Traveling by ship was no great pleasure. Even when it moved fast, the sea still tossed you around now and then.
Below deck, there was no real sense of day or night. Half asleep, Gendry dreamed of the forge barn, sweat on his skin, a leather apron over his chest, bare arms swinging as he hammered a sword into shape. The heat in the barn rolled like breath from a fire dragon's throat.
The dream shifted. He saw his mother again. Golden-haired, singing to him the way she used to. But her face was fading, details slipping away no matter how hard he tried to hold them.
"Mother…"
Tears seeped into the corners of his eyes. Her warmth was long gone. In a world this broken, he ought to have killed the boy inside him. The thought barely formed before the dream shattered. Shouting rose from the deck, and the hold filled with noise and sudden movement.
What now? The ship had been running well. They should have been close to Myr.
Gendry pulled on his iron mask and strapped his short-handled warhammer to the small of his back. He'd left his great bull helm behind. No armor, either. If it came to it, he'd be fighting in the flesh. A sword was deadly enough, but a warhammer was worse. It crushed what it struck.
He remembered Captain Dunstan describing their route. They'd taken on fresh water and provisions at Tarth, then cut straight through the Stepstones without stopping at any of the islands. The Stepstones were a lawless stretch, crawling with pirates and slave traders.
Pirates?
When Gendry yanked open the door, he nearly collided with Qyburn, roused by the same clamor.
"Up," Gendry said. "Let's see what's going on."
He climbed to the deck with Qyburn close behind.
"Don't be reckless, lad," Qyburn said, sounding entirely too calm. "Smiths, sailors, and healers are always valued. Even if we fall into pirate hands, we won't be in danger."
"You're right," Gendry said, "but what if they're slavers too?"
A young, broad-shouldered, good-looking boy like him was exactly the sort of prize they'd sell in Lys, in the Pleasure Gardens. A fate worse than death.
Qyburn went pale. For once, he had no answer. Gendry wasn't wrong. A smith might fetch a few coins, but a pretty boy sold in Lys as a courtesan could be worth his weight in gold.
Gendry stepped out onto the deck.
Blue sky, scattered white clouds, and an endless sea. As far as he could see, the world was nothing but blue and white. The sky was a clear blue with only a few thin clouds. The sea was blue as well, and when it wasn't angry it looked almost like the eyes of a beautiful woman. So long as it didn't rage, it could be hypnotic.
In the distance he could make out the Stepstones, a gray chain of islands with winding channels between them, jagged sea stacks rising like broken teeth. A barren, worthless place, loved only by pirates and slavers. Too many powers wanted it, none willing to let anyone else have it, so in the end no one held it for long.
There was no time to admire any of it.
Two dark shapes were racing toward them, closing fast. Painted longships, arrow-swift, cutting through the waves in a spray of white foam.
"Pirates! Pirates!" The lookout on the Far-Seer had a clear view. The raiders were coming out of the Stepstones for their merchant prey. He hammered the alarm bell with all his strength, the clanging jolting the whole ship awake.
"Damn it!" Captain Dunstan snapped, face tight with anger. "We're almost to Tyrosh. Once we're past Tyrosh, the waters by the Bay of Myr are safe. Why now? Why pirates now?"
"Can we outrun them?" Dunstan demanded of the navigator, who doubled as the boatswain.
"No, Captain," the navigator said, grim and helpless. "We'll have to fight. Their longships are quicker and more nimble than a merchant tub like ours."
A sixty-oared merchant ship packed to the brim with cargo was never going to outmaneuver pirate vessels.
"So that's it," Dunstan said, jaw set. "No more shouting, you lot. Take your weapons and gut those bastards!"
He still had a few cards to play. His crew were true Myrish men, and none of them had any desire to end up living a pirate's life on the Stepstones.
"Weapons!" Dunstan barked again.
The sailors moved with practiced order, passing arms down the line. Myrishmen were poor fighters and only middling sailors, but their craftsmanship was second to none. Myr's crossbows were famous for a reason.
"Don't let them board!" someone shouted. "If it turns into a melee, we're not the better men!"
The Myrish kit was simple: daggers, short swords, and crossbows, often with poison smeared on the bolts.
"Don't worry, Captain," the navigator said, lifting his crossbow. It was a costly custom piece that could loose three bolts in quick succession, vicious and powerful.
Gendry pushed through to Dunstan.
"Captain," he said, breath steady behind the iron mask, "give me some armor."
"You!" Dunstan stared at Gendry. A masked youth with charcoal-black hair and deep blue eyes. His voice still carried a hint of boyhood, but he was tall, broad-shouldered, muscles full and solid. He cut an imposing figure. A fine fighting man.
"Take this, kid. And be careful. The bolts are poisoned," Captain Dunstan said, thrusting another crossbow into Gendry's hands. It was a Myrish specialty. There weren't many passengers aboard, but the dozen or so present had all been armed. Even old Qyburn now held a crossbow of his own.
Crossbows were terrifying weapons, not unlike firearms. Even an untrained hand could unleash lethal force with one, which was why they were often called the devil's weapons.
"Thanks," Gendry said, securing the gear. The armor he'd been given was a bit tight, but the battlefield showed no mercy. Better cramped than dead.
The Far-Seer braced itself for the pirate assault. In the best case, they would stop the pirates from boarding. Myrish sailors were serviceable at sea, but in close combat they were painfully outmatched.
The pirate ships began to move in from multiple angles, cutting off the Far-Seer's retreat. Fleeing into the maze of the Stepstones would only make things worse. A bloody fight was unavoidable.
Pirate banners snapped in the wind, and their longships carried rams at the prow. The one piece of good news was that they wanted the ship intact, not smashed to splinters.
"Abandon the ship and the cargo! We'll put you ashore in a small boat! Wine, spices, timber, silk, perfume. We know your fat-bellied merchant ship is full of fine goods!" the pirates shouted.
Gendry saw them clearly now. Loud, gaudy men with hair dyed purple and deep red. A Tyroshi fashion, though pirates seemed especially fond of it.
"Have mercy!" Dunstan shouted back, even as he prepared for battle. "This ship is my life! Without that cargo, the moneylenders will have me killed!"
Before his words had fully carried, thick hemp ropes tipped with grappling hooks came flying over, hurled by heavy launchers. The longships surged forward, closing the distance with frightening speed.
From the very beginning, the pirates had never intended to let the merchant ship go.
"Fire! Loose the bolts!" Captain Dunstan roared, his eyes shot through with red. Pirates showed no mercy to those who resisted. Once the fighting began, they would strike twice as hard.
The Far-Seer was hanging on the edge of disaster.