Chapter 104 — The Death of the Crabfeeder
The Isle of Cedars fell beneath dragonshadow.
Separated from Tyrosh by a narrow, wind-lashed bay, the island had long been the dye-house of the Three Daughters, its shores rich with snails that bled purple and red, its workshops choked with slaves and vats. When Prince Daemon Targaryen took it, the banners of Tyrosh were torn down and trampled into the surf.
The spoils were vast.
Chests of coin and gemstones were carried before Daemon—garnets from the Disputed Lands, emeralds from Qarth, sapphires stamped with the seals of Lys, bolts of silk, spice jars sealed with wax. Daemon ordered the wealth divided before the assembled captains.
Ser Qarl Correy, Ser Addam of Hull, Lord Rodrik Dustin, called the Tomb Wolf, and Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, all received their shares. Lesser knights and sellswords were paid openly, coin ringing like bells of victory.
Ser Qarl turned a Lysene coin over in his fingers, laughing. "They carve their gods prettier than their women."
Daemon answered dryly, "That coin will buy you both in Lys. Spend it wisely."
Lord Dustin said nothing. When his share was placed before him, he passed it at once to his Winter Wolves.
"These men came south to die," Dustin said simply. "Let them drink before they do."
Daemon inclined his head. He respected that.
Lord Corlys alone seemed unmoved by gold. His gaze was fixed east, toward Tyrosh.
"Cedars is ours," the Sea Snake said at last. "We have bloodied the Triarchy. This is the moment to entrench, not overreach."
Daemon smiled, thin and sharp. "Tyrosh bleeds already."
Corlys shook his head. "Tyrosh's inner walls were raised by Valyrian hands. Dragonfire will scorch its markets and harbors, yes—but take the city, and you invite the world to oppose you. Volantis. Braavos. Pentos. They will not suffer Westeros to rule the Narrow Sea."
Daemon considered this in silence.
At length he said, "Volantis tried to rule without dragons."
Above them, Caraxes screamed, coiling red against the sky.
"I will not make that mistake."
Tyrosh panicked.
The Triarchy's council fractured overnight. Myrish and Lyseni magistrates fled east, abandoning the city. The Archon of Tyrosh sent ravens and riders in desperate haste to Craghas Drahar, the Crabfeeder, still entrenched upon Grey Gallows.
Craghas delayed only as long as he dared.
If Tyrosh fell, the Stepstones would be lost—and with them, Myr's lifeline to the Narrow Sea. Worse, his Tyroshi levies would desert him.
Reluctantly, he sailed.
Myrish and Lyseni fleets joined him off Grey Gallows, banners snapping in hard wind. When Raven Greyjoy, commanding the Westerosi blockade, sighted them, he withdrew as ordered, falling back toward Bloodstone.
Craghas believed he had forced Daemon's hand.
He was wrong.
Pirate's Mountain, on Bloodstone, was a blackened fang of rock, its slopes broken by old lava flows and narrow goat paths. Craghas landed at dusk, pushing men ashore beneath covering fire.
Crossbows answered him.
Men died screaming on the rocks.
Craghas ordered assaults up side paths, only to find them already walled and towered. His men faltered. Then the sky screamed.
Meleys, the Red Queen, fell first—her scales flashing like blooded copper. Caraxes followed, long and terrible, fire spilling from his throat.
Dragonfire rolled across decks and sails. Ships burned where they floated. Men leapt into the sea aflame.
The defenders roared.
More wings darkened the clouds—Vermithor, vast and riderless; Silverwing, pale as moonlight; Dreamfyre, screaming blue flame.
They did not obey Daemon as soldiers—but their presence alone broke the enemy's courage.
Craghas fled inland.
He was taken before nightfall.
Bound, bleeding, and half-mad with terror, the Crabfeeder was dragged to the shore where he had once nailed men alive. The tide was low. The rocks crawled.
Daemon stood before him in blackened armor, Dark Sister sheathed at his side.
"You made a name of cruelty," Daemon said calmly. "Now it will end you."
Craghas spat blood. "Spare me. I know these lands. I can serve—"
Daemon did not answer.
He nodded.
Iron spikes were driven through Craghas's wrists and ankles, pinning him to driftwood at the waterline. The tide crept back slowly.
Crabs gathered.
At first, Craghas screamed. Later, he only whimpered. By dawn, the screams had stopped.
When the tide withdrew, what remained was scarcely human.
Daemon ordered the body taken down and burned.
Let no martyr be made of him.
By sunset, smoke rose from Grey Gallows.
The Stepstones were broken.
And across the Narrow Sea, the princes of Tyrosh learned that dragons had returned to war.
End of Chapter 104
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