“I still say this is a terrible idea.”

  I turned to Daemon, offering him a chuckle as my arms remained in front of me allowing my squires to ensure the vambraces were tight against my arms. “Yes, I am well aware of your concerns. You have been repeatedly stating them since I agreed to this duel yesterday. However, the chance to take all of his men, along with his ports, supplies, treasure and whatever else of value he has without the loss of a single man on either side is one I cannot reject.”

  Daemon sighed as he leaned against a pole in the tent we were in, his arms crossed over his chest, as my squires slid on my gauntlets, letting me waggle my fingers to get them into place before securing the straps for them. While not full plate gauntlets, they covered the back of my hand with solid steel plates while my fingers were encased in mail allowing easier movement of my fingers. Elsewhere in the tent, Daemon’s squire Jekar was checking my weapons, giving them one final look over to ensure nothing was wrong while using a whetstone to touch up the blades and ensure everything was as sharp as it could be.

  “I understand that, but you should not be the one to fight in this duel,” Daemon responded. “I gave Princess Arianne my word as both a knight and her sworn shield that I would do all I could to keep you from harm. How am I meant to do that when you foolishly choose to fight in this duel?”

  “You think I cannot win?”

  “That is not what I said, and you know it!” Daemon sighed again and shook his head. “You are good, Cregan, but in every battle, there is always the chance that you can lose. Not just the battle but your life. I do not wish to be the one to tell the Princess, nor your parents, your other loves, and your newborn child that you fell in a duel you did not have to accept to some insignificant pirate in the Stepstones.”

  I chuckled, noting that he failed to mention my cousins in that list, as I knew of all those in Sunspear it was Alysanne he feared disappointing the most with news of my death on the remote chance I died today. “You cannot stop me, Daemon, nor shall you. It is my choice, and if the gods decide this is the end of my tale, then I accept that. As will my father. The others… They will take longer to understand, save perhaps Asha, but they will move on with their lives if, by some remote chance, I fall this day. I accept the danger of my choice and will not allow another to stand in my place and be thought of as craven by my men and others.”

  It had been around half a moon since Crann Snow had bent the knee. In that time, Cayde had returned from The Whores with Bronn, almost all the men I had left with the sellswords and the longboats. They had also returned with four hundred pirates who had surrendered and a dozen more longboats. The rest of the pirates had either chosen to run when faced with the fleet under Cayde’s command or died in battle.

  While that was happening to the south, I had swarmed Garvy Pyke’s western port, forcing the men there to also bend the knee and thus brought another hundred and fifty men and three galleys into my fleet. I had then brought my enlarged fleet south, taking The Bloodhawk’s western port without a fight. The men there had chosen, almost to a man, to abandon the port and retreat to the east.

  Daemon had then struck the southernmost port of The Bloodhawk’s again, and this time stayed there. A fleet of ten galleys, led by Cayde and Ser Warrek, had sailed around the coast and as Daemon marched a thousand men north, had brought pressure on the next port of The Bloodhawk’s. At the same time, I had moved with almost all my men to the next port of The Bloodhawk’s and the men there had chosen to abandon the port; faced as they were by around eight hundred men to their three hundred.

  Most had withdrawn to the south, taking the ships in the port with them though some had moved north, choosing to head to warn that port even though it was further away than The Bloodhawk’s other port. Regardless, that had left The Bloodhawk trapped in a port that had initially held about two hundred and fifty men but currently held, based on the recon flights via Rian and trips into the nearby woods with Ymir, around nine hundred men.

  That was enough men to outnumber my forces, but moving everyone to strike at me would leave his flank exposed to over a thousand men under Daemon’s command. To say nothing of the five hundred on the ten galleys to the east.

  Because of all this, I had offered a flag of truce to The Bloodhawk so that we might discuss the terms of his surrender. He had accepted the offer, and we had met at noon yesterday to speak. The Bloodhawk was an older man, perhaps in his forties or fifties, who spoke Common with a Westerosi accent; one that, if I was not mistaken, came from the Stormlands. Beyond that, and the fact he carried himself with a certainty in his abilities and was a very stubborn man, there was little else I had learnt about him. That stubbornness had been clear as he continued to reject the idea of surrender when facing a combined force that was easily three times his.

  The talks, if one could call them that, had dragged on for at least an hour, with no hint that things could be resolved without a large battle. If that was what it took, I had been prepared for it, but I wanted to avoid it. Even the words of Rakakz, Crann Snow, and many men who had formerly been captains for now-dead pirate lords had done little to alter The Bloodhawk’s stance that he would not bend the knee to any who could not best him in battle.

  It was at that point, as I was becoming resigned to a pitched battle, that Bronn had, in that blunt but effective way of his, suggested that we could settle the matter with a duel. I had blinked at the idea, though The Bloodhawk had been intrigued and decided the idea had merit. From there we had discussed terms of the duel, eventually settling on a single showdown between him and me for everything under his control.

  If he won, and I surrendered or fell, then he and his men would be able to withdraw en masse to another island in The Stepstones or beyond, though not to any that I already controlled. That was a generous offer, but one I was prepared to make as they were to leave everything in the ports bar what the men could carry in their bare hands – so no chests, crates, and the like – and no man could return to shore once on a vessel.

