"My lord father told me that grim places breed grim men, and grim men rule the world."
— Theon Greyjoy.
…
Year 289 AC.
The Summer Isles. Walano Isle. The City of Last Lament.
"And remember this: no conflicts with the locals. We have only one hundred and eighty sailors and two hundred and twenty marines. That is a formidable force, capable of fighting off three or four pirate ships! But this city has five thousand guards, so do not go looking for a fight with the locals. And pay no mind to the fact that these dark-skinned men have little armor and few swords! They are the world's best archers, with the best, motherfucking bows! You have three days, then Sea Panther departs," Zirarro gave his final instructions.
From the moment Alequo Olko, the Braavosi seafarer, became Captain of the galley, Zirarro took the post of his First Mate and deputy. It was no surprise, then, that he was the one instructing the ship's crew.
"Still, I would advise you to attend the reception hosted by Prince Abhaz Ba; he provides guest quarters for noble and wealthy visitors to the city in his splendid palace. Why stay at an inn when such an opportunity exists?" Alequo, standing beside me, spoke in High Valyrian.
The Braavosi man was dressed in a light blue linen shirt, a thin black woolen vest, and matching trousers tucked into skillfully worked boots. Chestnut hair curled down to his shoulders, and a neatly trimmed short beard made him resemble a bravo. That was the name given to the duelists of Braavos, such as Syrio Forel, who taught Arya Stark fencing.
"Respected Alequo, I have little desire to contact the local authorities, much less the ruler. But do not worry, you can certainly find various delicacies and respectable brothels in the city. There is no need to be a guest of the Prince of Last Lament for that," I replied with a slight smile.
I truly did not want to stay at the local ruler's court. No matter how friendly and welcoming the Summer Islanders were, politicians always remained politicians. After so many days on the open sea, I wanted to rest body and soul in the city, not socialize with courtiers and merchants.
The Prince's Palace was visible from the port area and was built in the manner of a Ghiscari Pyramid with local architectural elements woven in. It resembled the temples of the indigenous peoples of the Americas. It looked quite majestic, but I was more drawn to the local temples, people, and customs. After all, it is not every day one encounters a civilization so similar to the proto-states of the Incas, Mayas, and Aztecs.
"Supplies will be replenished by tomorrow morning. But the men need rest, so I suggest we handle the loading closer to our departure. Nothing will go missing from the warehouses, which are guarded by the port watch. The locals value their city's reputation as a safe place for trade," Zirarro, who had approached us, interjected.
"Then let us check into an inn and walk through the city's interesting places." I desperately wanted to eat something other than fresh fish and dried meat, so my suggestion was met with clear enthusiasm.
Finding rooms in a decent place and arranging dinner was no problem. After all, Last Lament has the largest harbor in the entire Summer Archipelago, and merchants from all surrounding lands sail here to buy exotic animals, spices, rare timber, art objects, and precious stones. In return, they sell good iron, swords, armor, and grain to the locals. It was no surprise that the owner of one of the city's best taverns knew several Valyrian dialects, as well as the Common Tongue used in Westeros.
Having enjoyed a marvelous meal of local crocodile meat seasoned with spices, fruits, and light amber wine, we set off for a walk through the city.
The architecture of the Summer Islanders was full of contrasts. In the poorer districts, houses were built of wood, which was not the best building material due to the frequent tropical rains. Wealthier residents had stone houses. No complicated architectural decisions were used in the construction of these buildings, yet combined with colored ornaments, they looked cozy and harmonious.
Meanwhile, the estates of the aristocracy and the wealthiest merchants were true works of art. The often three-story palaces were surrounded by gardens with fountains and statues. On columns of white marble, one could see the history of the house and its most memorable moments carved into the stone. Walking through the rich quarters, one could hear the singing of exotic birds, and sometimes small monkeys, popular local pets, were visible right on the fences.
The city's inhabitants looked unusual and distinctive. Dreadlocks and bracelets made of wood or cloth were popular among the poor. More affluent residents had pierced ears with various earrings and pendants. Several passersby wore multi-colored cloaks made of local bird feathers on their shoulders—the traditional attire of the Summer Islanders.
After visiting a couple of temples and admiring the trees planted next to them, I was even more delighted. It turns out that the priestesses of the Summer Isles are also the keepers of their people's history, which they carve into the trees. Huge, towering giants, entirely covered in skillful carvings—an incredible sight!
