Conquest Island—some also called it the Isle of a Hundred Battles—was named for its storied past. The island had no gentle slopes, as if some immense force had carved it into an irregular square, its cliffs rising sharply from the water. Even this terrain alone was enough to make any attacker despair.
Almost nothing existed on the island aside from Hightower. At its base, a square fortress of black stone nearly covered the entire island, leaving only a narrow perimeter of land overgrown with Weirwood. On the northern cliffside, a stone dock stretched with a set of long and short piers. A few small boats of the Hightower family were moored there; this was the main means of connecting Skyreach Island to the outside world.
A small boat slowly approached the smaller pier. After tossing a copper star to the boatman, William leapt onto the pier. Looking up, he saw a steep, winding path snaking up from the base of the cliff to the fortress's only gate. This path was not easy for older people to traverse—no wonder Lord Leyton Hightower, the "Old Man of Oldtown," disliked leaving home.
Today, William wore a formal outfit modified for combat. He straightened the slightly disheveled clothes from the boat ride, adjusted the Gaping Bat emblem on his left chest—his personal crest—and finally adjusted the ornate belt carrying his one-handed sword. Satisfied, he started up the winding path.
At the fortress gate, a squad of guards stood watch. Having lived at Hightower for six years, William was familiar with them. Naturally, they exchanged greetings and small talk. To his surprise, news of the Battle of Ten Mile Town had already reached Oldtown, despite only three days passing. In the version circulating among the townspeople, it was the brave Garlan who had been the key figure, leading three companions against dozens of enemies, protecting most of Ten Mile Town's residents, and paving the way for Ser Aegon Leygood to annihilate the Ironfolk.
William was satisfied with this official narrative; it gave no credit to outsiders and saved him a lot of trouble. He sincerely praised Garlan a few words, bid farewell to the guards, and entered the fortress.
Inside, the black stone fortress was a maze of narrow, twisting corridors, low-ceilinged rooms, and countless hidden passages and traps. Even if enemies breached the walls, they would quickly become lost among the endless turns and identical rooms. Its defenses were indeed formidable, but it was not comfortable to live in. Currently, all Hightower family members and servants reside in the upper stone buildings. The fortress retained only a few rooms for dangerous goods storage, a prison, and an internal staff passage.
The passage was easy to follow, as only this route had torches embedded in the walls at intervals, providing light and serving as markers. Following the torches prevented getting lost; otherwise, one might become yet another urban legend of the fortress. As he went deeper, the surroundings grew quieter, leaving only the sound of William's footsteps. The dim torchlight flickered, casting strange shadows on the walls. The timid might feel uneasy, but William had walked this path countless times and was long accustomed. He moved confidently, his mind entirely on the box brought by the male sorcerers, paying little attention to the ominous atmosphere.
Rounding a corner, a shadow suddenly appeared. William's scalp tingled. Startled, he instinctively reached for his sword, then felt a familiar magical fluctuation from the figure before him. Relaxing, he felt anger rise and whispered, "Lady, you're acting dangerously. I almost swung my sword."
"Hahaha, don't worry. I know today is not my time to die." A voice full of nervous energy emerged from the shadows.
A loose hooded robe covered the figure completely. The enormous hood hid the face, but tangled strands of long hair, color impossible to define, spilled out. The robe's hem dragged on the ground, fully covering the feet, making one worry she might trip. Approaching, a strange odor hit him—not foul, but unsettling. William recognized it as the scent of some magical potion, containing several expensive ingredients that had once made even poor William envious.
This was Malora Hightower, Lord Leyton's second child, known as the "Mad Maid." Rumor had it she had worn this same outfit for twenty years… emmm…
William suspected she was the legendary Woods Witch—not because she often spoke in seemingly prophetic but incomprehensible words, nor merely for the obvious magical potion scent, but because he could sense fluctuations of magical power around her. Unlike himself or Margery, Malora's magical aura clearly came from external sources, as if she had touched something strongly imbued with magic and it had permanently clung to her.
William wasn't the only one with such suspicions. Many knew of the Woods Witch legend, and many had seen Malora—but those who privately dared to call her a "witch" often met grim ends. Over time, only the nickname "Mad Maid" persisted. A thought suddenly struck William: "Leyton would rather people call his daughter 'the Mad Maid' than associate her with magic. No wonder Margery resisted learning magic so strongly. Have I been pushing too hard?"
In any case, in William's mind, regarding the magical profession, this castle-dwelling Woods Witch had more qualifications than his male sorcerer advisor. If she weren't so erratic and unpredictable, perhaps William might have tried to establish some kind of cooperative relationship with her, instead of keeping a respectful distance. Malora may be mad, but Leyton adored her and reportedly granted her every wish, never hesitating to spend a fortune. Someone like that was not to be trifled with lightly; if you couldn't provoke her, the only option was to avoid her.
But now avoidance was impossible.
The corridor was narrow. If they stepped aside, two could pass, but Malora planted herself firmly in the middle, showing no intention of yielding. After a silent standoff, William chose to surrender. "Lady Malora, I'm in a hurry to see Ser Gars. Could you please step aside?"
"No need to rush. I know today is not your time to die, hehehe…" Malora suddenly shook her shoulders violently, letting out a bell-like laugh, as if thoroughly amused by herself.
"What on earth is so funny?" William was bewildered. "Your esteemed lady, may I ask what you need from me?"
Her laughter abruptly stopped, startling him.
"The darkness devours the bat; the blizzard drowns the ice plain wolf." She spoke slowly, her previous nervous energy gone, but the emotionless tone made her words even more chilling.
"The bat… that refers to me? The ice plain wolf… that's Stark? Sounds like we're in for trouble, but I don't really know the Stark family. Wait—actually, I could relate myself to the wolf pups…" William couldn't make sense of it. Deciding to focus on himself first, he asked, "Are you warning me of some danger, Lady Malora?"
After a pause, she spoke again in the same unnerving tone: "The Weirwoods weeps; the ghosts sigh."
"There are plenty of Weirwood with tear-carved faces! Ghosts? That has nothing to do with me." Shaking his head, William stopped trying to interpret her riddle-like statements and spread his hands. "I'm very sorry, Lady, but I have no idea what you're talking about this time."
Another silence fell. Malora suddenly turned sideways, leaning against the wall, seemingly making way for William to pass in front of her. Yet she didn't press entirely against the wall. The gap was neither large nor tiny. William hesitated, wondering if he should ask her to move further, but fearing she might suddenly lose control and cause trouble, he decided to sidestep carefully, leaning against the wall himself, and slowly squeezed past her.