The revelation of Narnia's location changed the balance of trade across the eastern seas almost overnight.
Within weeks, merchant captains from Braavos, Pentos, Myr, Tyrosh, Lys, Lorath, and even distant Volantis began steering their vessels eastward. Some came seeking profit. Others came hoping to establish permanent trade agreements. A few simply wished to see whether the stories about the dragon kingdom were true.
Whatever their reason...
They all came.
The harbor of Caer Peverell, once busy by ordinary standards, became crowded from dawn until well after sunset. Cranes lifted cargo almost without pause, dockworkers shouted orders across the quays, and caravans lined the roads leading inland as goods flowed toward the markets of Caer Paravel.
Narnian merchants had never known business like this.
Warehouses filled almost as quickly as they were emptied. Inns remained occupied every night, while craftsmen found themselves accepting commissions months in advance.
It seemed as though prosperity itself had sailed into Narnia.
Unfortunately...
Prosperity had a habit of attracting more than honest traders.
Far south of the Lorath, hidden among a maze of jagged rocks and narrow channels, nearly thirty pirate ships rested at anchor.
The cove was invisible from the open sea unless a captain already knew where to look. Towering cliffs concealed the ships from passing vessels, while lookout posts occupied the highest rocks, watching every merchant fleet that sailed toward Narnia.
At the center of the hidden anchorage floated the largest vessel in the fleet.
The Black Widow.
Her hull was scarred by countless battles, her black sails patched more times than anyone cared to count, and along her railings hung the faded banners of merchant ships unfortunate enough to have crossed her path.
Inside the captain's cabin, nearly thirty pirate captains crowded around a rough oak table.
Maps covered its surface.
Sea routes.
Harbors.
Even rough sketches of the Bay of Tusk.
A broad-shouldered pirate with a braided beard drove his dagger into the map hard enough to split the wood beneath it.
"They're all sailing the same way now."
His finger traced the eastern sea lanes.
"Braavos."
"Pentos."
"Myr."
"Tyrosh."
"Lorath."
"Lys."
He looked around the room.
"They're all carrying cargo worth a fortune."
Several captains exchanged thoughtful glances.
They had spent years preying upon merchant vessels throughout the Narrow Sea and the eastern coast of Essos, but never had so much wealth begun flowing through a single route.
Finally another pirate leaned forward with a grin that revealed several missing teeth.
"And none of those ships belong to Narnia."
A few men chuckled.
Others nodded slowly.
Only one captain remained unconvinced.
His face was marked by an ugly scar running from one eye to the corner of his mouth.
"You've all forgotten the Ironborn too quickly."
He folded his arms across his chest.
"The Narnians wiped them from the sea."
"No one knows exactly how many ships they lost."
"No one knows how many men died."
"But everyone knows why it happened."
"They attacked Narnian merchants."
No pirate alive wished to provoke a kingdom that possessed dragons.
The oldest man present finally spoke.
His beard had turned almost completely white, and one sleeve of his coat hung empty where his left arm had once been.
He had spent more than forty years upon the sea.
"I've watched Narnia longer than any of you."
Every eye turned toward him.
"They're different."
He reached across the table and moved one of the carved wooden ships representing a Narnian convoy.
"They protect their own."
Another piece representing a foreign merchant remained untouched.
"They don't interfere with everyone else's quarrels."
The scar-faced captain frowned.
"What makes you so certain?"
The old pirate laughed quietly.
"Because we've tested them."
Several younger captains looked surprised.
"We've raided merchants heading toward Narnia before."
He shrugged.
"Never as many as we're planning now."
"But enough."
"Narnian patrols passed us more than once."
"They offered aid to any survivors."
"But they never hunted us."
"Why?"
He answered his own question.
"Because the ships we attacked weren't theirs."
One captain slowly nodded.
"I've heard the same."
"They escort Narnian merchants."
"They protect Narnian citizens."
"But they don't declare war every time some fool attacks a foreign trader."
The old pirate smiled.
"Exactly."
Another captain leaned over the map.
"So..."
He tapped several shipping routes.
"As long as we leave Narnian vessels alone..."
"...they'll have no reason to come after us."
A cruel grin spread across the room.
"We take everyone else."
Laughter followed.
The hard, ugly laughter of men who had built their lives stealing from others.
The old captain raised one finger.
"Don't grow careless."
"If even one of you mistakes a Narnian ship for another merchant..."
His gaze swept slowly across the room.
"...pray the dragon kills you quickly."
Every captain understood.
Attacking a Myrish merchant might earn gold.
Attacking Narnia would earn only death.
Four days later, the pirates struck.
Three merchant vessels departed the harbor of Myr shortly after sunrise, their sails full as a favorable wind carried them eastward.
Their holds were packed almost beyond capacity.
Bundles of brilliantly dyed cloth.
Delicate glassware wrapped in straw.
Fine Myrish wines.
Perfumes sealed inside polished wooden crates.
