Year 108 A.C.
POV: Denovan
The outline of the Port of Thieves emerged through the salty mists of dawn. I decided to give that name to the island; it seemed appropriate and brought me vague and distant memories of stories from my past life.
Before we began the final approach, I made a point of walking to the gunwale of the flagship and pulling Captain Jones by the collar of his silk tunic. The man paled when I pointed to the dark water beside the hull. A colossal shadow, over thirty-five meters long and with scales as black as obsidian, slid silently just below the surface, cutting the waves with a predatory grace.
"Remember our deal, Jones," I murmured near his ear, feeling him tremble. "Orochi is hungry. If you blink in a way I don't like or try to guide us into a trap, I'll throw you overboard before you can even scream. Understood?"
The pirate nodded frantically, his eyes wide, though I knew men like him didn't possess a single drop of credibility.
From high above, through Heimdall's eyes, I already had the tactical map of the island engraved in my mind. The place wasn't very big, but the port was considerably full. There were several ships anchored; some were tattered carcasses, completely useless, but others were well-kept and robust. The port itself was a chaotic structure built entirely of rustic wood and straw: a row of decaying taverns, low-roofed warehouses, and cheap inns that exuded the smell of cheap rum and sweat. There were no family homes, legitimate shops, or real commerce. It was just a stopover den for scoundrels to rest and spend stolen gold before returning to plunder.
I turned back to Jones, releasing him with a shove. "Did you really dream of robbing this place? To me, it just looks like a decaying pirate brothel. I don't see anything of value here."
Jones shot me a judging and outraged look, as if he were dealing with a brainless monster. "That is exactly the point, you idiot giant," he grumbled, brushing off his clothes. "What you see on the surface is nothing. The true black market, the auctions of real treasures, and the trade of valuable slaves... it's all done in a hidden network of caves within the woods, in the heart of the island."
I narrowed my eyes, fixing my golden eyes on his. "Don't you dare hatch plans in your head, Jones. If you do, I swear I'll kill you in a horrific way."
I commanded Heimdall to descend from the sky. The enormous sea eagle glided close to the masts, and I used our mental connection to make him pass from boat to boat in our fleet, letting out a sharp, rhythmic screech. It was the runic signal we had agreed upon. As soon as the hulls hit the pier, the slaughter would begin. I wanted to be quick, clear the place, and finally stretch my legs on dry land.
To my surprise, no ship tried to stop us at sea to ask questions. Their security was pathetic. We anchored our galleons and drakkars directly at the wooden piers and began to disembark.
Before stepping onto the port's planks, I made sure Jones and the surviving pirates from the last battle were firmly tied up and locked in the lower holds under the guard of Fenrir, who growled menacingly at every movement. I might be bold, but I wasn't a fool.
As soon as my heavy boots hit the wooden pier, chaos ensued. I drew my two southern-steel tomahawks, feeling the perfect weight of the weapons. I had never been a fan of longswords; axes and throwing blades were the natural extension of my arms.
"Marks! Kill the armed ones, surround the rest!" I roared.
The pirates walking along the docks, mostly drunk or sleepy, froze upon seeing the horde of savage warriors. The first corsair who entered my range tried to pull a dagger. In a single fluid motion, I delivered an upward strike with the right-hand tomahawk. The sharp steel blade sliced through his wrist as if it were butter and continued its trajectory, splitting his jaw in two. The man collapsed, spurting blood onto the wood.
It was an initial massacre. The pirates ran in panic. They were cruel against defenseless merchants, but they were cowards when facing real warriors. We advanced down the pier, and the sound of heavy boots hitting the wood echoed alongside screams of agony.
From above, Heimdall's coordination was impeccable. No one could escape our line of sight. A group of four pirates tried to run toward a smaller boat to cut the ropes and escape by sea. From high up, the monstrous eagle folded his wings and dived like lightning. Heimdall's talons, reinforced with rune-sharpened iron blades and propelled by his massive weight, sank into the back of the rearmost pirate. The impact broke the man's spine instantly, while the bird's sharp beak tore out the second pirate's eye in a brutal rip. They died like unarmored rats.
"Clear the ships first!" I ordered Korr and Morn, who were leading the flanks with surgical violence.
We boarded the anchored ships one by one. We entered the decks kicking down doors and slitting throats by surprise. Most of the corsairs there were sleeping in hammocks or resting in the holds, completely unarmed and unprotected. There were no guards, no sentries on the gunwales. To tell the truth, it was even bizarre. How much stupid confidence did those men have to believe that nothing would happen to them in an isolated port, surrounded by other criminals? It bordered on the ridiculous.
Korr led the clearing of a Lyseni galley. He entered the captain's cabin and, before the man could even get out of bed, severed his head with a single sweeping strike of his castle-steel sword. The Marks operated with a frightening efficiency; the runes of strength and stamina on their bodies meant that every axe blow shattered shields and bones without the slightest effort. The pirates who dropped their weapons immediately were knocked out, tied up with thick ropes, and tossed into the corners of the decks. We would capture as many as possible.
After immobilizing and locking up a few dozen pirates on the boats, we gathered our one hundred and twenty warriors and advanced toward the heart of the port on the island.
