The High Tower.
The council chamber of House Hightower.
Lord Paxter stood at the center of the hall, its floor laid with fine Myrish carpets. Worry was etched across his face as he looked at Baelor Hightower before him.
"Baelor…"
Paxter's voice was heavy. "The news has been confirmed. Euron Greyjoy's Iron Fleet has struck the Shield Islands. Chester, Grimm, Hewett, Serry… all four houses have been defeated. Their castles have fallen, their lands completely plundered."
He took a deep breath. "Now that pirate fleet is sailing toward the Whispering Sound. Their target is obvious: the Arbor and Oldtown. I've already sent my eldest son, Horas, to lead the main fleet of the Arbor forward to the outer waters of the Whispering Sound to intercept them. We cannot allow the Ironborn to enter the bay and defile our homeland."
Years ago, House Redwyne's navy had been badly mauled at the Battle of Bloodstone. After long years of recovery and enormous investment, it had finally rebuilt itself to nearly a hundred proper warships.
But it still was not enough.
Faced with an unprecedented threat, Lord Paxter showed remarkable resolve and wealth. He recalled the Redwyne merchant fleet, more than a thousand ships scattered across the Summer Sea and the Narrow Sea on trade routes.
Large numbers of those vessels were hastily converted into temporary warships. Rams were fitted, planks laid for boarding actions, and ballistae and catapults mounted.
They might not match true warships in durability, but their sheer numbers were daunting.
Baelor Hightower listened and replied calmly. "Lord Paxter, there is no need for excessive worry. I have already sent my brother Gunthor to personally oversee the expansion and preparations of the Oldtown fleet. House Hightower commands ships like the Honor of Oldtown, a massive four-decked galley, along with several enormous three-decked warships. The Ironborn longships hold no advantage at all against vessels of that size."
He walked over to the large sea chart hanging on the wall and pointed at it. "As long as our two fleets work together and firmly seal the entrance to the Whispering Sound and the Redwyne Straits, the Ironborn longships will never threaten the Arbor or Oldtown. This time, House Hightower and House Redwyne must stand shoulder to shoulder and break the spine of those Kraken once and for all."
Despite Baelor's confidence, Paxter felt no sense of relief.
His brow tightened as he raised a deeper concern. "Baelor, matters at sea may well unfold as you say. But what if the Ironborn don't attack head-on from the sea? What if they send part of their fleet up the Mander, land somewhere along the riverbanks, and then circle around behind us by land? Their longships are perfectly capable of that."
Baelor clearly had already considered this. He waved a hand, his tone still relaxed. "The defenses along the Mander have been entrusted to House Fossoway and House Tarly of Horn Hill. Unless they want to see their lands burned to bare ash by the Ironborn, they will have no choice but to defend the riverbanks with everything they have. Especially the Tarlys. Samwell may have been a bookish boy in the past, but I hear he has done quite well since returning to Horn Hill and has reorganized their forces."
"That Tarly boy?"
Lord Paxter's voice was thick with doubt. "Can he really hold against the ferocious Ironborn?"
The image of that fat, timid young Tarly surfaced in his mind, utterly at odds with the iron resolve of Lord Randyll.
A trace of helplessness crossed Baelor Hightower's face. "Lord Paxter, this is not the time for doubt. Whether they can hold or not, they must hold. Our Hightower and Redwyne troops have to be concentrated on defending the coast and Oldtown. We have no spare strength to reinforce the interior."
Paxter studied Baelor and saw no sign of bluffing. He shifted the topic. "That reminds me… Lord Leyton. Is he still at the top of the tower?"
Baelor glanced at him, shrugged, and gave a helpless look. "Yes. My father, and my sister Malora. They're up there researching… well… ways to deal with the enemy."
His words were deliberately vague.
Hearing this, Paxter Redwyne let out a long sigh, silently venting his frustration.
For years, Lord Leyton Hightower had hidden himself atop the High Tower, claiming to conduct vital 'research,' rarely ever showing his face.
Now, with a great enemy pressing in, he was still shut away with that equally peculiar daughter of his, pursuing impractical magical studies and hoping to repel the brutal Ironborn with spells and rituals.
It was simply…
Paxter felt a surge of helplessness and absurdity wash over him.
…
While the nobles of Oldtown fretted and despaired, the Shield Islands, now under Ironborn occupation, were drowned in revelry.
In the great hall of Lord Hewett's castle, a massive bonfire roared in the stone hearth. Coarse Ironborn laughter mingled with women's sobs and shrill screams, along with the clatter of cups and plates.
The former Lord Hewett, Humfrey, was gagged and bound to a chair. His eyes were bloodshot as he watched his wife and daughter being dragged about by the Ironborn, tears streaming down their faces. They were forced to serve wine and were even struck and kicked at will.
Euron lounged lazily in the high-backed seat of honor that had once belonged to Lord Hewett. His single exposed eye swept across the hall with a cruel, amused glint.
In his arms was a strikingly beautiful woman, her eyes shining with an unsettling excitement.
Falia Flowers, the bastard daughter of Lord Hewett.
After the castle fell, she had swiftly thrown herself into the conqueror's embrace and become Euron's newest favorite.
Falia gazed at Euron's sinisterly handsome profile, at lips stained an eerie indigo from his habitual drinking of the Shade of the Evening, her eyes filled with devotion. Nestled against him, she took a sip from the cup he handed her, then pointed toward the bound lady and young lady and said with a smile,
"Your Grace, it's so inconvenient to have them serve wine like this. Why not make things easier for them, and give the captains something more enjoyable to look at?"
Euron burst into laughter, his finger tracing Falia's cheek. "Oh? My little beauty, you really know how to set the mood. Very well. As you wish."
He waved a hand casually, and the nearby Ironborn surged forward amid raucous laughter.
Lord Humfrey let out a muffled whimper and struggled with all his strength, only to earn himself even harsher blows.
The banquet dragged on deep into the night in a haze of chaos.
Later, Euron took Falia upstairs, straight into Lord Humfrey's bedchamber.
After it was over, Euron draped a robe over his shoulders and summoned his younger brother, Victarion.
When Victarion entered and saw Falia lying openly on the bed, he paused for a moment, then lowered his head and listened in silence as Euron spoke.
Euron said calmly, "Take your men and a portion of the longboats. Sail upriver along the Mander and raid every village and castle you can reach on both banks. Plunder as you please. Then push toward Oldtown overland. I want those Reach lords attacked from both front and rear."
Victarion nodded. "Aye."
After Victarion left, Lord Waldon Wynch of Iron Holt came to pay his respects. He was the first Iron Islands lord to kneel before Euron and was deeply trusted by him.
A hint of worry showed on his face. "Your Grace, Victarion has taken part of the fleet and many warriors with him. With what we have left, can we really defeat the combined fleets of the Hightowers and the Redwyne? Their ships are larger and far more numerous."
Euron's lips curled into a wicked smile. He touched the leather eyepatch covering his left eye and said with confidence, "Defeat them? My dear Waldon, that was never the question."
He lifted a gold-inlaid goblet from the table, filled with deep purple liquor mixed with the Shade of the Evening, took a sip, offered no further explanation, and strode out of the room.
Waldon Wynch stood there in a daze, watching Euron's departing back, doubt churning in his heart. In the end, he merely shook his head and chose to trust his king, a man as unfathomable as a god.