The blood and fire of Bone-Gnawing Channel had drifted away on the sea wind, yet the ripples of victory still shook the Stepstones.
After sweeping away the last pockets of resistance within the gorge, Lo Quen's fleet surged unstoppably against Salladhor Saan's stronghold—Bloodstone Island—and the neighboring Grey Gallows.
The island garrisons put up only token resistance before raising their banners in surrender.
At the highest point of Bloodstone Island stood the fortress Salladhor had once taken pride in.
Now, atop its tower, his head—crudely preserved—hung from the flagpole, swaying gently in the breeze. Hollow eye sockets stared blankly down at the island he had once ruled.
The head that once lorded over the Narrow Sea now served as the starkest proclamation of the new order.
The age of the "Prince of the Narrow Sea," along with his mighty fleet, had sunk into the depths of Bone-Gnawing Channel.
Inside the tower's great hall, shafts of light fell through narrow arrow slits, casting mottled patterns across the stone floor.
The air was thick with the tang of salt and dust.
Lo Quen sat upright in a high-backed chair draped with coarse bearskin, with Roro and Hal flanking him, their sharp eyes sweeping the chamber.
At the center stood two men, disheveled and uneasy.
Khorane Sathmantes and Meizo Mahr.
When Lo Quen's fleet emerged from the gorge and came upon their wandering warship, Khorane had wasted no time. He lowered Salladhor's banner without hesitation, surrendering at once.
Now they stood before the victor, awaiting judgment.
"Captain Khorane. Meizo."
Lo Quen's voice was calm but carried clearly through the empty stone hall. "You were counted among Salladhor's most trusted men. Then why, at that fateful moment in Bone-Gnawing Channel, did your Shayala's Dance not follow your master?"
Khorane lifted his head, glanced at the pale-faced Meizo, and drew a deep breath. His voice came rough, edged with bitterness.
"My lord, it was not cowardice. Salladhor would hear no counsel."
He paused, then went on. "The Bone-Gnawing Channel is narrow, strewn with reefs, and its currents fierce. Both Meizo and I warned him of the risks, told him it might be a trap laid by you... But Salladhor, blinded by arrogance, insisted your strength was too meager for such an ambush. To his ears, our warnings were the whining of cowards. He accused us of weakening morale, scolded us both, and sent us to 'watch' at the gorge entrance."
Lo Quen listened in silence.
He had not expected Salladhor to be so blinded by arrogance.
Through these surrendered men, he understood why his ambush had gone so smoothly.
A commander who ignored even the desperate counsel of his closest captains was doomed the moment he set foot in the channel.
It had not been a simple tactical mistake, but a fatal flaw rooted deep in his nature.
"Salladhor's time is done."
Lo Quen's gaze swept over Khorane and Meizo before settling on the swaying head outside the tower window. His tone was flat.
"You two, as his closest men, by rights should be cast into the dungeon to await judgment."
The air in the hall seemed to freeze.
Khorane's back straightened instinctively, while beads of sweat slid down Meizo's brow.
Judgment, here in the lawless Stepstones, usually meant gallows—or being thrown to the sharks.
But Lo Quen's tone shifted. "Yet you chose unconditional surrender, sparing needless bloodshed. More than that, at the channel's mouth, you did not bar my 'merchant ships' from entering. That act was not only without fault, but a service. So I ask: will you serve under my banner?"
Khorane and Meizo's hearts leapt. They exchanged a quick glance.
They had let those fire ships through believing no single vessel could have stopped them.
Yet deep down, they had also grown weary of Salladhor's obstinacy.
Now Lo Quen had named their choice a decisive act, one that tipped the battle.
Those fire ships had indeed been the spark that set Salladhor's fleet ablaze and triggered its collapse.
By casting their decision as "merit," Lo Quen had branded them with betrayal—yet also bound them with it.
From this moment, they could no longer stand apart, nor easily turn to another master.
The Stepstones, the whole of the Narrow Sea, would see them as Lo Quen's men. Any other power sheltering them would risk his wrath.
Khorane understood at once.
The conflict on his face gave way to calm acceptance, even relief.
He dropped to one knee, his voice loud and steady. "My lord, Salladhor was arrogant, blind to reason, and favored only sycophants. He had long since lost all loyalty. I, Khorane Sathmantes, swear to serve you. I will steer your ships through every storm, until death takes me."