  When I won, then the Bloodhawk, if he survived the duel, would bend the knee, and order his men to do so as well. Any that did not would be executed and the rest conscripted into my ranks. The Bloodhawk had read through the charter I had, chuckling at some of it – I could easily guess which parts – but when he’d spoken about it afterwards, he had sounded impressed by what he felt I was trying to do with the charter and my battles on various locations in the Stepstones. That had me reconsidering my desire to take his head, as he was smart, tough, and adaptable. However, I wasn’t going to enter the duel with any intent but to kill him as doing otherwise was a fool’s errand.

  While Daemon and most of the others had been against the duel from the moment Bronn had made his quip, the idea had appealed to me almost as much as it had The Bloodhawk. I wanted a battle but needed his men alive and under my banner before I could strike at Bloodstone. This way, I could get both. However, beyond my desire for battle and the chance to test myself against what I hoped was a worthy opponent, there were other factors at play.

  First and foremost, I wanted to avoid more long, drawn-out sieges as had happened with Koros’ fort. Yes, most of the delay had been caused by the weather, but even if it had remained clear for half a moon straight, it would still have taken that long to finish preparations for the assault. The Bloodhawk’s ports might not be as well defended as Koros’ former fort, but each battle would take time to plan and carry out. Time that would allow The Blood Serpent and Aeron Indarys on Bloodstone to learn that something was afoot on the Shrouded Isle and prepare their defences. Plus, there was also the matter of time slowly running out until canon events in King’s Landing would begin to occur.

  At some point before the end of the year, Jon Arryn was fated to die. Whether that was because he learnt the truth about Cersei’s children not being Robert’s, or over issues between himself and his wife, I didn’t know. But regardless, I was expecting him to die before the year was over. At that point, Robert would tap Ned for his new Hand; a position my uncle was wholly unfit for. While he had Jon Arryn’s sense of honour – something that he shouldn’t have as a Northerner and First Man – he lacked even the slightest iota of interest in playing The Great Game. A fact that would lead to his death, that of his wife and firstborn son and tens of thousands of others in the War of the Five Kings.

  That war, and all the chaos it brought with it, would leave the realm, chiefly The North, weak to the threat posed by the Free Folk. To say nothing of the state the Seven Kingdoms would be in once the gods-damned Others made their move.

  For some time in my early years in this world, I considered trying to find a way to stop Robert from appointing Ned as his Hand after the death of Jon Arryn, but I’d come to realise it was impossible. Ned was too damn loyal to his friends, and he considered Robert his brother. Perhaps even more than he had Benjen in the other timeline. In this one, with Benjen marrying Obara, not joining the Night’s Watch and lord of Moat Cailin, then perhaps the pair’s bonds of brotherhood had been strengthened. I suspected Benjen would argue against Ned becoming Hand, but I knew Ned would still accept.

  That left me with two choices: either I sat back and let chaos reign in most of Westeros as events played out similar to how they had in the book and show, and basically wait around for Daenerys to arrive. Or I could choose to interject myself into events in King’s Landing.

  Robert was, or at least had been nearly a decade ago, interested in me. During the Greyjoy Rebellion, he had proclaimed me the bastard son of Brandon Stark in front of many of the lords of Westeros and granted me the right to Red Rain by paying the Iron Born’s Iron Price. However, I doubted he remembered all of that, and I knew that there were many in King’s Landing I would have to be cautious around.

  Yes, I had met Jaime and Tyrion Lannister during the same event when I had met Robert, but I knew neither would care for me. However, even if neither had problems with me, others most certainly would. Cersei was one I couldn’t say much about, but I felt she would dislike my presence. As a Stark bastard and raised in Dorne, she might well see me as little more than a barbarian. However, if Robert showed any interest in me, I could become an issue as she might fear he would be interested in learning and interacting with his bastard children. Given her children bore none of the Baratheon looks, it ran the risk of questions being whispered in the Red Keep and beyond. Something that, as the potential starting point for those rumours might see me become a thorn to be removed.

  Even if Cersei didn’t care about me or consider me someone to remove from the board, two others would. Petyr Baelish and Varys. The Mockingbird would dislike me as the bastard son of Brandon Stark, and even though he didn’t know I knew anything about his actions to bankrupt the Iron Throne for personal reasons, would want me dead. As for The Spider, there I was uncertain, but if any hint of my magic ever reached his ears, he would want me dead on principle given his lingering and understandable resentment towards the one who’d taken his manhood. There was also the issue of where his loyalties lay.

  In the show, he had backed Daenerys, and done his best to destabilize the Lannisters as they tried to secure the rule of first Joffrey and then Tommen. Yet, while much of what happened in the later seasons of the show was utter rubbish, there was enough hint in the only book of the series I’d read to make clear that his loyalties were not to the Iron Throne. Or at least not the ones currently sitting upon it, or those likely to inherit it.

  If a moment to remove either The Mockingbird or The Spider came, I would have to consider taking it. Even if it left me at great personal risk. However, I doubted either would leave themselves open to me even while unaware of everything about them that I knew that I shouldn’t.

  Yet for all that I was rapidly running out of time before canon began, and that I wanted to avoid delaying my taking of The Bloodhawk’s ports and then moving on to clearing Bloodstone of pirates, there was another, more simple, reason for my desire for this duel. I enjoyed battle. The thrill of the hunt. Of fighting either by myself or alongside others in pursuit of a goal where one mistake, one mistimed move, might lead to my death.

