For the next several days the Triarchy stayed strangely quiet, hunkered down on Bloodstone as if 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 by the Sea Snake's fleet. A short but fierce naval skirmish followed.
Logar knew the blockade would provoke fierce retaliation, so he pushed his men relentlessly to finish the fortifications. Every extra defensive trick they could add might save lives later.
The entire island buzzed with activity under his command. Fresh supplies poured in, including several heavy scorpions and a couple of trebuchets Logar had wrung out of the Velaryons.
That day, while Logar was busy in 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! It's black tar!" Kendel the shipwright shouted. "That stuff burns like mad. I've seen it used in the shipyards before…"
The words hit Logar like lightning. 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 inspiration.
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 burn better, you'd need to blend in pine resin, sulfur — that sort of thing. It's complicated."
"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 extremely useful soon."
"…Alright." Kendel sounded doubtful but took the order.
Logar walked away, mind racing. He wasn't thinking of crude oil as fuel — he was remembering Greek fire from the Eastern Roman Empire, the terrifying substance that burned on water and was nearly impossible to extinguish. He didn't know the exact recipe, but if the black tar would burn and stick to enemy hulls, that was more than 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 watchtowers, ditches, and reinforced walls. Then he stepped into the command tent.
"Not bad," he said to Logar. "Looks like my trip delivering supplies wasn't wasted."
Logar raised an eyebrow. "Always glad to be of service to House Velaryon."
Daemon got straight to the point. "I didn't come just to drop off crates. Our scouts spotted three supply ships heading for Bloodstone. They'll pass near here soon. My uncle sent me — we're hitting them together."
Logar wasn't surprised. This was exactly why the Velaryons had hired him. Besides, after days of construction, he was itching for action.
He stood, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. "Wouldn't miss it."
Just before bat's hour, Logar and his men boarded their ships and hid with Daemon's squadron in a cove on the island's southwest side, waiting in the darkness.
The night wind howled. 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 spotted them, his blood surged. The prey had arrived.
Daemon's ship flashed a signal and charged.
Logar gave the order at once. "Move out!"
The enemy convoy was on high alert, so they had to strike fast. If Bloodstone's garrison noticed the attack and sent reinforcements, the night would turn ugly fast.
"Kill!"
Using the darkness as cover, Logar's ships burst from the cove and blocked the supply route.
"Ambush! It's the Velaryons!"
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 and roared the command. His warships slammed into the lead escort.
Arrows filled the night sky. Triarchy soldiers dropped screaming across the decks.
"We can't win — scatter!" the convoy commander shouted, signaling his ships to break formation.
Too late.
Logar's squadron had already swept in from behind. Torchlight illuminated 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 aboard with blades and axes, turning the decks into a slaughterhouse.
The clash of steel, war cries, and dying screams mixed with the crash of waves. Blood sprayed across planks and poured into the sea.
The battle ended in a one-sided slaughter for Logar's side.
Of the three supply ships and two escort warships, not a single vessel escaped. A few sailors leaped overboard and swam for their lives; the rest were cut down where they stood or taken prisoner.
After the complete victory, Daemon's fleet linked up with Logar's and they sailed back to the island with their captured prizes.
Perhaps because the fight had gone so smoothly, the nobleman Daemon was in an excellent mood. The moment they landed he told Logar, "Well done! Keep all the loot from tonight — we don't want any of it."
Logar was more than happy to accept. With massive construction underway, they desperately needed manpower, timber, food, and weapons. More loot was always welcome.
After ordering his men to unload the cargo and move it to the warehouses, Logar turned to Daemon, who was still savoring the night's victory.
"What's your next move?" he asked. "Keep blockading the supply lines and grinding them down?"
Daemon had been deeply impressed by Logar and his pirates' ferocity. Knowing he would still need them to draw enemy attention, he decided to share a little.
"My uncle Malentin is quite pleased with the current situation. You build a base here to tie down the enemy while our fleet raids their supply ships. These past few days, both the Dornish and Triarchy have pulled back. Our family's trade routes are much safer now."