However, we had to leave the sanctuaries. Or rather, I insisted on it. The Summer Islanders primarily worship a Goddess of Love, and they pray in a peculiar way. A woman or man, upon reaching maturity, settles in the temple for a time and offers their body to anyone willing, thereby giving praise to their Goddess. So, I had to pull my companions away from the embrace of lovely maidens, as even the Praetorians accompanying us had begun to eye the priestesses and temple servants with clear interest. Zirarro later lamented for a long time that he was not allowed to worship such a good goddess.
Hah. And Tyrion Lannister in canon complained about cruel gods and regretted that there were no deities of "teats and wine." It seems he just hadn't been to the Summer Isles.
We walked until late evening. Last Lament truly turned out to be a very safe and clean city. We visited both the poor districts and the aristocratic quarters. Getting into the latter was no trouble, though the Paladins had to wrap their weapons in cloaks. This was the local tradition signifying an oath before the gods that one came in peace. The city had its own sewage system, which was designed and built by the Valyrians long ago. Before the Doom of Valyria, the Freehold had been the Summer Isles' main trading partner. On every corner of the busy streets, one could find a pair of guards. Sometimes entire patrols, consisting of seven men, passed by.
Over dinner, Alequo and I engaged in conversation. We ate alone; Zirarro was currently carousing in one of the brothels.
"The next passage will be very dangerous. On one side will stretch the ruins of Valyria, and on the other, the Basilisk Isles. We must sail as far as possible from the destroyed Freehold, near which the sky is black with ash and smoke, and the waters boil. But the farther we get from the ruins, the closer we will be to the Basilisk Isles, a hotbed of piracy. I think we should sail at an equal distance from both dangerous places," the Braavosi seafarer said, finishing his hippopotamus meat stew.
"I do not believe pirates will be so dangerous for us. I have heard that, unlike the Ironborn, they do not wear armor. Furthermore, pirate ships usually carry thirty, more often fifty men. On the largest ships, the number rarely reaches two hundred. Against a shield wall of two hundred men clad in iron, they are not worth a bent copper. And if things get hot, we have just as many sailors, who are quite decent with hatchets and round shields. To be a threat to us, they would need a small fleet. Well, even if fortune turns its back on us and we meet a pirate armada, which gathers only once every twenty years, if the gods will it, a galley can still only be stormed from two sides." Though I acknowledged the danger of the journey and the threat of pirates, I was not overly worried.
I did not pay such a substantial sum for a war galley launched from the Braavosi shipyards just to tremble in fear at the sight of sails on the horizon. And outfitting a crew of four hundred men is no cheap matter, for those people must also be fed and watered! It suddenly became clear that maintaining a medieval warship is a very costly business.
"Yes, the crew and warriors on the Sea Panther are excellent. But one should not underestimate the pirates; in times past, they held the entire coast in fear, from Qarth to the Slaver's Bay," Alequo shook his head, wetting his throat with a sip of wine.
"How fortunate that those times are past," I chuckled, helping myself to dessert—dates and a fruit resembling a mango. "I am more interested in our further route. Passing the Basilisk Isles, we will arrive at New Ghis, where we will replenish supplies. But what city is next? As far as I know the map, we can make one final stop before our destination in a choice of several ports."
"That is correct, respected sir. From New Ghis, we can set a course for cities such as Port Moraq, Faros, and Vahar. I would advise the latter. In Faros, there are rumors of a power struggle following the death of the previous ruler. The locals might try to use you in their intrigues, as two hundred experienced legionaries are a serious force," the Braavosi continued, putting a date into his mouth. "Port Moraq is not very conveniently located for us. And there has been a lingering feud for twenty years with nearby Zabhad. 'Pirates' surprisingly often sink merchants stopping at Zabhad, completely ignoring the ones who prefer Port Moraq. The Zabhad 'pirates' pay their opponents back in kind."
"And Qarth, which controls the Jade Gate, the second sea route leading to the Empire of Yi Ti, benefits from all this instability in the region," I thought with a smirk that, although Planetos and Earth are different, the people inhabiting them have few differences. And they use very similar methods.
"You are very clever, sir. True, although Qarth controls the fastest and safest trade route, some merchants prefer to sail their ships through the Spice Straits. While it takes longer, it costs much less," Alequo flattered me.
"Then it is decided. Our next stop will be New Ghis. Then we will visit the harbor of Vahar, and after that, we will head straight to our destination without further delay."
"To a calm sea and a following wind," the captain proposed a toast with a smile.
"To the successful end of our journey," I replied, smiling as I raised my cup.
