strong enough—"
"Strong enough to fight all of them? To feed these islands while their fleets close the harbours?"
Vhalar had no answer ready. His father watched him try to find one.
"We need power, yes. And legitimacy. Allies who have something to gain by seeing us restored. A place they will acknowledge as ours, so every bargain need not begin with a threat. This cesspit will give us ships and silver. It will not give us that."
He went back to his chair and gathered the spilled coins. Vhalar remained seated, staring at the chart. From the yard came another burst of laughter. He no longer wanted to join it.
"Tomorrow," his father added, "you will read those reports again. All of them."
Goro touched his elbow.
Vhalar jerked away. The deck shifted beneath his chair, and pain ran up his wounded thigh. Across the table, Jon was waiting.
His father had spent years asking men in Tyrosh to remember who they were. The boy offered him land in a country where their name meant nothing. Vhalar could almost hear what his father would have called that.
Yet the holding would be his. He would not have to beg some Tyroshi merchant to restore it.
"What land?"
"Land I hold. We'll choose the holding when we reach the island. Its bounds and what you owe me will be written plainly, before you swear for it."
"And until then?"
"You swear to serve me at sea. I'll keep you and your men fed, repair the ships and pay the crews. Any command I give you depends upon your obedience."
"A lord's tame pirate."
"A captain in my service."
"That's what you'll call it."
"It's what you will be. You'll guard the ships I send out, escort men and goods where I order, and fight when I command it. You will take no merchant for your own profit. You will sell no captives."
Moryn shifted his weight. Sallo looked away from the strongboxes at last.
"And the prizes we do take?" the younger captain asked.
Vhalar rounded upon him. "Did he ask you?"
"I did invite him," Jon replied. "A man who takes an enemy ship in my service will have his reward. I'll settle what the crews receive before I send them to fight."
"Promises," Vhalar spat.
"You are welcome to ask Brus's men what happened to theirs."
"They're your men."
"Ask the twenty-two he freed to row beside them."
Goro spoke before Vhalar could answer. "Their freedom stands. I heard him confirm it."
Vhalar stared at his lieutenant. "You heard a boy speak."
"I heard him give the order."
The distinction stung because Goro had once trusted his orders in the same way.
Vhalar looked north, where the merchant hulls waited beneath slackened sails. The people crowding their decks had watched his ships depart with the black fleet. Some would put ashore at the next harbour. Others would reach Dragonstone. Wherever they went, they would talk.
"Rolo first," he demanded. "Turn back while he's still counting what he's stolen. He hasn't had time to put the forts in order."
"No."
"You have soldiers. I have three ships fit to fight."
"And wounded men aboard every one of them."
"He'll be stronger if you wait."
"So will I."
Vhalar glanced towards the dark-haired knight, waiting for him to counsel the boy. He merely watched.
"Rolo put Drazen's head over his rail," Vhalar continued. "He held him by the hair so we could all see."
Goro's face had gone rigid. Moryn lowered his eyes.
"I mean to kill him," Vhalar said.
Jon rested his sound hand flat upon the table.
"I mean to take his ships, break his hold on those harbours and make the passage safe for mine. I'll have timber and grain coming through these waters. Men taking goods to ports they've never seen. Rolo would rob them, and do to their captains what he did to yours. I won't spend years building a trade so he can take his cut with an axe."
Vhalar listened despite himself.
"If you serve me, you'll help prepare for that," Jon went on. "You'll tell me what he needs to hold Bloodstone, which of his captains hate one another and where we can hurt him. When we go back, we go with men enough to finish it."
"And I get Rolo."
"If he falls into our hands alive, you'll see him answer for what he's done. I won't promise to keep him breathing in the middle of a fight so you can have your turn."
That answer was almost easier to believe than a promise.
Vhalar looked at the bandaged hand upon Jon's lap. "He hurt you."
"He killed my men."
There was enough anger in those four words to quiet the table.
Vhalar pictured the head again. Drazen's beard, thick with blood. One eye half open. He tried to picture Rolo laughing as he held it up. Instead he saw the cup he had kept from Drazen when the man came back to him beaten.
