"Yes, I have made mistakes. Unlike others, I chose to record them."
For the second time this year, I set out for war. Unlike the last time, however, it was at the head of an army. Unlike last time, it was with an army I felt confident in leading. These were my men, after all, men I could rely on, without having to ensure their obedience through an impromptu feast or their loyalty through some drownings.
Of course, then as now, I had the Cannibal for support. Military support, that is, and nothing else. A dragon made for a frankly terribly conversationalist.
Said creature rumbled beneath me, as though he knew the direction of my thoughts. Then again, that would hardly have been the oddest occurrence of this association. With how much my thoughts blurred with him when we flew in battle when we shared our anger and rage and hatred and screamed it to the heavens, the Seven alone knew how much of my mind the Cannibal knew.
He gave an amused chuff and descended a bit lower, giving me a better view of the fleet bearing my army as a rock began to grow larger on the horizon. Forty ships sailed the seas, forty ships each bearing a hundred men organized in a company that was part of a larger group. Well, a hundred men and some change. Support personnel was still important.
The first island neared, and five ships broke off from the main group. Supply, Blessed Maiden, Lucre, Sailing Septon, and Interest. Three cogs escorted by two galleons.
And one dragon.
This might not have been the big prize, the largest isle of the Stepstones known as Bloodstone, but it required our involvement. Not to take it, no, the five hundred men I had assigned to this task were more than adequate. Our role was only to help. For now.
Into the skies we rose, and I felt the rush of the wind on my face, through the armor, felt it lift us higher and higher. We soared through the skies, even higher than before, taking in the island beneath us.
Truth be told, it was quite the pretty thing. Lush green foliage covered large swathes of the expanse of dirt jutting from the sea. The odd jagged blue scar suggested a stream that had carved its way through the stone of the island. And at the farthest point of the island, a misshapen lump of brown which could only be the slapdash construction of a pirate haven. Really, any man who decried the Stepstones as barren or desolate was a complete lunatic. Or merely ignorant. After all, for a pirate haven to be useful, it had to be able to support said pirates.
Our target spotted, we tucked our wings into our sides and plummeted.
The wind raced past us, forcing our eyes to narrow into slits just to keep them in their sockets, as the objects beneath us drew closer and closer. Splotches of brown grew steadily more defined as they raced towards, transforming into individual clusters of crude huts and, far more crucially, a broad and open harbor.
A harbor filled with ships, protected from the rough waves beyond the shore by natural arms that enclosed it. Enclosed it almost completely, save for a single small opening.
This was the target.
Wings flared as we saw the white crests on the waves, and our rapid downward plunge became a swift glide, with our insides only protesting mildly at the sudden shift. But that was fine. After all, it meant that the ships that had seemed no larger than toys in a child's playroom were now impossible to miss.
Our smaller half chuckled at the phrasing even as the pirates and other assorted malcontents scuttled about their little ships. They sprinted, they pointed, and they might even have shouted something. A handful even leaped into the waters of the harbor. Those were the lucky ones, and we were happy for them.
Each pirate in the water was one pirate who would be out of the way.
A great gout of green flame spewed forth, enveloping the pirate fleet. Green flame clung to rigging and pirates and sails and decks alike but was soon overtaken by the far more mundane red and orange and yellow of natural fire. We never saw those ships sink, however, as we were already climbing high up into the skies.
Was this kind of attack wasteful? Did it deny this invasion force the chance to seize some enemy ships? Mayhaps, but it also did something far more valuable: it kept the pirates from scuttling a ship at the mouth of the harbor, preventing access.
And potential long-term benefits meant nothing if we could not get them. Thus, the ships had to burn.
It left the small group of ships free to sail into the harbor unopposed. There, they would disembark and take control of the settlement on the island. The precise details were left to the men in charge since we would not be there to hold their hand. Granted, we would not be there at all.
There were plenty more islands to take. Plenty of ships to burn.
Our larger half gave an excited bellow that reverberated through our forms and filled the air, drowning out even the roar of the air rushing past us.
It was a cycle that repeated itself several times as we sailed further and further into the Stepstones. One pirate haven after another, ships burned, harbors were cleared, and more and more ships split off. Never more than six at a time, never less than three. Each island needed to be taken and cleared, but swiftly.
The smaller half had been, and continued to be, insistent that speed was paramount.
Fortunately, eventually, and with a severely diminished fleet, the great island of Bloodstone came into view. It was more than a little impressive, truth be told, at least as large as Dragonstone or Driftmark. But not half as dreary as the volcanic isle, which was dominated by the Dragonmont. Not as heavily cultivated as Driftmark. No, much like the rest of the Stepstones, this was a chunk of wilderness jutting out of the ocean. Filled with vibrant green trees and vivid blue streams, it was the kind of land any knight would have killed to call their own.
A shame it was occupied by pirates. Their kind would need removal. The island would need cleansing, resettling. But the harbor… it was open. Wide open. No way scuttling a single ship would block the entrance. That meant we could wait. No, that meant we could take those ships.
Yes, now there was an idea.
"By the harbor." The words were more in our head than spoken. Not that they would have been audible, at any rate, but our bulk shifted to approach, nonetheless. Built from solid stone, there was no doubt that the quays could hold our weight. At the very least, it would be difficult to destroy to deny the enemy access to the ships.
We circled once, twice, just long enough to be sure our much-reduced fleet was following us instead of seeking an alternate landing. Only then did we descend, landing almost gently. Our smaller half's teeth were only slightly jarred by the impact while we slid into a nearby warehouse, reducing it to so much kindling.
Shouting rose to meet our presence, and we bit back the urge to bathe them in flame. We wanted as much of this place intact. And flames were not known for being discriminating. Instead, we lashed out with the tail, completing the ruination of the warehouse while the chains holding us together slowly came loose.
It was with great relief that I slid from the Cannibal's back and onto the mostly solid ground. For the entire war in Dorne, I had fought on dragonback. Not ahorse, not on foot, but on the Cannibal. That had been the reasonable thing to do, and the most effective, but it had not been enjoyable. More than a decade of training to fight, and I had only used it in the occasional melee.
I needed this.
And judging by his roar, the Cannibal agreed.
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