The enemy rowers bent to their labor again. Dead men were shoved from benches into the sea without ceremony. Fresh hands seized abandoned oars. The long black hulls pushed onward through smoke and flame alike.
Arthur watched them emerge from the haze like demons climbing from the Seven Hells. Ten became fifteen. Then twenty. The narrow waters filled with black hulls. They advanced in uneven ranks, some paired together, others three abreast wherever the channel allowed. He could hear the scrape of timber against timber, the clang of spikes on the bows as they prepared to board. Axes beating upon shields. War cries rising above the drums. The enemy meant to drown his line beneath sheer numbers.
Beside him Robert spat into the sea. "They've guts."
Commodore Hothor's voice rang out, "Archers, loose fire! KEEP THE OARSMEN DOWN!"
The command rolled from ship to ship. Another cloud of arrows swept outward. They fell among the rowing benches with murderous precision. One rower jerked violently as an arrow burst from the back of his skull. His body collapsed across the loom. The great oar twisted sideways. Another man beside him struggled to pull alone.
"They're almost upon us." Arthur muttered.
The first grapnels struck the Mermaid's Tears with iron clangs. Hooks bit deep into the bulwarks. Ropes snapped taut.
"Hooks!" Donnel roared. "Cut the bloody hooks!"
Axes flashed. Mariners rushed forward, hacking at the thick hemp before more pirates could cross. Some lines parted and sent screaming corsairs crashing backward into the sea. Others held fast.
The first boarder came over like a beast climbing from the depths. He wore boiled leather blackened by salt and old blood, a notched arming sword clenched between yellow teeth until both boots found the rail. His beard was braided with bits of silver coin, and one eye had long since been replaced by a polished stone.
He dropped lightly onto the deck. The pirate had scarcely bent his knees before Robert Baratheon was upon him. The king moved with shocking speed for so heavy a man. His great warhammer swept upward in a savage arc. The iron head struck beneath the pirate's jaw.
There was a sickening crack-crunch as the man's skull simply ceased to be. Teeth and shards of jawbone sprayed across the white-painted rail like gravel. The pirate's head caved inward, a wet explosion of grey and dark, hot blood burst outward in a crimson fan and splattered across the deck.
The body lingered upright for half a heartbeat before collapsing like a sack of grain, twitching feebly as blood flooded the deck.
Robert planted one boot upon the corpse. His beard and breastplate were already flecked scarlet. Standing over the pirate, he looked like a demon covered in white steel, his great antlers silhouetted against the sun.
"KILL THEM ALL!" he roared, the cry rolled across the flagship.
The cry set the men into a frenzy. Shields clanged together, axes rose, and sailors and mariners surged forward to meet the pirate invaders.
A pirate vaulted over the rail, swinging a curved Myrish blade towards Arthur's head in a murderous overhand cut. Nightfall rose to meet it. Valyrian steel kissed common iron in such a force that the pirate's sword was broken instantly. In a moment one-half of the blade spun away into the sea. Shock flashed across the raider's face as he stared at the remaining half in his hand.
Arthur gave him no time to understand. He stepped inside the man's reach, driving his shoulder hard up into the pirate's chest. The impact lifted the raider from his feet. His boots skidded across blood-slick planks and the reaver's heels caught the scuppers. For one desperate instant he windmilled his arms, grasping only empty air. Then he toppled backward over the rail, his scream cut short by the weight of his own mail.
Another pirate rushed him swinging a broad-headed boarding axe with frenzied fury. He hacked at Arthur with such a wild strength, that the blow seemed it would split him in half. Arthur stood there unbothered only to but slip the blow at the last moment with just a slight sidestep of his foot as if he was dancing on the deck.
The axe buried itself deep into the railing, and the pirate with it. Before the corsair could wrench it free, Nightfall flashed through the grey salt-mist, and sheared cleanly through the pirate's forearm just below the elbow.
The Valyrian blade cut through mail, leather and bones entire. The hand and the axe hit the deck together with a wet, heavy thud. For a heartbeat, the man stood frozen, staring stupidly at the ragged bone of his stump. The deck went crimson with the spurting hot blood.
And before the man could scream, a merciless stroke from Arthur's blade removed the head from his neck entire. The pirate collapsed with a thud into his own rapidly expanding pool of blood, dying without another sound.