Beautifully carved furniture commissioned specifically for wealthy Narnians and prosperous merchant houses.
The voyage promised enormous profit.
The captains spoke cheerfully before they sailed.
"If half the stories are true," one laughed across the water, "we'll return richer than princes."
His companion grinned.
"Then we'd best spend the gold before our wives find out."
The sailors laughed with him.
The mood remained light throughout the voyage. No one noticed the black sails emerging beyond the horizon.
The first warning came from the lookout.
"Ships!"
His voice carried sharply across the morning air.
The captains turned toward the west.
At first they saw only distant specks.
Then more.
One merchant slowly lowered his telescope.
His face lost all color.
"Pirates."
The word spread from ship to ship with terrifying speed.
"Pirates!"
"Hard to port!"
"Raise every sail!"
"Move!"
The three ships attempted to flee.
It was hopeless.
The pirate fleet had chosen its hunting ground well.
Fast vessels swept around both flanks while heavier ships advanced directly ahead, cutting off every escape.
Within minutes the merchants found themselves surrounded.
Iron grappling hooks flew through the air.
They slammed into wooden rails with heavy thuds before thick ropes tightened.
Boarding bridges crashed across the narrow gaps separating ship from ship.
Steel rang against steel.
Men screamed.
The fighting was fierce...
But brief.
Merchant sailors were brave.
Pirates were experienced.
Within fifteen minutes, the outcome was no longer in doubt.
One captain died defending the entrance to his cargo hold.
Another was cut down while trying to rally his crew.
Several sailors surrendered, throwing down their weapons in the hope that mercy still existed among the pirates.
They found very little.
Crates disappeared from one ship after another. Anything valuable vanished into the waiting pirate vessels.
Those who resisted never rose again.
By the time the sun began sinking toward the western sea, the pirates had already disappeared beyond the horizon.
Behind them floated three battered merchant ships.
Their cargo holds stood nearly empty.
Their decks were stained with blood.
Rows of bodies lay wrapped in torn sailcloth, awaiting burial at sea.
The survivors gathered silently upon the largest vessel.
No one spoke. There was nothing left to say.
The three battered merchant vessels limped across the eastern sea for two more days.
Their once-proud sails hung in tatters, patched together with whatever cloth the surviving sailors could find. Broken masts had been crudely reinforced with spare timber, while damaged rigging creaked constantly beneath the weight of the wind. Even from a great distance, any experienced captain could tell the ships had suffered a violent encounter.
The mood aboard the vessels matched their appearance.
No songs echoed across the decks.
No sailors joked while hauling ropes.
Many worked in silence, their eyes heavy with grief and exhaustion. Every ship had lost good men. Friends who had shared meals only days before now rested beneath the sea after receiving the traditional sailor's burial.
The cargo...
The reason for the entire voyage...
Was almost entirely gone.
One merchant stared into his nearly empty cargo hold and sighed bitterly.
"Months of work..."
Another captain leaned against the railing.
"It wasn't only the cargo."
"My brother was on the second ship."
"He never made it."
No one knew what to say.
Near midday on the second day, the lookout aboard the lead merchant vessel suddenly shouted.
"Sails!"
Every head turned.
For one terrifying heartbeat, many feared the pirates had returned.
Then another sailor lifted his brass telescope.
He exhaled in relief.
"Narnian colors!"
Hope spread through the battered convoy almost instantly.
Three large merchant ships sailed steadily toward them, their white-and-gold sails displaying the dragon of Narnia. Unlike ordinary merchant vessels, each ship carried rows of heavy ballistae mounted along the rails, while disciplined marines patrolled the decks in polished armor.
At their center sailed the flagship.
Captain Gazaar stood upon its quarterdeck with one hand resting lightly upon the railing as he studied the approaching vessels through his telescope.
His expression gradually hardened.
"They've been attacked."
The first mate nodded grimly.
"The damage is extensive."
"Signal the convoy."
"Reduce speed."
"We'll meet them."
Moments later, colorful signal flags rose above the Narnian flagship.
The merchant captains answered immediately.
Captain Gazaar stepped aboard the largest Myrish vessel. The moment he reached the deck, the smell struck him.
Smoke.
Blood.
He had seen enough battlefields to recognize the aftermath immediately.
Several wounded sailors rested beneath makeshift awnings while others continued repairing the damaged ship with weary determination.
A middle-aged merchant approached, bowed respectfully, and spoke with obvious relief.
"Captain..."
"Thank the gods you've come."
Gazaar returned the greeting.
"I am Captain Gazaar of the Narnian Merchant Fleet."
His eyes swept across the battered deck.
"What happened here?"
The merchant's face tightened.
"Pirates."
"They attacked shortly after dawn two days ago."
Another captain stepped forward.
"There were nearly thirty ships."
"They surrounded us before we could escape."
"They took everything."
His voice cracked with frustration.
"Everything."
Gazaar listened quietly while the survivors explained the battle.
He asked surprisingly few questions.
