Chapter 7: The Storm Dancer
When Arthur and Ena returned to Fish King Square, the sun was sinking into the Bite, turning the water gold and red. Ships entered the harbor as dark shapes against the light. Their masts cut into the sky like black lines. Sailors shouted, dockhands hauled ropes, and gulls circled above them with the confidence of creatures that had never owed rent to anyone.
Ena stopped suddenly.
Arthur followed her gaze and saw a slender two-masted ship entering the inner harbor. Its sails were slowly furled, and the oars moved in unison. The prow had been carved into the shape of a woman dancing with a sword. The hull was dark brown, scarred by salt and travel, but the ship still had a sharp look to it.
"The Storm Dancer," Ena said quietly.
Her eyes were bright.
Arthur looked from her to the ship. "You know it?"
"I have heard of it. It has sailed to King's Landing, Gulltown, Braavos, Tyrosh, and farther. It is said to be fast."
"Ships that sail far usually find trouble."
"So do men who never leave home."
Arthur glanced at her. The setting sun edged her face and hair in gold, softening her usually sharp expression. For a moment, she looked younger than she acted. Then she turned and caught him looking, and the moment ended.
The system panel opened before his eyes.
Wealth: 2150 dinars.
Troops: None.
Follower: Ena Snow. Recruitable.
The shop list showed the available Battanian recruits clearly.
Battanian Volunteers: 50 dinars per man.
Battanian Wolf Cubs: 30 dinars per man.
Arthur stared at the numbers. Going alone had already nearly killed him more than once. Ena had saved him at the river crossing. Old Harth's shield had saved him before that. Luck had carried him too far already. Luck was useful, but it was not a plan. A man who wanted to rise needed men of his own.
"Want to go up and take a look?" Ena asked, pointing toward the ship.
Arthur closed the panel. "Let's go."
The pier was busy. Sailors unloaded crates, sacks, barrels, and bundles from the Storm Dancer. Men shouted orders, ropes creaked, and planks groaned beneath heavy steps. Captain Morio stood near the gangplank. He was a tall, lean Tyroshi with dark skin, a scar near one eye, and a beard whose dyed blue had faded from salt and travel. He commanded his men in the Common Tongue with a heavy accent.
"Captain Morio," Arthur said, stepping forward. "I heard you are recruiting."
Morio turned. His gaze moved over Arthur's woodland gear, hand axe, and shield, then over Ena and her bow.
"I am recruiting men desperate enough to risk their lives," Morio said. "Not tourists wanting to see the sea."
"Where are you going?"
"The Disputed Lands."
Ena's expression changed slightly. Arthur noticed. Morio did too.
The captain smiled without warmth. "Good. You know enough to fear the name. Pirates, storms, sellsword companies, slavers, and if the gods are bored, Dothraki. The last group I hired had twenty men. Not one returned. Perhaps they died. Perhaps they ran. Perhaps they were sold. The sea did not send me a letter."
Arthur's heart sank. The Disputed Lands were in Essos, a place where city-states, mercenary companies, and worse powers fought over blood-soaked ground. He did not remember many details, but the name alone was honest enough. With his current strength, going there would be foolish.
"What is the pay?"
"One hundred gold dragons each if you return alive," Morio said. "If you die, ten gold dragons to whoever you name."
The reward was enormous.
That confirmed the danger.
Arthur did not answer immediately. One hundred gold dragons could change everything. It could buy men, weapons, horses, information, and protection. It could also become a meaningless promise if his bones ended up in a ditch somewhere across the Narrow Sea.
"I need to consider it," Arthur said.
"We sail at high tide in three days," Morio replied. "We do not wait for men who find courage too late."
Arthur nodded and left the pier with Ena.
"You are not going," she said.
It was not a question.
"No."
"You asked about the pay."
"I look at cliffs too. That does not mean I jump."
"Good," Ena said.
Arthur already had a clearer plan in mind. They found a clean inn, better than the Smoky Wood and much better than the Lazy Eel, which was not difficult. After paying for rooms, Arthur told Ena that he had to meet someone from his homeland. She stared at him long enough to make it clear she did not believe him, but she did not stop him.
"You are bad at lying when you think I already trust you," she said.
"Then stop trusting me."
"I never said I did."
Arthur smiled faintly and went to the inn's yard alone.
After making sure no one was watching, he opened the system shop. He spent eight hundred dinars without hesitation, recruiting ten Battanian Volunteers and ten Battanian Wolf Cubs.
A faint golden light appeared in the yard, soft enough to vanish before anyone could properly notice it. Twenty men stood there a moment later, dressed in woodland gear similar to his own. The Volunteers carried hand axes and round shields. The Wolf Cubs had knives and slings. They looked young, nervous, and ready to be useful.
The man at the front was a Volunteer with a scar on his cheek. He stepped forward and pressed a fist to his chest.
"My lord. Oak, at your service."
Arthur looked at them in silence.
Twenty men were not an army.
But they were no longer nothing.
"You will not gather in one place unless I order it," Arthur said quietly. "Stay near the inn in pairs or small groups. No drinking, no stealing, no trouble. If anyone asks, you are men from Battania who reached White Harbor by different roads. If the city watch questions you, answer politely. If someone insults you, endure it unless steel is drawn."
Oak nodded.
The men listened.
Good.
"If I give an order, you obey. If the order is foolish, tell me after we are alive enough to argue."
Some of the men smiled faintly. Arthur dismissed them in pairs. They left the yard and blended into nearby streets with surprising ease.
That night, Arthur and Ena ate in the inn's common room. Ena bit into black bread, then looked up at him.
"You should form a mercenary company."
Arthur paused.
"That is sudden."
"It is obvious," she said. "Taking odd jobs alone can feed you. It will not make you safe. The North always needs armed men. Caravans need guards. Villages need protection. The Night's Watch needs escorts for supplies. Wildlings raid. Broken men steal. Houses quarrel. If you have reliable men, you can earn coin and reputation."
Arthur looked at her. Firelight moved in her eyes.
"You sound certain."
"I have seen men with no name die for men with one. Better to choose your own name."
Arthur was silent for a moment.
"Battanian Rangers," he said.
Ena tilted her head. "That is the name?"
"For now."
"It sounds like you thought of it too quickly."
"I did."
"You need a banner."
"I need coin."
"You need both."
Arthur sighed. "You are expensive company."
"You have not recruited me yet."
The system disagreed, quietly waiting in the back of his mind. Ena Snow. Recruitable.
Three days passed quickly. The Storm Dancer left at high tide, disappearing into the morning mist. Arthur stood at the pier with Ena and watched the two-masted ship sail away. Captain Morio did not look back. The carved woman at the prow vanished first into fog, then the sails, then the mast.
Arthur felt no regret.
The Disputed Lands could wait.
His stage was Westeros.