Oldstones was the ancient seat of the kings of the rivers and the hills, though its grand history had long since faded. Now, nothing remained but the broken limestone walls of a ruined castle.
The banner of House Blackwood, a dead weirwood on a black shield surrounded by a flock of crows against a red field, hung limp from the crumbling ramparts.
The courier had returned once more, carrying a fresh scrape across his cheek and half an arrow shaft still embedded in his shoulder casing. Tytos Blackwood, that stubborn old wolf, preferred to chew on cold stones rather than open his gates to the longships.
Dagmer Cleftjaw looked upon the runner's bloody face and spat into the mud. His white beard trembled with irritation, the old scar that had split his jaw leaving his lips looking like four raw pieces of meat moving against one another.
His voice was a deep, rough rasp. "Still refusing the terms?"
The messenger offered a silent shake of his head. He had no words left. Dagmer turned his face back to the walls, muttering a dark curse.
"Has your axe grown rusty in the rain, Cleftjaw?"
The voice came from the shadow of a fallen oak, smooth and magnetic, like a serpent sliding over bare skin.
Dagmer turned his neck. Euron Greyjoy was leaning against the bark, a mocking smile touching his pale, handsome face. He wore his black hair and beard short, his right eye a bright, piercing blue like a polished sapphire, while a dark leather patch covered his left.
Euron's lips curved slightly. "Still trying to talk them off the wall?"
"These green-land lords are like stones in a privy. Cold, sour, and stubborn."
He straightened his posture and stepped forward, moving with the quiet, effortless grace of a hunting cat. His voice was soft, yet every word carried a subtle poison.
"They have no grain left in their cellars. Their quivers are empty, and their lances are down."
"We go over the timber, put the men to the sword, take the women for the cots, and throw the children from the wall. The problem resolves itself."
"Simple. Efficient."
Dagmer's temper flared instantly, a spray of red spit clearing his beard. "Crow's Eye, shut your foul mouth!"
"Had you not taken your own license beneath the walls of Seagard, we would not be sitting in this mud!"
Dagmer's gauntlets clicked together as he balled his fists. Euron merely smiled, watching the old captain with genuine amusement.
"King Balon requires a realm!" Dagmer growled, taking a heavy step forward until his ruined jaw was inches from Euron's nose. "He needs a river kingdom that yields gold, an host of vassals to pay the iron tax, not an empty heap of ash and black timber!"
He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a harsh glare. "You put Jason Mallister to the sword yourself! You ruined your brother's strategy! We could have taken him alive, making Seagard the first high seat in the valley to bend its knee to our fleet!"
Euron Greyjoy listened to the end, then broke into a sudden, clear laugh that sent a sharp chill down the spines of the nearby oarsmen. His blue eye sparkled with pure mockery.
"A realm? Bending the knee?" Euron asked, his tone dripping with soft contempt. "Since when did my dear brother begin practicing the customs of the green-lands?"
"Jason Mallister was never going to be taken. Even if my edge had not cleared his throat, he would have thrown his body into the sea to feed the crabs before bowing to a king who smells of fish and salt."
Euron drew himself up, his tone remaining light, yet carrying an unvarnished disdain.
"Balon... he truly believes he can play Aegon the Conqueror, building a kingdom on the grass. It is the finest comedy in the realm."
He looked around the circle, his blue eye marking the ironborn captains who were listening in the quiet.
"He possesses no dragons to breathe fire, nor does he command a sea-monster to crush the high seats."
"He has nothing but a company of sea-rats who know only how to throw an axe, and a piece of driftwood for a throne that sways whenever the wind turns."
Euron ignored Dagmer's darkening face, turning his body to shout across the camp. "Brothers! Why do we sit in the ruts? The Drowned God favors the brave! To the first man who clears the wall, I offer a hundred gold dragons from my own chest!"