"I could find ships elsewhere."
"Then tell me who will give them to you."
"You don't know everyone in the Stepstones."
"That's one reason I want you."
The boy answered too quickly. Vhalar had wanted to make him admit ignorance, and somehow the admission had become part of the offer.
"I have friends."
"Will they help you when Rolo tells them you brought me in?"
Vhalar stared. "I brought you in?"
Jon pointed past him. Three blue banners stirred above the waiting galleys.
"He saw your ships follow mine. He saw them come round the headland while his men were trying to reach our boats. What story do you think he'll tell?"
"That I was taken."
"Perhaps. He could also tell them you made a bargain with me and sailed away while your men died. He has your fort. He'll find listeners."
"You arranged this."
"Brus allowed Goro to follow because he wouldn't leave you. I learned of it while Rolo was driving us down the lane."
"And now you'll use it."
"Yes."
Vhalar's face grew hot. He looked towards the captains, but neither met his eyes.
Goro did. "He'll make it worse than it was," he admitted. "You know he will."
Vhalar heard Rolo laughing over the story. The lordling who had lost his castle, the coward who had crawled to a child. He could deny it in every harbour from Tyrosh to the Summer Sea and still hear the laughter when he turned his back.
"I won't have you buying my men in front of me."
Jon drew his hand back from the table.
"You are my prisoner. Those three captains are here to hear an offer. I would rather have your knowledge as well as theirs, but I can employ them without you."
Vhalar looked at Goro.
His lieutenant's face gave him no easy answer.
* * *
Jon had pressed hard enough.
Vhalar sat very still, his face pale beneath the anger. The skin around his mouth was swollen from the fight. He kept rubbing one wrist with the fingers of the other hand, though the rope had been off for some time.
Jon had seen wounded men snap at anyone who tried to help them. Vhalar had done it every time Goro touched him. He could bear an enemy's threat more easily than his own man's concern.
But three crews were waiting, and Jon had already buried men that morning. He would not spend the day coaxing a pirate through his wounded pride.
He turned to Moryn.
"Your ship. Is she sound?"
"She'll need two new sweeps and work on the upper planks. They've been letting water in when the sea rises. She'll make the voyage."
"And her men?"
"Tired. Angry. Some have silver put by. Some have nothing."
"Will they work for regular wages?"
"Some will. Some would sooner take their chances in another port."
"Men who refuse service aboard my ships will serve as labourers on Dragonstone. My men promised you peace, and I will keep that promise. But I will not turn pirates loose upon my lands to prey on my people. You will serve me one way or the other."
Moryn rubbed the stump of his thumb. "Brus's twenty-two can walk away."
"Brus promised those men their freedom. He made no such promise to you."
Sallo stepped nearer. "And if we stay at sea, who pays when a mast breaks? Last winter we spent more on timber than the voyage brought us."
"I pay for repairs to ships in my service. You answer for keeping them fit."
Vhalar's head turned towards him. Sallo saw and reddened, but did not withdraw the question.
"I have men who've followed me seven years," Moryn added. "I won't swear them into a lord's quarrel without telling them what it is."
"Then tell them. Those who sail for me will escort my ships, protect my waters and fight the men who attack us. Every man will swear to me, whether he serves aboard ship or works ashore. All will be subject to my command and my punishments."
"The lash?"
"For offences that merit it. Denys will have the rules read to your crews before they swear."
Moryn nodded. He seemed more comfortable with a punishment he understood than with another promise of generosity.
Goro moved at last.
"Vhalar comes with us."
Jon met his eyes. "That is his choice."
"Alive and free to take the service you've offered."
"If he swears it."
"You won't have us sail north and find a gallows waiting for him."
"I offer him my protection in return for his oath. I will keep my word."
The two captains watched Goro. He had given them something they could accept without abandoning the man who had led them.
Jon let the silence hold. Beyond the rail a boatman coughed and spat into the sea. A sail cracked as Denys's mate called for the yard to be brought round. Vhalar kept his eyes on his hands.
