The Stronghammer - CH - 70

Eddie sat by the small campfire, the orange flames flickering against the darkened sky as he sharpened his blade with slow, deliberate strokes. The night was still, but his mind was anything but. The anticipation of battle set his blood aflame, yet he knew they couldn’t afford recklessness. Not this time.

Holden Cross sat across from him, oiling his sword with a practiced hand. His old but keen eyes flicked toward Eddie every so often, measuring his thoughts without saying a word.

Aemond paced nearby, his boots kicking up loose dirt. “How long do you think it will take?” he asked, his voice betraying his impatience.

“As long as it takes,” Holden muttered without looking up.

Eddie exhaled and glanced toward the horizon, where the fires of the Dothraki camp still burned bright. The smell of roasted meat and the faint sounds of laughter drifted through the air. To the Dothraki, tonight was just another night of celebration after a successful raid. To Eddie and his men, it was the calm before the storm.

After three long hours, Serik finally emerged from the shadows, slipping into the camp like a whisper of wind. His face was tense with exhaustion, his breathing uneven, but there was a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

Eddie straightened. “Well?”

Serik nodded. “I spoke with one of the captives. A man named Kazin. He’s a former mercenary from Qohor, and he carries weight among the slaves. He promised to spread the word.” He wiped sweat from his forehead and continued. “The slaves know they will be separated once they reach the Sons of Kraken stronghold, and they are desperate. All they need is the means to fight back.”

Eddie’s lips curled into a grin. “So all we need to do is get them weapons.”

Serik nodded. “Exactly. If we can sneak them blades before the trade is complete, they’ll be ready when the time comes.”

Holden leaned forward, rubbing his chin. “We still need to wait until the Dothraki leave. If they suspect anything, they’ll raze the entire camp, slaves included.”

“I agree,” Eddie said. “We wait for the trade to finish, then move in. The moment the Dothraki ride off, we strike.”

Aemond crossed his arms. “And how do you plan to get the weapons inside? The Sons of Kraken won’t just hand out blades to their new slaves.”

Eddie smirked. “That’s where Serik comes in.”

Serik sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Eddie clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re the only one who can move in and out of the camp unseen. You’ll smuggle in the weapons—small blades, hidden where the slavers won’t notice. We don’t need much. Just enough for them to fight back.”

Holden nodded. “And we’ll need to position ourselves around the camp before the attack starts. We’ll strike from the outside, while the captives rise up from the inside.”

Aemond inhaled deeply, the excitement finally sinking in. “If this works, we won’t just be saving Cassandra. We’ll be ending a major slaver operation.”

Eddie’s smile faded slightly, his blue eyes darkening. “That’s the plan.”

Holden stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Then we’d best get some rest while we can. Tomorrow, we make history.”

Eddie gazed at the flickering fire, his mind already racing through the battle to come. There was no turning back now.

Tomorrow, they would bring war to the Sons of Kraken.

And they would not leave survivors.

The morning air was crisp with tension, the salty breeze from the nearby shore doing little to cool the heat of anticipation. The sun had just begun its ascent, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold. The Sons of Kraken were awake and moving, their men preparing for another day of drinking, trading, and tormenting their captives. The Dothraki had yet to leave, but Eddie knew it wouldn’t be long before they completed their transaction and rode off into the distance.

Serik and his men had already completed their mission, slipping into the camp under the cover of darkness and arming the captives with small knives and daggers. The slaves knew what was at stake. They would wait for the signal.

Eddie stood at the edge of their makeshift camp, tightening the straps of his leather armor. It was lighter than steel but sturdy enough to absorb a glancing blow. His sword, freshly sharpened, hung from his hip, and a pair of throwing knives rested in the sheaths on his belt.

Holden Cross stood beside him, his greatsword strapped to his back. His face was calm, unreadable, but his grip on the hilt of his sword was firm. “We’re outnumbered,” Holden stated, his voice quiet but firm. “Heavily.”

Eddie smirked. “I like those odds.”

Holden let out a short laugh. “Of course, you do.”

Aemond approached, already suited up in armor, his expression set in determination. “I’m ready,” he said, gripping the hilt of his sword.

Eddie shook his head. “No, you’re not fighting.”

Aemond’s face twisted in frustration. “What? I trained for this.”

“You did,” Eddie acknowledged. “But I need you for something else.”

Aemond’s scowl deepened. “If you tell me to run back to the castle like some scared child, I swear I’ll—”

Eddie held up a hand to silence him. “I need you to bring Vermithor.”

Aemond blinked. “What?”

Eddie continued, “Once the Dothraki have moved far enough away from the Sons of Kraken’s stronghold, you’re going to eliminate them. All of them.”

Aemond’s eyes widened. “You want me to—”

“Burn them,” Eddie said coldly. “Burn their khalasar to the ground. If we let them go, they’ll only raid more villages, take more slaves, and cause more destruction. They’re a plague, Aemond. You can stop them in one strike.”

Aemond was silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of the command. He wasn’t blind to the horrors the Dothraki inflicted on Essos, but he had never been asked to personally wipe out an entire khalasar before.

Eddie placed a hand on Aemond’s shoulder. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But we can’t afford to show mercy. Not to them.”

Aemond exhaled sharply, his fingers curling into a fist. Then, finally, he nodded. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Eddie said. “Once the Dothraki leave, follow them from a distance, wait until they’ve moved far enough away from the Sons of Kraken, and then rain hell on them. We don’t need a single survivor.”

Aemond gave a firm nod before stepping away, preparing himself mentally for what he was about to do. He had flown Vermithor many times before, but never had he used the dragon’s fire in battle.

