The air over Cutthroat Isle was thick with a heavy, stifling dread. In the harbor, the Chainbreakers' warships had already begun their desperate patrols, weaving through the jagged reefs of the main island. The only deep-water channel—the gateway to their home—had been purposefully choked by the scuttled remains of a merchant galleon, a jagged ribcage of wood intended to keep the wolves at bay.
The sea breeze whipped across the deck, carrying the sharp, metallic tang of salt and the promise of rain. To the men of the Chainbreakers, stationed downwind, the wind felt like a cold blade against their skin. Yet, their eyes burned with a fierce, unyielding light. They believed themselves blessed by a living god, and gods did not permit their chosen to fall.
Garo stood on the quarterdeck of the Sea Fox, his face a mask of weathered granite. Internally, his stomach was a knot of ice. He was a man of the earth and the sword, not the sea, and this was the first time he had faced a fleet of this magnitude. He had done what he could—blocking the main inlet—but he knew the Stepstones. A shallow-draft longship or a flat-bottomed raider didn't need a deep channel. They only needed a daring captain and a high tide.
He looked out at the horizon, where the enemy hung like a dark cloud, and whispered a silent prayer to the man who had spent his life defying the impossible.
Beyond the surf, a sprawling armada of longships and cogs drifted like a pod of killer whales scenting a wound. They moved with a predatory grace, testing the currents, seeking the one fracture in the defense that would allow them to tear the throat out of Cutthroat Isle.
At the center of the swarm sat the Crown, the massive flagship of the Pirate King, Letho "Blackfox."
Letho was a man of Braavos, a former sellsail who had once mastered the trade routes of the Narrow Sea. He had been a respectable privateer until a botched intelligence report led him to plunder a treasure galleon belonging to the Sealord of Braavos himself. Realizing he couldn't return home without losing his head, Letho had fled to the Stepstones with a hull full of gold. He had used that wealth to buy loyalty, ships, and eventually, a crown.
On the decks of the Crown, the pirates were a riot of color and bloodlust. Many had smeared their faces with red and blue pigments, looking like demons birthed from the spray. They brandished curved cutlasses and heavy boarding axes, the steel flashing wickedly in the noon sun.
"My brothers!" Letho's voice carried across the water, amplified by the silence of the waiting fleet. "Cutthroat Isle sits before us. They have three hundred men and a handful of rotting hulls. We have a thousand! Tell me, how do we treat these 'Chainbreakers'?"
"Slay them all!"
"Send them to the Drowned God!"
"I want their gold and their guts!"
The roar of a thousand killers echoed off the cliffs.
"Good!" Letho laughed, his eyes glinting with Braavosi cunning. "Lower the flat-bottoms and the light longships. The wind is at our backs—it's a fine day for a slaughter. Go!"
Signal flags—vivid splashes of red for attack and blue for the small craft—raced up the Crown's masts. In the Stepstones, where few could read, color was the only language of war.
The pirate captains responded instantly. Longships that had been towed behind the larger cogs were cut loose. Oars hit the water in a rhythmic, churning beat.
BWAAAA-RUM. BWAAAA-RUM. BWAAAA-RUM.
Three long blasts of a horn signaled the start. Sails unfurled, bellied out by the following wind, and the pirate swarm surged forward.
"Evasive maneuvers! Hard to port!"
"Archers, to the rail! Nock arrows!"
From the crow's nest of the Sea Fox, the lookout's scream galvanized the crew. Garo watched as a longship carved through the waves toward them, its prow carved into a snarling dragon's head.
The attacker was captained by Aro, a renegade from the Stormlands who had fled the wrath of House Baratheon years ago. He was Letho's most aggressive hound, and he had his sights set on the Sea Fox. He knew that if the flagship fell, the Chainbreakers would scatter like sheep before a wolf.
"Fire!" Garo commanded.
A volley of arrows hissed from the deck. In the Stepstones, where wood and feathers were scarce, archers were a luxury. Only the Sea Fox carried a dedicated corps; the rest of the Chainbreakers' fleet relied on heavy stones and javelins.
"Kill them!" Aro roared as his longship, the Petrel, slammed its iron-hooked ram into the Sea Fox's side.
The pirate "Wolfpack" tactic was in full effect. While the Sea Fox was larger and stronger, it was being swarmed by smaller, nimbler vessels that "bit" at its flanks. All around the island, the sea became a chaotic tapestry of splintering wood and screaming men.
"Keep us moving!" Garo shouted, bracing himself as the ship lurched. "Lord Eddard and the Gods are watching! Do not falter!"
The Sea Fox surged forward, its massive hull acting as a battering ram. It collided with a pirate flat-bottom, snapping the smaller boat like a dry twig. Men tumbled into the red-tinged water, where the dorsal fins of sharks—drawn by the scent of blood—already circled.
But the pirates were relentless. Three more longships threw their grappling hooks over the Sea Fox's railings. The heavy iron bit into the wood, dragging the flagship to a halt.
"They're boarding!"
With a chorus of savage yells, the pirates swarmed up the ropes like ants. The Sea Fox was no longer a ship; it was a battlefield. Steel met steel on the blood-slicked deck as the weight of numbers began to tip the scales against the Chainbreakers.
Want to read +60 chapters ahead! Support me on patreon and unlock early access!
patreon.com/c/Daredevil_05