Rewriting Targaryen History

Chapter 87: Chapter 87: Grey Gallows Held

For four days, the Stepstones taught us through small cuts.

The Triarchy did not throw itself at Bloodstone after the fire rafts failed. It tested instead. A sail appeared at the edge of sight and vanished before a patrol could close. A night boat scraped near the southern rocks and fled when challenged.

Crossbowmen hid among black stone until Velaryon archers found them by the flash of quarrels. Twice, men tried to fire the lower stores. Once, they came close enough that Captain Marq killed one himself with a spear taken from a sleeping guard he had just woken by kicking him in the ribs.

Bloodstone held. Grey Gallows held as well, though every report from Black Rat made the word feel more expensive.

His messages came in High Valyrian, written with the same direct hand he used for orders. Enemy craft sighted before dawn. No landing. Two wounded. Water guarded. Eastern rocks watched. Hidden men cleared near lower path. One prisoner taken, tongue removed before capture. Request more arrows.

No complaint. No flourish. No mention of fatigue unless it had become a fact useful to command.

I read each one twice.

By the fifth morning, Bloodstone had grown quieter in the way men become quiet when they have accepted that rest will not come properly. The garrison slept in turns. The Unsullied held the lower approaches and harbour lines.

Corlys shifted his patrols with the tides, never letting the same ship keep the same pattern for too long. Daemon flew each day, but not far enough to be pulled into unknown channels. He hated that restraint, which meant he understood why it was needed.

The enemy hated it too.

That morning, the air was clear enough to see farther east than usual. Grey Gallows lay beyond a run of treacherous water, a darker shape among darker rocks. Smoke from older fires hung low around it, but no fresh column rose. For the first hour after dawn, nothing changed.

Then the signal fire burned. Once. Twice. Then again after a pause.

Captain Marq was beside me before the third flare faded. "That is not a routine watch signal."

"No."

A fourth flame rose, longer than the others. Velaryon code. Large force sighted.

The ridge around us changed at once. Not panic. Men here had lived too long for that. But every body found direction. Runners moved before I turned. A horn called from the harbour, answered by another below. Unsullied officers looked toward me and waited for orders already half formed in their minds.

Corlys came up the path with two captains behind him, cloak snapping in the wind. "Grey Gallows?"

"Large force sighted," I said. "No report yet on numbers."

Daemon appeared from the eastern slope, already wearing his riding coat, hair tied back carelessly, Dark Sister at his hip. He had not needed a messenger. Caraxes had heard the horns or felt the mood change through the rock.

"Now they commit," he said.

"Perhaps," Corlys replied. "Or perhaps they want us to empty Bloodstone and discover the real attack behind us."

Daemon looked east. "If Grey Gallows falls, Bloodstone becomes an island with one shoulder cut open."

"I know," I said. "That is why we answer without abandoning this one."

A second signal came from Grey Gallows. Enemy landing underway. The words were not written, yet every man who knew the flames understood them.

I looked to Corlys. "How quickly can you move ships east without exposing the harbour?"

"Two fast galleys now. More within the hour if the channels remain clear. I will not send transports blindly until we know whether enemy ships are waiting beyond the rocks."

"Send the galleys with arrows, water skins, and surgeons if they can carry them. No troop movement until we know the shape of the attack."

Daemon’s eyes cut to me. "Caraxes can be there before your galleys clear the harbour."

"I need you above Grey Gallows, not chasing the first ship that flees."

He gave me a thin smile. "You keep saying that as if I mistake every retreat for invitation."

"You enjoy invitations more than most men."

"That is not the same flaw."

Corlys interrupted before the argument could spend more than it earned. "If Daemon flies now, he can break the first pressure before the garrison is swallowed. If he flies too low or too far east, the Triarchy may learn how far they can pull him. The distinction matters."

Daemon looked at the Sea Snake. "I am touched by your confidence that I can understand distinctions."

"I have seen you understand them when pride allows."

Daemon laughed once, without warmth. "Then let us hope pride keeps pace with Caraxes."

He turned and walked toward the ridge where the Blood Wyrm waited.

I watched him go, then forced my attention back to Bloodstone. That was the harder part. Grey Gallows was under attack, and every instinct in me wanted to move toward the soundless smoke rising in the distance. But command was not always the place where one wanted to stand. Sometimes it was the place that could not be left.

"Captain Marq," I said. "Double the harbour watch and keep the reserve in hand. If they strike here while our eyes are east, I want the first wave broken before anyone looks for me."

"It will be done," he said. "I will also put rested men at the chain. The tired ones are beginning to see ships in every wave."

"Good. Corlys, I need one captain watching the south-western approach and one watching the channel behind us. If this is bait, it will have teeth elsewhere."

The Sea Snake nodded. "I will hold the fleet together until we know enough to risk separating it."

Above us, Caraxes launched.

The dragon’s scream tore the morning open. Men below stopped only for a heartbeat, then resumed their work faster than before. Caraxes swept east, red body cutting over the water, Daemon bent low on his back. The distance toward Grey Gallows seemed shorter beneath wings than any map had made it, yet even Caraxes could not undo the hours Black Rat might already be facing.

