The journey by sea was not a pleasant one. Below deck was a place of perpetual twilight, and the rocking of the ship, though not violent, was constant. In a half-waking, half-dreaming state, Gendry found himself back in the forge. He wore his leather apron, his bare arms gleaming with sweat as he hammered a glowing sword into shape. The forge was a blistering furnace, hot as a dragon's maw.
The scene shifted. He saw his mother, her yellow blond hair catching the light as she sang to him. Her face, however, was a blur, a memory already fading into mist. "Mother," he whispered, tears welling in his eyes. But that love was a thing of the past. In this chaotic world, he had to be a man, not a boy. The dream did not last. It was shattered by a sudden, violent noise from the deck above—shouts, screams, and the frantic ringing of a bell.
"What's happening?" Gendry was instantly awake. The ship had been making good time; they should have been nearing Myr. He strapped on his iron mask and secured the short-handled warhammer to the small of his back. He cursed himself for not bringing the bull-horned helmet and the armor he'd made. It would be close-quarters fighting, and in a brawl, his hammer was far deadlier than any sword.
He remembered Captain Dunster describing their route. They had resupplied at Tarth before making a swift passage through the Stepstones, a notorious haven for pirates and slavers. *It must be pirates,* he thought. As he opened his cabin door, he nearly collided with Qyburn, who had also been awakened by the commotion.
"Let's go see," Gendry said, heading for the companionway. Qyburn followed close behind.
"Do not be reckless, child," the old maester advised. "Blacksmiths and healers are valuable commodities. Even in the hands of pirates, we may be spared."
"You're right," Gendry conceded. "But I worry they trade in more than just goods." A handsome, sturdy boy like him would fetch a high price in the pleasure gardens of Lys, a fate worse than death. At the thought, even Qyburn's face went pale. The boy's fear was not unfounded; a smith was worth silver, but a beautiful youth sold to a Lysene magister was worth his weight in gold.
On deck, the scene was one of terrible beauty. The sky was a brilliant, cloudless blue, and the sea stretched to the horizon, as calm and lovely as a blue-eyed woman. In the distance, Gendry could see the gray, stony spine of the Stepstones, a chain of barren islands and winding channels. But there was no time to admire the view. Two dark shapes were closing in fast—long, painted ships that cut through the waves like swift arrows.
"Pirates! Pirates!" the lookout screamed from the crow's nest, the alarm bell clanging wildly.
"Damn it all!" Captain Dunster roared. "We are almost to Tyrosh! From there, it's a safe run to Myr Bay. How could we be so unlucky?" He turned to his first mate. "Can we outrun them?"
"No, Captain," the man said, his face grim. "We'll have to fight. Their longships are far more nimble than this merchant cog."
"Then there's no help for it," Dunster said, his voice hardening. "Quiet down, lads! Grab your weapons! These bastards won't take my ship!" The sailors, all Myrish men, began distributing weapons in an orderly, practiced fashion. They were not known as great warriors, but they were expert craftsmen, and Myr was famous for its crossbows. "Don't let them board!" Dunster commanded. "We are no match for them hand-to-hand!"
"Don't you worry, Captain," the first mate said, raising a complex-looking crossbow. It was a repeater, capable of firing three bolts in quick succession—an expensive and deadly weapon.
"Captain, give me armor!" Gendry demanded, running up to Dunster.
The captain looked at the tall, masked boy, his deep blue eyes burning with intensity. He saw not a child, but a warrior. "Take this," he said, handing Gendry a heavy crossbow and a leather jack. "And be careful. The bolts are poisoned." Gendry nodded his thanks. The armor was a bit small, but it was better than nothing. Even Qyburn took a crossbow, his face a mask of grim determination.
The pirate ships began to circle, cutting off any chance of retreat into the labyrinthine Stepstones. A bloody battle was now inevitable. The pirates waved their garish flags, their hair dyed in the Tyroshi fashion of purple and crimson.
"Surrender the ship and its cargo, and we will give you a longboat!" one of the pirate captains bellowed across the water. "We know you are laden with wine, spices, and silk! Do not be fools!"
"This ship is my life!" Captain Dunster shouted back, his voice cracking with desperation. "Without these goods, the debt collectors will have my head!"
Even as he spoke, thick hemp ropes tipped with grappling hooks were launched from the pirate ships, arcing through the air. The longships surged forward, their rams aimed at the hull of *The Telescope*. From the very beginning, they had never intended to let them go.
"Fire!" Captain Dunster roared, his eyes bloodshot with rage and fear. "Fire at will!"