Jon sat beside the open window, his eyes closed and Arthur waiting by his stool. Through Munin's eyes he watched the white rock draw nearer. This time he reached it without the strain of last night's flight.
He let her settle upon it. Water broke below her claws, and a fishing boat moved slowly across the mouth of the inlet. He could distinguish the man at the stern from the one bending over the net. For a little while he watched them work, then brought her home.
The second flight was harder. Hugin flew above the cliff while Munin kept nearer the water. Jon held both for longer this time, until the two moving shores began to slide across one another. He released Hugin, waited for Munin's sight to steady, and reached for him again. By the white rock his neck was stiff and Arthur had spoken his name twice.
He returned the birds separately. There was no virtue in making himself useless before breakfast.
"The distance is easier with one," he said, opening his eyes. "With both, I tire sooner."
Arthur passed him the cup. "You were gripping the stool again."
Jon flexed his fingers. He had scarcely noticed them tightening; all his attention had been upon the birds.
"The same distance tomorrow," he said. "Until I can hold them without losing the shore."
Arthur nodded. Jon drank the rest of the water. In Valyria he might need to find a landing or a path well beyond the reach of his own eyes. He might also encounter creatures far harder to hold than birds that already came to his hand. For now, even these two could exhaust him.
In the yard, Aries waited with the wooden swords and his six friends. The centurions had released their pages to ride with Jon for the day. Geth and Timm were trying the balance of swords too long for them; Patch lay across Aries's feet, his pale throat turned to the sun.
Jon took a shorter sword in his left hand. His right knuckle still hurt when he closed his hand.
Aries glanced at the other boys and attacked too quickly. Jon turned the blow aside. Arthur corrected the boy's grip and made him try again. On the third exchange Aries caught Jon's sleeve.
"I got you!"
"You did. Keep your guard up."
Aries raised it, grinning. Nibs wanted the next turn, but the maester arrived with letters while Arthur was pairing the others. Patch lifted his head at the sound of the breakfast bowls.
"The last reply, my lord. From Sharp Point."
Jon handed his practice sword to Aries. They went beneath the covered walk, where breakfast had been set upon a narrow table. Wylla moved a bowl clear of the papers and put it before him.
Velaryon, Celtigar, Sunglass and Bar Emmon would come. The maester had kept the earlier answers together while they waited for the fourth. Each promised attendance and named the company that would need lodging. Jon read the assurances for himself, eating between letters.
Monford Velaryon would cross from Driftmark with his household. His acceptance was courteous and brief. Ardrian Celtigar required rooms suitable for his years and asked that his servants be allowed to prepare them. Guncer Sunglass wished to hear the septon's service during his stay. The answer from Sharp Point confirmed that House Bar Emmon would attend with its household and sworn men.
"They expect to be here within four days, my lord. The day before the gathering."
"Give Wylla the numbers. Tobin must know which ships to expect." Jon drew Monford's letter nearer. "This was written before Black Tern sailed?"
"Yes, my lord. There is no answer yet to yesterday's letter."
The invitation and the order concerning Neresso were separate matters. Monford had agreed to meet his young overlord; he had not yet told Jon what his men had found above the boatyards of Hull.
Arthur took the place beside him. "You will have more than building to discuss with them now."
"I meant to discuss their ships."
"And their service. Monford will want to know how often you mean to call upon it."
Jon looked towards the yard. Noll was arguing with a carter about a chest placed beneath the ironwork. Ewan had opened it himself and was lifting out the tools he wanted kept within reach.
"Then I shall tell him what I require." Jon turned back from the yard. "I need them ready to act when I call upon them."
"They have not seen what you built in the north," Arthur said. "Expect questions."
"They will get answers."
Jon left the replies with the maester. "The day before the gathering, you and Ethan go through the census with Otho and the masters. I want the craftsmen placed where their trades are needed, and the other willing hands sent where the work can use them. Keep the harvest requirements beside you. I will not have two foremen promising the same men different wages."
"And the men already upon the works?"
"They stay at work. We are preparing the larger parties."
Wylla had been studying the household numbers. "Some will come early. They always do."
"Have their rooms ready."
"I shall, if you leave me the women I have just hired. Tell Ethan I need them here."
"Then here they stay."
She pushed his bowl nearer. He finished it while Arthur went to the horses.
* * *
Ormond had gathered Eastcove beside the well.
Jon saw the folded housing order in his hand before he dismounted. Behind the headman stood men in clay-stained coats, women with baskets, and a cooper still wearing his leather apron. Children occupied the wall until their elders made them get down. The morning firing had begun; smoke spread above the low roofs and thinned as it reached the rising ground.
Otho waited with two assistants and a bundle of pegs. He had left a foreman at Saltcliffe to continue the agreed foundations. Here the cords lay coiled at his feet.
"They wished to hear it from you, my lord," Ormond said.
"Then read it."
The headman looked briefly at Ethan. Jon waited. At last Ormond unfolded the sheet and read the undertaking that no occupied house would be pulled down until its household had been shown a finished dwelling fit to receive it. Ethan would oversee the moves. The new houses were for the islanders as well as the people Jon had brought, according to the places assigned to them.
Ormond read the first part twice. No one hurried him.
"Those are my orders," Jon said when he had finished. "Keep that copy where your people may ask to hear it."
A man beside the cooper pointed uphill. "Are we all to go there?"
"The first rows will stand above the smoke. Come and see where."
Jon gave Bucephalus to the groom and took the lane through the houses. Arthur followed with the pages; Ewan and Noll came behind the cart. Hake held Patch by a short lead to keep him from the chickens beneath it. People left the well to walk with them, speaking quietly as they passed their own doors.
He had spent much of the survey looking past those doors. Now a woman stood upon one threshold with a sick child against her shoulder. A patched sail covered another roof. Ormond's brother had set a new lintel above his workroom and rubbed oil into the wood until it shone. The headman stopped there.
"He put that in last autumn."
His brother stood within the doorway, broad across the shoulders, pale hair tied back with a strip of cord. He looked at Jon without bowing until Ormond touched his arm.
"You will be able to use it again," Jon said.
"It fits this door."
"Show Otho its measure. He can allow for it in the new one."