  I didn’t remember the emotions connected to the memories from my former life, yet I could clearly recall the moments before we’d deployed outside the wire for an op. Everyone had prepared in their own way, yet all of us looked forward to once again being deployed into combat. Of testing ourselves against the enemies of our government. In my new life, the emotions that flooded through me during combat were intense, they called to me in a primal way and sang of the glory and legends I could achieve. My blood boiled with the desire to battle against others. To test my steel against theirs.

  That desire, that need to be at the forefront of any battle or war was driven by not just my genetics, but by the choices that I’d made before being reborn here, and then later on. The Wolfs-Blood and Blood of the Dragon’s Flames both encouraged me to prove my worth. To claim my place as an apex warrior in this world and leave my mark upon it. Yes, I knew I had to restrain those impulses, or else I would be little more than a beast or a monster, but I also couldn’t deny that they were a part of me.

  I was my father’s son. Both of them.

  The hot Wolf’s Blood of Brandon Stark flowed in my veins, while the fiery temper and desire to strike found in the Red Viper had been trained into me. I was not, nor could I ever be, the continually patient or reserved one like my uncles. Ned was the Quiet Wolf, the one who never seemed to anger – though I knew he did have a temper – while Prince Doran was the patient planner. The long grass that hid the viper readying to strike.

  Now that didn’t mean I didn’t understand the need for patience, nor that events had to be planned and exploited. The motto of my unit in my former life – Through Strength and Guile – was a core part of my thinking. However, I was a wolf raised by a viper. To deny that was to be at war with myself.

  Daemon pushed off the pole he was leaning on and moved closer, snorting as some of his anger at my choice to accept this duel slipped out. “Why do you have to be so gods-damn like your father?” He asked bluntly; unknowingly mirroring my thoughts that had become clear to me when I woke this morning.

  “Which one?” I asked back with a chuckle causing him to run his hand firmly down his face.

  “Both!” He snapped back. “You need to be more like Prince Doran, or even Lord Eddard, not like your fathers.” He gestured at both sides of the tent with his arms. “You are the one holding all this together. You are the reason that, for the first time in our lifetimes, trade along the Dornish coast is free of the threat of pirates. You have the chance to not just wipe clear piracy from the Stepstones for a few years, but possibly for generations! Seven Hells, you have the chance, through your actions to rise to the position of consort of the Princess of Dorne; a station far above one any bastard could hope for. Yet you are choosing to risk it all in a duel with a Gods-damned pirate of no importance! WHY?!”

  I moved toward him and placed one of my now-armoured hands on his shoulder. “You know why, my friend,” I replied with a gentle smile. “It is the same reason that, like me, you lead from the front in any battle instead of staying in the rear and commanding the men. We are born and bred for war, Daemon and I cannot, nor will I, deny the truth of who I am. Not to myself or for any woman no matter how I love them.”

  “What about for your child?” Daemon countered. While it was a low blow, I knew there was no malice or ill-intent behind it. “If you will not step aside and let me fight in your stead for the Princess, your sisters, or cousins, will you end this madness for the child you have yet to meet? Will you do so to ensure you might live so they can know their father?”

  “How could I face my child, or their mother, if I backed away from this duel and became craven instead of proving my prowess and worth as a father?” I countered softly. Nothing he was saying was coming in anger, so I was not offended, Yet I had to ensure that he not just accepted my choice but respected it. “I need to face The Bloodhawk in single combat. Not just for myself, and the enjoyment of battle that courses through my body, but to prove that I am worthy of leading our men. I have their fear and via coin their loyalty, but with this, I can earn their respect and perhaps create a desire for them to serve me for reasons other than gold.” I chuckled as I removed my hand from his shoulder. “Besides, you are well aware I will not back down from a fight, no matter how much older, wiser, and more skilled my opponent might be.”

  Daemon held my gaze for a long moment before shaking his head and sighing once again. “Yes, I am aware of that, and how it had us carrying such anger for each other for so many years.” He offered me a smile and extended his arm towards me. “Just promise me that you have learnt from your mistakes since our duel in Sunspear?”

  I nodded as I grasped his forearm. “I have.”

  “Good,” he said as we shared the moment. “I do not wish to return to Sunspear and face… well, everyone if you act like a mindless beast and fall this day.”

  I gave him another nod before we broke the arm-clasp. I then moved over to Jekar and selected my weapons. The rules of the duel were castle-forged steel or its equivalent. That meant that for the first time in years, I would enter a life-or-death battle without Red Rain at my side. Valyrian Steel was an unfair advantage, and I accepted that, but not having the blade with me was both odd and discomforting.

  I selected a normal hand-and-a-half sword along with a shield as my primary loadout. However, unlike my usual shield, this time I was going to go for something smaller and fully made of metal. Not quite as small as a buckler but not too far off. The shield would cover the section of my arm that wasn’t under protection from plate and apart from that was selected on the weapons I’d seen The Bloodhawk carrying yesterday.

  During the meeting, he had moved with a short sword and axe on his hips, but it was the spear-like weapon on his back that had drawn my attention. If he brought something like that today, then a smaller and nimbler shield would help increase my chances of slipping inside his range while still being able to defend my body. He would, if he used a spear or something similar, have a reach advantage that I was going to have to counter quickly, which made the almost buckler more suitable for the duel.