…
Year 289 AC.
The Summer Sea.
"Sails to starboard!"
The shout from a sailor caught me in my cabin, where I was dining. I decided not to rush to the deck immediately. Calmly blotting my mouth with a napkin, I rose from the table and began to prepare. Within ten minutes, my body was protected by half-plate armor, and a backsword rested in the scabbard at my waist. Adjusting the dagger hanging on my left side, I put on my helm and strode toward the exit.
There was a bustle on the deck. Sailors and warriors checked the sharpness of their axes, spears, and swords. Most were already in armor, the legionaries in lorica segmentata, and the sailors in chainmail. Why not leather armor? I, too, was initially perplexed, as I considered it lighter and cheaper, just the thing for a common rower. But it turned out that leather armor is roughly comparable in weight to iron armor, yet offers worse protection and has to be replaced every four years because the leather simply rots, especially at sea.
"Viserys! I was just about to send for you; I thought you had fallen asleep and heard nothing," Zirarro called out to me.
Turning toward the Ghiscari's voice, I saw him in the company of the legion commander, Elario Basco, and Captain Alequo Olko.
"Good day. Have we finally met pirates?" I asked, greeting everyone at once with my question.
"Yes, Lord Tribune. The lookout in the crow's nest spotted three sails off the port bow. The standard battle alert was given; unfortunately, this time not in vain. A couple of minutes ago, we were informed that they are three pirate ships flying flags with a black sun," the Centurion reported.
Elario Basco was a former sellsword who had commanded his own company of a hundred swords. I personally lured him into the Burning Legion after learning of a mercenary company that had lost half its personnel and was in dire straits. The Centurion had not managed to participate in the war with Tyrosh three years prior, but he had performed excellently in a recent battle under my personal command. So, I had no doubts when choosing the Centurion who would lead the legionaries on the Sea Panther.
"These are ships of the Triumvirate. They have been robbing merchant vessels for a good dozen years. As far as I know, these are the three bastards of Goren Harlaw, Lord of Grey Garden," Alequo Olko offered a brief background.
"I heard that the Iron Islands are fully ablaze with rebellion. Why aren't they fighting for their father back home?" Zirarro raised an eyebrow.
"The hell if I know. I'm more concerned that a mob of iron-assed bastards wearing good armor and capable of slitting throats is about to swarm us," Elario grumbled discontentedly.
"Given the size of their longships, there are about two hundred men in total. I do not think they can defeat us," the Captain voiced his opinion.
"The battle will show us. Zirarro, you command the sailors. Line them up in the rear ranks; the legionaries are better fighters. Centurion, distribute a hundred men to each side. They are to fight defensively. As many enemies as possible must die from pila; the survivors will be met by a wall of scuta and a forest of spears," I began giving orders. "I command the right hundred. Elario, you lead the left. Execute!"
Thumping their fists against their chests, the men rushed to their troops.
"I can also take part in the battle," Alequo Olko squared his shoulders, proudly patting the scabbard of the narrow blade hanging at his waist.
"I do not doubt your courage, Captain. But I worry that if you are wounded or killed, the ship will be left without a captain," I tried to dissuade the seafarer from this venture.
"Zirarro is quite capable of taking the galley to New Ghis. My honor cannot permit a proud citizen of glorious Braavos to sit idly by while others fight, including for my life," the member of House Olko lifted his head.
"Valar Morghulis," I said, offering a crooked smile.
"Valar Dohaeris," Alequo replied, becoming utterly serious. At my urging, the Captain chose a place in the line near me. Surrounded on all sides by the Praetorians, he had an excellent chance of survival.
A couple of minutes later, spent in agonizing wait, the first grappling hooks flew over the rail, their claws digging into the timber and reliably binding the ships with ropes. We could now clearly make out the pirates, the majority of whom were men from the Iron Islands. Simple helms protecting the head and nasal bridge. Chainmail and padded jackets, as well as round shields paired with axes and boarding cutlasses. That was the entirety of the sea reavers' gear. These lads lived richly, indeed.
"Pila!" the Centurion and I commanded almost simultaneously. The throwing javelins soared high and soon rattled off the enemies' shields. The pirates, who had been attacking with fierce cries, were now screaming in pain. The short spears, due to their construction, punched through the wood of the shields and often wounded, and sometimes killed, the opponents sheltering behind them. The first ranks of the bastards fell almost entirely, completely shattering the enemies' initial thrust.