The man glanced at the acolyte but did not answer. Jon went on. Saving a lintel would not make him welcome the loss of the house around it. He had seen men fight a road widening over a few yards of garden, and those men had lived long enough to watch governments come and go. These people expected their lord's decision to outlast them.
Beyond the last cottages, Otho opened the drawing upon a plank laid across two baskets. The survey marks remained where they had left them. An assistant pulled brambles clear of one while Jon followed the slope with his eyes.
"Begin with the road," he said.
Otho's men carried the cord uphill. One held its end at the old wall while the other walked away with the coil turning in his hands. The first pale line stretched across the rough grass. A second followed beside it, far enough away for laden carts to pass.
The villagers spread out along the cords. From the castle table it had been a narrow strip between buildings. Here a woman could stand in the middle and see how much ground Jon meant to keep open.
"That is a street?" the cooper asked.
"The main one. The shorter lanes leave it here and here." Jon walked to the first crossing. Otho gave him a peg, and he set its point against the ground. "Houses along the upper side. Their doors face the street. Courts behind them, with room for washing and the work that belongs at home."
"And my staves?"
"Your yard remains nearer the shore. You will not carry wet timber through the house rows."
The cooper called to his apprentice, who had stayed with the cart. They stood together examining the space between the proposed lane and the slope below.
Jon led the others down the side of the new street. A shallow gutter would receive the runoff from the roofs; the larger drain would take it away below the houses, clear of the well. He showed them where a person could lift a cover to clear a blockage. Otho set pegs at the changes of direction while the island mason checked the fall with him.
A girl carrying a water jar stepped across the cord and continued along the familiar track. Her mother called her back, embarrassed.
"She can cross it," Jon said. "The cord shows the edge of the road. It is not a wall."
The girl went on more slowly, looking over her shoulder. Aries moved out of her way. He had been keeping carefully inside the lines himself.
At the lower end, the new road met the lane to the boats. Ormond came forward before Otho drove the next peg.
"That is where the boats come up in winter."
"They keep the shore lane," Jon said.
"They do. But not that little turn." Ormond pointed at the bend. "You watched them carry nets through it. An empty boat is another matter."
Jon looked from the drawing to the ground. The lane was wide enough along its length. Its turn into the hauling ground had been drawn around a drying shelter, and a boat longer than a cart would cut across the corner.
"Which boat?"
Ormond called down towards the shore. Three men came from beside an upturned hull. They gave its length while Otho stretched the chain along the bend. Jon asked them to show where the bow went when they hauled it higher. One took the loose end of a cord and walked the curve, another followed at the distance of the stern, and the line swept through the proposed shelter.
"Move the shelter back," Jon said.
Otho measured from its rear peg. "There is room if we narrow the yard."
"Do it. Keep this turning ground clear."
Ormond watched the new peg go in, then looked back towards his brother's house. It still stood in the path of the future road.
"If you moved the road as well—"
"The road stays. You have my word about the houses, and I expect your help building them."
Ormond's mouth tightened. "Yes, my lord."
Jon called the mason to the first house row. Behind them, Ormond sent two men for spades.
* * *
Below the house rows, men had begun stripping turf from the ground reserved for the first large kiln. The other two sites were still grass. Otho had left room between them for fuel carts, and a broad stretch beside the road for drying sheds. Jon stopped there with Ewan and Noll while the potter caught up, his daughter carrying a basket at his heels.
The man looked along the cords. "All that for one firing?"
"For bricks and roof tiles," Jon said. "Saltcliffe needs them. So will Blackburn, and every house we build here. Your old kiln cannot supply all of them."
"It supplies the people who pay me."
"And it will go on doing so. I am paying for this one."
The potter gave him a doubtful look, then bent over the drawing Otho had spread upon a board. He had spent his life judging heat through a kiln mouth. Jon was asking him to trust passages buried beneath a chamber several times the size of his own, with shutters to direct the draught through them. He followed one passage until it vanished beneath the drawn floor.
"What stops the fire taking the nearest way out?"
Jon crouched beside a pile of old bricks and laid two short rows, bridging them with another brick. The potter came down beside him. With the drawing close at hand, Jon showed him where the heat would enter, where it would rise through the floor, and which openings they would close to make it reach the farther end.
"That closure will need to fit," the man said. "Leave a gap there and your far end will be cold."
"Yes. And we must be able to reach it when it needs mending."
Noll wanted to test the iron guides before trusting them in such heat; Ewan found too little room to remove the frame for repairs. Jon altered the drawing. Beside him, the potter lifted the top brick to examine their little channel.
"You have fired one of these before, my lord?"
"We built furnaces in the north. I shall direct the building and the first firing here."
The man's eyes rose to Jon's face. Jon knew what he was trying to reckon: years of learning, years of work, all somehow fitted into twelve years of life. Beside him, Ewan was already discussing the frame with Noll. The potter looked between the two northmen and back at the drawing.
"Then I had best be here for it."
"I want you here." Jon rose and brushed dirt from his knees. "Otho, send for me when they begin the heat passages. Nothing is to be covered until I have inspected it."
The potter led them back to his sheds, still asking about the firing. Beneath the first roof he had to turn sideways between racks of unfired pots. One board sagged under its load; he lifted it with both hands and told Ellyn to move the jar beneath it.
"You can give me a kiln as big as the castle. I shall still lose the ware if it has nowhere to dry."
Ewan took the village carpenter to the timber cart. There was enough to roof the first two bays of the drying shed; Jon had them begin there, so bricks could be shaped and dried while the foundations were dug.
Ellyn lifted her basket towards a bench. Her father caught her wrist before she set it upon a row of small clay horses.
"Mind those."
"I saw them." She moved the basket farther along. Aries had stopped beside the horses. There were birds too, some no larger than his thumb, waiting to go into a firing with the cups.
Ellyn showed Jon the notches distinguishing her clay samples. Her father warned that the lower seam grew gritty. Noll took two pieces to test in the smithy furnace before they used either clay to line the new kilns.
"Could I make one?" Aries asked Ellyn, touching a clay horse's tail.
"Leave those alone," her father said.
The boy withdrew his hand. Ellyn broke a little clay from a lump beneath a damp cloth and gave it to him.
"Use that. Over there, where you won't knock anything."