  On my hips, I had an axe and a short sword. The axe was a touch longer than what I normally used in battle in the Stepstones, allowing me to use it one or two-handed if needed while the blade was a third choice of weapon. Around my back, secured against my belt was a dagger that would only be drawn if I was close enough to use it and devoid of any other weapon. While great for getting under the gaps in any plate he wore – we had agreed on armour that was more akin to half-plate than full – at anything more than literal knife-fighting range, a dagger was a horrible choice for combat.

  Regarding my armour, beyond the gauntlets and pauldrons I was wearing, my lower legs and feet were in plate. Along with the chest piece and the open helm I wore, I wore a full suit of mail, completing the standard armour I’d worn since assaulting Redwater. While it lacked the protection of full plate – something Daemon and most of the other knights wore – I found the extra movement in the half-plate setup advantageous. It also didn’t hurt that what I wore now was something I could swim in easily, which was a concern when I’d selected my armour for my war in the Steps. Yet, I had expected more naval battles in the Stepstones than I had so far encountered and thus might well have been able to, like Daemon, go for full plate instead. Still, I knew this armour, both its strengths and weaknesses and through regular sparring with Daemon, Bronn, and others, was able to make it all work for me.

  Daemon came over once I had my sword and shield in hand. His hands grasped sections of my armour, giving them one final check to confirm to himself that everything was in position and secured. After that, he slapped my chest plate hard and nodded, giving his approval though in his eyes there was still that flicker of doubt.

  I understood why he had that, but seeing it there only spurred me further to not just fight this duel, but win. I had to prove to him, though not as much as myself, that I was capable of doing this and worthy of my position of command.

  With determined steps, I slipped from my tent though I paused the moment I emerged into the sun. Around the tent, my men are all standing. Many line the path that leads towards the port, and the ground selected for the duel to take place on.

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  Bronn moved forward, along with Rakakz, Barrian and other senior officers and knights in my ranks. “Remember, he’s not a knight so he’ll fight dirty as fuck,” Bronn offered as he moved to my left side along with Rakakz. Daemon was at my right with Barrian moving to his right while my squires and Jekar moved along behind us. “Kick dirt in his face, trip him up, stab his balls. Whatever it takes to win, do it.”

  I nodded to signal I heard his words as I resumed walking. My mind played over his duel with Ser Vardis Egan in The Eyrie from the other timelines. He knew what he was talking about, and his words were welcomed even if I already knew I’d do whatever it took to win.

  As we moved, first clapping, and then cheering rose from the ranks of my men. Words of encouragement joined them as those that had them banged their weapons against shields and other weapons generating a cacophony of noise in support of me as I walked towards the duel. I looked at the men as I moved, locking eyes with as many as I could. I sensed they understood what was at stake and while they might not understand why I had agreed to the duel, all seemed to be supporting me: pleased that I was ready to prove my ability to lead extended beyond my tactics.

  As the symphony of sound increased, I wondered how many of the men here genuinely wanted me to win, and how many wished for me to fall so that they might return to their lives of piracy. I knew many resented that I’d taken that from them, that I’d forced them into service and hoisted the rules included in my charter upon them. Yet, as I neared the edge of my camp, I felt that perhaps for the first time since I’d taken out the Grim Prince I had a chance to unite my men fully under my banner.

  Stepping beyond the lookouts, I slowed and knelt. “Hey there boy,” I said as Ymir moved towards me slowly. I lifted my shield arm, letting him slide under it and push against my body. I could sense the faint tremor of concern in his presence as he understood I was being challenged for leadership of our pack. However, I was overridden almost entirely by pleasure that I was facing the challenger head-on, and moving to reaffirm my position as pack leader. “I’ll be fine,” I added as the direwolf circled around me, moving to stand at my left-hand side. Bronn moved over, letting the beast take the position of honour even as Ymir pressed his head against my shoulder. “I will,” I reassured him.

  Above us, the high-pitched call of Rian drew my gaze. He’d taken off this morning almost as soon as first light had crept into my tent and stayed there ever since. Almost as if he also understood what was happening and wanted to ensure the battlefield would not carry any unwanted surprises. It was hard to make him out as the sun was almost perfectly overhead, but I could do so because I knew exactly where he was, just as I knew Kaa was curled up as best he could in one corner of my tent. The viper had been restless all night, again sensing what was to come, but unlike the others he had chosen to remain behind. However, when I had woken this morning, I had found him curled up around me almost protectively.

  About ten metres beyond the edge of the camp, most of those with me came to a halt. Only Bronn, Daemon, and Ymir remained by my side. This was part of the agreement with The Bloodhawk. While many of my men would be watching from the edge of the camp, only three others could stand nearby while we duelled. Normally, that would be the work for my squires, but today I had chosen Bronn and Daemon for that role, signifying their positions among my men, and Ymir was there was nothing I could do to stop him coming along.

  After another twenty metres, near a large open area where I had spoken with The Bloodhawk yesterday, I stopped. I could see pirates moving around the edges of the port, their eyes watching me and a moment later The Bloodhawk emerged from the port. Like with my men, his cheered him on, though their cheers were fuller and more impassioned which made sense given how long they had served under his command.

  The group slowed as they approached, and while I couldn’t see The Bloodhawk’s eyes clearly given the helm he wore, the way the rest of his men tensed – hands going to hilts – as they saw Ymir standing at my side, made me chuckle. “Seems they still fear you boy,” I said to the direwolf, causing him to make a sound I knew was as close to laughter as he got.

