Stepstones – Bloodstone Island
Pierce wasn't far from Bloodstone Island. His memories of the place were a little fuzzy, but with three live prisoners on board it didn't matter. Separate them, question each one, and the lies would sort themselves out.
After the battlefield was cleaned up, his fleet towed the three captured longships and followed the pirate guides straight toward Bloodstone Island.
Roughly a day later the island's dark-red silhouette rose on the horizon. In the morning light it almost looked… welcoming. Almost. The place was all jagged cliffs and steep crimson rock faces, with only a handful of narrow gaps leading into the sheltered inner bay. Even the air smelled metallic, like old blood and rust.
The second Pierce's ships appeared off the coast, the pirates spotted them. Signal smoke shot up from the watchtowers, and a few fast scout boats slipped out of the bay mouth to shadow them at a distance.
Obviously "Sea Witch" Lys already knew her ambush fleet was gone. Pirates marked their vessels with flags and colors; Pierce showing up in force with her ships in tow told the whole story.
He didn't rush the heavily defended bay entrance. He anchored the fleet in open water just outside the island, well clear of the narrows, then ran up signal flags demanding to speak with Lys herself.
No answer came. Pierce wasn't worried. He could sit here forever. The pirates couldn't.
The standoff dragged through the whole afternoon. Sunset turned the sea and blood-colored rocks molten gold and crimson. The air felt thick enough to choke on.
Pierce, on the other hand, was perfectly relaxed. He lounged in a deck chair, enjoying the coming twilight. His Tyrant wights didn't care about night fighting, and the three warships carried more than enough stores to last weeks.
The pirates didn't have that luxury. Their stockpiles were big, but they burned through supplies faster than he did. He had all the time in the world to make them question every life choice they'd ever made.
Finally a two-masted sailship—bigger than a standard longship and decorated with eerie seabird feathers and painted runes—eased out of the bay mouth. It stopped a bowshot away from the Golden Crab. A woman stood at the prow.
Sea Witch Lys.
She looked about thirty, with the deep olive skin and thick black hair of Dornish blood. Her hair was braided into dozens of tiny plaits strung with tiny shells and colored stones. Her face had a wild, exotic beauty, but her eyes were sharp as a hawk's—hardened by years of sea raids and betrayal.
Tight leather armor under a colorful feathered cloak. Curved blade at her hip, plus several fat pouches.
"Pierce Celtigar!" Her voice boomed across the water through an iron speaking horn, rough and mocking. "Years since we last crossed paths and look at you now—lord of your own little kingdom. What, the farm girls back home got boring? Had to come all the way to the Stepstones to mess with us 'small folk'?"
Pierce stood at the Golden Crab's bow, cloak snapping in the wind. "Lys, your welcome party was… memorable. Ten ships full of enthusiasm. I'm flattered."
Her face tightened. "Spare me the bullshit. You killed my men and sailed straight to my front door. What do you want? Don't think a couple big ships and those dead-eyed freaks of yours make you king of these waters. They run deeper than you know."
She knew plenty about him. But she clearly didn't want to talk about it.
She was scared. And confused why he'd dare show up with only three warships.
"I'm not here for your waters," Pierce said flatly. "I was passing through. You started this. So here are your choices: submit… or be destroyed."
"Submit?" Lys threw her head back and laughed, sharp and ugly. "To you? A jumped-up lord hiding behind the king and Stannis Baratheon? You know who I am? I crawled out of Jones's crew as a nobody and built this empire without kissing anyone's boots!"
Her voice dripped pure resentment and hard-won pride. Pierce knew the story: minor Dornish noblewoman who fell for the wrong person (a lord's wife) and paid for it. Hunted by her family, she ended up at sea and clawed her way to the top with ruthlessness and her own Shifter gift. House Martell might rule Dorne, but it was never one happy family—Rhoynar blood versus locals, old grudges, religion. Someone back in Sunspear clearly didn't want Pierce showing up for that visit.
Lys had backup. She wouldn't have poked him otherwise.
"Looks like you picked the second choice," Pierce said, unsurprised. Once he had her, he could learn whatever he needed.
This one liked beautiful women, just like Shae. Pierce had always found that useful—they got bold and aggressive in private.
"Choice?" A sly glint flashed in her eyes. "I choose… to give you a big present!" She suddenly barked, "Now!"
From behind the lower auxiliary masts on her ship, dozens of axe-wielding pirates exploded out from under camouflaged canvas. They didn't charge Pierce's vessel—they hacked frantically at the cables and mast steps holding the two auxiliary spars.