"Goro keeps his ship," Vhalar said. "Moryn and Sallo theirs."
Jon looked along the three captains.
"They keep their commands. Their men will be divided among the fleet. I'll put my own sailors aboard in their place, with one of my officers as first mate on each ship. Denys gives the sailing orders."
Vhalar let out a short laugh. "No trust?"
"You've given me no cause to trust you."
Goro glanced towards his galley. "You'll leave us enough men who know the ships."
"Choose them with Denys. The rest go where he needs them."
"And the holding?" Vhalar asked. "I won't have my children turned out when I die."
"Your lawful children may inherit it, under the same obligation. They'll owe me service as you do."
"Then have that written with the bounds." Vhalar kept his eyes upon Jon. "My father spent half his life asking men to return what they'd taken from us. I won't leave mine the same work."
"It will be written. Yours to hold while you keep your oath, and theirs after you if they keep it too."
Goro looked sharply at Jon. Vhalar did not move.
"I want to see it."
"You shall."
"Before I swear for land I've never walked."
"I said as much."
"And Rolo."
Jon leaned forward.
"You don't leave my service to chase him because a fisherman brings you a rumour. You don't draw my ships into a fight I've forbidden. Help me build the strength to destroy him."
Vhalar looked beyond him towards the strongboxes.
"You offer to buy me with my own money."
"I offer you more than you can recover by refusing."
The pirate closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he looked at Goro.
"What do you say?"
Goro's expression softened.
"Take it."
Vhalar exhaled through his nose. "I will serve."
Jon pushed back his chair and stood. He looked from Vhalar to the three captains, then raised his voice so the men by the rail could hear.
"Your days of raiding and slaving are done. You will fight the enemies I name. Any man who robs a merchant or sells a captive will hang from the yardarm. If his captain ordered it or helped conceal it, the captain will hang beside him."
Sallo glanced up at the yard. Jon turned his eyes upon Vhalar.
"If you run to escape the rope, I will put enough silver on your head to make your own crew bring it to me."
Vhalar sat with his head lowered, his fingers digging into his good knee.
"Look at me when you give your word."
The anger returned at once. Jon waited through it.
At last Vhalar faced him.
"I will serve you, Lord Jon. I put my ships and men in your service. I will obey your commands at sea, keep faith with your people and take no prize without your leave." His eyes narrowed. "And you will keep what you've promised."
"I will."
Jon did not ask him to kneel upon the wounded leg. There were witnesses enough. Goro was already looking towards the waiting ships.
Moryn gave his word after Vhalar. Sallo followed. Goro was last, and his oath included no flourish.
Denys came down from the steering platform when Jon called him. The sailor glanced at the four men, then at Jon, and waited.
"Three more galleys for the passage. Have the crews hear the terms and swear before you move them. Then divide the men among our ships and send sailors back to fill their places. Choose a first mate for each captain from your officers."
Denys nodded and looked at Moryn. "I'll need some of your experienced hands aboard the prizes."
"Which one first?"
"The larger western galley. Her men have strength enough. They keep spending it fighting their oars."
Moryn glanced at Goro, then at Vhalar. The pause was small, but Jon noticed it.
"Send them," Vhalar ordered. "Men who can teach without starting a fight."
"That narrows the choice," Moryn muttered.
Sallo laughed before remembering where he stood. Goro's mouth moved at one corner.
"You'll be fed before you go back," Jon told them. "Then bring Denys the names of the men who will sail and those who will work ashore."
Vhalar watched the captains follow Denys towards the rail. He remained in his chair with his leg stretched before him, his wrists reddened, his expression difficult to read.
"You could have offered less," he remarked.
Jon looked down at him.
"I want you thinking about the work, not the first harbour where you can slip away."
"And if I do?"
"Then I'll have you hunted down and hanged."
Vhalar held his gaze, then looked away first.
* * *
By afternoon, with the men sworn to Jon, boats were carrying crews from the three galleys to ships throughout the convoy. Other boats returned with sailors Denys had chosen to fill their places.
