The Stronghammer - CH - 69

The sun hung low over the horizon, casting an orange glow over the dusty plains as Eddard Stormrage and his company trudged forward, their boots kicking up small clouds of dirt with every step. The dry wind carried the scent of salt from the distant sea, mingled with the earthy aroma of the grasslands. It had been several days since they had left the village, and the journey had tested them all—especially Aemond, who had never experienced such grueling travel.

Aemond wiped the sweat from his brow, his silver hair plastered against his forehead. His fine boots, made for castle floors and polished stone, were now caked with mud and dust. He had always been surrounded by comfort—velvet cushions, fine food, and warm beds—but now he felt every ache in his muscles, every blister forming on his feet. And yet, he refused to complain. He glanced at Eddie, who walked ahead with the same unwavering pace, as if he were born for the hardships of the road.

Eddie was the crown prince of Stormrage, yet he showed no sign of entitlement. He carried his own pack, slept on the hard ground like everyone else, and never asked for any special treatment. Aemond found himself watching Eddie closely, wondering how someone with royal blood could live so humbly.

Holden Cross walked beside Eddie, his hand never straying too far from the hilt of his sword. The old knight was as sharp as ever, his keen eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger. He had seen too many ambushes in his lifetime to ever let his guard down. Behind them, Turo and Thomas followed, both men accustomed to the harsh lands of the Disputed Lands, their experience evident in the way they moved—silent, cautious.

Then, without warning, one of their scouts sprinted back toward them, his face pale with urgency.

“Khalasar,” he gasped, doubling over to catch his breath. “A large one… maybe two hundred strong. They’re coming this way.”

Holden’s expression hardened immediately. “How far?”

“Half a league, maybe less. They’ll be on us soon.”

A tense silence fell over the group. The Dothraki were ruthless warriors, known for their lightning-fast raids and savage brutality. A khalasar of that size could wipe them out in an instant.

“We can’t fight them,” Holden said firmly. “We’re too few, and they’re too many.”

Eddie nodded. “Then we hide. Find cover, stay low, and don’t make a sound.”

Aemond felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He had read about the Dothraki in books, but seeing them in person was something else entirely. The tales of their brutality were not exaggerated. He swallowed hard and followed Eddie as they moved quickly toward the nearest hiding place—a dense cluster of rocks and tall grass.

The group crouched down, pressing themselves against the earth, their breathing shallow. The ground trembled slightly, a distant rumble growing louder. Aemond’s heart pounded in his chest as he stole a glance toward the open plains.

The first riders appeared on the horizon, their braided hair whipping in the wind, their curved arakhs gleaming in the fading light. More followed, a seemingly endless wave of warriors riding in tight formation. Their horses moved like shadows, swift and deadly, their hooves striking the ground in unison.

Aemond gritted his teeth. He hated feeling helpless, hiding like a scared child. But he knew this wasn’t cowardice—it was survival.

Eddie barely moved, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, his expression unreadable. Holden Cross, beside him, watched the khalasar with a calculating gaze, ready to act if necessary.

For what felt like an eternity, the Dothraki rode past, their guttural laughter and shouts filling the air. Some of them carried torches, illuminating the ground as they passed, their wild eyes scanning the land. One rider slowed his horse, glancing toward their hiding place.

Aemond held his breath.

The rider lingered for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing. Then, just as suddenly as he had stopped, he spurred his horse forward, disappearing into the mass of riders.

The thunder of hooves slowly faded into the distance.

No one spoke for several moments, listening intently to make sure the Dothraki were truly gone. Then Holden exhaled, breaking the silence.

“They didn’t see us,” he murmured.

Eddie turned to the scout. “Are they heading toward the coast?”

The scout nodded. “Yes. Probably looking for something—or someone.”

Holden frowned. “Then we’ll need to be even more careful.”

Eddie stood, brushing dust off his tunic. “Let’s move before nightfall. We need to reach the Sons of Kraken before the Dothraki do.”

Aemond forced himself to his feet, his legs still shaking slightly from the tension. He looked at Eddie, who had already begun walking, his determination unshaken.

For the first time, Aemond truly understood the difference between himself and Eddie. One was born into royalty and expected to lead. The other had forged himself into a leader, through hardship, through battles, through sheer will.

Aemond straightened his back and followed. If he was going to be a dragon rider, a true Targaryen prince, then he needed to learn what it meant to be strong.

And Eddie Stormrage was the best teacher he could ever have.

As they continued their cautious trek toward the Sons of Kraken’s stronghold, Aemond found himself walking beside Thomas, his mind turning over what had just happened. He had read countless books on the Dothraki, studied their ways under the maesters of the Red Keep, yet what he had just witnessed didn’t make sense.

“The Dothraki don’t go near the sea,” Aemond said, his brow furrowed. “They fear it. They call it the ‘poison water.’ My tutors always said they never cross it, never even get close.”

Thomas let out a short, dry chuckle. “Books teach many things, my prince, but they don’t always tell the whole story.”

Aemond scowled at the use of his title. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

Thomas smirked but gave a small nod of acknowledgment before continuing. “The Dothraki may fear the open ocean, but they are everywhere in Essos. And they’re not fools. Whenever they raid a village, they don’t always keep their captives. Slaves slow them down, and they know it. They’re only useful for trade.”

