Logar's ships slipped out of Driftmark's harbor and fell in beside the Velaryon fleet, heading straight for the Stepstones.
On the voyage he finally met the Sea Snake's representatives — Malentin, Daemon, and the rest.
Seeing Malentin again — the same man who had mocked him in the Seahorse Hall — Logar's violet eyes narrowed. Corlys himself had stayed behind, probably pinned down by the wider war on the Blacks' side.
Malentin had never liked Logar's crew and still doubted their story, but for the good of House Velaryon he had Daemon brief the sellsword on the latest intelligence from the Stepstones.
Logar already knew the islands well.
Of the four powers currently fighting over them, the Triarchy held the strongest position on Bloodstone — roughly fifteen large warships, thirty-plus smaller galleys, and two to three thousand fighting men.
The Dornish had reinforced Grey Gallows after Logar's raid. Scouts reported four or five big warships, seven or eight medium vessels, and eight or nine hundred troops dug in right beside the Broken Arm.
The pirate alliance was still scattered — maybe one to two thousand men total — but they were a disorganized rabble spread across dozens of tiny rocks. They posed the least threat.
Logar's own force had grown. After recruiting hard in Driftmark, buying new ships, and refitting every hull, he now commanded five large warships, ten smaller flat-bottomed galleys, and over four hundred fighters.
The Sea Snake's contribution — including the ships already stationed in the Stepstones — added eight large warships, ten medium galleys, twenty small craft, and more than a thousand men, all under Malentin and Daemon's joint command.
On the map, the two largest islands — Bloodstone and Grey Gallows — sat like jaws, backed by countless smaller rocks, blocking every Velaryon trade route.
And those two powers were working together. They were the hard nuts that had to be cracked first.
Malentin's plan was simple: Logar and his sellswords would land, build a base, and hit the weaker targets — the Dornish or the scattered pirates. The Velaryon fleet would stay at sea, enforcing a blockade to starve Bloodstone and Grey Gallows of supplies.
Logar knew better.
The Triarchy, as the strongest force, would have scout ships watching every approach. The moment the Velaryon sails appeared, they would strike hard.
He proposed a feint — draw the Triarchy out of Bloodstone, smash them first, then pick off the rest one by one before they could link up.
Malentin shot the idea down on the spot.
"My dear captain," he sneered, "I know you're dying to become lord of those worthless rocks, but war isn't that simple. The Triarchy isn't a bunch of drunkards we can butcher at leisure. They have two or three thousand men and dozens of ships. You don't just 'draw them out.'"
In that moment Logar finally understood their real thinking.
These Velaryon lords had never planned to fully conquer the Stepstones. Hiring Logar's crew was just a cheap way to plant a forward base and tidy up their trade lanes a little.
Back on the mainland the Greens were massing. Most of Corlys's fleet was tied down guarding Dragonstone and Blackwater Bay, blockading King's Landing. The Sea Snake had no desire to bleed men and ships in a hopeless quagmire.
That was why Corlys had been willing to hire them at all. In the old man's eyes, Logar and his pirates were nothing more than disposable spears.
If they somehow took the Stepstones and bloodied the Dornish and Triarchy — wonderful. If not — no great loss. A little harassment was better than nothing.
Logar gave Malentin one long, cold look. He understood perfectly now: if he wanted real land of his own, he would have to seize it himself.
"Since Lord Malentin has his own ideas," Logar said calmly, "I won't stand in your way."
He knew the Velaryon fleet couldn't be relied on. Moments later he took his own ships and pulled away from the silver-seahorse banners.
"Captain, the Sea Snake's men are useless. What do we do now?" Femon asked, worry plain on his face as they sailed on.
Logar smiled, completely unruffled. "Relax. Those two nephews have it all figured out — let us be the battering ram while they sit back and pick up the scraps. Perfect plan."
"Let them watch," he added, eyes glittering. "The real show is about to start."
He raised his voice so every deck could hear. "Tell the brothers — we're going home! Sharpen your blades and get ready for one hell of a homecoming party!"
Femon and Kendel grinned like wolves. They passed the order ship to ship. Within moments the pirates were howling, banging weapons on shields, roaring with bloodlust.
...
While Logar's fleet and the Velaryon ships closed on the Stepstones, a small oar-powered scout galley raced toward the largest island — Bloodstone.
From a distance the little ship skimmed the waves like a flying fish. It slipped behind the island's blood-red cliffs and vanished.
Those sheer crimson walls curved outward, sheltering a deep natural harbor behind them.
At the base of the cliffs lay a bustling little stronghold — taverns, brothels, smithies, shops — a miniature town tucked between the rocks.
Dozens of warships of every size rocked at anchor outside the harbor, masts thick as a forest.
The scout leaped ashore, sweat still streaming down his face, and shoved through the crowded docks. He ran straight for the grandest stone building in the stronghold.
Inside the hall a raucous feast was in full swing. Dozens of scantily clad dancers twisted to heavy drumbeats while mercenaries roared and raised their cups.
At the center of it all lounged a massive, bare-chested man, bronze skin crisscrossed with ugly knife scars — Sharako Lohar, the Triarchy's commander on Bloodstone.
He had a laughing dancer on each arm, one hand draining a gilded cup, the other roaming freely over soft flesh. He was joking loudly with his officers, clearly enjoying himself.
The scout burst into the hall, gasping. "Lord Sharako Lohar — bad news! A Velaryon fleet has been sighted not far from here, sailing straight for the Stepstones!"
The laughter died instantly. Every man in the hall went still.
Sharako Lohar alone stayed calm. Still holding the dancer, a lazy smile on his face, he asked in a low voice:
"You're certain? How many ships?"
"Looks like thirty or more!" the scout answered, bowing, voice shaking.
"Seven fucking hells — that old sea snake still won't let go of these rocks!"
Sharako suddenly threw his head back and laughed. He slammed his cup down so hard the table rattled.
"Brothers! Since the old bastard insists on fighting us for this land, let's put to sea right now and teach these bastards exactly who rules the Stepstones!"
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