  “Smart choice,” Daemon muttered. “If I ever see him across from me on a battlefield I would be concerned as well.”

  “It’s not seeing him that bothers me, it is when I do not,” Bronn added, making me chuckle again. I, however, said nothing, choosing to remain patient and wait for The Bloodhawk to get closer, my eyes examining his armour.

  Like me, he wore something that might be classed as half-plate. Pauldrons, vambraces, gauntlets, sabatons, greaves and a chest piece were all composed of plate while the rest was covered in mail and under that a gambeson. At his hips rested a short arming sword and buckler, and I assumed that like me he carried a dagger at his back or perhaps it was under the shield. However, my focus was on the long shaft that he was carrying and that was resting on his shoulder.

  “Bugger.”

  The word slipped from me as I saw that the head of the weapon made clear it was a poleaxe of some form. The spear tip was there, while a little lower an axe-like head extended outward. On the opposite side from the axe head was a rounded hook that would be designed to catch on anything it could and pull me off balance. That was something I’d have to be wary of as I expected he was more than skilled enough to make the quick shift of his wrists to alter angles enough so the hook or axe-head could strike even as he thrust the tip towards me.

  What made things worse was at the back end of the shaft was a spike, meaning he not only knew that the shaft was a weapon but used it as such.

  “Interesting pet you’ve got,” The Bloodhawk said once he was closer, allowing me to see his eyes watching Ymir carefully. There might be a hint of fear in them, but that was drowned out by a quiet confidence that I’d seen in many older, skilled fighters. “Never seen a wolf that big before.”

  “Nor will you outside of The North,” I replied as Ymir growled, sensing The Bloodhawk was my challenger. “The terms still stand?” I asked, moving the conversation along. While I had no desire to die today, I was growing anxious for battle to commence.

  “They do. If I fall, then my men will honour the terms, bend the knee to you, and give you everything I control.”

  “And if I fall, then your men are free to sail away, taking only what they can manage on a single walk to their ships.”

  The terms weren’t fair, but the disposition of our forces wasn’t fair.

  I gave Ymir one last pet before he, Daemon, and Bronn moved back; though not before Ymir growled menacingly at The Bloodhawk and his men, baring his teeth and flattening his ears as he did so. The Bloodhawk held his ground, but two of the three men with him flinched as if fearing the direwolf would attack.

  Ymir didn’t, and once he turned, The Bloodhawk’s men moved back, returning to the first line of his men just as Daemon and Bronn were doing behind me. Not everyone in my force could watch the duel, as I wouldn’t leave camp undefended from the flanks on the chance this was nothing more than a dishonourable diversion. However, at twenty metres away from the ranks on both sides, those in them would have a clear sight of the duel that was about to commence.

  I shifted my feet, tapping the flat of my blade against my sword in salute. The Bloodhawk swung his poleaxe from his shoulders and then dipped his head in return. Already I could see that it was going to be a fucking pain to deal with. My mind was analysing every spar I’d had with my father or others where they had used a spear or similar lengthy weapon. I’d never done well against any of them as until my knighting I’d lacked the size, strength, and speed to really stand a chance.

  I still had room to grow, and my Strength and Agility were limited by the Interface. However, both stats were above those of most men. Not by that much that I felt I would be able to overpower or out-move The Bloodhawk – they sat at 24 and 28 respectively while the average on this world was supposedly 20 but I felt anyone with a decent bloodline and training would be above the baseline – but enough I felt I had overcome most of the physical issues I’d once faced. As for skill, I knew I was beyond where I had been around eighteen moons ago.

  As we began to circle each other, cautiously feeling out the situation before the duel began in earnest, I silently regretted not pushing for full plate. It would’ve helped counter many of the advantages of the poleaxe, though while creating a few new ones. However, if we had been in full plate the duel would’ve likely ended like mine with Daemon in Sunspear where we worked out our issues by pounding on each other with metal-covered fists. A pounding that left us both unbalanced – and probably concussed – for a few days afterwards.

  In such a brawl against The Bloodhawk, I felt that while I had a chance, he would have the advantage. Experience, full maturity and everything that went along with that would give him edges that I might not be able to counter. Now, the duel might still end up with us brawling on the dirt below our feet, but the chances were less as while good, mail had far more weaknesses that a sharp point – from almost any weapon – could exploit in ways that weren’t possible with plate.

  I kept my shield high, using it to cover the mail on the arm that held it and ready to push forward or outward depending on the angle he attacked from. It was dangerous to give him control of the fight as my advantages came into play when I managed to get inside the reach of his poleaxe. However, I was doing so to help get an understanding of his skill and potentially find flaws in his form that I could exploit. Only a soon-to-be-dead fool rushed in without a plan.

  I maintained a side-on guard, the blade angled near my shield, ready to deflect or strike in an instant.

  The Bloodhawk maintained a low guard, the poleaxe’s head hovering near the ground, ready to snap upward in an instant. Something that happened in an instant as the tip raced up and towards me with just a shifting of the man’s shoulders and a flick of his wrist.

  I pivoted, narrowly avoiding the tip. His sweeping motion missed, and I stayed clear of both weapon and armour. The tip circled around as he made the sweeping move, testing for a fraction gap to push into as he tested me.