Under Salladhor, his bluntness and distaste for flattery had left him isolated. Though gifted with unmatched skill at sea, he could barely hold onto his captaincy.
He had long watched lesser men rise through flattery while he remained stagnant.
Now, in Lo Quen's strength and the order he imposed, Khorane glimpsed the possibility of something new.
"My lord, Meizo Mahr also wishes to serve you..."
After Khorane declared his loyalty without hesitation, Meizo too seemed to find his resolve. Casting aside his doubts, he pledged himself as well.
For both men, the Stepstones were the only place left to them. And now that the entire sea lay under the rule of the Easterner before them, what choice remained but submission?
Lo Quen gave a slight nod, his face betraying little. "Very well. Remember the oaths you swore today. You may withdraw. For now, you will serve under Roro. He will see to your ships and men."
The two men, relieved as if pardoned, bowed deeply and left the hall at Roro's signal.
The heavy stone doors closed slowly, shutting out the light and noise beyond. Only Lo Quen, Roro, Hal, and a handful of Dragon Soul Guards standing motionless in the shadows remained.
The suffocating tension eased with the departure of the outsiders.
Roro's face lit with unrestrained excitement. He stepped forward, his voice trembling slightly. "My lord, the victory at Bone-Gnawing Channel was beyond compare. Counting those inside the gorge, those outside, and the men surrendered on Bloodstone and Grey Gallows, we've taken a total of five thousand five hundred prisoners.
Salladhor's fleet, though most of it burned or was wrecked, left behind seventy-five ships of various sizes still fit for repair.
And more than that—in the cellars of Salladhor's fortress, we found his treasure hoard. By rough count, the golden dragons, silver stags, plate, and gems are worth at least four hundred thousand gold dragons."
Four hundred thousand.
It was a staggering sum, and a flicker of satisfaction passed through Lo Quen's eyes. The fortune could not have come at a better time.
Just then, Jaelena entered the hall, fresh from completing the troop reorganization.
"What of the prisoners?" Lo Quen asked, turning his gaze on her.
Her voice was cool, precise. "My lord, as ordered, all five thousand five hundred have been broken from their original formations. Every officer Salladhor appointed, great or small, has been stripped of command and detained. The soldiers have been thoroughly mixed by island and former faction, and folded into our ranks."
She paused, then added, "There was some unrest, but the Dragon Soul Guards put it down quickly. A few ringleaders were executed. The rest are quiet now."
Lo Quen nodded.
Break them apart, mix them in, place loyal men, make an example—this was the surest way to absorb a host of surrendered troops and keep them from uniting in rebellion.
"Good. Roro, send the captured ships into the docks at once. Repair what you can. Those too badly damaged, break down for parts. I want them seaworthy again as soon as possible."
"Yes, my lord," Roro answered at once.
Those seventy-five ships, though battered, once restored would greatly swell Lo Quen's naval strength.
Jaelena continued with the details. "Troop distribution is as follows: under my command—two thousand original pirate soldiers, plus three thousand reorganized captives, for a total of five thousand, with four hundred Dragon Soul Guards attached.
Under Roro—one thousand original, plus one thousand captives, totaling two thousand.
Under Hal—five hundred original, plus one thousand captives, totaling fifteen hundred.
Under Chai Yi—five hundred reorganized captives, plus her original five hundred Dragon Soul Guards.
In addition, the Torturer's Deep is garrisoned by Janice with three hundred Dragon Soul Guards and five hundred pirate soldiers. Janice has also transferred command of another three hundred Dragon Soul Guards to you as your personal guard. Altogether, my lord, your forces now exceed ten thousand: fifteen hundred Dragon Soul Guards and more than ninety-five hundred pirate soldiers."
Even Hal, usually composed, drew a sharp breath.
Ten thousand.
In the chaotic history of the Stepstones, never had such a force been seen.
True, the pirate soldiers lacked the training and discipline of the standing armies of Westeros. But sheer numbers alone were power—especially here, where the Narrow Sea was ruled by raiders and reavers.
Roro could no longer contain his excitement. He stepped forward, his voice rising with fervor. "My lord, the Stepstones are yours. With Salladhor destroyed at Bone-Gnawing Channel, there is no one left in these seas who can oppose you."
His eyes burned. "You should wear the crown. Become the true King of the Narrow Sea and the Stepstones. This honor is yours by right."
"King..." Lo Quen repeated the word softly, his gaze turning distant, as if beyond the rough stone walls he could glimpse the long tide of history washing over these islands.