TBOV: Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Battle of the Hundred Isles (Pt 2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Battle of the Hundred Isles (Pt 2)

“Braavos is the odd duck among the Nine Free Cities, but still more Valyrian than Andal in its origins.”

—George R. R. Martin

…

The Braavosi fleet spilled forth from the lagoon’s mouth, a river of timber and sail flowing out past the Titan’s stony feet. From his vantage point on the hill, Jace watched them form up, the practiced maneuvers of hundreds of ships somehow finding order amidst the vastness of the sea. It took the better part of two hours, a slow, deliberate ballet of oars, waving flags, blared horns and shouted commands echoing faintly across the water. As Koja had planned, they arranged themselves not in a single battle line, but in three distinct groups: two broad lines abreast on the flanks, sails catching the brisk westerly wind, and between them, a dense wedge formation, the spearhead aimed directly at the heart of the Westerosi crescent. The heaviest Braavosi dromonds, blunt-nosed and sturdy, took the lead in the wedge, their forecastles thick with archers and marines, their bows fitted with bronze rams meant to splinter hulls and shear oars.

Across the choppy grey water, the enemy responded. Anchors were weighed with surprising speed, sails unfurled like banners catching the light. The vast Westerosi crescent shifted, tightening its arc, the horns drawing inward slightly. Jace saw the banners clearly even from where he stood – the red sun of the Martells, the silver trout of the Tullys mixed amongst the Velaryon seahorses and Hightower beacons, all marshaled under the Targaryen dragon. Aemond had drawn strength from across the entire continent for this stranglehold. Their heaviest ships, easily matching the Braavosi dromonds in size and menace, maneuvered to better reinforce the tips of the crescent, precisely where Koja would likely least expect the strongest resistance. A simple formation, yet brutally effective in its potential to envelop and crush.

A horn blew from The Unmasked, Koja’s flagship deep within the central wedge, its call thin but clear across the distance. The Braavosi fleet surged forward. Oars churned the water to foam, sails bellied out, and the gap between the two forces began to close. Jace’s heart hammered against his ribs. Beside him, Luke shifted nervously, Arrax rustling his wings.

“Steady, boy,” Jace murmured, though his own palms were slick with sweat inside his gloves. Vermax grumbled beneath him, sensing the rising tension.

As the Braavosi lines advanced, the Westerosi did something unexpected. Instead of meeting the charge head-on, their front line began to back water slowly, oars digging in reverse, sails trimmed to spill wind. A feigned retreat? Jace wondered, frowning. Or caution? It seemed almost… fearful.

Then the sea erupted in flame.

Not from the Westerosi ships, but from within the Braavosi flank formations. With horrifying suddenness, the first rank of ships in both the left and right lines abreast gradually began to burst into roaring infernos one after the other until entire rows of ships were ablaze. Red and orange fire leaped skyward, consuming sails and timber in moments, the heat rolling visibly across the water. Fire ships. Hidden amongst their own fleet. Jace stared, aghast. Koja had mentioned nothing of this. A desperate, sacrificial gamble.

But the horror deepened as the purpose of the Westerosi retreat became chillingly clear. As the burning Braavosi ships drifted forward, they ran afoul of obstacles Jace hadn’t noticed before – heavy chains, strung taut between low-lying, anchored vessels deliberately left behind by the Greens. Sacrificial ships, chained together stem to stern, forming a hidden net across the sea’s surface. The fire ships crashed into them, flames engulfing the anchored hulls, but the chains held, barring further progress. The net contained the inferno, preventing the burning vessels from drifting into the main Westerosi fleet now reforming safely behind the barrier.

Aemond knew. Or his spies did. They had anticipated the fire ships, perhaps even baited them forward with the feigned retreat, and prepared this deadly counter. Jace felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. They were fighting a ghost, it seemed. An enemy who saw their moves before they made them.

Below, the Braavosi wedge faltered, its momentum broken. Captains shouted frantic orders, oars reversed, ships swung wide to avoid colliding with their own burning brethren and the unexpected barrier of chained hulls. The neat formations fractured, splitting into two ragged groups that skirted along the length of the fiery chain-net, unable to press the attack. Confusion rippled through the fleet. Jace saw ships catastrophically collide, formations dissolving into clumps. After several minutes of chaos, the two halves of the Braavosi force began a slow, cumbersome turn, pulling back from the front line to regroup some distance away, leaving the fires to burn themselves out against the chains.

The attack was stalled. Precious time, crucial to Koja’s plan of luring the enemy inward before the tide turned, was bleeding away. Jace looked at Luke, saw his own dismay mirrored in his brother’s eyes.

Then, minutes later, from the camp below, Admiral Ferrago waved frantically. A runner scrambled up the hill, clutching a small, tightly rolled scrap of parchment delivered moments before by raven from Koja’s flagship.

“Prince Jacaerys!” Ferrago shouted over the wind and the distant crackle of flames. “New orders from the General! The chain-net – you must break it! Create a breach on the left flank, wide enough for the wedge to pass through! Now, before the Westerosi reform completely!”

Jace nodded, his resolve hardening. This was it. Their moment. “Luke! With me!”

He vaulted onto Vermax’s back, urging his dragon into the sky. Arrax leaped upward a heartbeat later. They climbed steeply, angling towards the western end of the burning chain-net. Below, scorpion crews on the Westerosi decks spotted them, bolts began to arc upwards, trailing thin lines of smoke, but Jace kept Vermax high, weaving through the scattered projectiles.

Then they dove. Vermax unleashed a torrent of green-gold flame, engulfing an anchored Westerosi hulk. Timbers exploded, chains groaned and snapped under the intense heat. Beside him, Arrax’s pearl-white fire struck another vessel, melting iron links like wax. Scorpion bolts whizzed past, thick as angry hornets. One slammed into Vermax’s shoulder with sickening force, tearing through scale and flesh. His dragon screamed, a raw sound of pain and fury, stumbling in the air. Jace felt the impact jar him to his bones, his vision blurring for a second.

“Vermax!” He fought to steady his mount, pulling back sharply on the reins as Vermax righted himself, blood streaming from the wound. The terrible gash wept obscenely from his shoulder as they turned away.

“Fly!” Jace gritted his teeth, urging Vermax upward, away from the hornet’s nest of scorpion fire. They climbed rapidly, leaving the chaos below. Looking down, Jace saw it – a clear channel torn through the left side of the fiery barrier, wide enough for dromonds to pass two and five abreast. The price had been paid, Vermax wounded, but the path was open. About thirty minutes later, as they circled back towards their perch, the regrouped Braavosi fleet, now reformed into a single, massive wedge, began its inexorable advance towards the breach, surging forward to meet the waiting Westerosi line. The real battle was about to begin.