The Stronghammer - CH - 73

The sea was calm, but tension ran high aboard the ship as Eddie and his guards sailed from Tyrosh toward Stormrage. The azure waters stretched infinitely before them, but what should have been a smooth journey turned into a game of deception and survival as they neared Lorath’s territorial waters.

Eddie stood at the ship's bow, arms crossed, his piercing blue eyes scanning the horizon. The crew moved swiftly but cautiously, their captain—a seasoned Tyroshi smuggler named Varros—watching the waters with a nervous twitch.

“Prince,” Varros muttered, keeping his voice low, “we have a problem.”

Eddie turned, raising an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Varros gestured toward the horizon, where the silhouettes of three Lorathi warships began to emerge. The ships were dark and sleek, their black banners whipping violently against the wind.

“They’re patrolling the waters, blocking any ship heading toward Stormrage,” Varros explained. “If they recognize us, we’ll be sunk before we reach our home.”

Holden Cross, standing beside Eddie, placed a hand on his sword hilt. “We can fight them.”

Varros shot him a look of pure disbelief. “Three warships against one merchant vessel? That’s suicide.”

Eddie sighed, tapping his fingers against the ship’s railing. He had expected Lorath to retaliate, but to completely blockade Stormrage’s trade and reinforcements? That meant they were growing desperate.

“What’s the plan, then?” Eddie asked.

Varros smirked. “We lie.”

Within the hour, the Stormrage banners were hidden, replaced with Braavosi colors. The ship’s crew donned simple fisherman’s garb, and large whaling harpoons were placed in clear sight. Buckets filled with fish guts were spilled across the deck to add to the illusion.

Eddie, Holden, and the Stormrage soldiers blended in, stripping off their armor and disguising themselves as weary sailors.

As the Lorathi warships neared, a deep voice boomed from their flagship.

“Halt! State your business.”

Varros, ever the performer, stepped forward, waving at the approaching vessel.

“We’re Braavosi whalers, Captain,” he called out. “Hunting in the Bitterweed Bay. The season’s been unkind, so we’re venturing further south.”

A long pause. The Lorathi captain, a man in fine dark blue armor, stepped onto the deck of his ship, peering down at them.

“Braavosi whalers?” he mused, eyes narrowing. “Strange, I don’t recall seeing you in these waters before.”

Varros laughed, playing his part perfectly. “Aye, we’re new to these routes. But the whales, my lord! The stories say the fattest ones roam these parts.”

Eddie watched intently, suppressing the urge to smirk as the Lorathi captain’s face twisted in disgust at the overwhelming stench of fish and whale oil now covering the deck.

The captain sniffed, his lip curling. “Gods, you stink.”

Varros grinned. “Comes with the trade, my lord. Hard to stay fresh when you gut beasts the size of houses.”

The Lorathi captain exchanged glances with his men, clearly not eager to waste time on a crew that reeked of rotting fish.

Finally, he waved his hand dismissively. “Get out of my sight. If I find out you’re lying, I’ll gut you and feed you to the sharks.”

As the Lorathi warships drifted away, the tension finally lifted from the crew.

Holden exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That was close.”

Eddie grinned, tossing a fish gut-covered cloth at Holden, who recoiled in disgust. “You didn’t enjoy our little act?”

Holden shot him a deadpan glare. “The next time we need a disguise, remind me to ‘accidentally’ toss you overboard.”

Varros wiped his brow, looking immensely relieved. “We’re not in the clear yet, but we’ve passed the first hurdle.”

Eddie nodded, turning his gaze toward the stormy horizon.

They were heading home.

And war was waiting.

As Eddie’s ship cut through the waves, leaving Lorath’s waters behind, he couldn’t help but feel the tension ease. They had successfully tricked the enemy blockade, but the journey was far from over. The familiar sight of the Stormrage coastline began to emerge in the distance, with Zeagan's great walls glinting in the afternoon sun.

However, a new obstacle appeared on the horizon.

