Narrow Sea – Stepstones
Ten days later at noon, the merciless sun beat down on the jagged islands and reef-choked waters of the Stepstones.
Pierce's fleet—the Golden Crab and her two caravels—sailed through a relatively open channel.
The sea was an eerie mix of deep blue and murky green. The air smelled of salt, rotting seaweed, and a faint trace of sulfur.
The silence felt wrong. Only the slap of waves against the hull and the sailors' rhythmic calls broke it.
Suddenly a sharp whistle cut the air from the lookout. "Enemy ships off the port bow! Ten longships!"
Pierce strode to the bow deck and scanned the water. From behind a cluster of jagged reefs to the left, ten low, sleek longships exploded into view like sharks smelling blood.
The ships were primitive, prows carved into monstrous sea creatures and skulls. Their hulls were painted dark camouflage—that was why the lookout hadn't spotted them sooner.
Their huge square sails bellied full in the wind. Dozens of oars on each side beat the water in perfect unison. They came on fast, fanning out to trap the fleet.
Their target was obvious: the biggest, most obvious ship—the flagship Golden Crab. This was a planned ambush.
Longships were the deadliest assault vessels of the era. With good command, they could decapitate an enemy fleet in minutes.
The famous Iron Fleet of the Iron Islands was made entirely of longships. Like a pack of orcas, they swarmed prey and tore it apart.
The Golden Crab screamed "rich lord's flagship," so naturally it was the pirates' number-one target.
These sea-hardened killers knew that killing Pierce or capturing the Golden Crab would mean victory.
"Prepare for battle!" Pierce's voice rang calm and steady across the deck.
The crew and warriors on the Golden Crab moved with practiced speed. Archers and crossbowmen scrambled to the forecastle and sterncastle, hauling quivers and bolts.
The silent, black-armored Tyrant wights formed ranks along the rails like cold statues, gripping heavy cleavers, long-handled axes, or hooked spears. Their gray-white eyes held no emotion—only absolute obedience to orders.
The two caravels adjusted sails to gain the weather gauge, ready to support with their side-mounted ballistae.
As the longships closed in, Pierce could clearly see the ragged, savage pirates. They waved cutlasses, fish spears, and short axes, howling with bloodlust.
The pirates didn't plan a traditional boarding fight right away. They knew the Golden Crab was too big for a direct ram.
Their best chance was to hook the ship and swarm aboard for close-quarters combat—overwhelming the defenders with numbers.
The lead longships suddenly veered at the last moment, sweeping past the Golden Crab's side. Their handling was expert, dodging most of the fleet's attacks.
This highlighted the weakness of large ships: they couldn't turn as nimbly as longships.
As the vessels passed each other, pirates hurled grapnel hooks attached to ropes.
Clang-clang-clang!
Dozens of iron hooks bit into the Golden Crab's rails and upper works. The pirates' plan was clear: use the longships' speed and agility to latch on, then swarm up the ropes for boarding while using sheer numbers to overwhelm the crew.
"Cut the ropes!" officers shouted.
Pierce's sailors and guards were hand-picked veterans. They swung axes at the taut lines, but the pirates were faster. Some brave souls were already climbing the ropes with knives in their teeth.
Then Pierce gave the order: "Tyrants—clear them."
The motionless Tyrant wights moved. No shouts, no fear, just precise, efficient violence.
The nearest wights swung their heavy weapons—not at the ropes, but straight at the climbing pirates.
Bones cracked. Screams rang out. Several pirates were smashed into the sea. Others were hooked like fish and yanked overboard.
Some Tyrants actually grabbed the ropes and, with inhuman strength, hauled entire longships closer to the Golden Crab.
"Loose arrows! Loose!" pirate captains screamed in panic.
Volleys of arrows flew from the longships, but they bounced harmlessly off the Golden Crab's thick hull and the Tyrants' armor. Even direct hits did nothing—the Tyrants were already dead.
Meanwhile the Golden Crab's crossbowmen fired back with deadly accuracy, dropping pirates on the longship decks.
The real slaughter began when the ships collided. As several longships scraped alongside the Golden Crab, the waiting Tyrants simply leaped down from the taller deck like falling boulders.
Their heavy landings smashed through planks and crushed oarsmen below. The moment they hit the enemy decks, hell broke loose.