Jon left him with the other pages and took father and daughter to the old stone storehouse beyond the sheds. Its roof needed patching, but the walls were sound. Otho could put a lock upon the door and shutters at the windows. The small porcelain kiln would stand behind it, out of sight of the road.
Ellyn went through the doorway first. Daylight fell through a gap in the roof onto the empty floor.
"I could set a bench along here."
Her father remained beside Jon. "She will have to do more than set a bench."
"So will you. I am teaching both of you." Jon kept his voice low. "The mixtures and the firing are to remain here. You will swear to that before we begin. No visitors in the workshop, and no one taught without my leave."
"They'll come asking once they see the cups."
"Perrin will sell the cups. Send them to him."
For a moment the potter looked pleased by the thought of people seeking his work. Then Ellyn turned from the wall.
"Tomorrow, my lord?"
"Tomorrow afternoon. Otho will have the roof made sound. Begin with more samples of each clay, all the same thickness. We can test those while Marrec finds the stone for the mixtures."
"Tomorrow?" Her father stepped inside. "I have bowls waiting to be turned. You heard me promise the jars for Blackburn."
"I can do the bowls in the morning."
"And the next morning? And the day after? There are orders besides those."
She looked at Jon, then back at her father. "I tried to speak to you yesterday."
"You chose a fine moment. We had a firing to unload."
"I tried afterwards too." Her voice rose. "You said there was no use talking until his lordship came."
The potter glanced towards the men working outside.
"Everything you know, I taught you. Have you found so little worth keeping?"
"That isn't what I said." Ellyn's face had flushed. "I want to learn this as well."
Her father had agreed in the hall, but plainly he still expected to decide when she could be spared.
"Ellyn begins tomorrow," Jon said. "You will have her in the mornings for now, and Otho will send someone to help with the hauling. I promised to keep your customers supplied. I shall keep that promise."
The potter rubbed the dust from his palm. "You will need her longer when you fire."
"I will need you both. Arrange your orders with that in mind."
He showed them where the little trial chamber would stand. A larger kiln devoted to porcelain would come when they could produce good ware reliably. Until then the great works below belonged to brick and tile. He could afford spoiled cups in a small firing; he could not let them consume the fuel and labour needed to roof the island.
Ellyn would receive the wage of a potter's assistant from tomorrow, and a master's wage once she could oversee the work. Her father stayed to discuss the kiln's arch while she fetched her samples.
By the time they returned to the sheds, the pages had unpacked the food Wylla had sent. Geth was cutting bread upon a clean board; Timm and Hake had found benches for the men coming off the digging. From the houses came a jug of ale and a pot of fish broth. Jon realised how hungry he was when he smelt it.
Aries had used his clay to make a bird with a long beak. Tob and Wrenn were trying to persuade him it was a goose.
"It's Hugin," he said.
"Hugin has a neck," Wrenn answered.
Aries pinched the clay beneath the head. The beak drooped against the board. Ellyn sat beside him with her bowl and, after watching his attempt to lift it, gave him a small stick to prop it up while it dried.
"You can take that away later. Stop pulling at it."
He obeyed, reluctantly. Nibs had made a dog and put a pale scrap of clay upon its throat for Patch's marking. He kept looking down at the real dog beneath the bench, then adding more clay to the legs. Geth moved the board before a heavy paw could land upon it.
Jon sat with Arthur at the end of the bench. The children had spent the morning following them through measurements and arguments; now they were quarrelling over whether the crow could stand up. He watched Aries cup his hands around it as Wrenn reached across. There was a smudge of clay on the boy's nose.
Across from them, the potter cut bread for Ellyn and put it beside her bowl. She thanked him quietly. When Ewan asked about the clay bank, her father began describing the lower seam. Ellyn listened for a while, then reminded him where they had taken the last good load. He accepted the correction without looking at her. She bent over her broth.
Ormond had brought his brother to the meal. They sat near Otho, who shifted his drawing to keep an ale jug off it. The brother asked which of the marked plots would be his. Otho showed him, and he leaned across the sheet with his bread still in his hand.
"Will they begin those houses today?" Ormond asked.
"The first foundations," Jon said.
"Most of your men are down by the kiln."
"It needs more hands. There will be men on the houses as well."
The headman looked towards the slope. The digging there had stopped for food, leaving a short dark cut across the grass.
"We have waited through three winters for repairs. Now you ask us to wait while you build half the island."
Jon set down his cup. "I have brought the men and the timber. You have heard me order the work, and you have my word that no family leaves its home until the new one is ready. I will hear a fault in the plans. I will not spend every visit persuading you to let me begin."
Ormond's brother lowered his bread. The talk nearest them had ceased.
"The men will do as you command, my lord," the headman said stiffly.
"So will you."
Ormond bowed his head. Jon reached for his cup again, leaving him to his meal. He would not wring gratitude from the man, and had no time to try.
When the mason rose to return to the house ground, Ormond's brother went with him. The headman caught his sleeve.
"There is work waiting at home."
"It will wait until evening." He pulled his sleeve free. "If I'm to live in that house, I want to be there when they start it."
He took a spare mattock from beside the cart. Ormond watched him climb the slope and remained seated long after the men around him had gone back to work.
Otho spoke with Eastcove's foreman while Jon finished eating. Ewan would stay with the carpenter; Noll had Saltcliffe's fittings waiting at his forge. The old kiln could supply the first bricks. They would send for Jon when the new kiln's heat passages were ready to begin.
Their two hundred construction men were spread across the island. The census would give Ethan and the maester more labour to place before the gathering, after Jon's remaining village visits. He looked at the first trench and wished for the machinery he had once hired with a telephone call.
Ethan followed him towards the horses. Once they were clear of the sheds, Jon spoke about the workers for the private workshops.
"Gella has the salt refining. I shall teach the potter and his daughter the porcelain. When we have the means to bring freed men and women here, I want willing hands offered places with them."
"The people we took from Borren?"
"They have homes to return to. I mean others who want to settle here. Wages, a roof and a trade worth learning. We shall need more than the island can spare."
Perrin would arrange the search when the coin could bear it. Gella already had her guarded screen. Ethan would post a guard here when Ellyn began tomorrow. Deliveries stayed outside; Jon alone approved helpers for the private work.
Aries came running when the groom brought Bucephalus round. His hands were washed, though he had missed the clay upon his nose.
