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Boom—
Caraxes's molten-gold eyes flashed with lethal intent. A stream of crimson dragonfire erupted from his jaws, striking the scorpion crossbow mounted on the warship's deck.
The scorpion crossbow exploded before it could even fire. Shrapnel flew in every direction.
Several crewn died instantly. The fire spread to the sellswords behind them, setting clothes and armor ablaze. n scread and rolled on the deck.
"Jump! Don't let the fire spread!"
The sellswords dove into the sea like dumplings to save their lives.
Daeron felt no pity. His gaze shifted to the next scorpion crossbow.
"Hahaha! The Targaryen Dragon King has returned!"
From a distance, Malacho Maegyr spotted the crimson dragon and imdiately released his lieutenant. He pulled out a telescope for a better look.
A Dragon King!
A true Dragon King. One with dragons, a clear bloodline, and the recognized title. Far more impressive than any Black Wall noble of Volantis.
The Black Wall families claid Valyrian blood and sotis called themselves dragonlord descendants. But their nas were never recorded in history as true Dragon Kings. And they had no dragons. Not one in centuries.
"Look! The Dragon King is burning the Golden Company! Now's our chance to crush the Triarchy whores."
Malacho was mad, but he knew how to seize an opportunity.
His lieutenant quickly relayed the order. The Volantene fleet pressed the attack on the Triarchy pirates. Both sides fought with savage intensity.
"Dragon! There's a dragon!"
On the other side, the Tyroshi pirates panicked. They had already developed a severe case of "dragon fear." They abandoned their allies and tried to flee.
Lys and Myr blocked their escape with their own ships, using the Tyroshi as at shields to blunt the Volantene advance.
"Kill them!"
"Don't run! The goddess protects us—"
Daeron rode Caraxes overhead, systematically destroying every ship carrying a scorpion crossbow.
"So the Triarchy actually built these things."
Daeron flew high, occasionally dodging a steel spear launched from one of the remaining scorpions.
In an age of fading magic, scorpion crossbows were one of the few weapons still capable of threatening dragons.
Young adult dragons could barely withstand the impact. Sub-adult dragons stood little chance.
Caraxes was right in the middle—strong enough to survive, but still at risk of injury.
Daeron easily evaded another spear and assessed the weapons coldly. "Poor design. Hard to adjust the angle. Even against a sub-adult dragon, they'd need luck."
The scorpions could only fire in a straight line. They had limited upward adjustnt—barely reaching 75 degrees.
Unless the dragon was brain-dead or the rider a complete novice, no one was getting hit.
"Myr's death was pure bad luck," Daeron muttered.
He continued burning scorpion crossbows. The Golden Company fell into chaos, helpless against the crimson dragon above.
"Move! Let handle this."
Black Barq shoved a crewman aside, seized the scorpion, and cranked the angle with every ounce of strength. His massive arms bulged.
He found his mont as the red dragon banked and fired.
"Hm?" Daeron noticed imdiately.
He didn't even need to give the order. Caraxes twisted his long body and slipped past the carefully aid steel spear like a blood-red serpent.
"Burn him!"
Daeron didn't hold back. He dove straight at the ship.
Boom—
A torrent of crimson fire engulfed the deck. The entire vessel beca an inferno. Every sellsword on board either exploded on impact or burned alive, screaming.
Daeron repeated the process on the remaining scorpion ships until every threat was gone.
"Ti to go, Caraxes!"
Daeron glanced back and saw the royal fleet—flying the three-headed dragon banner—finally arriving. Their targets were clear: the Golden Company.
Who could bla them? The Golden Company had wronged the Iron Throne.
"Run!!"
Lyswell shouted the order. He abandoned the Triarchy allies without a second thought, jumped aboard a small longship, and fled.
He had no intention of fighting anywhere near a dragon.
Run!
:
By midday the battle was over.
The Triarchy and Golden Company had been forced to retreat.
The main reason was not Daeron or the royal fleet, but the better-equipped and more nurous Volantenes.
Of course, Daeron had not fought with full commitnt.
First, his goal was to crush the Golden Company, not to slaughter everyone.
Second, the battlefield was too chaotic. He had stayed on the edges.
The Triarchy and Volantene ships together numbered four or five hundred. The fighting stretched across five or six miles of sea. The noise was deafening.
In that kind of ss, even Caraxes could be affected. Daeron had no desire to get pulled deeper.