"What are you fools waiting for?!" yelled a tall brunette standing in the rear ranks. "Attack those green-blooded sheep!"
"Throw!" I commanded after a brief delay.
This time, the losses were not as heavy, but only a couple of dozen enemies remained, along with their commander. Yet, the sense of relief that had washed over us was instantly chilled by a single detail: the third pirate ship closed in alongside the one whose crew my soldiers were fighting. Soon, a good hundred more fighters stood opposite us.
"Hold the line! Stab them with your spears! Sailors, do not let these bastards flank us!" I shouted sharply, grabbing a nearby spear.
"The Tribune is with us!" a nearby soldier yelled.
"Tear them apart!"
"Burning Legion!"
To the inspired cheers of the legionaries and sailors, I took my place in the front ranks, surrounded by the Praetorians. A few moments later, the pirates finally lined up and surged forward like a wave straight into our ranks. The spears delayed them but did not stop them. Soon, the points were lodged in shields and bodies, and some of the shafts were hacked apart. More and more legionaries drew their backswords, and I was no exception. My spear had managed to cleave the face of one hapless pirate and pierce the neck of a second. My luck ran out on the third; the point was parried by a shield, and then the weapon was utterly shattered.
"What is dead may never die!" the very same hulking man commanding one of the pirate ships suddenly appeared beside me.
Offering no reply to his cry, I took the blow of his two-handed axe on my shield's boss (umbo). A metallic clang rang out. The point of my backsword shot toward the enemy's armpit, but it was deftly deflected by the axe, which he quickly repositioned.
A moment later, my scutum splintered under a mighty blow, and metal gleamed in the gap. Snarling, I jerked the shield to the left, pulling the lodged weapon to the side. The pirate stumbled, and the blade of my backsword flew toward his ribs.
Quickly reacting, the brute released the axe handle and stepped back.
"Bitch! You'll die!" he roared, clutching his side. Though the backsword had only grazed him and not cut through the mail, I definitely broke his ribs.
Drawing a short sword and a boarding axe from his sheaths, the enemy captain rushed to attack again. At that moment, my sense of danger screamed, and I reflexively raised my shield. An arrow struck the wood with a thud, and a drop of cold sweat rolled down my back. If not for my mystical talent, I would already be lying with a pierced skull.
Before I could lower my scutum, the beard of the axe snagged its edge. A sharp yank pulled the shield down. And the enemy's blade lunged toward my face.
Operating on pure animal instinct, I dipped my head toward the deck. A glancing blow landed on the crown of my head. The sword, sliding off my helm, struck my shoulder guard.
My head swam, my legs buckled, and my mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood from a bitten lip. But I managed to stay on my feet. The shield crashed to the deck. The tip of my backsword plunged into the chainmail on the pirate's abdomen; I thrust it, and my ears registered the bastard's death rattle.
Pulling the backsword from the Ironborn's belly, I looked around for a new opponent.
"Beric is dead!"
"The captain is killed!" cries rang out from the attackers' ranks.
I found myself in a small clearing where I had fought the giant. I was surrounded by Praetorians in torn cloaks, their swords stained with blood. Nearby, Alequo Olko finished off his opponent, his narrow blade punching through the man's neck.
"Burning Legion!"
"Attack!"
"For the Tribune!"
Battle cries rose behind me, and soon, the hundred of Elario Basco slammed into the thinning pirate ranks. It seemed they had already dealt with their own opponents. Fifteen minutes later, it was all over. No prisoners were taken, so all the Ironborn were sent overboard to meet their Drowned God.
"A glorious victory," the Braavosi seafarer said, approaching me with a smile.
"I will agree with the Braavosi on that one," Zirarro grumbled, wincing in pain at his bandaged arm.
"Two hundred and thirty-six pirates killed. We lost seven legionaries and ten rowers. No one has serious wounds; two dozen men will be back in action within a couple of weeks," the Centurion reported. "What are your orders, Tribune?"
"Tend to the wounded, gather the trophies, and we sail," I gave my quite standard orders for such a situation.
"Are we really leaving the ships in the sea?" the Ghiscari asked, genuinely surprised.
"Our goal is not loot, Zirarro. We must not delay the Sea Panther," I cut him off and headed for my cabin.
My condition was not conducive to long talks. I felt slightly nauseous, and my head ached terribly. That Ironborn bastard definitely left me with a concussion.
And so another day passed on the Summer Sea. The ancient stronghold of the Dragonlords' House was drawing ever closer...
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