"Ellyn says we must leave them to dry. Can we come back for them?"
"When they are fired."
Nibs was less willing to leave his dog. Geth promised to come back with him, and Ellyn put both figures high upon a rack beyond Patch's reach. Her father called her to the wheel as the horses were led out. She answered at once. The bowls were still waiting.
Ormond stood beside the road to see Jon off. Above his shoulder, his brother was digging where the first house wall would stand. Jon returned the headman's bow and rode for the castle.
* * *
The boys argued about their clay animals for most of the ride. Aries wanted to paint his crow black; Nibs asked whether he could sleep with his dog once it had been fired. Arthur told him to ask Wylla. By the time they passed beneath the castle gate, Patch was trotting beside the horses with his tongue hanging out and the boys were looking for water.
Denys waited by the stable yard. He let the grooms take the horses before coming to Jon.
"The mate from the boat we took still says one ship. He and his master agree upon the lantern signal. The collector sends a boat in first, to see what is ready."
Jon's thoughts returned to the western cove. "Has anyone been near the smokehouse?"
"No one. Hewyn has the upper path, and Voss will take the boat as soon as its men land."
"Then we take their ship while they wait for it to return."
Denys unfolded his drawing against the stable wall. Salt Wraith would wait behind the southern headland, hidden from the approach. A second galley would lie farther offshore to close the route north. The collector had to anchor outside the cove's rocks; once her boat was inside, Voss would send a skiff round the headland to warn them.
"If she has heard about the raid, she may keep away," Arthur said.
"If she comes, I want her master alive." Jon looked at Denys. "You command the ships. I shall take the household aboard her."
The captain hesitated. Arthur did not.
"You can leave that to Tomas."
"I have led them in battle before."
"On ground that did not move beneath you."
Jon remembered wet decks and the sudden weight of a vessel meeting a swell. He had years of service Arthur knew nothing of, but none of it had put a sword in his hand at a defended rail. He looked again at the drawing.
"Then we choose where we board, and Denys gives us cover. I will not send them across alone."
Arthur's expression hardened. For a moment Jon thought he would argue before the captain. Instead he stepped nearer the drawing.
"I go beside you. Tomas takes the other side. You keep together once you are over."
Jon nodded. Denys had watched the exchange without speaking. Now he put a finger upon Salt Wraith's waiting place.
"Fifty legionaries, twenty-five in each galley, besides the crews and your household. We have enough to search her and take her if she fights." He folded the drawing. "We sail while there is still light."
Jon went upstairs to change. The day's drawings lay beside the covered trays of dragonshell. He began unfastening his clay-stained coat as Wylla came in with the water.
"Aries stays here," he said.
"They all do. Gawen has them." She looked at the mail waiting upon the bed. "Denys could have brought you this ship without taking you out in the dark."
"Perhaps."
She set the basin down more sharply than she needed to. Jon washed while she laid out his shirt. His right knuckle had split at the edge; she cleaned it and replaced the binding with a thinner one that would fit beneath his glove.
"Laro ate outside today," she said. "Arthur went to him without his sword, as he promised. They talked a little. And the woman's sister came from Blackburn to fetch her and the girl."
"How was she?"
"Crying before she'd crossed the yard. Both of them were." Wylla eased the glove over his hand. "They have gone home."
He sat a moment longer. He had ordered food and beds and letters yesterday, with the anger of the questioning still upon him. The woman had her sister now. Laro could sit in the sun. He wanted to bring the other five back with news as ordinary as that.
Wylla helped settle the mail beneath his black coat. Arthur came for him while he was buckling his sword belt, and she handed Jon the food she had wrapped for the boat.
"Eat before you get there."
"I will."
At the lower door, Tomas waited with the household. He checked Jon's shield strap while Arthur spoke with Denys's messenger. Jon flexed his bandaged hand beneath the leather. It would bear a shield. His sword would stay in his left.
"Ready?" he asked.
Tomas nodded. Above the doorway Hugin stirred, and Munin answered from the wall. They followed Jon down to the harbour.
The legionaries were embarking when they arrived. Hennet went up Salt Wraith's gangplank with Murch's men, carrying his spear low beneath the rigging. Across the quay, Mallador was arguing with the optio assigned to the other galley. His injured arm was bound against his body.
Jon stopped beside them. "What did Lorren tell you?"
Mallador's mouth tightened. "Not to use it, my lord. I can still give an order."
"He wants his ten," the optio said. "I told him he cannot board like that."
"Then he stays aboard your galley." Jon looked at Mallador. "Help keep the rowers covered. When we have prisoners, you can watch them from the rail. No climbing across, and that binding stays on."
Mallador glanced at the waiting men. One had his shield ready to hand him. He shook his head, and the man took it aboard with his own.
"Yes, my lord."
* * *
Salt Wraith carried them round the island beneath the last of the daylight. Jon stood near the stern with Arthur, Tomas and four of the household. Along the benches the rowers bent to their work, watched by the ship's master. Denys went forward to speak to the bowmen. The galley's replacement mast stood steady above them, its ropes creaking as she met the swell.
Behind the southern headland they shipped their oars and waited. Their consort lay farther offshore. The legionaries crouched beneath the rails, shields beside them. Neither galley showed a light towards the cove.
Jon ate the bread Wylla had given him. Tomas took the rest and shared it with the household, who were checking straps and shifting their feet upon the unfamiliar deck. The pages had been left in Gawen's care, still arguing over their clay figures. These boys were older and had trained for years, but Jon knew the face beneath every helm. He watched Tomas tighten his shield strap.
"Keep room to move your hand," Arthur told him.
Tomas tried the grip again and loosened it a little.
The headland grew black against the fading sky. Jon had begun wondering whether the collector had been warned when a skiff came round the point, its oars scarcely stirring the water. One of Voss's men caught the rope lowered from Salt Wraith.
"She is at anchor. Two masts. Four men have gone in with the boat."
Denys questioned him, then sent the skiff towards the consort. Jon put away the food and caught Arthur's eye. Hugin and Munin waited upon the stern rail.
"Stand close," he murmured.
He sat against the stern boards, sheltered by Arthur's cloak, and reached for Hugin. The crow rose above the cliff. Through his eyes Jon found the collector, then a second ship waiting beyond the outer point, her oars held still. From the galley, the headland hid her completely.