The offer broke the quiet instantly. The promise of gold combined with the hunger for blood drew a wild, animal roar from the raiders, who began beating their axes against their targets to demand the assault.
Dagmer let out a short grunt, stepping back. He could not deny that had Euron not proposed the sudden raid on Lannisport years ago, their fleet would never have gained its current standing.
He glared at Euron with deep resentment. "You are always the same, Crow's Eye! You follow no law but your own whim!"
"Had you not broken the King's directive at Seagard, you would be guiding a second fleet down the river channels today, rather than sitting here with my lances to starve a handful of broken Blackwoods!"
Euron Greyjoy offered his signature, mocking smile. "A fleet commander?" he murmured, a strange, dark light flashing in his single sapphire eye that Dagmer could not begin to read.
"Do you not find this world... remarkably dull?"
He licked his lips.
"Truly... dull."
A complete lunatic, Dagmer thought, turning his back on the Crow's Eye. He prepared to issue the final orders to his captains, intending to deploy a full assault to crush the stubborn defense once and for all.
Before his jaw could open, an unexpected chill settled over the camp. The cold seemed to seep directly from the earth, raising the hair along his neck and muting the shouting of the raiders in an instant.
Dagmer turned his head back to the shadow of the oak, his breath catching in his throat.
Euron Greyjoy was frozen in an impossible posture. His neck was stretched forward at an unnatural angle, his spine rigid, as if his head were attempting to detach itself from his shoulders to reach into the air.
His single blue eye was wide, the sphere protruding as he stared fixedly toward the east. His lips were parted, his nostrils flaring slightly as he sampled something invisible in the wind.
Dagmer felt a wave of goosebumps cover his skin. He remembered the dark whispers that followed the Crow's Eye across the sea, stories of strange bargains struck in the deep water, of an eye traded for dark, unspeakable knowledge.
Some men swore Euron Greyjoy was no longer human.
As Dagmer's hand crept toward the axe at his belt, Euron finally moved.
Slowly, segment by segment, he pulled his neck back into place, his pale, handsome features suddenly lighting up with an expression of wild, frantic joy, like a starving man offered a rich feast.
He threw his hands into the air, laughing aloud as he addressed the empty wind. "Splendid! Beyond words! You have finally arrived!"
"This is the road I have waited to see! This is what it means to draw breath!"
Euron broke into a long, ringing laugh that echoed over the ruined ramparts of Oldstones.
"Water and fire!"
He turned his blue eye back to the frozen Cleftjaw, his tone light as he delivered his conclusion. "Save your lances, Dagmer."
"A guest is coming."
Dagmer's mind went blank. Who was coming? Aside from their own raiding parties, who could possibly be moving through these thickets? Could a riverland host truly have gathered the stomach to march into the west?
The Crow's Eye merely offered a thin, mysterious smile. He turned his back, letting out a sharp, piercing whistle toward his crew, a group of silent men who moved like shadows through the trees. Every one of them had lost his tongue to Euron's blade long ago.
They began packing their gear with swift, silent efficiency, preparing to leave the camp. Dagmer took a quick step forward. "Crow's Eye!"
"Where are you taking your oars? King Balon ordered your lances to remain with my column!"
Euron looked over his shoulder, his blue eye marking Dagmer as if he were looking at a child.
"My brother's orders?"
He paused, the smile on his lips turning sharp and merciless.
"I have never honored his words."
He checked his cloak, offering a final phrase to the old captain.
"Besides, a far more interesting game is about to begin. I have no intention of missing the opening move."
Dagmer felt a surge of helpless anger, but he knew he possessed no leverage to check the lunatic. He stood unmoving as Euron and the silent crew of the Silence walked through the camp like ghosts, heading down toward the longships anchored in the river.
Dagmer raised his voice, shouting after the dark shapes with all the breath left in his lungs.
"Go then, Crow's Eye! Take your tongue-less dogs and rot in the deep water! Never show your face on my track again!"
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