Arthur drew one slow breath. Salt filled his lungs first. Then smoke. The bitter stench of burning pitch clung to the air so thickly that every breath tasted of soot. Blood mingled with it, copper-sharp beneath the sea wind.
To his left, another boarding party attempted to breach the rail, but they met a wall of northern mariners. A Manderly sergeant drove an iron pike through a pirate's throat. Blood erupted in a bright crimson jet, drenching the sergeant's mailed hands and spraying across the faces of the men beside him. The dying corsair writhed helplessly upon the shaft. The sergeant planted one boot against his chest and ripped the weapon free.
A mariner drove his spear through a boarder's belly, only to be dragged forward as the dying pirate seized the shaft with both hands. Donnel saved him an instant later. His mace split the pirate's helm and skull together. A spray of blood and white bone burst across the deck.
Arthur's eyes flicked constantly between the flaming galleys, the advancing pirates, and the narrow crescent of his formation which still held. A commander who fixed his eyes upon a single duel was already losing the battle.
From the forecastles the last of the longbowmen kept raining a storm of arrows. The shafts vanished into smoke before descending upon the crowded galleys. Screams of men and the creak of timber filled the air as the pirates tried desperately to maneuver in the narrow channel. Arthur knew the longbowmen would not have this advantage longer as the galleys began to rob them of their range.
Robert Baratheon continued to carve a bloody path through the boarders. The kingsguard formed a protective ring around Robert. They became a moving wall as they surged forward with the king. Ser Barristan Selmy fought with terrible precision. Every stroke of his longsword found flesh. Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Mandon Moore stood beside him, shields locked with a line of Manderly mariners.
Arthur's eyes swept the decks, noting the pirates' desperate attempts to scale the sides of the carracks. More grapnels. Too many. He raised Nightfall high enough for nearby officers to see.
"ARCHERS!" Arthur bellowed, "Fall back!"
The bowmen retreated in good order, slipping behind the bristling line of men-at-arms. The sergeants began giving them orders to pick up crossbows and smaller bows. They took up their new weapons and kept fighting.
From the prow of the Mermaid's Tears, Arthur looked over the battle as much as he fought within it.
The sea had disappeared beneath ships.
Smoke drifted low across the water, broken only by bursts of flame climbing torn rigging. Black sails burned. Oars floated loose among shattered planks. Here and there a body drifted face-down, rolling gently with the swell until another galley's wake turned it over again.
The pirates came without pause. They no longer seemed men to Arthur. They clung to the hull like barnacles upon an old whaler, scrambling over grapnels and rope ladders with salt-cracked hands, cursing in a dozen tongues. One fell, and another climbed over his corpse.
To starboard, a knot of Stormlanders met another boarding party. A Dondarrion man-at-arms planted his feet and drove a boarding pike forward with both hands. The iron head punched through a pirate's mail and breast together. The force of the thrust lifted the man clear off his feet and the pike erupted from the pirate's back in a spray of splintered bone and dark, steaming viscera.
For a heartbeat, the pirate remained pinned upon the shaft, his eyes wide and glassy, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as blood spilled over the polished steel. The soldier twisted the pike sharply and he was shaken off like a piece of unwanted offal.
For every scavenger cut down, another surged upward, their faces twisted into masks of mindless ferocity. Every gap they closed was answered by another assault. Still, Arthur felt the cold weight of the danger.
Their formation held, yes. The reef denied the pirates their true numbers. The heavier carracks of the Manderly fleet continued to anchor the line while the caravels darted through the gaps, delivering quarrels wherever enemy vessels lingered too long. Burning pirate galleys drifted across the channel, fouling the advance of those behind them. The plan was working.
Yet the men had fought the storm before they had started to fight the pirates. Hours of hauling soaked ropes, reefing sails, and wrestling with the sea had already drained their strength. Now every shield grew heavier. Every next stroke became slower. Arthur could see the rot of fatigue setting into his men's shoulders, their muscles. Even the finest steel and skill could not last forever against such numbers.
Only Arthur himself felt little of it. Beneath his doublet, the hidden runes sewn into his skin and bone pulsed with a strong beat. The familiar heat spread through weary muscles, steadying his limbs and keeping the ache at bay.