The newcomers brought their own rolls of bedding and surrendered their knives to the guards until they reached their stations. Jon watched from the flagship while Denys's men counted them aboard. A few carried tools. One had a wooden bowl tucked into his belt and complained loudly when a wave filled it. Across the water, Goro met his new first mate at the rail. Denys had already sent the other two officers to Moryn and Sallo.
Goro gave Denys the names of the men who had refused to remain in the fleet. They would work their passage to Dragonstone, then be set to labour ashore under guard.
Brus came aboard to report before returning to his soldiers. He had slept at last, though someone had plainly had to persuade him to change his torn coat.
"The twenty-two know you'll honour it," he told Jon.
"Did they doubt you?"
"They doubted whether my lord would let me give away men he could have kept bound."
"You needed rowers."
"Aye. They needed to live."
Jon looked towards the western prize. An older sailor was standing over one of the benches, showing a legionary how to recover his oar without striking the man behind him. The legionary listened with visible resentment. Then he tried again, and the blades entered the water together.
"They earned what you promised," Jon replied.
Brus nodded. He did not seem surprised by the answer, and Jon was glad of that.
Arthur was waiting by the cabin when Jon turned from the rail. Denys stood beside him. Neither had a report in his hand.
"Before he goes back to his own ship," Arthur told him.
Jon glanced towards Vhalar, still seated near the after rail. Goro had come back to speak to him. Alasdair remained close enough to reach him before he could rise.
"Inside, then."
Denys shut the cabin door. Arthur lowered himself onto the bench, careful of his shoulder. Jon drew the chair towards the table and sat.
For a moment the loudest sound was the door of a locker knocking against its frame. Arthur pressed it shut with his good hand.
"Do you believe him?"
"No. He wants what I offered. That will not keep him faithful."
Denys leaned against the table. "His captains still have their commands, and those men won't forget who they followed because you've moved them to another deck. On the island he had more enemies than he could manage. Now you're bringing him somewhere he can count yours."
"And where I can pay his captains, provision his ships and give his crews something they won't want to lose."
"Some of them," Denys allowed. "Goro followed him out of that harbour for nothing."
"For Vhalar. Not for nothing."
"Which ought to concern you."
"It does." Jon shifted his bandaged hand away from the table's edge. "I need sailors, and they know the waters I mean to trade through. They've sworn to me, but I'll have to learn which of them mean it."
Arthur watched him. "And while you learn?"
"They sail where Denys puts them. The first mates answer to us. Their sailors work among ours, and ours aboard their galleys. Vhalar has no authority over the legion, and no leave to take those three ships away on his own business."
Denys folded his arms. "A first mate can't watch every man aboard."
"Nor do I expect him to. But he can see who passes orders and who obeys them, and warn the other ships. I'm not calling it proof against mutiny."
"Then don't put them all astern with their decks out of our sight. Two among the convoy. Goro stays close with the tow, where I can watch him."
Jon nodded. "Do it."
Arthur's gaze did not leave his face. "You spoke of leaving children a holding. He may be thinking about what he can take before he ever sees it."
"He may."
"You watched him swear after you threatened to take his command away. A man can mean an oath for as long as the threat lasts."
Jon looked towards the closed door. The grain in the wood blurred for a moment with weariness; he blinked and brought Arthur back into focus.
"I think he'll test us. Once his leg heals and he feels less beholden to Goro, he'll look for a way to take more than we've agreed. Perhaps he'll try to leave. Perhaps he'll go after Rolo when I've told him to wait. Perhaps he'll find someone who promises him a better bargain."
Denys pushed away from the table. "How much freedom will you give him?"
"Very little. I mean to limit what he can take with him, and learn who approaches him. If he means to betray me, I want to learn his plans without alerting him."
Arthur's expression hardened. "Some lies will get past us."
"Then the precautions must hold regardless. He won't control his own supplies or pay. He won't be given all my plans because he knows a few harbours." Jon leaned forward. "I'll go through the rest with both of you at Dragonstone, before he's given any independent command. In detail. If you find something that won't hold, we change it."