The battle reached us in fragments.

First came smoke.

Not the thin smoke of one burned boat or a failed fire raft, but several dark columns rising beyond the eastern rocks. The wind spread them unevenly, tearing the tops apart while the bases thickened near the water. Then came signals from Grey Gallows, partly obscured, repeated twice to make sure Bloodstone understood.

Enemy ashore in force. Holding lower stones. Need arrows.

I translated the meaning aloud for the men near me, though most had already read enough from the pattern.

Captain Marq swore under his breath. "They reached the lower stones."

"Black Rat will not yield height easily."

"No, but men do not ask permission before dying below it."

That was true, and there was no comfort to place over it.

The first Velaryon galley returned from the eastern approach just before midday. Its oars were ragged, and three arrows stood from the forward shield rail. A sailor on deck waved a bloodied cloth to show wounded aboard. Corlys met the report below, then sent the captain up to me because the details mattered more than the man’s exhaustion.

The captain’s name was Ronnel Pyke, sworn to Driftmark and too tired to pretend at ceremony. He bowed once and began speaking before I asked.

"Grey Gallows is pressed hard, my prince. Not a raid. A proper assault. I saw at least forty boats, perhaps more hidden behind the eastern rocks. Hundreds of men ashore already when we arrived. More waiting. Tyroshi blades, Myrish crossbowmen, sellsails with no badges, and raiders painted like they expected fear to do half the fighting for them."

"Where is Black Rat holding?"

"Lower western approach, main rise, and the path below the old watch stones. He let them take the first stretch, then locked the line above it. I have never seen men stand that still while others crashed into them."

"Was Caraxes there when you left?"

The captain nodded. "He had just arrived. Burned three boats near the outer water and forced another group to beach badly against the rocks. Prince Daemon was circling, not diving deep inland. The enemy scattered when he came, but they did not break entirely."

Corlys had climbed behind him and heard the last part. His face remained hard. "They expected the dragon."

"Yes, my lord. They spread wide before he arrived. Some boats turned away at once, but the men already ashore kept pushing."

That was not good.

It meant the Triarchy had accepted losses as part of the price. Dragons frightened men. They killed men. But if a commander had enough bodies and a clear enough objective, fear could be spent like coin.

"Did Black Rat send a written report?" I asked.

Captain Ronnel produced a folded strip from inside his coat. "An Unsullied officer gave me this before I left. He said it was for you only."

I opened it.

Black Rat’s writing remained steady.

Large assault at Grey Gallows. Enemy ashore before full light. Numbers uncertain. More than one thousand, likely more arriving. Garrison placed in second line. Unsullied holding main approaches. Enemy testing flanks and lower rocks. Caraxes sighted. We will hold unless surrounded from east path. Request arrows, water, and ships to prevent further landing. No pursuit.

No pursuit. Even in the middle of a large assault, Black Rat had remembered the first lesson of the Stepstones.

I passed the practical details to Corlys and Marq. "He is holding, but he needs the landings cut off. Corlys, can your ships close the approach without letting the enemy trap them?"

"With care," Corlys said. "And with risk."

"Then choose the risk that keeps more enemy men from reaching shore."

He gave a sharp nod and left to give the orders himself.

The hours after that moved slowly enough to become cruel.

Bloodstone remained under threat. Twice, strange sails appeared south of us and vanished when patrols turned toward them. Once, a small craft tried to approach under a false Velaryon signal and was sunk before it came near the chain. The enemy had not forgotten us. They simply gave Grey Gallows the heavier blow and kept enough motion elsewhere to keep my hands from fully opening.

Every fresh signal from the east tightened the island. Enemy pressure continues. Caraxes burning ships beyond lower rocks. Garrison line intact.

Heavy fighting at main rise.

No commander likes waiting on another battlefield. The mind fills distance with every failure it can imagine. I thought of Black Rat standing above a narrow approach while men threw themselves at his shields.

I thought of the garrison behind him, ashamed to be relieved and grateful despite it. I thought of Unsullied dying without breaking formation because I had sent them to stand where tired men could sleep.

Near midafternoon, the smoke over Grey Gallows thickened.

A third Velaryon galley came back damaged, one oar bank nearly useless. It carried wounded men and a report from Corlys’s forward captain. Daemon had burned several landing boats and broken a group trying to climb the eastern path. The enemy had not withdrawn. They had fed men into the attack for hours, replacing the dead with more from boats that slipped through whenever the smoke and rocks allowed.

Captain Marq listened beside me, jaw clenched. "They want the island badly."

"They want to know what it costs," I said.

"Then Black Rat is giving them an honest price."

By the sixth hour, the signal came. Enemy withdrawing from lower stones. Grey Gallows holds.

No one cheered at first. The men on Bloodstone had learned not to trust the first shape of relief. Then a second signal confirmed it, followed by a third from a Velaryon escort moving out of the eastern channel.

Grey Gallows holds. Enemy retreating south-east. Heavy losses.

Captain Marq sat down on a stone because his injured arm had begun bleeding through the bandage again. He looked more angry than relieved.