The silent killing machines ignored blades and axes. They swung their weapons with terrifying force, smashing pirates aside or spearing them and flinging them into the sea.
If the pirates had been better armed, they might have stood a chance. But these ragged fighters were outmatched in every way—armor, strength, endurance. The Tyrants didn't tire, didn't feel pain, and fought with mechanical precision.
The narrow decks of the longships actually worked against the pirates, limiting their numbers and turning the fight into a slaughterhouse.
Within minutes, three longships were turned into floating abattoirs.
The remaining pirate crews watched in horror. They had never seen soldiers like these—silent, fearless, radiating cold death, like undead warriors from the hells.
Fear spread like plague. Many pirates suddenly remembered they had urgent business elsewhere.
These men had survived years at sea. They knew when to cut and run.
The Stepstones were a maze of islands and hidden channels. Only locals knew which passages were safe. That knowledge was their greatest advantage.
So when things turned sour, many pirates decided to flee.
Pierce had other ideas. He ordered the Golden Crab to pursue. The massive flagship—powered by its hidden wight engines and reinforced bow—rammed straight into a fleeing longship like an angry sea monster.
CRASH!
Wood shattered with a sickening crunch. The longship was nearly split in half. Seawater poured in. Pirates screamed as they went overboard. The Golden Crab barely slowed; only a few dents marred its reinforced keel.
The other two escaping longships were quickly overtaken. A barrage of ballista bolts from the caravels and the Golden Crab shredded their sails and decks. They struck their colors and surrendered.
…
…
"AAAHHH!"
"Mercy!"
"Don't kill me!"
…
When it was over, the sea was littered with wreckage, corpses, and screaming survivors. The Golden Crab lowered boats to fish out the few prisoners worth keeping. The rest were left for the sharks and the cold water.
Twenty-odd pale, soaked, wounded pirates were dragged onto the main deck. They shivered under the cold stares of the Tyrant wights.
Pierce sat in a chair a sailor had brought up, calmly wiping the blade of the Just Maid with a soft cloth.
"Who sent you?" His voice was quiet, but every captive felt ice run down their spine.
The pirates glanced at each other. One man who looked like a petty officer was shoved forward. He stammered, "M-my lord… it was… it was Captain Lys, the Sea Witch… She said… a big fish would pass through these waters… and we had to take the flagship…"
"Sea Witch Lys…" Pierce paused in his wiping. A faint, interested smile curved his lips. He remembered the name.
Years ago, when he crushed "Mad Hat" Jones in the Stepstones, this cunning woman had been one of Jones's three chief lieutenants. She used strange drugs, cheap sorcery, and rumors of controlling sea beasts. She had barely escaped Pierce's fleet by jumping overboard.
Now she had her own crew and had become one of the three pirate kings. And she had dared to bite the hand that once spared her.
The information made several things click in Pierce's mind. His route had been planned in advance. Either someone had leaked it… or the pirates' true target wasn't him at all.
Considering recent events in the Stepstones, another possibility occurred to him.
"Interesting," Pierce said, setting the sword aside. "Where is she now?"
The petty officer hesitated, but one look at the nearest Tyrant's lifeless gray eyes made him spill everything. "Bloodstone Island! Her main base! Things have been tight lately—Blood Scorpion Summers and One-Eye Moro both want to swallow her crew. She… she needed one big score to rebuild her strength…"
It seemed Pierce's old defeated enemies weren't getting along. They should have banded together, but pirates being pirates, they were still tearing each other apart.
Or perhaps someone higher up never wanted them united in the first place.
(Since you all love playing games… let's play one big one.)
He hadn't planned to get involved in Stepstones affairs. But they had brought the fight to him first.
Bloodstone Island—he knew the place. It lay northeast in the Stepstones, a larger island famous for its blood-red rocks and treacherous currents.
"Good," Pierce stood. "You three," he pointed at the petty officer and two calmer-looking pirates, "will guide us to Bloodstone Island. The rest—lock them below."
He turned to his second-in-command. "Repair any damage, clean the decks, and tow those three intact longships. We're going to pay an old friend a visit. Also—release a raven. Send word to Salladhor Saan."
Salladhor had been dragging his feet. If he didn't want to move first, Pierce would give him no choice. Once the fighting started, the Lysene pirate would have nowhere left to hide.