Chapter 69: The Cannibal
The Stepstones, Cutthroat Isle – Main Island
"Kill them!"
"Ugh—!"
"Hah… hah… hah…"
Brooke, a member of the shield phalanx of The Chainbreakers, was gasping for breath. Hearing the constant shouts and screams in the distance made it feel as though the very air had grown heavy in his lungs.
Brooke was an ordinary common-born youth from King's Landing, raised in the squalor of Flea Bottom. Because of his tall stature and enormous appetite, his parents had cast him out so that the rest of the family might survive another winter.
It so happened that during that time, a so-called merchant vessel—nothing more than a slaver's ship flying false colors—anchored in Blackwater Bay. And so, in a haze of hunger and desperation, Brooke found himself transported to the Stepstones.
Though this was his second experience with war, Brooke still could not truly adapt. The Seven Kingdoms had known more than a decade of uneasy peace, and most boys of his generation had never seen true battle.
But the soldiers of The Chainbreakers had endured relentless training. Grueling as it was, they never lacked food or clothing.
So now, though fear gnawed at Brooke's heart, discipline held him firm. Training and full bellies had forged obedience deeper than terror.
More importantly, Brooke believed.
He believed that Lord Jon—miracle-maker, dragonlord, the man blessed by higher powers—would once again deliver them to victory.
When Dragonfire fell from the sky, those swaggering pirates would kneel and wail like whipped dogs.
"Ready! Brace!"
At the twin commands, Brooke tightened his grip on the handle of his tower shield and lowered his stance, bracing for impact.
He remembered Garo's instructions: so long as the shield wall held and the spearmen behind them maintained formation, even heavy cavalry would shatter upon them.
"Bang!"
Impact struck like a charging bull.
The sound and force reached Brooke at once. Though they had trained with suspended logs to simulate collision, this—this was something far worse.
"Monsters! Watch yourselves!"
A cry rang from behind him. Brooke's vision swam, his thoughts slow to return.
"Hiss… splat…"
Suddenly he felt wet warmth splatter across his hand.
"Crack—"
Pain lanced through him.
At last his senses cleared enough to see the creature before him.
It wore something like a twisted human face, stretched long and wrong. Its pupils were horizontal like a goat's, yet far more grotesque. From its arms writhed fleshy tendrils, and its axe dripped blood.
"Baa… hiss…"
The thing struggled with Brooke briefly, then—annoyed—flung him aside with monstrous strength.
He crashed through several men behind him.
More of the abominations poured forward, shrieking in goat-like tones. The defensive line split under their assault.
Spearmen thrust desperately. The creatures could be killed—but only with repeated strikes. Even so, several fell twitching before the formation.
Yet with the line broken, pirates flooded in like a rising tide.
Arrows from the rear cut some down, but their numbers were overwhelming.
Within minutes, the docks were a sea of enemies.
Brooke staggered to his feet just as the monster that had thrown him advanced, axe raised.
Before the killing blow fell—
A massive black shape blurred past him.
He glimpsed only a spiked abdomen and gleaming chitin.
"Charge!"
Under Samwell's command, the Giant Poison Spiders summoned by Jon surged forward like unleashed blades.
Their vast bodies leapt into the melee with terrifying agility. Hooked legs impaled pirates as easily as lances through mail.
The tide shifted instantly.
Even the goat-faced horrors could not withstand the spiders for long.
Then—
"ROAR!"
A shadow eclipsed the battlefield.
An enormous black dragon descended.
Its scales were obsidian-dark. Horns and ridges bristled along its spine. Emerald eyes burned with ancient cruelty.
The Cannibal.
Jon Snow's will moved within it.
"Feel the fury of Dragonfire!"
The dragon's jaws opened.
Dark green flame erupted forth.
It scythed across the docks in a searing arc, reducing men to screaming torches. Wood, flesh, and steel alike succumbed to its heat.
Pirates ran ablaze, rolling, shrieking for water.
"Help—!"
"My hand—!"
"Seven save me!"
Their cries drowned beneath the roar of flame.
Jon turned skyward, wings beating thunder into the air. He climbed, searching.
There.
Two hundred yards offshore, the pirate flagship rode at anchor.
The Queen Lychelino.
Without hesitation, Dragonfire fell upon her.
Flames devoured hull and sail alike. Nearby ships caught as well, spreading the inferno across the fleet.
Smoke choked the horizon. The sea reflected hellish light.
Men leapt overboard, only to vanish beneath burning wreckage.
Fear consumed the pirates utterly.
Some dropped to their knees, praying to gods they had long since forsaken.
Jon heard nothing.
He gave no mercy.
Ship after ship became ash.
The sea stank of char and blood.
Then—
From the rear of the fleet, a separate cluster of ships lingered.
Their banners were different.
"Lord Saan," one of the Lyseni captains shouted urgently, "we must withdraw! The dragon turns this way!"
On the quarterdeck of his flagship stood Salladhor Saan, the Lysene pirate prince, colorful and shrewd.
He had never intended to commit fully to the assault alongside "Mad" Jack's rabble.
His fleet had remained well behind the main body.
"It is too late," Salladhor muttered grimly.
The dragon roared in their direction.
"Raise the peace banners!" Salladhor snapped. "And quickly! Lookouts—see if there is a rider! If there is a rider, perhaps there is sense!"
Rainbow-striped banners rose above his masts—Lyseni colors of parley and trade.
High above, Jon noticed.
The Cannibal wheeled slowly in the smoke-filled sky.
And the rainbow flags snapped defiantly in the sea wind.
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