"Six hours," he said. "Gods."

"Black Rat will send numbers when he has them."

"I do not think I want them."

"No. But we need them."

Daemon returned near dusk.

Caraxes landed hard on the eastern ridge, stone cracking beneath one claw. The dragon’s red scales were streaked with soot, and something dark had dried along the lower edge of one wing. Daemon climbed down slowly enough for me to know he was tired, though he would have cut the tongue from any man who said so carelessly.

He came to the command post without removing his gloves.

"Grey Gallows held," he said. "Black Rat holds it still."

"Tell me what happened."

Daemon looked toward the east before answering. For once, he did not shape the tale around himself.

"They came before full light, more than a raid and less than a full army. Hundreds at first. Then more. They landed on the lower stones and pushed hard toward the main rise. Black Rat let them climb into the narrowest ground before he fixed them there. The garrison was behind his line, shooting when they had arrows and carrying water when they had none."

"How many enemy?"

"Enough that counting from above became useless. I would guess two thousand committed in waves, perhaps more if we count those who never reached shore. They were not all of one kind. Some fought well. Some were thrown forward because someone else had decided they were cheaper than patience."

Corlys joined us, his cloak smelling of salt and smoke. "My captains say you kept Caraxes close."

Daemon’s mouth tightened. "They wanted me farther out. I could feel it in the way their boats scattered. The obvious prey kept running south-east while fresh men tried to reach the lower rocks. I burned what threatened the landing and left the rest to your ships where I could."

That was more restraint than I had expected and more than he would ever praise in himself.

"You saved the eastern path," Corlys said.

"I delayed it long enough for Black Rat to fill the gap." Daemon’s eyes returned to me. "Your commander is not easily frightened."

"No."

"He is also not gentle."

"That is not what I ask him to be."

"I saw his line take three charges without moving more than a step. On the fourth, they opened just enough to pull the attackers into a pocket, then closed it. Efficient. Ugly. Useful."

Hearing praise from Daemon was often like receiving a blade hilt-first. One still watched the edge.

A messenger arrived with the final report after sunset.

He was Unsullied, one of Black Rat’s officers, with blood dried across his cheek and a bandage around his left hand. He bowed to me and spoke in High Valyrian, steady despite exhaustion.

"From Black Rat, my prince. He ordered me to speak the numbers and place the written report in your hand."

"Then speak them."

"The enemy assault lasted six hours. Grey Gallows remains held. Unsullied dead are three hundred and twenty. Wounded able to stand are one hundred and four. Wounded unable to stand are one hundred and eleven. Velaryon garrison dead from this attack are sixty-eight. Enemy dead counted on the stones, and lower water are seven hundred and forty. More were burned or drowned beyond counting."

The numbers did what numbers always did. They turned horror into something that could be carried and therefore became harder to avoid.

Three hundred and twenty. I had sent two thousand with Black Rat. Before sunset, nearly one in six were dead.

The officer held out the written report. I took it.

Black Rat had written in the same controlled hand.

Grey Gallows held. Enemy assault lasted six hours. Unsullied dead: 320. Garrison dead in latest attack: 68. Enemy dead counted: 740. More enemy losses at sea not included. Wounded still being sorted. Arrows low. Shields damaged. Water sufficient for two days at current use. Request arrows, vinegar, linen, replacement shields, burial detail, and permission to keep garrison in reduced watch rotation until they can stand without shaking.

At the bottom, after the formal requests, he had added one more line.

The enemy can afford to lose men.

I read that line longer than the others.

Daemon stood nearby, silent for once. Corlys’s face looked carved from old wood. Captain Marq lowered his head, not in prayer, perhaps, but close enough that no one would have corrected him.

I folded the report carefully.

"Tell Black Rat that he has permission for the reduced watch rotation," I said in High Valyrian. "Tell him arrows, linen, vinegar, shields, and burial detail will come before dawn. Tell him no pursuit is authorised beyond secured ground. His men held well."

The officer bowed. "I will carry the words."

"And tell him I read every name when he sends them."

The officer’s expression changed only slightly. "He will send the names."

When he left, the command post remained quiet.

Captain Marq broke it first. "Seven hundred and forty enemy dead would be victory in most places."

"Most places are not the Stepstones," Corlys said.

Daemon looked toward the dark eastern water. "They will come again."

No one argued.

That was the shape of the thing now. The Triarchy had spent hundreds of men and had not taken Grey Gallows. In another campaign, that might have broken momentum. Here, it felt like a question answered too cheaply for the enemy to stop asking.

I looked east, though the island was hidden by darkness.

Three hundred and twenty Unsullied had died to keep Grey Gallows from falling. Seven hundred and forty of the enemy lay dead on its stones and in its surf. The numbers should have balanced into comfort. They did not.

They told me only that the Triarchy had tested our line with blood and learned it could survive the price of failure.

The campaign would not be quick. It would not be clean.

By dawn, the dead at Grey Gallows would be carried, counted, and named. By the day after, the enemy would be measuring the next place to spend lives.

Bloodstone held. Grey Gallows held.

And the Stepstones, greedy as ever, had begun taking payment from both sides.