A massive warship, far grander than the Lorathi vessels they had evaded, loomed ahead. Its sails bore the unmistakable sigil of Stormrage—the roaring black dragon intertwined with a storm.

Holden Cross, standing beside Eddie at the ship’s bow, narrowed his eyes. “That’s one of ours.”

Eddie smirked. “Then why do they look like they’re ready to sink us?”

The Stormrage warship adjusted its course, cutting across their path. A deep booming horn echoed across the water, signaling for them to halt.

“Stormrage vessel, identify yourself!” a voice bellowed from the deck of the warship.

Varros, still shaken from the Lorathi encounter, muttered, “For gods’ sake, how many times do I have to explain who we are?”

Holden chuckled. “This time, you won’t have to.”

Eddie stepped forward, raising his hands in a sign of peace. “We’re friendly! Prince Eddard Stormrage aboard!”

The crew on the warship paused. A few exchanged uncertain glances, clearly not recognizing Eddie on sight. But then, a burly officer with graying hair and a scarred face stepped forward.

“Holden Cross?” he called out.

Holden smirked. “Still alive, Varkas.”

Recognition dawned instantly. The Stormrage sailors erupted into murmurs, some looking back toward their captain. Within moments, a plank was lowered, and Eddie and his men were invited aboard the Stormrage warship.

The deck of the warship was bustling with armored soldiers, sailors tightening ropes, and archers stationed near the mast. The ship was clearly a war vessel, built for both combat and patrolling the open seas.

Eddie exhaled as he stepped aboard. It felt good to be back in friendly territory.

Varkas, the ship’s captain, looked Eddie up and down, still skeptical. “Prince Eddard Stormrage?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Eddie grinned. “Aye, that’s me.”

The man shook his head with a smirk. “Well, you’ve certainly been away long enough to look like a commoner.”

Holden Cross chuckled. “That’s part of his charm.”

Varkas turned serious. “You’ve been gone for too long, my prince. Your father is waiting.”

Eddie’s smile faded slightly as he nodded. He knew that as soon as they docked, he would have to face his father, King Robert Stormrage, and bring him the news of the impending war.

As the Stormrage warship cut through the waves, heading straight for Zeagan’s fortified harbor, Eddie, Holden Cross, and Captain Varkas stood at the warship’s stern, discussing the escalating conflict that threatened Stormrage’s borders.

Eddie crossed his arms, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “Tell me everything, Varkas. My father sent no word of war when I left.”

The seasoned captain sighed, running a hand over his scarred face. “That’s because the bastards are playing it smart, my prince.” He leaned against the railing, watching the horizon. “Both Qohor and Norvos have been preparing for this for a long time, much longer than we anticipated. They’ve been buying Unsullied warriors in small numbers, one battalion at a time, so it wouldn’t raise any alarms.”

Holden grunted. “Unsullied?” He clenched his fists. “Those bastards don’t come cheap.”

Varkas nodded. “Aye, but they have gold. They control the silk roads, the spice markets, and more trade routes than I can count. They’ve had decades of wealth flowing into their coffers.”

Eddie frowned. “How many Unsullied do we estimate they have?”

Varkas exhaled sharply. “At least twenty thousand. But that’s not the worst of it.”

Holden’s brows furrowed. “What could be worse than an army of Unsullied?”

The captain’s face turned grim. “The Norvosi are recruiting Dothraki.”

Eddie’s jaw clenched, his fingers instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword. “The Dothraki?”

Varkas nodded, his expression dark. “They’re promising them glory, gold, and blood. Not just a few khalasars, either. It’s said that at least two major Khals have pledged their warriors to the cause. We’re talking at least ten thousand Dothraki screamers.”

Holden cursed under his breath. “Fucking savages.”

Eddie, however, remained eerily calm, his mind working through the implications. “So they’re using the Dothraki as shock troops, and the Unsullied as their disciplined infantry.”

Varkas nodded. “Exactly. And they’re not stopping there.”

Holden raised an eyebrow. “What else?”