We kicked down the doors of the wooden taverns. We didn't find gold in large quantities on the surface, only piles of copper coins, cheap silver, and barrels of sour wine. However, in the back of one of the largest taverns, we found something that made my blood boil: a dozen tied-up women, slaves captured from ships of Westeros and Essos, crying in terror. I ordered them to be freed and taken to our drakkars under protection. They would receive food and water.
As we advanced toward the edge of the woods, the surviving pirates began to organize, and there was a bit more resistance. A group of about thirty corsairs entrenched themselves behind a pile of heavy crates and barrels at the exit of the village, armed with Lyseni crossbows and longbows.
"Cover!" Morn shouted, raising his runic shield.
A hail of crossbow bolts battered against our wooden and steel defenses. One of my men was hit in the thigh; he let out a roar of pain, but the rune on his body immediately began to contract the muscles around the wound, staunching the bleeding and allowing him to remain standing.
The runes of vitality, endurance, and the mark of the beast gave them an abnormal physical resilience, even for animals.
"My turn," I murmured.
I sprinted forward in a zigzag. A pirate aimed a crossbow directly at my chest. Before he could pull the trigger, I threw my left tomahawk. The weapon spun in the air and embedded itself exactly in the middle of the shooter's forehead, cracking his skull with a dry snap. The man fell backward, firing the bolt harmlessly into the sky.
I vaulted over the crates with the two-meter height of my runic body. I landed, crushing a pirate's chest beneath my heavy boots, and began to swing the remaining axe in a deadly arc. Blood, teeth, and pieces of flesh flew with every strike. My men stormed the trench right behind me, using brute force to tear the enemy defense line to shreds. Those who saw the violence of the attack lost their courage and retreated, running desperately into the dense vegetation of the forest.
I released Fenrir from the galley for the pursuit. The giant wolf shot like a gray arrow through the trees, his teeth bared. We heard screams echoing in the woods as he caught up to the fugitives, but the vegetation there was too thick. Even with the beast's sense of smell and Heimdall's aerial vision, some pirates managed to disappear into the dense thicket. They knew the trails; we did not. Furthermore, they were armed and alerted by the noise of the combat in the port.
I thought for a moment about sending for Jones to guide us through the forest, but I quickly changed my mind. Traitors betray when they find an opportunity in the dark. It was better to trust Fenrir's scent to follow the blood trails and keep only my strictly trusted men around me.
We entered the dense woods in a high-guard formation. Walking through that tropical forest was a completely new and irritating experience for us.
In the North, the cold froze the ground, and the forests of weirwoods and pines were clean, open. Here, the air was heavy and muggy. There were thick vines that snagged on our armor, thorny branches that tore at our clothes, and clouds of buzzing insects that stung our skin incessantly, challenging the patience of my warriors.
"Keep your eyes open. They know we're coming," I warned in a low tone, wiping the sweat from my forehead.
It didn't take long for the woods to take their toll. The surviving pirates had prepared rudimentary traps along the main trail. We passed a tripwire stretched across the ground, which Morn spotted in time, but a little further ahead, one of my men misstepped. A spiked log attached to a vine swung violently down from a tree, hitting a Mark's shield with the force of a battering ram. The impact threw the warrior against the rocks, breaking his arm. Two ambushing pirates leaped from behind giant ferns with daggers, trying to take advantage of the moment of distraction.
Before they could touch the fallen warrior, I threw myself forward. I grabbed the first pirate by the neck with my bare hand and squeezed until I heard the crack of his throat cartilage rupturing, tossing the lifeless body aside. The second tried to land a strike on my ribs, but my southern-steel armor blocked the blade perfectly, sparking. I spun the tomahawk and opened his chest with a deep cut that exposed his ribs.
"Keep moving forward! Don't stop!" I roared.
Following the deep footprints and the scent Fenrir was tracking, we finally reached a rocky clearing at the base of a limestone hill. There was the entrance to the network of caves Jones had spoken of.
And there, playtime was over. The true battle was about to begin.
Looking at the dark mouth of the cave through the branches, I perfectly understood why Daemon Targaryen, even mounted on a colossal dragon like Caraxes, was taking years to eradicate the scum of the Stepstones. Entering that place frontally was logistical suicide.
The cave entrance had been transformed into a veritable subterranean fortress. There were two heavy ballistae mounted on elevated wooden platforms inside the darkness of the crevice's mouth, aimed directly at the open clearing. Behind stone barricades reinforced with iron beams, dozens of well-armed pirate warriors—not the drunken scum of the port, but disciplined mercenaries with partial plate armor and large tower shields—held their position, the tips of their spears and bolts gleaming in the light of internal torches.
Any dragon that tried to breathe fire there would merely lick the stone entrance, without reaching the depths where the men hid. And any army that tried to charge the clearing on foot would be turned into minced meat by the ballistae in seconds.
The mouth of the cave exuded a cold air and the echo of dozens of men cocking their weapons.
I looked sideways at Korr and Morn. Our men were breathing heavily due to the heat of the forest, their runes glowing under the sweat, but the eyes of each of them overflowed with a savage fury. They wanted to test the southern steel against real defenses.
"They think they are safe inside that stone," I whispered, a sharp-canined smile appearing on my face as I gripped the hilts of my axes. "Let's show them what happens when a savage invades their home." The word savage was said with an amused sneer.