Arthur rubbed his brow. "Corwyn will carry his complaints to Lord Ardrian. The other houses will hear of this too. They may resent seeing pirates given land and command."
"Then let them resent it. They chose not to come. Their opinion of this bargain is irrelevant. I am their lord, and I will decide what becomes of my prisoners."
The locker door began knocking again when Arthur rose. This time he left it.
"I'll need soldiers aboard all three," Denys said. "Until we know their men."
"Take them from Hewyn." Jon stood and turned to Denys. "I'm putting Vhalar and his captains under you. Their crews as well. I trust your judgement. At any sign of deceit, deal with them as you see fit. You need not wait for my leave."
Denys held his gaze, then nodded. "Aye, my lord."
Arthur opened the door and paused as Goro's voice reached them from the deck.
"I'll have Alasdair keep men with Vhalar until he's settled aboard."
Jon nodded. "Do. The new first mate should know who's been visiting him."
Arthur went to speak with Alasdair. Denys remained to settle the ships' positions, while outside Goro asked again why the boats were being kept waiting.
Before sunset, Goro's galley took the smaller western prize in tow. Bero stayed beside the rough steering oar while the line came taut. The crew shouted across the water, arguing about the turn. On the second attempt they found it. The prize followed steadily, and the men who had been rowing since morning laid their oars inboard.
Corwyn remained aboard the larger galley. He accepted Moryn's sailors, heard what their oldest man had to say and moved the guards as Denys had ordered. When Vhalar was carried back to Goro's ship under Jon's escort, Corwyn watched across the gap with his mouth set hard.
He raised no hand in farewell.
Vhalar passed no orders to the soldiers. When Denys called across, Corwyn turned away from the rail to answer him.
That evening, with the convoy making better time, Denys brought one of the captured books to the cabin.
"You wanted these kept dry." He set it upon the table. "This one is worth the trouble."
The cover was stained, its leather worn smooth where a thumb had opened it many times. Inside were purchases of grain, cordage and pitch, sums paid to captains, cargoes sold beneath names that changed from one page to the next.
Jon bent over it. Here was a price for timber in Tyrosh. There, a payment to a merchant who had supplied the western fort. Beside an entry for people sold, someone had drawn a neat line through a debt.
He stopped turning the page.
Denys followed his gaze.
"We'll need someone who knows the names," the sailor observed.
"Vhalar will know some. Goro too."
Jon laid a strip of clean cloth between the pages to mark the place. He had wanted these books while arrows struck the landing. Now he had them, and the men who might tell him where the entries led.
The silver would buy timber for his harbour and iron for his smiths. The ships would carry it. He could picture new masts above Dragonstone's quays, crews waiting for their wages, carts climbing from the water with goods that had never reached the island before.
He wanted to show Ethan the captured hulls. He wanted to see the smiths' faces when he told them what they could purchase. For the first time since leaving Bloodstone, anticipation came without his having to force it.
Then Denys laid his own account book beside the captured ledger.
"Food for the voyage. Timber. Sailcloth. The wages you've promised. Shall I begin taking it out of the silver now, or wait until you've spent it all in your head?"
Jon looked up. Denys's face remained solemn.
"You've been talking to Arthur."
"I've been listening to you."
Jon laughed, and his hand hurt when he reached for the book.
"Sit down. Tell me what it costs."
They had scarcely begun when Garon knocked. He carried a borrowed scrap of parchment and the names of the hired merchant captains. One had asked him when he could expect the return of his ship to his ordinary trade.
"I told him I would ask you. He wants more for every day we're slow."
Denys reached for the parchment. "They all do."
"He agreed a voyage, though. I heard him say it when we arranged room for his cargo." Garon remained standing while Jon read the names. "If you pay him for days as well, the others will ask."
"Did you tell him that?"
"I told him I'd ask you," Garon repeated. A little colour returned to his face. "I thought he ought to wait for his answer."
Denys drew the lamp nearer. "Sit here, Ser Garon. Tell me exactly what he agreed."