The captain’s voice lowered, as if speaking it aloud would make it worse. “They’re getting help from somewhere. From someone. Every time we counter them, they’re already prepared. Every time we adjust our tactics, they adapt before we even strike.” He shook his head. “It’s not just numbers. It’s strategy. Someone is feeding them information.”

Eddie’s expression darkened. “A spy.”

Holden scowled. “Or spies.”

The wind howled around them as the warship neared Zeagan’s towering walls, the city of Stormrage glittering in the distance, a beacon of strength in the storm of war.

Eddie exhaled slowly. “Then it’s worse than I thought.” He turned to Varkas and Holden, his eyes blazing with the fire of his ancestors. “We’re not fighting just a war. We’re fighting an enemy that already knows our every move. And that means we need to change the game.”

The Kingdom of Stormrage stood on the precipice of war, its people bracing for the trials that would test their resilience against three of the most ancient and powerful Free Cities—Norvos, Qohor, and Lorath. These cities, which had stood for thousands of years, wielded not only great wealth but also vast armies and intricate webs of political influence that extended far beyond their borders.

For Stormrage, war was not unfamiliar. They had defended themselves against raiders, slavers, and pirates. They had crushed the Dothraki whenever they dared venture into their lands. But this? This was different. This was a true war—a battle for survival, for dominance, and for the future of their people.

And just when tensions had reached a boiling point, hope arrived on the back of a dragon.

The great gates of Zeagan swung open as the Stormrage warship docked at the harbor, and the people of the city erupted into cheers. Prince Eddard Stormrage had returned.

He was no longer just the curious and ambitious heir who had left Stormrage months ago in search of adventure. He was a warrior hardened by battle, a strategist who had fought and survived against slavers, pirates, and even the Dothraki.

But most importantly, he was the rider of Arya.

As Eddie stepped onto the harbor, thousands of people gathered to greet him, chanting his name. Arya, the mighty she-dragon, had been away from her rider for too long. The moment Eddard set foot on the shores of Stormrage, the ground trembled.

A shadow passed over the city, and the people looked up in awe.

Arya had returned.

She was massive—almost as large as Cannibal himself, her dark scales shimmering under the sun like molten obsidian. With a deafening roar, she descended upon the city, shaking the very foundations of Zeagan with her presence.

Eddie smiled. “I’ve missed you too.”

With a single leap, he mounted Arya, and the dragon took off once more, circling the city in grand display.

The people cheered louder than ever. They had feared war. They had feared destruction. But now, with two dragons standing as their shields, the fear in their hearts was replaced with pride and confidence.

Inside the royal war chamber, King Robert Stormrage stood before the gathered generals, strategists, and warlords of Stormrage.

His presence was as commanding as ever, but there was a weight in his eyes—a knowledge that this war would determine the very future of his kingdom.

Eddard stood by his father's side, dressed in his black and crimson armor, the symbol of Stormrage emblazoned on his chest. Holden Cross, ever the warrior, leaned against a map-covered table, his eyes scanning every movement in the room.

Varkas, their chief naval commander, spoke first. "Qohor and Norvos have begun their march. Their Unsullied battalions are already stationed near our borders, while their main armies move to join them. Our spies estimate that their numbers are in the tens of thousands."

Holden grunted. "And the Lorathi?"

Varkas's face darkened. "They're blockading our seas. Any trade that could bring us more supplies is being cut off. Their navy is vast, and unlike us, they've been building it for centuries."

Eddard clenched his fists. "Then we strike first. Before they have a chance to corner us."

Robert nodded, his blue eyes piercing into the map spread before them. "Agreed. We are outnumbered. We are outfinanced. But we are not weak."

He turned toward his son. "You and I, Eddard. We take to the skies. Arya and Cannibal will show these fools why Stormrage exists."

Eddard grinned, fire burning in his blood. "Let's remind them why they should fear us."

The war council erupted into movement, plans forming, orders given, and soldiers preparing for what was to come.

The Storm was coming.

And Stormrage was ready.