Crack! Boom!
In front of Pierce's stunned crew the two masts—clearly pre-sabotaged—snapped like dry twigs. Sails, rigging, and heavy spars came crashing down straight onto the Golden Crab's bow and side like a giant net. Ropes already hooked onto the rails.
"Hahaha! Pierce! You really thought I was still the same fool you almost killed years ago?" Lys crowed, drawing her curved blade. "The Stepstones' winds are going to scatter your bones today! Everyone, prep—"
Her laughter died mid-sentence.
From behind her, back on Bloodstone Island, thunderous battle cries, exploding flames, and terrified screams suddenly ripped through the air. Thick black smoke boiled up from a slope facing the bay. On the horizon, silhouetted against the dying sun, a fleet of seven or eight assorted ships raced full speed toward the bay mouth. At the lead flew a grinning skull banner edged with Lysene heraldry—Salladhor Saan's flag.
Lys's face went corpse-white. She whipped around, eyes wide with disbelief and rage. "You… you planned this—"
"I told Salladhor the second your main force sailed out to 'welcome' me," Pierce finished calmly. "You really thought I was just here to chat?"
"Despicable!" Lys shrieked, teeth bared.
"Despicable to a pirate?" Pierce's smile was cold. In one smooth motion he drew the Just Maid while reaching back. A servant slapped the heavy Valyrian steel axe Bloodstorm into his waiting hand.
Dual-wielding sword and axe, he stood at the bow—half-tangled in the fallen rigging—and called across the gap: "Lys. Your time is finished."
Before the echo faded he leaped straight from the Golden Crab's tall prow onto her lower sailship. The jump was pure predator—eagle stooping on a rabbit—cutting a clean arc through the air.
The pirates on deck froze for half a heartbeat, then roared and charged.
The instant Pierce landed, Bloodstorm swept out in a crimson arc. Valyrian steel flashed dark red in the sunset, carving the first two men—and their weapons—into four pieces. Blood sprayed like rain.
The Just Maid in his right hand struck like a viper, punching straight through another pirate's throat.
He became a whirlwind of death. Left-hand axe smashed and cleaved with mountain-splitting force—blades snapped, bodies exploded. Right-hand longsword darted and sliced, finding every gap. No one got within three steps. Every swing left screams and flying limbs in its wake.
Lys watched in raw terror. She knew he was strong. She hadn't known he was a monster.
Desperate, she yanked a bone whistle from her pouch and blew a shrill note.
Seabirds circling overhead screamed and dove straight at Pierce's face like guided missiles.
Her Shifter trump card.
Pierce didn't even raise a weapon. A faint silver-gray flash lit his eyes. An invisible psychic wave rolled outward.
The birds slammed into nothing, shrieking in agony, then spiraled down into the sea or smashed against the masts.
Lys staggered, blood leaking from the corner of her mouth. The backlash hit her like a hammer.
In that split second Pierce smashed through the last defenders and stood right in front of her.
"It's over."
Bloodstorm came down like judgment. Lys barely got her blade up.
Clang!
Her fine steel sword shattered. The axe kept going, shearing through cloak and shoulder armor, carving a deep, bone-deep gash across her shoulder. Blood soaked her leather in seconds.
Lys screamed and stumbled back. Pain and terror drowned her. She saw her best fighters dying under Pierce and the boarding Tyrants. She saw Salladhor Saan's fleet closing on the bay. She saw her home base burning.
Everything was gone.
Pierce didn't kill her. He simply pressed the tip of the Just Maid against her throat.
"Surrender or die."
Lys stared at the demon in front of her, then at the smoking ruin of her life. The last light in her eyes went out. The broken blade clattered to the deck. She dropped to her knees.
"I… surrender…"
With her capitulation the rest of her crew threw down their weapons. The fighting on Bloodstone Island faded. Salladhor's raid had clearly worked.
The sun slipped below the horizon. Night swallowed the Stepstones, the air thick with blood and smoke.
These pirates had only been part of Lys's force. The rest would probably scatter or join the other two kings once word spread.
None of it mattered to Pierce anymore.
He had his opening. And Lys was it.
He stood at the prow of the captured sailship, boots planted among surrendered pirates and fresh corpses. Salladhor Saan's fleet sailed into the bay while firelight danced across Bloodstone Island.
One of the three great pirate kings of the Stepstones—"Sea Witch" Lys—had just been erased in a single night.
Pierce's reach had just driven deeper into these chaotic, vital waters.