Munin took him farther out. A dark sail showed against the last grey light upon the water, well beyond the collector. Men were crowded along its rail. For a few heartbeats he held both birds, two waiting ships fixed against the coastline. The effort tightened behind his eyes. He released Hugin and brought Munin round towards the galley before opening his own eyes.
"There are three," he told Arthur.
Jon rose and called Denys over. He gave him both positions. The captain looked towards the empty water, then sent a man up the rigging.
"A sail beyond her!" the lookout called down.
"Another under the outer point," Jon said. "She has oars. It is an ambush. They mean to close behind us."
Arthur looked towards the headland. "Someone must have warned them."
"I will find out." Jon turned to Denys. "Warn the other galley."
Denys sent a shuttered signal to the consort, then strode along the benches. "Keep low until they come within bowshot. Shields ready at the stern." The legionaries moved into place. Arthur watched Jon until he had steadied his breathing.
"Can you fight?"
Jon drew his sword. "Yes."
They rounded the headland at a steady pull. The collector lay outside the cove, her stern lantern making a wavering line upon the sea. Beyond her, the smokehouse lantern opened and closed. Voss would let the boat reach the landing; Hewyn's men waited above it. Jon could do nothing for them from here. He watched the figures gathering along the ship's rail.
"They've seen us," Tomas said.
Three lights appeared at the collector's stern, one above another. They burned for a few breaths, then vanished. Denys went still beside the master.
A man in a pale coat climbed onto the raised stern and shouted towards the bow. Sailors ran to the windlass. Another began hauling on a line beneath the mainmast, and a sail rose slowly into the night.
Denys called across the water. "In Lord Black's name, keep your anchor down and lay aside your arms!"
"We are waiting for the tide!" the man upon the stern answered.
"Then you can wait while we come aboard."
The man turned away. Jon saw a crossbow rise beside him.
"Down!"
The bow snapped.
* * *
Hennet heard the bolt strike before he saw the man fall.
The rower pitched against the next bench, one hand clamped over his upper arm. His oar swung across another, and the long wooden shafts slammed together. The rower behind him screamed as the shafts trapped his wrist. Salt Wraith lurched beneath Hennet's boots; he caught the rail with his shield and nearly lost his spear over it.
"Lift them! Lift the bloody oars!" the master roared.
Two sailors dragged the wounded man clear. Blood ran from between his fingers onto the bare back of the man beneath him. Hennet could smell it through the tar and seaweed. He had been watching the merchant's lantern, waiting for someone to tell him when they would go aboard. Now men were shouting from every part of the galley, and he could not see the ship that was coming to kill them.
"Aft! Shields aft!"
The optio caught his shoulder and thrust him towards the stern. Hennet went with the others, stepping over a fallen oar. Beyond the rail a low, dark bow was growing larger. Its men had hooks ready. One wore a yellow scarf about his head; another stood with his mouth open, shouting something Hennet could not understand.
Their lord was already there. Hennet knew the black shield and the small figure braced beside Ser Arthur.
"Over the rowers!" Jon shouted. "Keep those shields up!"
Hennet set his shield beside the next man's. An arrow struck it so hard that the rim jarred his teeth. He ducked, then forced himself to look over it. The rowers had nowhere to go. They crouched between their benches while the master tried to bring the stern round, and Hennet could feel one man's shoulder pressing against the backs of his legs.
"Make room," he said. "I need to stand."
The rower crawled farther under the bench. Hennet widened his feet as he had been taught. He wished violently that the deck would hold still.
"Wait!" Denys called.
The pirate with the yellow scarf swung his hook. Hennet watched the iron turn above his head and thought of it catching his throat. It fell short, struck the water and vanished. The man hauled at his line, shouting at the rowers behind him to bring them closer.
"Loose!"
The bowstrings cracked above Hennet's shoulder. The man in the yellow scarf fell backwards. Another pirate dropped to his knees with both hands against his face. A hook struck Salt Wraith's rail and scraped along it; a sailor brought an axe down on the rope before it could tighten.
The pirate ship kept coming. Hennet thrust at a hand reaching for the rail. His point struck the wood instead. The hand disappeared. Someone beside him shouted in his ear to draw back, and he wrenched the spear free as a second volley went over them.
At last the enemy's bow swung away. Oars struck the water out of time; one snapped against Salt Wraith's side with a noise like a breaking branch. The low ship slid across the collector's bows, men falling against one another as its master tried to get clear.
Hennet wanted to shout after them. He wanted to thrust again and make certain they stayed away.
"Hold your places!" the optio shouted.
He held. He had ignored a halt once in an alehouse and paid for it upon the whipping block. Here there was a man beneath his shield who would die if he went chasing glory along the rail.
"Alongside the collector!" Denys called. "Bowmen, keep her stern clear!"
The galley turned. Lanternlight spread across a hull that seemed far too high. Above it stood men with stones, axes and crossbows. Hennet saw a red sleeve as a bowman leaned out; then a stone struck the man beside him, and the world narrowed to the thump of shields and the need to keep his head covered.
The inboard oars came in. Grapnels flew. One rope was cut and fell back among them, but another held. The sailors hauled until the two hulls struck together. Hennet felt the blow through the soles of his boots.
A ladder went up. The first soldier climbed with his shield above his head. He reached the rail, thrust once, then vanished as two hooked poles shoved the ladder sideways.
His cry came from below.
Hennet looked between the hulls. A face broke the black water and went under again. The ships drew apart upon a swell, then began to close.
"Rope!" he shouted. "Get him a rope!"
A sailor threw a coil. Hennet dropped his spear and caught the running end, bracing his foot against a bench. The man in the water seized it. For one dreadful moment his shield lodged against the hull and held him down.
"Let it go! Leave the shield!"
The man obeyed. Hennet and the sailor hauled together, dragging him clear as the ships ground against one another. A third man caught his belt and pulled him over the rail. He lay coughing water onto Hennet's boots.
"Breathe, you fool," the sailor said, his voice shaking. "You're out."
Hennet snatched up his spear. Lord Black had moved along the rail with Ser Arthur and Tomas. Above them, the collector's captain was drawing men towards the stern to meet Denys's boarders. For a moment the stretch beside the mast lay thinly held.