Aemond frowned. “Trade? You mean they sell them?”

Thomas nodded. “Aye. And that’s why they’re here.”

Aemond’s confusion deepened. “Selling them to who? The Free Cities?”

“No,” Thomas said grimly. “They’re selling them to the Sons of Kraken.”

Aemond’s breath hitched slightly. The Sons of Kraken were no ordinary pirates; they were slavers, cutthroats who preyed on the weak and made their fortune by trading in human lives.

“But… why here?” Aemond pressed. “Why so close to the coast?”

Thomas glanced toward Eddie, who was walking ahead, deep in thought, before answering. “Because this is where the trade happens. The Dothraki raid inland villages, take what they can, and then bring the survivors to the nearest buyer. The Sons of Kraken pay them in weapons, horses, gold—whatever keeps the khalasar moving. They don’t need to cross the sea. They just bring the slaves to the pirates and move on to their next conquest.”

Aemond’s stomach twisted at the thought. He had always known slavery existed in Essos, had read of the markets in Volantis, the pens in Lys, and the brutal training pits of Meereen, but hearing it described like this—so casual, so systematic—made it feel all too real.

“So if the khalasar is here,” Aemond said, piecing it together, “that means they’ve recently raided a village.”

Thomas gave a slow nod. “Aye. And if they’ve got prisoners to sell, they’ll be heading straight for the Sons of Kraken’s stronghold.”

Aemond clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “That means Cassandra could be nearby.”

Eddie, who had been listening silently ahead, finally spoke. “It means we don’t have much time.”

Holden Cross, ever the strategist, exhaled through his nose. “We can use this to our advantage. The Sons of Kraken will be preparing for trade. That means their defenses might be relaxed while they negotiate with the Dothraki. If we time it right, we can slip in during the exchange and strike before they expect trouble.”

Aemond glanced at Eddie, expecting to see the same cold, calculating look he had come to expect from his father’s councilors. But instead, he saw something different—something burning in Eddie’s eyes. It wasn’t just strategy for him. This was personal.

Eddie wasn’t thinking like a knight. He wasn’t thinking like a prince. He was thinking like a man who was about to tear down everything in his way to get back what was his.

“This is a bad plan,” Aemond finally said, his voice breaking through the tense silence. “You’re not thinking straight, Eddie.”

Eddie’s head snapped toward him, his eyes burning with frustration. “What did you say?”

Aemond stood his ground. “I said this is a bad plan. If we attack while they’re making the trade, we’ll be fighting both the Sons of Kraken and the Dothraki. Twice the numbers, twice the risk. We’ll be slaughtered.”

Holden Cross, ever the voice of reason, crossed his arms and studied Aemond curiously. “Then what do you suggest, my prince?”

Aemond took a deep breath and steadied himself. “We wait. Let the Dothraki finish their deal, let them leave. The moment they’re gone, we strike the Sons of Kraken. That way, we’ll only be facing one enemy, not two.”

Eddie exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. He knew Aemond was right. His cousin’s life was on the line, and he had been so desperate to act that he nearly led them into a slaughter. He had let his emotions cloud his judgment.

Holden nodded slowly. “It’s a sound plan. Fewer enemies mean better odds. But that still leaves one problem—how do we tip the numbers in our favor?”

Aemond smirked slightly. “We make sure we aren’t the only ones fighting.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Explain.”

Aemond pointed toward the Dothraki camp, where dozens of men and women sat bound in chains, awaiting their grim fate. “The captives,” he said. “Once they’re sold, the Sons of Kraken will separate them, but if we can reach them before that happens… we give them a choice.”

Holden leaned forward. “You mean to arm them?”

“Yes,” Aemond said. “We slip into the Dothraki camp before dawn, speak to the captives, and let them know that if they want their freedom, they have a chance to fight for it.”

Eddie let out a slow whistle. It was bold. Risky. But if it worked, they’d have more than just their small party fighting against the Sons of Kraken. They’d have an army of freed slaves with vengeance in their hearts.

Eddie grinned. “I like it.”

Holden smirked. “I do too. And I know just the man for the job.”

Eddie turned to one of their scouts, a wiry man named Serik who had grown up among the Dothraki before escaping their clutches. He spoke their language fluently and knew how to blend in.

“Serik,” Eddie said. “You think you can slip into the camp and talk to the captives?”

Serik’s lips curled into a cocky grin. “I can do more than that. I can get them ready to fight.”

Eddie nodded. “Good. Move at night. Find out how many of them are willing to take up arms. We need to be ready by sunrise.”

Serik gave a short bow before vanishing into the darkness.

Eddie turned back to Aemond, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got a sharp mind, my friend.”

Aemond smirked. “I told you I’ve been listening to my tutors.”

Eddie chuckled. “Let’s hope this works. Because if it doesn’t, we’re all dead.”

Holden Cross exhaled, watching the flickering campfires in the distance. “It’ll work,” he said. “And when we strike, we make sure the Sons of Kraken never trade in slaves again.”

Eddie nodded, a determined fire in his eyes. Cassandra and the others were running out of time.

Tomorrow, the real battle would begin.