Too many ships. Too many hidden dangers.
In such a dense battle, an inexperienced dragon or rider could easily make a fatal mistake.
Daeron and Caraxes were fine. Tessarion or Toothless would have been at real risk.
The best tactic was simple: let the fleet do the heavy lifting while the dragon provided air support.
"Your Grace, both the Triarchy and Volantenes have withdrawn."
Lord Lucerys appeared, silver-gray armor stained with blood.
Daeron had been flying too high for direct communication, but Lord Lucerys understood the situation perfectly. He ordered his n to secure half the battlefield and take prisoners.
The other half belonged to the Volantenes.
As for captives—there were quite a few.
Thirty Golden Company ships had been intercepted, carrying roughly two to three thousand n who failed to escape.
Daeron had focused on them. The Golden Company had suffered heavy losses.
Midway through the fight, several sergeants had rallied what remained and fled.
The ships and prisoners now in royal hands represented roughly half the original force.
Among them were several sergeants.
:
On a small island serving as a temporary base.
Daeron landed Caraxes. The red dragon's long body rose almost vertical, wings beating to maintain balance as he touched down.
Boom!
A cloud of dust and sand billowed outward. Everyone instinctively closed their eyes and held their breath.
"Your Grace, the prisoners are here."
Lord Lucerys led the way to the captured Golden Company sergeants.
There were five: Black Barq, the two Mudds, Franklin Flowers, and Dennis Strong.
Franklin—called "the Rotten Apple"—was a bastard of House Fossoway of Fruitwine Hall. He was grotesquely ugly, built like a butcher, with half his face covered in scars and one ear missing. The kind of face that made children cry.
Dennis Strong was unremarkable in every way, but his surna was notable. It belonged to a now-extinct Riverlands house.
"Strong?"
Daeron looked the tall, thin man up and down. He saw nothing particularly "strong" about him.
Dennis kept his head down and said nothing.
Daeron wasted no ti on him and turned to the white-haired, dark-skinned Sumr Islander. He lifted the man's chin with Dark Sister and studied his rough black face.
"You're the one who fired the scorpion at , aren't you?"
He wouldn't be mistaken. His eyesight was excellent.
Black Barq broke into a cold sweat but forced himself to answer in his deep voice. "Yes. That was ."
"You're an archer. Good with a sword too?"
Daeron tilted his head, noticing the heavy calluses on Black Barq's right hand and knuckles.
Black Barq decided honesty was the safest choice. "I command the Golden Company's archers."
A high-ranking officer, then.
Daeron lowered Dark Sister. He didn't execute them. Instead he turned and walked away with Lord Lucerys.
A short while later, Jai arrived with Tyrion, who imdiately began to talk.
:
Daeron walked to the edge of the beach, thinking about how to use the Golden Company prisoners.
After this battle, the Golden Company was effectively broken.
But the Triarchy and Volantis were still fighting across the Stepstones, turning the entire Disputed Lands into chaos.
Daeron planned to combine his own forces with the captured Golden Company n and make one more move.
"Your Grace, Volantene scouts spotted ten miles out."
Ser Arthur approached with his report.
The Volantenes had not given up. Instead of chasing the Triarchy or returning to Grey Gallows to lick their wounds, they were now watching Daeron's smaller fleet.
"Any sign they intend to attack?"
Daeron asked.
Ser Arthur answered honestly. "The Volantene fleet hasn't gone far. They seem wary of your dragon and haven't made a move yet."
Daeron had attacked the Golden Company. To outsiders, his allegiance was unclear.
The Volantenes were bold enough to test him.
Daeron grinned. "I haven't gone looking for them yet, and they're already coming to ."
:
Grey Gallows. Outer waters.
Malacho stepped ashore and laughed loudly. "Those Triarchy whores must be terrified of the dragon by now."
"My lord, should I recall the scouts?"
The lieutenant asked carefully.
Malacho waved him off. "No need. Dragon King Daeron attacked the Golden Company. He's made enemies of the Triarchy. Even if we watch him, he won't move against us."
Why was he watching Daeron? Simple.
Malacho wanted the dragon.
"It's said Daeron used so special thod to bring dragons back into the world and raised them to adulthood in just a few years."
Malacho's greed stirred. He licked his lips. "What do you think it would take to hatch a dragon egg?"
The lieutenant was speechless.