"The stern!" Jon called to the bowmen. "Keep those crossbows down!"
A fresh ladder rose. Hennet put his shoulder beneath one side while a sailor held the other. Jon climbed first. An arrow struck the planking beside the spearman waiting above him; the man flinched, and Jon drove his shield against the spear shaft and went over.
Arthur followed, then Tomas. A hooked pole reached for Tomas's helm. He twisted away, and the helm came loose with a strip of leather trailing behind it. It struck the galley's rail and vanished between the hulls. Hennet could hear fighting on the higher deck, close enough to distinguish the grunts between the blows.
"Across!" Jon shouted. "Come on!"
The optio pushed Hennet towards the ladder. He passed his spear up to the man above, took hold of the rungs and climbed. He did not look down this time.
* * *
Mallador could hear the shouting from Salt Wraith, but the sail bearing down upon his own galley hid her from him. He stood beside the stern boards, his good hand upon the rail. Without Denys's warning they would have had their backs to this ship, their bows pointed towards the collector.
"Here she comes," the master told the optio.
The optio turned. "Keep your heads down. Mallador, hold your ten here. Nothing gets through to the benches."
Mallador passed the order along. One man made the sign of the Seven. Another spat between his boots and rubbed his palms upon his coat. Twenty-five legionaries aboard, and he could not raise a shield. He could feel the binding drag at his upper arm whenever the galley rolled. It held the arm firmly against his body. He was beginning to be grateful for that.
The pirate swung alongside. Beneath her dark sail, a row of heads appeared above the rail.
"Oars in on that side!" the master shouted. "In, damn you!"
Wood rattled through the oarlocks. An arrow struck a bench where a rower's back had been. The man flung himself down, dragging his neighbour with him, and someone began shouting that they were too close.
"Shields!"
The front rank rose. Shafts knocked against wood; one struck the mast and hung there trembling. Mallador pressed himself behind the stern boards. He could see very little now except the backs of his own men and the sail looming over them.
Hooks struck their rail. A rope slashed across the deck and tightened, dragging a loose shield towards the side. Then the hulls met with a blow that drove Mallador's teeth together.
"Hold!" the optio roared.
A plank came down across the rails. The first pirate ran upon it crouching behind his shield. A legionary thrust at him, but the point glanced away and the man jumped, striking the deck upon both feet. Two more followed before the spearmen could close.
"They're over! They're over!"
Mallador caught the shouting soldier by his collar with his good hand.
"I can see them. Face them!"
He pushed him towards the passage between the benches. Four of his ten moved with him. The pirate who had crossed first swung an axe at the nearest shield, hooked its edge and dragged it down. His next blow struck the shield of the man beside it. A sword went into his thigh. He fell screaming; a second thrust silenced him, and the men behind him stumbled over his legs.
"Close up!" Mallador shouted. "Don't follow them out!"
One of his men had already stepped forward. A spear from the higher deck struck his helm and sent him reeling. Mallador ordered two men into the gap. His wounded arm throbbed with every shout. He wanted a shield himself. Every time he leaned out to see his men, he expected a point between his ribs.
The surviving boarders fell back to the rail. Their shipmates hauled them up while the legionaries thrust after them.
At the rail, a sailor swung an axe into a grappling rope. Before he could strike again, a pirate leaned over with a long spear and drove him back.
Mallador pointed. "Bowmen! Above the man with the axe!"
The nearest archer turned. His first arrow went high. The second struck beneath the pirate's chin, and the spear fell between the ships.
"Cut it!"
The sailor struck twice. The rope parted. Farther forward another snapped, and a cheer broke from the men holding the rail. The plank shifted beneath a pirate's feet. He dropped flat, clawing at its edges while his fellows seized his coat and hauled him back.
"Last rope!" the master bellowed.
It had caught beneath the broken end of an oar. Mallador sent two men to cover the sailor hacking at it. The pirate ship was pulling away already; the rope creaked, and the hooked iron tore a long splinter from the rail before the axe cut through.
Water opened between the hulls. The bowmen loosed into the retreating ship while the master called the rowers back to their benches.
Mallador counted his ten. The man struck upon the helm was sitting down, both hands over his face. Alive. He ordered him dragged clear of the oars.
"After them?" someone called.
"No." The master pointed inshore.
Salt Wraith lay against the collector beneath the headland. The smaller oared pirate was turning towards the collector's other side, men crowding her rail with hooks. Above them, steel flashed on the higher deck. Mallador could not tell whose.
"Bring us in beside that little bastard," the master said. "Outside her. She isn't getting away."
The optio called men forward. Mallador gathered those of his ten still upon their feet and moved them clear of the working benches. His arm burned beneath the binding. He kept it there as the rowers bent, the bow swung inshore, and the smaller pirate's stern came steadily nearer.
* * *
Jon could see the collector's mainmast over the shoulders of the men trying to drive him back into the sea. He had gained scarcely six feet from the rail.
A sailor came at him with an axe. He caught the blow upon his shield, felt the edge bite into the wood and drove his sword beneath the man's raised arm. The sailor fell against a cask. Jon pulled free and nearly went down with him as the collector rolled against Salt Wraith.
"Make room for the men!" he shouted. "Forward!"
Tomas fought beside him, bareheaded, driving a man with a hooked pole away from the ladder. The household held the opening behind them. Hennet thrust a spear past Jon at a pirate trying to reach their ropes.
More black coats followed. Casks and fallen cordage broke their line as soon as they reached the deck. Jon pushed them into the space they had, two shields abreast beside the mast, another pair towards the hatch. Arthur caught a legionary by the sleeve before he blundered across their points.
"Together!" the knight shouted. "Give each other room to strike!"
A lantern smashed somewhere above them. Burning oil spread across a folded scrap of sail, throwing yellow light up the mast. Smoke blew into Jon's face. A sailor beat at the flames with his coat while another dragged a bucket up from the side. Water hissed across the planks. Through the smoke Jon glimpsed a man still burning at the sleeve, battering his arm against the rail.
Near the stern, Denys's boarders had gained the rail. Jon heard him through the uproar, driving them towards the helm. For a moment it seemed they had the collector between them.
Then something struck her other side.