  My buckler flicked out, cancelling the momentum of his weapon, and then pulling back on an angle to prevent the hook from catching its edge. As The Bloodhawk pulled the tip of his weapon back, resetting his stance I thought I saw a flicker of a smile on his face. One I suspected was forming on mine as well as we settled into enjoying this dance with death.

  His tip shot toward me. I shifted, deflecting the blow with a swift flick of my sword, then pivoted out of range before he could retaliate.

  The next attack came in low, forcing me to dance back, and then slap down with my sword against the shaft of his weapon. The strike ensured the weapon couldn’t strike up towards my midsection, though he almost managed to get the hook of the poleaxe’s head to catch my blade. Only a turning of my wrist allowed it to slide clear without being captured.

  The next attack came in, and this time I used my shield to guide the attack away. A shift in The Bloodhawk’s shoulders alerted me to his intentions, and I angled my shield. The metal of the hook scraped along the rounded dome of the buckler before I pulled it back, ensuring the hook again couldn’t latch onto anything I was holding or wearing.

  I was forced back as he pushed the hook towards me, seeking to find purchase. A shifting of my feet had my body and buckler slide out of range before my sword came around and slapped at the flat of the poleaxe’s head, driving it down into the ground.

  For a moment, I considered stepping forward, sliding inside the long guard The Bloodhawk had because of the poleaxe. However, before I could shift my weight enough to do so, the weapon lifted from the dirt.

  I sidestepped, narrowly avoiding a cloud of dust kicked up by his weapon. I couldn’t afford to lose my vision now; he was too dangerous.

  I’d barely reset my stance before the top of his weapon raced toward me, this time angling for my sword arm and the mail that covered it from elbow to almost the shoulder.

  I shifted again, not wanting the tip to catch anything; either so it might pierce the mail or that the hook-side of the head might catch onto my armour. He was ready for that as, with decent skill, he rolled the shaft around, ensuring it was the axe-head of the poleaxe that came swept after me as I moved.

  Instead of scampering back, and letting him take full control of this section of the duel, I stepped into the strike. The axe head crashed into my buckler, the round dome at its centre helping me to guide the head of his weapon to one side. At the same time, I took a step towards him and thrust out my blade, targeting his leading hand on the shaft of the poleaxe.

  The Bloodhawk pulled back and moved to one side ensuring that my attack sliced only air. Yet as I took a step forward to exploit the moment, he shifted his hands and arms and the rear of the shaft swung past his body.

  I moved as best I could, twisting my upper body as my legs moved, and I first heard the tip of the spike on the rear of the shaft as it scratched over the front of my chest plate before seeing it flash up and past my head. If he had been able to shift his attack as we both carried out defensive shifts of our bodies, then the spike might have managed to do more than leave a mark on my breastplate.

  I grunted as the heavy blow scraped my shoulder, pushing me back. The taste of metal lingered in my mouth as I fought to regain distance. I pulled back my midsection and lifted my arms enough that the axe-head of the poleaxe slashed through the air where my body had just been before my shield came down, crashing into the head of his weapon. The move drove that down, ensuring he couldn’t quickly slip into another attack and granted me a few fractions of a second to not just slip back again but reset my feet in preparation for his next attack.

  He recovered quickly, moving the shaft of his weapon rose and rotated, bound toward me as he thrust the tip at my chest. I stepped back, angling my buckler to deflect the tip, feeling the pulse of the metal as it glanced off, ensuring the hook couldn’t catch.

  He was ready for that, however, and instead of the hook shifting towards the small, slightly domed shield, it was the axe-head. It bounced over the edge and my eyes widened as I saw the harp bit moving towards me.

  Knowing I couldn’t avoid the strike, I turned my chest and dropped my shoulder. The axe-head struck the plates of the pauldron and were deflected clear of my helm. However, I grunted as I felt the hook side of the poleaxe head catch the plate.

  I dropped down, doing just enough that while the edge of the hook caught some of the metal, it wasn’t able to find purchase. Still, I grunted as the armour resisted my movement for a moment before I broke free of his attempted catch.

  The buckler came up as it shifted around, covering me if he brought the head of his weapon back around. He did just that and I guided the head of the poleaxe high and over me, sliding forward as I did so in an attempt to once more strike at his leading hand.

  He wore plate over the limb, so I wouldn’t be able to slice off a finger, but the thrust of my blade was enough to force his hand back along the shaft costing him some control of the long weapon. That I used by pushing my shield into the head of the poleaxe and driving it away.

  I stepped forward, intent on using the move to close the distance between us. However, he moved with his weapon, shifting back from me as the long shaft swung around. I took another step toward him, thinking I had an opening only to stop as the head of his weapon swooped around high behind him.

  My eyes widened as I realised what he was planning, and not wanting to be clattered in the side and knocked over as the poleaxe came around, I scampered back. The Bloodhawk saw this and instead of letting his weapon sweep around at nothing he shifted his feet.

  I spun to one side, my blade trailing behind me defensively as The Bloodhawk thrust the poleaxe forward, both hands near the rear of the shaft to grant him extra range. A grunt slipped from me as the top of his weapon struck my blade, though the defensive position of the sword ensured his attack missed.

