Chapter 198: The Dance of the Dragons in the Stepstones
On Bloodstone, the situation had begun to change. What was originally a siege by the Three Daughters, a fiery assault akin to a muddy quagmire, had now turned into a pincer attack from both inside and out.
The dragons and the Narrow Sea Fleet cut into the battlefield from the rear sea with a sudden angle, first attacking the Three Daughters' weak points. The Narrow Sea Fleet first swept away the motley fleet composed of slave traders, pirates, and adventurers that the Three Daughters had coerced into service. Truthfully, some of these individuals were indeed battle-hardened and fearless of death, but they were ultimately a mixed group, and most were thrown into disarray. Before they even had a chance to engage, they were roasted by dragonflame.
The situation on the Narrow Sea ships immediately became chaotic. Bloodstone had turned into a bloody and brutal battlefield. The moment they saw the Narrow Sea Fleet and the dragons, the morale of the Three Daughters' soldiers plummeted. Siege warfare is always the deadliest, roughest, and most cruel conflict in the world, especially when victory is unattainable. The Three Daughters' ground forces, mercenaries, and slaves shared a single thought: victory was beyond the horizon and now completely out of sight. The Three Daughters' siege armies immediately turned and fled. They did not want to be consumed by Bloodstone, which was a horrifying, bloody quagmire, featuring only broken beaches, rotting corpses, stones, flames, and arrows. Their fleet, back on the ocean, was the only safe place. The defenders on Bloodstone also began opening the gates of their Wooden Palisade Fort, cheering as they linked up with the reinforcements. Ser Brynden personally led his soldiers, beginning the sweep of the beach.
Three dragons straightened their bodies high in the sky, their wings blotting out the sun, and then the dragons began to dive low, sweeping across the battlefield below.
"Dragonflame!" The Silver Emperor's slender neck arched like a bow, and with a long roar, he sprayed silver flames downward. His two other companions also began spewing flames: purple flames and black flames. As the dragons roared and heated up, their scales seemed to gain an extra layer of brilliance. They were terrifying instruments of war, the signature mark of the Valyrian Dragonlords sweeping across the world.
The dragons shrieked and circled, raining fire down. The fleeing, defeated Three Daughters soldiers below could not escape this terror. They were too tiny, too fragile, too powerless, and too afraid. Some soldiers, driven by reckless fear, hurled spears and shot arrows toward the sky, but it was useless, serving only to draw the dragons' wrath.
The stench of burning flesh overwhelmed everything, and the screams of the Three Daughters' soldiers on the beach drowned out all other sounds. The Three Daughters' soldiers could see the sea, but they could not run toward it; the sea was an unreachable destination. The moment the soldiers made contact with dragonflame, the fire bestowed upon them a new crown. Hair, beards, and cloth were the easiest to burn, followed by the eyes. Although dragonflame did not instantly melt steel, humans encased in heating iron armor could only welcome death.
The flames of the dragons had long been enchanted by Rhaegar, carrying the severe wounding effect of the Iron Throne's curse, along with magical enhancements from other runes and Fire Seeds. The Hammer Rune brought strength, the eagle god brought alertness, and the Rune of the Tree enhanced the dragons' vitality and recovery.
The distance from Bloodstone's beach to the Three Daughters' fleet was short, but it felt like a deep abyss and a chasm, making every step impossible. The dragons circled and danced, leaving behind clusters of flames and screams on Bloodstone's beach. There were also the Crackclaw men brought by Rhaegar; these Crackclaw men were fearless of death, and under the leadership of Ser Barristan Selmy, they wielded great axes, iron hammers, and spears, harvesting the battlefield in the wake of the dragons.
"We only execute the nobles of the Three Daughters who have committed war crimes! Slaves can surrender to save their lives and regain their freedom!"
"Surrender to save your lives! We do not kill slaves!"
"Surrender to save your lives! We do not kill slaves!"
"Surrender! We are the liberators of slaves!" A huge roaring sound suddenly came from the sky. This move by Rhaegar was a carefully planned strategy to pull the rug out from under them.
The Three Daughters' landing war failed completely, leaving behind piles of corpses and many surrendered slaves. Bodies were burned to charcoal, shot dead, hacked apart, or crushed by flying stones. The corpses lay scattered everywhere, frozen in their final state. Pity the bones by the river, still dreaming of life.
Rhaegar rode the dragon, sweeping across Bloodstone's beach. The taste of victory needed to be savored once more. "Attack!" Rhaegar made a gesture to advance, and the soldiers below let out a roaring cheer, their morale soaring.
The Three Daughters' fleet saw the dragons dancing and heard the cheers of the Westerosi on Bloodstone. The soldiers grew restless, sensing that the scales of the Goddess of Victory were slowly tipping toward the Iron Throne. Especially the slaves, who had heard the call for their liberation.
"Watch the movements of the slaves on the warships! This brat is truly vicious!" said Sala. The Free Cities rely on slaves and mercenaries for warfare, but these two groups absolutely refuse to fight a losing battle. Especially when the goal is to liberate the slaves—that's a death sentence for their strategy.