How many attackers?
Which direction had they fled?
How many casualties?
How much cargo had been stolen?
Only after hearing every report did he finally nod.
"I understand."
One elderly trader could contain himself no longer.
"You control these waters now!"
Several merchants immediately nodded in agreement.
"You defeated the Ironborn!"
"You have a dragon!"
"Why are these pirates still alive?"
"They're attacking ships sailing to your kingdom!"
Gazaar remained perfectly calm.
When the outburst finally ended, he answered in the same steady voice.
"We control Narnian waters."
The merchants frowned.
"We protect Narnian citizens."
"We protect Narnian vessels."
"And we defend every ship sailing under the banner of the Kingdom of Narnia."
The elderly merchant spread his hands in disbelief.
Gazaar met his eyes.
"You are merchants from Myr."
"You sail under Myrish colors."
"Your cargo belongs to Myrish trading companies."
He paused briefly.
"Under what law would our King declare war every time pirates attack foreign merchants?"
Another merchant spoke more quietly.
"So we're simply abandoned?"
Gazaar slowly shook his head.
"No."
"There is another option."
The captain gestured toward the white-and-gold flagship anchored nearby.
"If your cargo is valuable..."
"...allow us to transport it."
Several merchants looked confused.
"You mean escort us?"
"No."
Gazaar smiled faintly.
"I mean transport it."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"Narnia operates commercial merchant fleets."
"You may hire our vessels to carry your cargo to Caer Peverell or any other port."
One captain frowned thoughtfully.
"But why would that matter?"
Gazaar answered patiently.
"Because the cargo would no longer be traveling aboard a Myrish merchant ship."
"It would be traveling aboard a Narnian one."
Understanding slowly dawned across several faces.
The elderly merchant blinked.
"And if pirates attack your ship..."
Gazaar's smile disappeared.
"Then they have attacked the Kingdom of Narnia."
Silence settled over the gathering.
Everyone remembered the fate of the Iron Fleet.
Another merchant cautiously asked,
"What about insurance?"
Gazaar nodded approvingly.
"A sensible question."
"Narnian commercial law requires every shipment to be documented before departure."
"The cargo is inspected."
"Its value recorded."
"The merchants receive copies."
"So does the Crown."
He looked around the circle.
"If pirates somehow destroy or steal cargo while it is under Narnian transport..."
"...the Kingdom compensates every documented coin of loss."
Several merchants stared at him.
"...Every coin?"
"Every documented coin."
One younger merchant couldn't hide his astonishment.
"Surely no kingdom can afford that."
Gazaar smiled.
"Very few claims are ever paid."
"Because very few people are foolish enough to attack our ships."
That answer earned the first genuine laughter the battered merchants had shared in days.
The old trader rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
"So..."
"We pay more for Narnian shipping."
"But we almost certainly arrive safely."
"Exactly."
"And if disaster somehow happens..."
"Our losses are repaid."
"Exactly."
Another merchant shook his head in amazement.
"That's still cheaper than losing an entire cargo."
Gazaar nodded.
News traveled across the eastern seas with remarkable speed.
Merchants spoke.
Harbormasters informed trading guilds.
Within a single week, shipping patterns began changing.
The most valuable cargo disappeared almost entirely from privately owned merchant vessels.
Rare spices from Yi Ti.
Myrish lace and glass.
Lysene perfumes.
Medicinal herbs.
Jewelry.
Silks.
Fine wines.
Nearly all of it now traveled aboard Narnian merchant ships.
The fees were higher.
No one complained too much.
Insurance alone made the cost worthwhile.
Within another fortnight, the merchant companies operating from Caer Peverell found themselves richer than they had ever imagined possible.
New ships were commissioned almost monthly.
Shipbuilders worked from sunrise until well after dark.
Prosperity flowed into Narnia faster than ever before.
Captain Gazaar watched the growing harbor one evening from the deck of his flagship.
His first mate joined him quietly.
"The King was right."
Gazaar smiled faintly.
"He usually is."
"The pirates thought they were weakening trade."
He looked across the forest of masts filling the harbor.
"They've only made our merchant fleet indispensable."
Far to the east, beyond the fertile plains and scattered villages that marked Narnia's frontier, another storm was gathering.
Across the endless grasslands, twenty thousand mounted warriors rode beneath banners of braided horsehair.
A great khalasar.
They had spent weeks observing the strange kingdom from afar.
Watching.
Waiting.
Listening to merchants, travelers, and wandering herdsmen.
They had heard the same story again and again.
Its roads were crowded.
Its cities prosperous.
Its wealth growing by the day.
The khal sat proudly upon his great stallion atop a windswept hill overlooking the distant plains.
He laughed.
"So..."
He raised his curved arakh toward the horizon.
"The witch king has finally opened his gates."
One of his bloodriders grinned.
"We shall take everything."
"Their horses."
"Their gold."
"Their women."
Twenty thousand voices answered as one.
"It is known!"
Author's Note:
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