Jon made room. Before long Garon was arguing for an allowance for damaged fittings, but none for days lost to headwinds. He had soot still beneath his lashes and a tear in his sleeve, but his voice had steadied. Jon let him finish before asking what repairs the ships would need when they reached Dragonstone.
* * *
They went north with the slowest ship setting their pace.
At the first sheltered anchorage, the carpenters refitted the western prize's steering oar while her people rested ashore and soldiers watched the approaches. Fresh water came aboard in casks. Men who had wanted another voyage found that what they wanted first was sleep upon ground that did not move.
Jon heard the crews' grievances, paid for food and sent the fit men back to their drills when they began picking quarrels from idleness. The wounded watched and offered advice until Hewyn told them he would remember every correction when they could stand again.
Vhalar remained aboard Goro's galley. When Jon sent for him to examine the captured books, he came with a stick and two men ready to catch him. He identified a captain's false name, disputed a price and refused at first to discuss a harbour whose lord had once given him refuge.
Jon left that question for another day. He marked the answer Vhalar did give, and asked the next.
Goro proved easier to deal with, though he argued hard for his men. He brought the wounded men's needs before the captains' comforts and came back twice about the promised wages of a sailor who had died after the battle. Jon ordered the man's earned pay kept for his kin. After that, Goro began bringing solutions with his complaints.
The cut on Corwyn's wrist closed slowly. He spent the voyage learning the larger prize from the men Denys had placed aboard her. Jon heard him give an order sharply enough to turn heads, only for a sailor to correct it. Corwyn glanced towards him, his mouth tightening, then passed on the correction.
One clear evening Elyas brought his star tables up to the rail. Garon stood beside him while he matched the marks on the page to the sky. When Jon approached after the watch had changed, Elyas lowered the table and straightened.
"Carry on," Jon told him. "Which one have you found?"
Elyas showed him. Away from the lanterns, Jon could see stars too faint to show themselves above a city in his old life; they crowded the dark between the familiar bright ones.
Elyas pointed one out, lost it when a cloud passed and began again. He was less certain than he had sounded over supper. Denys paused beside them long enough to correct the direction of his finger, then left him to find the next for himself.
They stayed until Garon began yawning. Elyas folded the table carefully before taking it below.
The sea gave them calm days and contrary winds. At night Jon sometimes woke with the long horn still sounding in his ears. He would lie listening until the creak of the ship and the ordinary steps above him became familiar again.
Alasdair kept Fergus's sword with the belongings they would take to his family. He began laughing with the household before the voyage ended, though once Jon found him alone with the bundle open before him. Alasdair started wrapping it again when he saw him.
Jon sat beside him and held the cloth while he tied it.
When Dragonstone finally rose ahead, the sight drew men to the rails of every ship.
The mountain appeared first, dark against a pale morning sky. Then the castle took shape upon the lower heights, its towers and twisted stone figures emerging as the fleet drew nearer. Smoke trailed above the island. Fishing boats turned towards them, and one made for the harbour with her crew pulling hard.
Jon stood at the bow. His bandage had been changed again that morning. Behind him, men were straightening coats, putting away gear and calling across the water to friends aboard other ships.
Aurane came to stand beside him.
"They'll have seen the extra hulls."
"They'll see the wounded too."
"Aye."
Jon looked back along the convoy. Four prizes, three blue-bannered galleys and the merchants crowded with people he had promised to bring here. Goro's ship had drawn level with the larger prize. Vhalar stood at her after rail with one hand braced upon the wood, his wounded leg held stiff. He was looking at the castle.
The fishing boat reached the harbour mouth. Men began gathering along the quay.
"A boat ahead," Jon told Aurane. "Tell Ethan how many need carrying. Have carts brought down, and beds made ready. Tell him we'll need to arrange the funeral once the wounded are ashore. I'll speak to the families first."
Aurane went to pass the order. Jon watched the harbour grow nearer until he could distinguish faces among the people waiting.
He had wanted them to see what he had brought home.
Now he looked for the families.