The deck heaved. Men staggered against the mast, and a fresh shower of hooks rattled over the far rail. Beyond it lay the smaller oared pirate, her bow coming level with the mainmast. The men aboard her were shouting to those upon the deck, waving them back from the ropes they meant to use.
They had come to reinforce their friends.
"Other side!" Jon called. "Hennet, keep that hatch clear!"
Hennet and two men moved across it. A pirate threw a plank between the ships; another caught it and dragged it into place. More men were gathering behind him. The plank sloped up from their lower deck to the collector's rail. Salt Wraith, the collector and the low pirate now rose and fell together, lashed into a tangle of grinding timber and taut ropes. Jon's retreat lay over the rail behind him. Ahead, the captain in the pale coat was forcing his way through his men.
"Take the boy!" he shouted in the Common Tongue. "Alive, if you can!"
Jon met him beside the mainmast.
The first blow jarred his shield against his chest. He struck back, but the man caught the sword upon his own and crowded him towards the mast. He was stronger, and he knew it. Jon gave ground enough to turn the next cut aside, then drove his point towards the man's belly. The captain knocked it away. Jon's edge caught his coat and opened the pale wool without reaching the flesh beneath.
To Jon's right, Arthur was fighting two men who had come down from the stern. One had a long knife and the other a bill whose hook kept reaching for the knight's neck. Tomas held the gap behind Jon. Beyond him Hennet's spear rose and fell above the hatch.
The captain came again. Jon struck low, trying to make him give ground, but the man stamped back and smashed the rim of his shield into Jon's. Pain flared through the bound hand. Jon's heel struck the mast footing. He stumbled, his shield dragged wide as the captain bore down upon him.
The sword rose above the pale coat.
Tomas stepped bodily between them. His own sword came up too late to stop the whole blow. Steel rang. The deflected blade cut across his forehead and down towards his left brow, and blood poured over his eye.
He drove into the captain before the man could draw back, shoulder first, forcing the sword arm wide.
Jon thrust beneath it.
His blade entered below the man's ribs. He pushed until the captain's breath broke against his ear, then tore it free. The man seized at Jon's coat. Jon struck him again and shoved him away. He fell beside the mast, the pale wool darkening beneath him.
Tomas staggered. Jon dropped his sword and caught him as his knees gave way. He slipped his other arm free of the shield, letting it fall beside the blade.
"Arthur!"
Arthur turned. The knife-man was down; the other fled towards the stern, dragging his bill behind him. The knight reached Jon in two strides. His face changed when he saw the blood.
"Hold them back!" he told the nearest household men. "Give him room!"
Jon lowered Tomas against the mast and pressed his cloak to the wound. Blood ran through his fingers. Tomas tried to push himself upright.
"Stay down." Jon's voice came out harsher than he meant. "Stay with me."
The boy's mouth moved. Jon bent nearer, but a roar from the far rail drowned the words.
The smaller ship's men were coming across their plank.
Hennet's first thrust knocked one back. Another clambered over the rail beside the fallen man, axe raised, and met the household's shields. They struck him down, but the plank shook beneath more feet. Upon the lower deck beyond it stood a broad man in a green coat, his beard threaded through a copper ring. A man in a rust-red jerkin repeated his orders and struck at the backs of sailors who hesitated.
"Captain says across!" the lieutenant screamed. "Move, you dogs!"
Arthur looked towards them, then back at Tomas.
"Press here." He placed Jon's hand more firmly over the folded cloak. "Do not lift it."
Jon could feel Tomas trembling against his arm. "Take their captain."
Arthur rose. "With me!"
* * *
Hennet moved aside as Ser Arthur came towards the plank. He had seen Tomas go down. Between the men crowding the deck he could still glimpse Lord Black kneeling beside him, one hand pressed to his head. He wanted to know how badly the boy was hurt, but Arthur was already at the rail.
Two of the household followed the knight. Hennet went with them, calling the legionaries nearest the hatch. Arthur struck the next boarder's sword aside and drove him back upon the plank. The man tried to retreat. The pirate behind him would not move, and for an instant the two blocked each other.
Arthur's sword took the nearer man beneath the jaw. He fell across the plank. The man behind him stumbled over his legs and caught desperately at the rope beside it. Arthur shoved the body clear with his boot.
"Back! Get back!" someone shouted from the lower ship.
Arthur crossed before they could pull the plank away, driving the stumbling pirate back before him. At the lower end the man fell among his own crew.
The grey-white cloak swung as Arthur ducked beneath the lieutenant's short pike. The point passed over his shoulder. He trapped the shaft beneath his arm, stepped off the plank onto the lower deck and cut across the man's face.
The lieutenant reeled against the rail. Arthur drove his sword beneath the red jerkin and left him dead against the timbers.
"Close behind him!" Lord Black shouted from the collector.
Hennet was already crossing. He planted his spear against the lower rail to steady himself, then jumped down beside the household. A pirate charged him as he landed. One of Tomas's men met the charge with his shield. Hennet caught his balance, drove his spear into the pirate's chest and had to wrench it free before the falling man dragged him down.
"Here!" the household man shouted. "Stay beside me!"
Hennet brought his shield up. The space between the rail and the first bench was scarcely wide enough for them both. Beyond it, Arthur was fighting his way towards the helm.
The captain in the green coat came down the narrow passage between the rowing benches with a curved sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He had seen the lieutenant die. He did not rush. He waited for Arthur to step between two benches, where the knight could not give ground easily, then slashed at his head.
Arthur caught the cut and stepped onto the nearest bench.
The captain's dagger stabbed at empty air. Arthur's boot drove against his shoulder, sending him sideways into a rower who had not got clear. The captain tore himself free, roaring, and came back with the curved blade held low.
He cut for Arthur's legs. Arthur dropped from the bench on the other side and turned with him, using the timber between them. The curved sword struck wood. Before the captain could lift it, Arthur's blade flashed across his sword arm.
The dagger came up. Arthur knocked it wide with his hilt and drove his point beneath the man's chin.
For a heartbeat the captain remained standing, his open mouth red above the copper ring. Then his knees folded beneath him.
Arthur pulled his sword free.
"Down!" he roared at the men beyond the body. "Throw them down!"
The first axe fell. A sailor near the bow still had a spear raised; he looked past Arthur towards the sea and found the second Dragonstone galley coming alongside. Its bowmen stood above him with arrows drawn. There would be no escape that way.