Sala's vision blurred; it was too vicious. This was indeed a brat from House Targaryen, the Butcher of the Narrow Sea, the Scoundrel Who Shattered Crowns. First, he feigned illness, yet he appeared completely unharmed. This tactic of luring the enemy deep, then blocking the waterways after the Three Daughters' massive fleet entered, coupled with the dragons controlling the sky—every step was exquisite. It seemed the opponent held superior intelligence and strategic advantage. The Three Daughters' massive warships had instead become clumsy and cumbersome liabilities.
"Attack! Attack the Narrow Sea Fleet ships!" Commander Sala roared, his eyes turning red. The Three Daughters had suffered heavy casualties in the landing battle. If he didn't secure a victory to take back to Lys, he would be impeached to death upon his return. He knew the fate of his predecessor in the Battle of the Gullet, which had drawn immense hatred.
"Commander, it is difficult for our fleet to turn around now! We are all crowded in this Narrow Sea area! The Narrow Sea Fleet's ships are smaller than ours, and some are more agile," Sala's adjutant reminded him. There were things he couldn't say: the Narrow Sea Fleet was fighting on home ground and could easily retreat to the Stormlands or Dragonstone if defeated. With the help of the dragons, they also had air superiority. Conversely, the Three Daughters had sailed past Tyrosh to attack Bloodstone, entirely lacking subsequent support, and was highly likely to be encircled.
"We have the warship advantage! Attack the Narrow Sea Fleet recklessly, then open a path to escape to Myr first. I believe heading south back to Lys is impossible; the waterways are blocked, possibly with chains and barriers inside," Sala shouted loudly, knowing the choice of battlefield was no longer his. Sala yelled recklessly, ordering full speed ahead. He hated those damned Governors for their terrible ideas.
But the war situation was constantly shifting. Before the Three Daughters could launch its attack, the Narrow Sea Fleet ships had already initiated their assault.
Rhaegar had identified the Three Daughters' weakness: relying on their warship advantage, they had formed a circular "Iron Barrel Formation" surrounding Bloodstone. This formation had perfectly devolved into a piecemeal, suicidal tactic.
Rhaegar rode the Silver Emperor and began charging toward the Three Daughters' ships closest to him on the sea. "Dragonflame!"
The Silver Emperor cheered as it dropped silver fireballs onto the Three Daughters' warships. The Black Dragon Balerion and the Purple Dragon Meraxes also began dropping purple and black fireballs in sequence. The sky seemed to gain multiple suns.
Rhaegar's tactic was the Massed Dragon Tactic. Although it lacked conventional martial virtue, it was undeniably effective. In military strategy, speed, ferocity, and concentrated superior force mean that wars of annihilation are superior to wars of attrition. By focusing three dragons, Rhaegar could easily sink a massive warship. This meant concentrating overwhelming firepower on a single point, pushing straight through while the Three Daughters struggled to maneuver, delivering a small shock of the Valyrian Dragonlords.
The three dragons soared high in the sky, then began to circle and swoop down with a roar. The dragons swept past the ships as if entering a no-man's-land, arching their necks before their mouths began spewing brilliant fireballs.
When the Silver Emperor, Balerion, and Meraxes began their dive, the Three Daughters crew lost their courage. The battle line dissolved, and the oar-powered warships prepared to turn around and flee one after another. Although they had been ordered to attack, assaulting three dragons seemed monumentally difficult. Furthermore, the sea around the Stepstones was narrow, and the Three Daughters' large encircling army was thrown into confusion, completely missing the best moment to escape. Especially the motley fleets that had come to assist—seeing the situation deteriorate, they were the first to scatter and flee. These ships were smaller and more agile than the Three Daughters' warships, allowing them to escape first and occupy the valuable escape routes in the waterways.
Rhaegar led the diving dragons, striking like lightning, spewing silver, purple, and black fireballs, each one brighter and more dazzling than the last. Rhaegar's Massed Dragon Tactic was a great success, mainly because the Three Daughters' circular arc formation was simply too perfect for the dragons' targeted demolition. The Narrow Sea Fleet followed behind the dragons, ready to take over the battle.
"Scorpion Crossbows!" "Grappling Hooks!" "Throw everything up there!" The Three Daughters' soldiers began encouraging each other, calling upon a shred of courage from deep within. Warships were exploding everywhere; if they didn't want to die, they had to fight for survival. Giant scorpions were aimed at the sky. To be absolutely certain, the Three Daughters had loaded many dragon-slaying weapons, but alas, that was all they amounted to.
The arrows shot toward the sky and the grappling hooks thrown lacked that one-in-ten-thousand stroke of luck. The dragons moved through the storm of arrows as if strolling through a garden, always sensing danger beforehand, dodging or directly melting the arrows and iron hooks. The psychic pact between the dragons and the sorcerer, the Blood and Fire Chain—these reinforced dragons possessed the true divine power of their kind.
The three dragons were utterly annoyed by these petty attacks, and they began to assault even more furiously, intent on destroying everything in sight. The Three Daughters' warships were blown to fragments or consumed by flames, and screaming crewmen jumped into the sea, only to face the doom of being burned alive. Countless tall columns of black smoke rose from the ocean surface. The Three Daughters were now beyond recovery, its massive fleet shattered by the attack.
Dragons roared, warships exploded, soldiers screamed, and lives were lost. This was a new Dance of the Dragons.
"How could it have come to this!" Commander Sala's face grew paler and paler; the situation was hopelessly desperate. "If this city-state is to be destroyed, I will be the sinner who destroyed it!"
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