These runes could keep him fighting for days without tiring, an advantage he rarely wished to call upon. His men possessed no such gift. They possessed only courage and discipline. But even discipline bent beneath exhaustion and courage could be spent.
The deck beneath his boots had become treacherous. Rainwater mixed with seawater and blood until the planks gleamed a dark crimson. Broken arrows rolled beneath men's feet. Splintered shields and snapped spear shafts lay everywhere. Several bodies already clogged the scuppers, forcing thin streams of blood to pool before spilling overboard into the sea. The smell lingered thick in the air. The scents of a battle at sea.
His gaze caught sudden movement amidships. A royal sergeant staggered backward, clutching at his throat. Blood poured between his fingers. The jagged dirk that had opened it clattered onto the deck as he collapsed against the rail. One fallen man left a gap no wider than two paces but still the shieldwall wavered. Three pirates lunged for it immediately, shouting as they forced themselves between the shields.
Arthur's expression hardened. "Close the gap!" he shouted, "Do not let them force a breach!"
Mariners surged shoulder to shoulder without hesitation. Shields slammed together with a crash like closing gates. A spearman thrust over the wall of oak and iron, driving one pirate backward. Another swung an axe low, taking a boarder across the shin and sending him sprawling beneath the boots of his own companions. The gap vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared.
To Arthur's right, the crossbowmen let fly a return volley. The heavy bolts hummed through the spray, finding blood and bones with a series of wet, punctuating thuds. One pirate had scarcely thrown a leg over the rail before a bolt struck him square in the mouth. The fletching disappeared behind his shattered teeth, then tore through the back of his skull, and threw him backward into the sea.
Another bolt drove through a man's shoulder and into the chest of the pirate climbing directly behind him. The two remained pinned together upon the rope ladder for a heartbeat, tangled in hemp and steel. Then the line snapped beneath their combined weight. Both plunged screaming into the water below.
Yet for every one that fell, two more surged forward. Arthur could feel the tension coiling in the pit of his stomach. Time was against them; if the pirates could exploit fatigue, if the men wavered even slightly, the carracks would be swarmed, and the fight lost. These reavers wanted the Mermaid's Tears above all else; for they knew the king of Westeros was aboard this vessel. They sought to drag him down into their salt-stained hell.
A pirate breached the rail mere paces away from Arthur. The man was broad as an ox, his face hidden beneath a tangle of old scars and a beard stiff with salt. With a roar he hurled himself at Arthur. The axe swept downward in a savage chop meant to split helm and skull alike.
Arthur stepped inside the blow going downwards. And then moved Nightfall up in a blur of dark, cleaving through the wooden shaft of the axe cleanly. The blade then carved a path through mail, leather, and bones with terrible ease as the enemy was caught by his swiftness.
The man couldn't scream; there wasn't enough air left inside his chest for it. From shoulders to hip the deep continuous cut opened and his torso simply slid apart. Blood spilled first. Then coils of steaming entrails and jagged ribs spilled onto the deck.
Arthur stood over the spreading pool of gore and stabbed with his blade again, this time finding the meat of a pirate's heart. The Valyrian edge sheared through the open ribs and found the soft heart inside. He saw no point in letting the man linger in pain.
The pirate let out a choking curse, red froth bubbling between his teeth. He felt the vibration of the man's final, frantic heartbeat through the hilt before the light left the pirate's eyes.
Blood, dark and thick as winter stew, slicked Arthur's gauntlet, but he did not pause to wipe it away. His eyes swept over the narrow strait, taking in the black sails still looming beyond the reach of their arrows and projectiles. Half the pirate galleys remained untouched, their oars cutting through the water like a living tide, advancing with grim determination.
The center of his formation groaned under the weight of combat. His galleys, pressed against the shallows and flanked by the nimble caravels, were holding, but barely. The smaller ships danced and darted as best they could, raking the pirate decks with arrows and bolts, yet the numbers pressing upon them were overwhelming.
Arthur's jaw tightened. The plan had bought them time, yes, but it was no longer enough. The pirates were adapting, maneuvering around their defenses, seeking the weak points he had tried to shore up. Every strike was answered with another boarder, another scream, another splash of red in the ocean.
