The vast, empty sea was a hunting ground. Aboard *The Telescope*, caught in the winding waterways of the Stepstones, the crew knew that if the pirates dragged them into the narrow channels between the islands, there would be no escape.
The two pirate longships, their sails and hulls painted a menacing black, closed in from both sides. Their ballistae fired, and heavy grappling hooks arced through the air, their ropes thick as pythons. As the ships were pulled closer, the pirates threw ladders over the rails, too many and too fast for the terrified sailors to cast off.
A volley of crossbow bolts whistled from *The Telescope*. Several pirates shrieked as they were struck, tumbling into the churning water to become food for sharks. "Fire!" Captain Dunster screamed, but the pirates' own ballistae answered, their massive bolts tearing through the deck with brutal force. Gendry dodged a splintering plank, but before he could fire his own crossbow more than once, Qyburn pulled him back. A human body could not stand against such power.
The pirates, holding shields high, swarmed up the ladders, ignoring the fate of their fallen comrades. On deck, the chaos was absolute. The Myrish sailors, clumsy in a melee, were no match for the pirates' furious charge. Their defensive line collapsed instantly. The formidable Myrish crossbows were useless now. The hastily armed passengers, who were not warriors, scattered in terror.
"War is not a game," Gendry thought, watching the slaughter. "It is blood and fire." He saw the panic on the captain's face. Once a sea battle became a boarding action, it was swift and brutal. There was nowhere to run. Sweat and tears streamed down the faces of the other passengers from Westeros as they fled to the stern.
"It seems my luck has run out. I should have stayed in Westeros," Qyburn muttered, though his face remained surprisingly calm. The old man and the boy huddled together. "Can you swim? If this goes badly, try to get away. I have lived a long life. You are still young."
"Let's see what happens," Gendry whispered back, his hand resting near the hammer at his back.
The pirate leader, a whirlwind of steel and violence, was the first to cut down the first mate who stood his ground. The other sailors lasted only moments longer before dropping their weapons. The deck was littered with the sounds of swords, daggers, and crossbows clattering onto the blood-slicked wood. The surviving crew and passengers were herded into a miserable group.
Gendry found a place in the shadows, silently counting. Twelve pirates on their ship. For mobility, they wore leather armor, not heavy plate. The leader, a tall man with purple-dyed hair and a smile full of gold teeth, strode onto the deck. He wore black scale armor and carried two longswords at his hips. He stepped on the first mate's corpse and casually kicked it aside.
"There was no need for all this," the pirate said, his voice a low growl. "Your sailors are experienced Myrmen. They are worth more as a ransom than as shark bait. Aside from the cargo, you could have all lived." He turned his dead eyes on Captain Dunster. "What do you say to that, Captain?"
"Mercy, sir," the captain stammered, forcing a pained smile. "I will pay you a high ransom. But these goods are for a client in Myr! I have collateral in their vaults!"
The Gold-Toothed pirate laughed, a harsh, grating sound, and backhanded the captain across the face. "Pirates do not bargain," he sneered. "Now, you will wake up." He gestured to his men. "Half of you, check the hold. The rest, stay with me."
As six of the pirates disappeared below deck, Gold-Tooth turned his attention to the passengers. "And what have we here? Travelers from Westeros, are you?" They were easy to spot, with their pale Andal skin and light-colored hair. The huddled passengers inadvertently shielded Gendry and Qyburn at the back. "Damn it all," the pirate grumbled, "old and ugly. Not a single pretty boy or girl among you. You won't fetch much from the flesh-pots of Lys."
A short, plump merchant fell to his knees. "Sir, please, don't kill me! I will give you everything!"
"If I kill you, it is all mine anyway," the pirate said with another laugh. His eyes then fell on Qyburn. "And an old man. The most worthless cargo of all." He stalked toward him, and Qyburn subtly gestured for Gendry to stay put. Gendry shifted his position slightly, inching closer to where he had hidden his hammer.
"Sir, forgive me," Qyburn said, his voice steady. "I am no ordinary old man. I studied at the Citadel. I am a trained physician. Perhaps I could be of use to you."
"You speak well," the pirate admitted, "but you are still old. The cost of your upkeep is more than your worth. Say hello to the sea for me. Perhaps the mermaids have need of a doctor." He grabbed Qyburn's robes and made to throw him overboard. The old maester began to beg, and the pirate howled with laughter. "Poor old man! You have made me laugh. I will let you live a while longer. After I have taken everything, it will be time enough for you to meet the sea."
His cruel eyes then found Gendry. "And you, boy. Take off that iron mask. You have a good build. If your face is not scarred, the pillow houses of Lys will pay well for you."
"Yes, sir," Gendry said, his voice clear as steel. He reached for his mask, but his hand did not remove it. In a single, fluid motion, he shifted his weight, his other hand closing around the handle of his warhammer.
Wait. Observe. The pirate leader wore scale armor. A blow to the body might not be enough. Gendry needed to be certain. He felt the world slow, his focus narrowing to a single point, just as it did in the forge when he brought his hammer down upon glowing steel. This had to be his finest work. This blow had to be perfect.