Bloodstone Isle. The Stepstones.
"What did you say? Hahaha! Did you hear him? He's telling me stories of dragons! Oh... hahaha!"
Salladhor Saan laughed so hard he nearly spilled his wine, his hands never ceasing their wandering over the bare skin of the dark-skinned beauty lounging in his lap. Around him, his captains erupted in a chorus of mocking jeers.
"Hahaha! Did you forget to wake up this morning, lad?" "Letho must have sailed into a waterspout and scrambled his brains!" "If you told me you saw a sea kraken, I might buy it... but a dragon? Pull the other one!"
The pirates in the great hall roared with delight, their derision washing over the small group of panicked survivors standing before them. The messengers were trembling, their faces pale beneath layers of salt and soot, looking very much like men who had clawed their way out of hell. But the tale they brought was simply too absurd for the cynical lords of the Stepstones to swallow. It was as if someone had walked into a tavern and claimed a long-dead behemoth was currently roaming the streets and looking for a snack.
"I feel for Letho's misfortune, truly," Salladhor Saan said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "But your story is a bit too colorful for my taste. I suspect you're all just chameleons looking for an excuse for your defeat. I'll not be wasting my ships on a ghost hunt."
Salladhor sighed, looking like a man pained by the cowardice of others. In reality, he was ecstatic. His plan had been to let "Blackfox" Letho and the interlopers on Cutthroat Isle bleed each other dry. He hadn't expected Letho to be wiped out so thoroughly, but he naturally assumed another Pirate King had intervened and used the "dragon" story as a smokescreen. To Salladhor, there was no honor among pirates—only interests and lies.
"We are not lying, Lord Saan!" the lead messenger shouted, his voice cracking. "My ship was turned to a torch by that beast! I saw the scales! I smelled the sulfur!"
"Even if your fairy tale were true," Salladhor waved a dismissive hand, "I have an old friend arriving soon. I have no time for the squabbles of Cutthroat Isle."
"But... what are we to do?" the messenger stammered. This man was Letho's steward, a man who had watched his master build an empire only to see it vanish in a pillar of gold flame. "The men at the home base won't believe me. They'll kill me and carve up the spoils for themselves! My master's legacy cannot end like this!"
"Well," Salladhor said, a predatory glint in his eyes, "I can introduce you to someone. Perhaps she can solve your problem."
"She? You... you mean 'Bloodwitch' Mary?" The steward recoiled as if stung. "She's a lunatic! Her crew are monsters! I'll not go to her!"
"Bloodwitch" Mary was a sorceress from Thunder Isle, rumored to carry the blood of Asshai and Yi Ti. She had come to the Stepstones years ago after her vessel was taken by reavers. Legend said she had used necromancy to raise her slaughtered companions as a crew of the walking dead. She was a shadow in the Narrow Sea, striking without mercy and leaving no survivors. Rumors spoke of a man-eating sea kraken that obeyed her whims—a claim bolstered by recent sightings of a gargantuan beast off the Broken Arm of Dorne.
"Bloodfang Bay isn't so terrible," Salladhor purred. "Many find sanctuary under her shadow. I've always found that for the right price, even a god will strike a bargain."
The steward hesitated, his desperation finally outweighing his dread. If the enemy had a dragon, he needed a monster of his own. He nodded slowly, his mind set on a dark path.
"My Lord," a pirate captain whispered as the steward departed. "Do you think the witch will actually help him?"
"That isn't my concern," Salladhor Saan said, draining a goblet of golden wine. "Let them tear each other apart. I'll simply be the one to sweep up the pieces."
Salladhor's chest swelled with pride. One rival was broken, another was seeking a madwoman, and soon, he would be the undisputed King of the Narrow Sea. He began barking orders to contact Letho's remaining lieutenants—gold, steel, women—whatever it took to buy their loyalty now that their master was gone.
Tyrosh. The Free City.
Tyrosh was a sprawling fortress of a city, one of the Nine Free Cities of Essos. Its massive black walls, built from the fused stone of ancient Valyria, loomed over the northern Stepstones.
Inside the Purple Palace, the Archon of Tyrosh, Adolf Moses, leaned over a report brought by his Spymaster, Canaris Guy.
"Dragons in the Stepstones? My dear Guy, are you certain this isn't some elaborate jest?"
Adolf Moses was a man of green hair and a thick, purple-dyed beard—the flamboyant fashion typical of Tyroshi nobility. He stroked his whiskers, his dark brown eyes narrowing at the parchment.
"Respected Archon," Canaris Guy replied with a low bow. "Our agents and the fleeing pirates tell the same tale. If it were a mere rumor, the details would vary. But they all describe a beast of molten gold."
"Then it might be true?"
"I cannot say for certain, Archon. Westeros has a history of 'dragon' sightings that turn out to be wildfire or witchcraft. But we cannot ignore the possibility."
Adolf Moses leaned back. He was an ambitious man, tired of the bribery required to win re-election from the merchant-princes. He wanted the Archonship for life. To do that, he needed an edge—a power that couldn't be voted away.
"It doesn't matter who or what it is," Moses grunted. "Everyone has a price, whether it's gold or women. Send an envoy. I want to see if this 'shadow' in the Stepstones can be bought."
"At once, Your Excellency. I shall see to it that this power becomes yours."