Even if they gave you a dragon, you're not a Dragon King. You're not even a bastard dragonlord. What use would it be?
Malacho thought himself clever. "Keep watching him. Dragon King Daeron wouldn't have interfered in the Stepstones without a reason."
"We can't just sit and wait."
Volantis and the Triarchy had one thing in common: endless greed.
Malacho was already plotting how to steal the secret of dragon-taming from the Targaryens.
The lieutenant was about to agree when he heard a distant boom.
"What was that?"
Malacho heard it too.
An officer ca running, pale and breathless. "My lord! The Iron Throne's fleet is attacking!"
"What?!"
Malacho's face went white.
At the sa ti, the royal fleet and half the Golden Company charged straight into the Volantene formation.
Malacho had been setting up on the island. His fleet was relaxed and scattered—more than two hundred ships with no proper defensive formation.
"Hiss-graa—!"
A crimson dragon streaked overhead, passing both fleets and unleashing dragonfire directly into the Volantene ships.
"No—no—no!!"
A Tiger Party officer watched in horror as fire rained from the sky. He tried to move, but his legs refused to obey.
Boom—
Dragonfire engulfed him and his ship.
"Keep going, Caraxes!"
Daeron and his dragon flashed past. Crimson fire poured down in a blazing line, igniting the sails of an entire row of ships.
The damage wasn't massive, but the humiliation was total.
In one pass the Volantene fleet fell into chaos. n either fought the fires or abandoned ship.
The attack had co too suddenly. No one had ti to react.
Half the Golden Company surged into the enemy ranks and began boarding.
Franklin Flowers, despite his bloated fra, moved with surprising agility. His short spear stabbed and blocked as he cut down two Tiger Party officers.
Black Barq directed the archers for the first volley.
"Excellent!"
Tyrion stood on one of the warships, face flushed with excitent, punching the air.
The king had promised them: if they turned on their forr allies and helped defeat the Volantenes, their past cris would be forgiven and they would be rewarded based on rit.
The highest reward was land and a castle.
The Golden Company sergeants were sellswords. They wanted gold and they wanted to live. They had surrendered without hesitation and now fought as the royal fleet's vanguard.
Under the shadow of the dragon, the Volantene fleet broke. A gap opened in their formation.
The royal fleet poured through and reached the shore.
Ser Arthur and Jai led the charge. The two Kingsguard were unstoppable, smashing through makeshift defenses and driving back the defenders.
"Jai, go support His Grace."
Ser Arthur glanced up as the red dragon flew overhead toward the center of the island.
"Ser, be careful."
Jai trusted his idol completely. He and ten Lionheart Knights cut their way out of the lee.
□
Boom—
Crimson dragonfire rained down, sealing the entrance to the cave.
"Ah!"
Malacho scread and fell backward, scrambling away on his hands and feet.
By the gods!
Dragon King Daeron had struck without warning—and he was going straight for the head.
Malacho had barely received the news before the serpentine red dragon blocked his escape.
Boom!
Caraxes landed on the rocky outcrop, wings spread, his long body looming over the Tiger Party officers and soldiers.
Malacho nearly fainted.
"Dragonfire—"
A cold voice rang out, snapping Malacho back to reality.
"No—stop!"
But the fire was already coming.
Malacho's eyes widened as dragonfire roared past only a few feet away, turning more than a dozen Tiger Party n into human torches.
He didn't dare move. His hair singed from the heat. His skin burned.
The lieutenant was terrified. He dropped to his knees.
Thud!
Caraxes's molten eyes flashed. His long body shifted slightly. The crescent-shaped tail whipped out and struck the lieutenant square in the chest.
There was a sickening crack. Ribs shattered. The man flew through the air like a broken kite and smashed into the sand in a bloody heap.
Malacho froze, face deathly pale, sweat pouring down his face.
"Hiss-graa—!"
Caraxes let out a piercing cry and lowered his body, revealing the rider on his back.
Daeron looked down at the man and smiled faintly. "Volantis's archon? Give one good reason not to kill you."
He was testing the man.
Malacho's eyes suddenly lit up—almost painfully bright—as if he had found salvation.
"Don't kill ! I'm a Tiger Party archon! I know a Black Wall family hiding a dragon egg! I can steal it for you—I'll bring you the dragon egg—"
Daeron: !!
One small lie… and the man had played a royal flush.
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