The crescent protected their flanks and the rocks guarded one side of the ships, but the pirates had numbers enough to waste. Each failed assault cost them dearly, yet they could afford the blood. While his men could not.
They had weathered a storm through the night and fought since dawn. Their arms were heavy, their legs weary from the pitching decks. However skilled they were, no man could fight forever.
Arthur stepped over the butchered remains and barked orders. "Signal for the Caravels, fall back! Protect the galleys' flanks!"
At once men rushed to relay his commands when another pirate came at him.
This was not some half-starved corsair with a chipped axe, but a captain by the look of him. His hauberk was of riveted mail, a green cloak hung in tatters from his shoulders, and a gilded mermaid was riveted to his salt-stained helm. Rings glittered upon his sword hand. Loot, Arthur judged. The sea had rewarded him well.
"Merman Prince!" The pirate captain grinned through broken teeth. "I kill you and take your treasure today."
His curved sword flashed toward Arthur's face in a quick feint before turning low for the belly. Arthur had already seen the weight settle upon the man's leading foot. He pivoted with the motion instead of meeting strength with strength. The pirate's blade slid harmlessly past his side brushing the plate over his belly.
Then Arthur stepped forward into the opening and drove his sword to the point beneath the man's lifted arm. The dark blade slipped through the gap in the mail beneath the arm. It passed through boiled leather and through the flesh. The pirate captain let out a scream of pain.
Arthur twisted his blade from inside and cut the arm clean off from the captain's shoulders. Blood sprayed from the open gash across the deck. The pirate dropped to his knee in pain and kept on screaming. Arthur wasted no time and stabbed the blade through the mailed neck of the pirate and into the heart.
The pirate lurched forward against him. A wet cough escaped cracked lips. Red foam bubbled between broken teeth as surprised eyes searched Arthur's face, as though still trying to understand how the duel had ended so quickly. With a grunt of exertion, He wrenched Nightfall free from a pirate's neck and shoved the body aside with his boot.
Arthur's gaze lifted toward the horizon beyond the press of ships.
Through the smoke and drifting cinders, he could still see the rest of the pirate fleet waiting beyond the fray. Nearly half their galleys had yet to close. Black sails clustered together like carrion birds circling above a battlefield, their oars dipping in and out of the water as more ships sought their way into the narrow channel.
Too many, He thought bitterly. The crescent had held longer than Arthur had dared hope, but numbers had their own strength. Every pirate galley that reached his line brought another hundred men hungry for blood, and there were still dozens waiting behind them.
This fight was turning against them.
"Arthur!" Donnel forced his way through the melee, ducking beneath a swinging axe before shoving a pirate aside with his shield. Blood streaked across his cheek and one sleeve torn where a blade had grazed him.
"Commodore Hothor has taken a wound."
Arthur's head snapped toward the helm.
Hothor lay crumpled beside the wheel, one hand still wrapped weakly around its spokes. His thick grey beard was dark with blood, the red running down his neck and soaking into his cloak. Two sailors crouched over him with shields raised, turning aside arrows that rattled against the planks around them.
He wasted no moment and rushed through the press. A pirate lunged at him, sword raised, but Arthur caught the man's wrist with his gauntlet and drove an elbow into his face. Bone cracked. The man staggered, and Arthur's shoulder sent him sprawling beneath the boots of his own men.
He mounted the steps to the helm two at a time. Another galley slammed against the Mermaid's Tears, its iron-shod prow scraping uselessly along the angled hull. The whole ship shuddered beneath Arthur's feet. Loose ropes swung overhead. A sailor went sprawling against the rail and barely caught himself before tumbling into the sea. Then Arthur finally seized the wheel.
"Take the commodore to the cabin!" Arthur shouted as the spokes bit into his palms.
Donnel came up behind him, breathing hard. "You heard him! Get him below!"
The two sailors lowered their shields and crouched beside Hothor. One slipped an arm beneath the commodore's shoulders while the other caught him beneath the legs.
"Easy now, Commodore," one muttered. "Easy."
Hothor groaned. His eyes opened for a moment. "The ship… needs a captain."
Arthur looked down at him. "The ship still has one."
Hothor managed the faintest smile, "Don't let Donnel take the helm, please.... he'll run her aground."
Despite everything, Arthur almost smiled. "The mermaid's tears will not sink today, old friend."
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