The next several days passed in uneasy quiet. The Triarchy stayed holed up on Bloodstone, apparently plotting something in the shadows.
The Dornish on Grey Gallows kept sending scout ships to prowl the nearby waters. According to Logar's spies, they even tried to slip a vessel toward Bloodstone, only to be intercepted halfway by the Sea Snake's fleet. A short, sharp sea skirmish followed.
Logar knew the blockade would provoke a savage response, so he drove his men harder than ever to finish the fortifications. Every extra defensive trick they could add might save lives later.
The whole island buzzed with activity under his command. Fresh supplies poured in, including several heavy scorpions and a couple of trebuchets Logar had squeezed out of the Velaryons.
That day, while Logar was overseeing work in the camp, a runner came sprinting up. While digging trenches and raising walls, his crew had struck a pool of thick black liquid seeping from the ground. It was slowing the work.
Logar didn't understand at first. He marched over himself and stared at the dark, sticky ooze rising slowly in the pit. He dipped a finger in it — thick, viscous, strangely familiar.
"Black tar!" Kendel the shipwright shouted. "That stuff burns like mad. I've seen it in the shipyards back on Driftmark…"
The words hit Logar like a thunderclap. This is crude oil.
In his old world it had been called "black gold" — vital, non-renewable, turned into fuel and gasoline. Normally it lay thousands of feet underground, but here a shallow seep had found a crack and was leaking up with the groundwater.
One thought flashed through his mind: If this burns… can I weaponize it?
"Shame we can't use it properly," Kendel sighed. "It needs proper refining to remove the impurities. We don't have the equipment for that here."
Logar frowned. Crude came in many grades — some flashed easier than others. This thick, dirty stuff was full of grit and wouldn't burn cleanly on its own.
Still, the discovery gave him an idea.
He turned to Kendel. "Can you filter some of it? Strain out the sand and stones with cloth or leather, then mix in something to help it burn? Store it aboard the ships for later."
Kendel scratched his head. "I've heard it can be done, but it's messy work. And to make it really catch, you'd need to blend in pine resin, sulfur — that sort of thing. Takes time."
"Doesn't matter," Logar said firmly. "Start filtering a batch and test it. If it works, mix in the flammables and seal it in barrels on the ships. This could be very useful soon."
"…Alright." Kendel sounded doubtful but took the order.
Logar walked away, mind already racing. He wasn't thinking of crude oil as fuel — he was remembering Greek fire from the Eastern Roman Empire. That terrifying substance burned on water, almost impossible to extinguish, and had won the Byzantines countless naval battles.
This world also had wildfire, supposedly brewed by the pyromancers of Asshai and said to be even deadlier. Logar didn't know the recipes for either, but he didn't need to. If the black tar would burn and stick to enemy hulls, that was enough.
...
That night, as work on the island finally stopped, Daemon Velaryon arrived with several supply-laden ships.
He walked the camp holding a torch, inspecting the new walls, ditches, and watchtowers. Then he stepped into the command tent.
"Looks like you've been busy," he said to Logar. "At least my trip delivering supplies wasn't wasted."
Logar raised an eyebrow. He knew House Velaryon was happy to let his pirates bleed the Triarchy for them, but he kept his tone light. "Always a pleasure to serve House Velaryon."
Unlike his uncle Malentin, Daemon didn't waste time with smug remarks. He got straight to business.
"I didn't come just to drop off crates. Our scouts spotted three supply ships heading for Bloodstone. They'll pass near here at bat's hour. My uncle sent me to tell you — we're hitting them together."
Logar wasn't surprised. This was exactly why the Velaryons had hired him. Besides, after days of digging and hammering, he was itching for action.
He stood, a dangerous grin spreading across his face. "Wouldn't miss it."
Just before bat's hour, Logar and his men boarded their ships and slipped into the hidden cove on the island's southwest side with Daemon's squadron. They waited in the darkness.
The night wind moaned. Waves slapped the hulls. Then, under cover of night, three heavily laden supply ships appeared, escorted by two large warships flying Triarchy banners. The guards scanned the sea nervously.
The moment Logar's lookouts spotted them, his blood sang. The prey had arrived.
Daemon's ship flashed a signal lantern and surged forward.
Logar gave the order. "Move!"
The enemy convoy was alert, so speed was everything. If Bloodstone's garrison noticed the attack and sent help, the night would turn ugly.
"Kill!"
Using the darkness, Logar's ships burst from the cove and cut straight across the supply route.
"Ambush! Velaryon fleet!"
The enemy crews saw the silver seahorse banners in the torchlight and paled. After years of bloody fighting in these waters, the hatred ran deep.
"Stop them!"
Daemon stood on the deck of his flagship Windbreaker and roared the command. His warships slammed into the lead escort.
Arrows hissed through the night. Triarchy soldiers dropped screaming across the decks.
"We can't win — split and run!" the convoy commander shouted, signaling his ships to scatter.
Too late.
Logar's squadron had already swept in from behind. Torchlight lit the panic on every enemy face. He gave a cold laugh.
"Attack!"
The pirates howled like wolves, ramming the supply ships. Wood splintered. Oars snapped like twigs.
Before the defenders could react, Logar's men leaped across with blades and axes, crashing onto enemy decks in a storm of steel and screams.
The clash of swords, war cries, and dying shrieks mixed with the crash of waves. Blood sprayed across planks and poured into the sea.
The night ambush had begun.