  As I came out of the spin, I saw he was moving forward, his lead hand sliding up the shaft of the poleaxe to restore control. A flick of my wrist had the flat of my blade slap the poleaxe just below its head, disrupting its movement enough that I was able to shuffle back and avoid a thrust from the tip by a scant few centimetres.

  While my feet once more reset my stance, I felt a smile spread over my face as I enjoyed this duel. Looking at my opponent, I saw he wore one as well, though through the slits of his helm, I saw something in his eyes. A hint that he felt he knew he had the measure of my skill and was growing certain of his victory. That caused my smile to grow vicious.

  He was good, that I would freely acknowledge. However, he was not Oberyn. Nor was he as good as Bronn. Daemon, perhaps, might be a fair comparison though they fought in differing styles. The move The Bloodhawk had used was one Oberyn had used before, and while faster than anything my father had used against me while I was his squire, I had seen him use the move at a greater speed than this pirate lord. I suspected that he was not still going all out, perhaps saving a little something in reserve for when an opening presented itself, or he felt he could create one.

  A few years ago, without the regular combat in the Steps, or time to spar with Daemon and Bronn and train my squires, his speed might be enough to overwhelm me. Now, with all that and my maxed-out bond with Kaa granting me a not insignificant boost to my reflexes, I felt in my bones that The Bloodhawk would only win this duel if I made a mistake, and that step or two slower than my father was something I could exploit.

  I moved cautiously around, wary of what he might do as a plan of attack quickly formed in my mind. He thrust his poleaxe forward, guiding the tip towards my gut. I brought my buckler down, driving the attack away as I shifted back, re-establishing the gap between us.

  He came at me again, moving the head of his weapon up, axe-head moving to slash. Instead of deflecting the strike or shifting to avoid it, I shimmied forward quickly, slipping inside the range of the poleaxe’s head.

  He reacted, trying to pull the weapon back as he moved, wanting to keep me at an ideal distance from his weapon. I, however, didn’t want that and kept advancing. The shaft of the poleaxe, not much below the head, moved to crash into my side as he tried to knock me away.

  My arm lifted, taking the strike as it drew a grunt from my lips. The mail held but the strike still stung. My arm came down again, closing on the other side of the shaft as I trapped it between my arm and midsection.

  And the same time, I move forward with my left foot before slashing my blade towards his leading hand. The Bloodhawk was forced to pull back his leading hand, loosening his control over the poleaxe. My blade did find purchase, but the plate of his gauntlet protected him from danger even as the blade grazed the metal.

  My blade pushed forward still, seeking the mail further up his arm, but The Bloodhawk shifted. His grip on the poleaxe remained but he was able to turn his body so that my blade slid away before the tip caught on any rings of the mail.

  I moved my shoulders, intent on pulling my blade back at an angle that would slice it over the mail in the hope it might at least damage the rings there. The Bloodhawk was ready for that, however, and as my blade came back, his leading hand moved from the poleaxe to grasp my blade.

  His hand failed to find purchase on my blade as I rotated further, pulling the blade back, and he then grunted and stopped his movement as my buckler came over, the dome crashing into the side of his arm. I had released my hold on his poleaxe, but the strike I’d landed kept the hand away from the shaft, ensuring the head of the weapon dipped to the ground as it was supported by only one arm.

  Pushing the advantage, as his arm ceased its pursuit of my blade and he struggled for a moment to recover from the buckler strike, I pushed my arm forward, driving the tip of my blade towards him. The Bloodhawk grunted again as the tip caught on the rings of the mail near his armpit, however, even as the blade bent naturally from the strain, I knew the rings of the mail had held against the strike. At least enough that any damage to the gambeson underneath would be minor at best.

  As I pulled my blade back, sensing him trying to use the trapping of the weapon that I’d used against him a few moments earlier to do the same to my blade. The top of his forearm crashed into the flat of my blade, pushing it away before his armoured fist slammed into my side.

  I ground my teeth at the blow, stumbling back slightly from the strike. That was time enough for The Bloodhawk to shift away enough that not only was he outside of the reach of my blade, but his hand could return to the shaft of his poleaxe.

  Still, as he brought the head around, seeking to strike my back, I knew I retained the advantage. A step forward ensured that I remained inside the distance between him and the head of his weapon. Another step was taken as he tried to move back and restore the gap between us.

  His shoulders dropped and I saw the shaft droop towards the ground.

  Sensing what he had planned, I shifted away from the weapon and lifted my foot as I sensed the shaft incoming. The sound of something catching in the dirt confirmed my suspicions before my buckler dropped low. The axe-head of the poleaxe crashed against the small dome at the centre of the shield, and I then angled the protection so that, as The Bloodhawk rolled the poleaxe around in his grasp, the hook was unable to find a bite against the edge of the buckler.

  A few steps took me further back, just beyond the range of the poleaxe currently and shifted the head to my sword side. My blade went low, blocking the sweep The Bloodhawk attempted by pushing the head of his weapon into the loose ground once more.

  Sensing a chance to get inside his reach again, I moved forward, ignoring the flash of pain that came from the back of my right as part of his weapon dragged against my armour. My blade thrust at him, striking against the metal of his gauntlet on the lead arm. That was something we both expected; however, my next move caught him by surprise.

  Instead of pushing the tip of the blade towards his body, I pulled it back, and using the gauntlet as a guide, slammed the edge of the blade into the shaft of the poleaxe. While a decent-sized chunk of wood was cut from the shaft, it wasn’t enough to break it. What it did do, was drive the weapon down lower, and force him to loosen his grip on the shaft again.

