Chapter 13.4- The Seadragon's Roar

I wish I could tell you about the first man I killed. I wish I could tell you what colour his hair was, what colour his eyes were, what his voice sounded like as he screamed his fury— or was it fear?— at me as I rode him down, or even the feeling of his blood as it sprayed on both my mount and I as my blade kissed an artery in his neck or something and made him fall back to the floor, spraying blood all over the place. But none of that remained in my memory. I killed him, and it was on to the next man. No. Not man, pirate. Think of them as pirates. It’s easier to kill pirates than it is to kill men. My horse did the next bit of killing for me. The massive warhorse rode the man down. He had run heedlessly at us before tripping at the very last second and there was no way his bones would have survived hundreds of pounds worth of warhorse and rider riding over him as we continued our charge.

The third pirate to die at my will came at me with a sword of his own. Of course, I was riding a horse, and he was on foot. He mistimed his swing, a sign of fear, indiscipline, or just poor training? It didn’t matter which it was. Nothing about that pirate would matter again. Because this time when I swung my blade it did not merely kiss its target as I removed the man’s head from his shoulders in one clean swing. At least, I tried to. In truth, fourteen years of age and a standard Valyrian build did not lend the strength for that kind of seamless butchery. Instead, my blade left his head still halfway attached to his shoulder.

And that was my last lucid thought for a second as I felt my horse seize, coming to a sudden stop. I barely got a good look at it, but it was an arrow, or was it three? Either way, they stuck out of my mounts neck, and somehow the archer either had the luck of an old god on his side, or the skill of one, because they somehow managed to kill a horse with that. The horse’s stop sent me flying, keeping my momentum.

‘Land well, land well, fucking land well’ I screamed at myself over and over again, all the tales Manfred told me of men who fell from their horses and ended up crippled rang in my head. A crippled dragon rider would not be a pretty sight. Fortunately, I just about managed to land on my back and roll to my feet with the momentum. Less fortunately, I hadn’t managed to keep hold of my sword in all of that, and the man in front of me did not seem very keen on giving me a time out to look for it. I stepped back to avoid his first swing. And took another one back to avoid the next swing. I could see a dozen holes in his form. But what did they matter to me when I had no weapon to take advantage of them.

I ducked underneath his third clumsy swing. And with my next step back, I saw my opening.