Holden turned to the rest of the warriors—only thirteen of them in total. Each one was a veteran of the Blackstone Legion, elite soldiers trained to fight outnumbered. Their armor was dark, their weapons gleaming. They stood in perfect silence, awaiting orders.

Eddie’s expression hardened. “You all know the plan. We wait for the Dothraki to leave, then strike the moment the Sons of Kraken lower their guard. The captives will rise up from inside, and we’ll hit them from the outside. We don’t stop until every single one of them is dead.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the group. These men weren’t just here for the mission—they were here because they despised slavers. The Blackstone Legion had fought against slavers for years, and today was no different.

Holden took a deep breath. “It’s almost time.”

Eddie nodded, his grip tightening around his sword. His heart pounded in his chest, but it wasn’t fear—it was anticipation.

The storm was about to begin.

The Wrath of the Stormrage and the Fall of the Sons of Kraken

The air was thick with tension as Eddie waited outside the stronghold, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. The scent of the sea mixed with the stench of blood and sweat as the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of crimson and gold. His heart pounded in his chest, not from fear, but from the anticipation of battle.

Then it happened.

A sharp, echoing blast of a horn shattered the morning silence. Serik’s signal.

Inside the stronghold, chaos erupted like wildfire. The slaves, who had been waiting for this exact moment, struck swiftly. The ropes that had bound their wrists and ankles were cut away with the small daggers hidden in their clothes. The weak, malnourished, and battered prisoners rose with newfound strength, their hatred fueling them. They turned on their captors with stolen weapons, cutting them down with ruthless precision.

Shouts of confusion and alarm filled the air as the Sons of Kraken scrambled to suppress the uprising within their own walls.

That was their mistake.

The moment the pirates abandoned their posts outside, Eddie and his warriors struck.

"Move!" Eddie barked, his voice carrying over the din of battle.

The Blackstone Legion surged forward, each soldier moving with deadly precision. They sprinted toward the stronghold’s walls, ropes already prepared. Eddie threw his own grappling hook high, catching the ledge of the stone battlement. With practiced ease, he scaled the wall, his men following suit with an efficiency that only years of elite training could produce.

The first pirate that saw him barely had time to react before Eddie’s sword buried itself in his throat. A spray of blood hit the cold stone as Eddie wrenched his blade free, already turning to engage the next enemy.

Holden Cross was a beast of war. His massive greatsword swung in deadly arcs, severing limbs, splitting skulls, and painting the ground in red. His age did nothing to slow him; in fact, it only made his movements more calculated, each strike delivering maximum devastation.

Serik, leading a small detachment, secured the gate, allowing the rest of their forces to flood in. The battle turned into a massacre. The Sons of Kraken, who had spent their lives as slavers and raiders, now found themselves being hunted like animals.

The sound of clashing steel, agonized screams, and the roars of rage from both captives and liberators filled the stronghold.

Then, through the frenzy of combat, Eddie caught sight of something that made him pause.

Cassandra Baratheon.

Her long dark hair was tangled, her face smeared with dirt and blood. But there was nothing fragile about her. She held a mace, swinging it with terrifying efficiency, caving in the skulls of the slavers who had once dared to capture her. Her eyes blazed with fury, her movements were controlled chaos—every strike fueled by rage and vengeance.

Eddie had read about Baratheon women in letters from his grandfather, Lord Boremund. "Baratheon girls are taught to wield steel just as well as any of our boys." He had never understood the depth of those words until this moment.

Cassandra moved like a storm, and in that moment, Eddie was proud to be her kin.

Their eyes met, and for the first time since the battle started, she paused.

Then, without warning, she ran to him.

"Eddie!" she breathed, her voice filled with relief.

Eddie barely had time to react before she threw her arms around him.

For a brief second, amidst all the bloodshed, they stood there—cousins reunited, survivors in a world that had tried to break them.

"You came for me," Cassandra whispered against his shoulder.

Eddie smirked. "Of course I did. You’re family."

Cassandra pulled back, her eyes scanning him. "You’re bigger than I remember," she teased.

Eddie chuckled. "And you’re more terrifying than I expected."

Before Cassandra could respond, a loud roar filled the sky.

The final signal.

Eddie turned his gaze to the distant horizon, and a cruel smirk spread across his face.

Aemond had completed his mission.

Far beyond the stronghold, the Dothraki khalasar was burning.

Even from this distance, the dark plume of smoke rising into the sky told Eddie all he needed to know. Vermithor had struck.

The Dothraki were no more.

The battle inside the stronghold had already turned to slaughter. With their leaders dead and the rebellion spreading from within, the Sons of Kraken stood no chance. One by one, they fell, cut down by the combined might of the Blackstone Legion and their newly freed allies.

And when the last pirate was slain, the entire stronghold erupted in cheers.

They had won.

Eddie took a deep breath, surveying the scene. The dead littered the ground, their blood soaking into the dirt. The captives, now free, stood victorious, weapons still clutched in shaking hands.

Then, Eddie made his final decision.

All the treasures of the Sons of Kraken, all the stolen wealth, would not be hoarded. It would be given to the freed slaves.

Every coin, every valuable that had been taken from them over the years—Eddie returned it all.

Even Thomas, who had risked everything to help them, was given an equal share.

Cassandra, still gripping her bloodied mace, stepped beside Eddie as the sun rose over the battlefield. "You’re a strange one, Eddie," she said, watching the former slaves embrace their new freedom. "A prince that fights like a common warrior and gives away his spoils like a fool."

Eddie grinned. "Stormrage was built on the backs of the downtrodden. My father gave power to the powerless. I’m just following his example."

Cassandra smirked. "He’d be proud of you."

Eddie’s expression softened. I hope so.