"On your knees!" Mallador shouted from her rail. "Hands where we can see them!"
The spear went overboard. Along the benches, men let their weapons fall and raised empty palms. Arthur kept his sword towards them while the legionaries spread through the ship.
Hennet stopped beside the fallen captain. His own breath rasped inside his helm. He could hear the oars of Mallador's galley, the slap of water between the hulls, a man sobbing beneath a bench. Someone beside him began to cheer. Hennet looked back towards the collector, trying to find Tomas.
* * *
Jon heard the cheering from the smaller ship. The collector's own resistance had broken with her captain. Denys's men held the helm; the last men upon the raised stern were laying swords at their feet. For a while the only cries came from the wounded and from sailors warning one another about the ropes between the ships.
Jon looked down. Tomas was staring at him through his uncovered eye.
"Can you hear me?"
The boy nodded, then winced. "My eye."
"Don't touch it."
Arthur returned across the plank with a folded cloth stripped from a sailor's pack. Blood covered the front of his coat. He knelt and replaced Jon's sodden cloak with the cloth, working quickly while Jon held Tomas's shoulder. The boy made a low sound when the pressure changed.
"It was coming down on you," Tomas whispered.
"I know." Jon swallowed. "I saw."
The blade had been meant to split his skull. Tomas had known that when he stepped in. Jon looked at the blood upon the boy's cheek and could find nothing else to say.
Denys crouched beside them. "Both ships are ours. The other sail has broken away."
"Lorren."
"A skiff is already going." Denys turned at a call from the rail. "Here. Bring that plank here!"
Hennet came back from the smaller pirate and dropped to his knees beside Tomas, ready to lift when the sailors called. They eased Tomas onto the plank, bound him to it and passed him down to Salt Wraith. Jon watched from the rail. The wounded rower lay beneath a spare sail. Near him sat the man hauled from the water, coughing and shaking; another boarder held a cloth against his scalp.
Beyond the smaller pirate, Mallador stood at the consort's rail, shouting at a captive who tried to rise before the searching was done. His injured arm was still bound against him.
The third ship's sail was dwindling into the dark. Denys would not scatter his force in pursuit with wounded men and two prizes to secure. He ordered the prisoners stripped of their knives and the grappling ropes kept fast until each captured ship had a crew aboard.
The dead captain lay beside the mast. Two sailors held the collector's first mate upright, his wrists bound behind him. He strained against their grip as Jon approached.
"Who sent you?" Jon demanded. "Who told you we were coming?"
The mate gave a harsh, angry laugh and spat on the deck at Jon's feet.
"Ask him." He jerked his chin towards the corpse. "You cut him open."
Jon glanced at the sailor beside him. "Strike him."
The blow split the mate's lip. He sagged between his guards, then raised his head, breathing hard through his nose.
"Who warned your captain?" Jon asked.
The man stared at him and said nothing.
"Chain him apart from the others. I will question him myself tomorrow."
A sailor called from the stern hatch. In the compartment below, they had found an iron bar fixed near the floor and chains wrapped in sacking to silence them. No captives. Jon stood upon the ladder long enough to see the low roof and the space where people would have been made to crouch.
"Use those irons on the crew," he said, and climbed back into the night.
Voss's skiff had reached them. All four men sent to the cove were taken; Hewyn had caught the one who tried the upper path. Denys counted nineteen survivors in custody aboard the two prizes. Twenty-three prisoners altogether, besides those already in the castle.
"Keep them chained and apart from the prisoners in the castle," Jon said. "We question them tomorrow."
He still needed to find the galley with the broken swan. Its five captives were missing.
Denys divided prize crews between the captured vessels. Jon crossed back to Salt Wraith and knelt beside Tomas for the journey home.
* * *
Lorren met them at Blackburn with men carrying a litter. Jon walked beside it all the way to the castle. Tomas had stopped speaking, though his uncovered eye followed Jon whenever the torchlight reached him.
In Lorren's room, Wylla cleared a table and brought water while he cut away the makeshift binding. Arthur caught Jon by the sleeve before he could crowd closer.
"Let him work."
Jon stood back. The cut ran across Tomas's forehead towards the brow, its edges gaping beneath the blood. Lorren bent over it, and Jon made himself turn away until the stitching was done.
Ethan waited with Denys by the door. Jon gave him the news in a low voice: the ambush, the two dead captains and the captured ships. The maester must send the word to Velaryon before Monford sailed for the gathering. The prisoners were to be kept apart. After that he scarcely heard Ethan leave.
Tomas lay pale beneath the clean bandage when Lorren called him over. He would keep the eye. The wound would leave a scar.
Jon pulled a stool beside him. For years he had watched this boy train, eat, quarrel with the others and learn to command them. He had been proud of what they had become. Tonight he had felt Tomas's blood warming his hand.
"You saved my life," he said.
Tomas looked towards Arthur, then back at him. "I couldn't let him—"
"I know." Jon took his hand. "Thank you."
Arthur drew a chair to the other side. "I saw what you did."
Tomas tried to straighten. "Ser."
"Lie still. You have done enough standing in front of swords tonight." Arthur looked at Jon. Jon nodded.
"You have earned your spurs," Arthur said.
For a moment Tomas only stared. Then he tried to sit again, more urgently this time. Arthur laid a hand upon his shoulder and stopped him.
"You need not kneel," he said. "Stay as you are." He looked towards the door. "Bring his comrades in."
The household came in their stained coats, followed by legionaries who had fought beside them. Gawen entered with his arm in its sling. Aries slipped in behind him and stopped when he saw the bandage; Wylla kept a hand upon his shoulder.
Arthur drew his sword.
"Will you keep your sworn word, defend those who cannot defend themselves, and bear yourself with courage and honour?"
Tomas's answer was too faint for the men by the door. He swallowed and tried again.
"I swear it."
The blade touched his shoulders in turn.
"Then I name you Ser Tomas."
Tomas blinked hard, but the tears came. Jon stood and rested a hand upon his shoulder.
"Every day I live from this night is one you gave me, Ser Tomas. I will not forget it."
Hennet raised his fist by the door. "Ser Tomas!" The cry spread through the crowded room and into the passage, the men roaring his name.