  To further that, I pivoted at the hips and crashed my side against the shaft and then drove the edge of the buckler down on the wood. That combination was enough to force the shaft from the grasp of his front hand, and as he fought to recover, I lifted my leg.

  My foot came down on the shaft, driving it into the ground, and forced it from his rear hand. He moved back, his hands going to his waist only for one to stop and rise as he saw my blade flashing towards him. The arm was slow, and the edge of my blade crashed against the side of his helm; a turn of his head ensuring that the blade only collided with metal.

  A single disorientated step was taken by The Bloodhawk as he tried to recover from the strike. I didn’t allow him to and as my sword was pulled back, I brought my other arm in, driving the edge of the buckler into the other side of his helm.

  That strike caused him to be further unbalanced, and a grunt came from him a moment later when the tip of my blade found purchase against his thigh; the mail there buckling enough that when I pulled my sword back, I saw the tip was coated in a small trail of blood. It wasn’t a fatal wound or even one that would slow him down in the moment, but I had drawn first blood, and it was enough that, when combined with the strikes to his helm, as he moved back, he fell to a knee.

  The pommel of my sword crashed into the side of his helm, causing the head to snap to one side. He placed a hand on the ground to prevent himself from falling over even as his head recoiled.

  That exposed the top of his gorget and at that, I aimed a blow from the edge of my buckler.

  He fell back, one hand coming up to his throat as I heard him gargle in what I hoped was an attempt to breathe. My blow had been firm, but I couldn’t be certain what, if any damage the strike had done.

  Even as he fell, his other hand moved to the short sword at his hip, however, a swatting strike with my blade knocked the hand from the sword’s hilt before he could unsheathe it. To keep him distracted, and give me time to realign my blade, I dropped a knee into his gut.

  Another grunt of pain came from him as I drove my weight into his stomach, and his head rose slightly as his body reacted. A second later, his head slammed into the ground, driven back by a strike to the base of the helm, around where I could just see his chin, by the buckler.

  As his eyes glassed over for a second, I let my buckler go. It fell onto his helm, obscuring his vision for a moment, which was enough time that when his eyes next saw me, I was using both hands to grasp my sword; the hand formerly holding the bucker about halfway down the blade adding purchase to my grasp.

  The hand on his neck came out, reaching for my blade, yet while he managed to grasp my wrist, it wasn’t enough to stop my movement, and a second later a pained rumble slipped from his lips as the tip of my sword dug into his eye.

  The eyeball imploded under the force behind the tip of my blade, and as whatever liquids were within it squirted out onto his face, some even going into his other eye, I pushed down with all my might, driving the tip of my blade deeper.

  He pulled at my wrist with one hand, trying to weaken my grip while the other hand crashed into my side in an attempt to knock me off him. The hand on my wrist slowed my movement, but with gravity on my side along with my upper body, the tip kept sinking.

  The strikes at my side became more desperate, as his remaining eye widened and he pulled on my wrist with the other hand frantically. His body shifted and his legs kicked the ground as he fought desperately to escape, yet my grip remained firm, and I felt the tip sink lower.

  Time slowed as we both knew this was the end of the fight. His remaining eye locked on mine as he accepted he had lost. I wondered in that moment if he might yield, as even with one eye he would be a useful ally. However, I didn’t ease up my efforts to sink the blade into his brain, and I felt his body jerk.

  The tip sunk deeper, sliding through the eye socket and into his skull, and the grasp on my wrist lessened. A rolling of my shoulders and the blade sunk further, drawing a gargle from him as a moment later, blood flowed out from under his helm.

  The hand striking against my side fell away, as did, a moment later, the one that had been pulling desperately at my wrist. I kept my blade where it was, looking into The Bloodhawk’s eyes as the last flicker of life faded from his body. Both because I wanted to ensure he was dead, and because some primal part of me revelled in delight that I had proved my superiority.

  Time trickled by as I stayed there, holding my blade in his skull as his body stilled beneath me. As the thrill and desperation of battle faded. Moving slowly, I kept my hands on my sword, using it to stand even as the shifting of the point caused the body beneath me to jerk.

  A tentative step back had me stumbling, and as I recovered, and my hands left the blade I saw it was my buckler that I’d almost tripped on. Falling because of that after killing The Bloodhawk would’ve been embarrassing as fuck.

  I moved back slowly, my eyes remaining on the body on the ground before me even as the blood from the wound, and whatever had poured from his mouth slid onto the dirt, staining the ground. I’d killed men before and watched with relish as the light flickered from their eyes. The Bloodhawk, however, was the first I’d killed in a duel. The first to be considered a worthy opponent. I would be taking his skull as I had with the others, but his would be placed above theirs; a mark of honour for how he died and his choice in it.

  The sounds of cheering reached my mind, and I turned to face my men. The men, led by Daemon and Bronn were cheering while I saw Ymir shift and begin rushing forward to celebrate my victory with me. I glanced at The Bloodhawk’s men, wanting to ensure they didn’t break their former lord’s words. As the three who had escorted him to the duel fell to a knee, I smiled and turned back to my men.

  My arms shot into the air, and I yelled, joining in the euphoria of emotion from my men. The duel was over, and with it, The Shroud Isle was mine.

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