Logar sighed. "Their retreat is just a facade. They'll strike back hard within days. If I were your uncle, I'd keep scouts watching their fleet movements and hide our ships nearby. When they attack the island, we hit them from behind and catch them completely off guard."
Daemon glanced at him but said nothing.
He knew that even if the base fell, the Velaryon fleet could always sail away and retreat to safer waters.
But saying that out loud would be too cruel, so he simply patted Logar on the shoulder and left.
Logar didn't miss the fleeting pity in Daemon's eyes. He had only offered the suggestion as a courtesy anyway. He had never placed much hope in Malentin or his men.
...
"Damn it all!"
On Bloodstone, Sharako Lohar flew into a rage when he learned that another supply convoy had been ambushed and destroyed by Logar's forces. He hurled his gilded wine cup against the stone table, shattering it and spraying wine everywhere.
His command tent was built from Bloodstone's blood-red rock. Animal hides and captured sails hung on the walls. Several pine torches crackled, casting a dim yellow glow.
His senior officers stood around him, gripping axes tightly, faces twisted with fury.
After the previous sea battle where they had mistakenly believed they were walking into a trap and retreated, losing several ships, everyone had been simmering with frustration.
Now the enemy was actively raiding their supply lines, causing shortages of food and water on the island. The men could no longer hold back and were demanding to strike back.
"Have the magisters of the Triarchy been informed about the Velaryon reinforcements?" Sharako asked, his eyes fixed on a fat, turban-wearing subordinate.
The man, Chaman — a typical Myrish merchant — wiped sweat from his brow nervously.
"Honored commander," he said carefully, "the magisters urge extreme caution regarding full-scale war with the Velaryon fleet."
"They believe we should maintain the current stalemate and protect our existing territories."
"Fucking short-sighted cowards!" Sharako and his officers cursed loudly.
The magisters living comfortably in their cities had grown soft. They hated taking risks unless there was massive profit or immediate danger.
Even though he despised them, Sharako couldn't openly defy their orders. All reinforcements, food, and weapons came through the Triarchy. He couldn't afford to anger them.
"However," Chaman added quickly, "while they oppose full war with the Velaryons, they have no objection to you defending our current holdings and clearing out the scattered pirates in the Stepstones."
Sharako's eyes narrowed. He immediately thought of the nameless little island where his men had been humiliated, and the bastard pirate called the Throat-Cutter who had defeated them.
That same man had now allied himself with Corlys Velaryon and become a sellsword captain.
"Pirate scum pretending to be proper sellswords," he snarled. "They just found a new master to wag their tails for because they couldn't survive on their own!"
Killing intent burned in his eyes. He stared at Chaman and gave the order:
"We've been humiliated long enough. Send word to Grey Gallows. Contact the Dornish — they hate the Throat-Cutter as much as we do. Tell them to join us. Together we'll rip out this thorn the Velaryons planted right under our noses!"
"Yes! Kill the Throat-Cutter and teach the Velaryons a lesson!"
The officers roared, fists raised, shaking the tent.
"At once!"
Chaman knew a storm of blood was coming. He didn't dare delay and hurried out to carry out the command.
...
Logar had no idea that a deadly crisis was closing in on him.
He continued driving his men to strengthen the island's defenses and maintain high alert.
Because of the black tar seeping from the ground, he officially named the island Blackgold Island.
After days of hard work, the base had grown significantly — twice its original size. Watchtowers, defensive ditches, and reinforced wooden walls now stood ready for a long siege.
In addition, Logar spent heavily to recruit fighters from across the Stepstones.
News that the Throat-Cutter had returned and was leading a rebellion against the Triarchy and Dorne spread like wildfire. Scattered pirate crews, long bullied and forced to hide in caves and holes, flocked to his banner.
With Logar's reputation for winning against greater odds, they saw him as their best chance for revenge.
His force swelled rapidly from just over five hundred to nearly eight hundred men.
Under Logar's strict command, the eight hundred warriors trained hard on Blackgold Island. The entire island had a murderous atmosphere — every man sharpening blades and fletching arrows, ready for the great battle to come.
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