The weather had been cold and foggy lately, and fog was the best disguise.
Through the thin mist, a patrol ship of House Hightower appeared.
Two smaller rowing boats followed behind it, like hunting dogs trailing their master.
At the prow of the patrol ship was a plump woman guarding a tower and waving a flag, and the name "Lady of the Tower" was carved into the hull.
On the Oldtown ship flew not only House Hightower's stepped white tower banner crowned with a beacon, but also the golden quartered banner of the Iron Throne of King's Landing.
"We're coming aboard."
The Oldtown patrol ship pulled alongside the Tyroshi vessel, shipped its oars, and shouted its intent to board.
Oldtown crossbowmen and Tyroshi crossbowmen faced one another across the narrow strip of water.
Blue beards, purple beards, red beards. Beards of every bright color were the mark of the Tyroshi, along with their loud, clamorous Tyroshi tongue.
But this ship seemed suspiciously quiet. Aside from the captain, no one spoke.
"Please come aboard," the "captain" of the Tyroshi ship said politely. Even with a black eyepatch, his good looks were not diminished.
"Long live the Storm. May the Seven bless King Gendry."
"Long live the Storm. May the Seven bless King Gendry."
The Oldtown captain boarded the pot-bellied Tyroshi cargo ship with six knights. The edge of his smoke-gray cloak was trimmed with flame-shaped red satin.
The Oldtowners entered the hold. At first, the cargo looked ordinary enough.
"What is this man's situation?" the Oldtown captain asked. In the captain's cabin, he saw a mute priest with the symbol of the Three-Headed God hanging on him, his eyes damp and lifeless.
The first head of the Three-Headed God devoured the dead, and the third head spat out new life, but few knew what the middle head represented.
"Our companion, a devout follower of the Three-Headed God," the Tyroshi captain explained.
"You people worship all manner of strange gods. We worship only the Seven."
The Ironborn were already on edge, their hands tightening unconsciously around swords and axes.
The true danger lay in the lower hold. Down there were fire oil and weapons, gifts from the Ironborn.
"What's in here?"
The Oldtown captain followed the Tyroshi captain as he opened the lid of a wooden barrel. Inside was black oil.
The fire oil had a foul smell and was extremely thick.
"It's..."
The captain was shocked and reached for the sword at his belt.
"It is fine grape wine, Captain," Crow's Eye said suddenly, pulling the captain back. Beneath his eyepatch, his eye was red.
"It's... yes, fine grape wine."
The Oldtown captain nodded. Perhaps what he saw really was grape wine, and what he smelled was the scent of good wine.
The captain let them pass.
"You must be careful. The Ironborn are different this time. Ironborn are born raiders. They like to strike suddenly from the sea, then flee after stealing coin and women. Usually each raid is only one or two longships, half a dozen at most. But this time, more than a hundred ships are harassing the seas. Lord Redwyne is still waiting for the King's reinforcements. It truly leaves a man helpless."
"Kind Captain, may peace come to Oldtown soon."
"Let us hope so. If we lose the Arbor and Oldtown, the realm will collapse and fall apart," the captain of the Oldtown patrol ship said helplessly.
The Reach was immensely wealthy, and Oldtown and the Arbor were its finest jewels.
Crow's Eye watched the Oldtown patrol ships disperse.
Yes, peace. Today I will bring House Hightower an unprecedented "peace," a gift from Crow's Eye.
"Hide all those things properly. There is another checkpoint ahead."
"Yes."
The ship continued on toward Oldtown.
When they reached Oldtown, the air was still cold and damp, the fog so thick that only the beacon atop the High Tower could be seen.
A chain stretched across the harbor, connected to twenty or so battered ships. Behind them lay a row of warships, with three large sailing ships beside them, along with Lord Hightower's towering flagship, the four-banked Honor of Oldtown.
At the docks, the ship would be inspected once more. This time, the one inspecting it was the protector of Oldtown's docks, Ser Gunthor Hightower himself.
He wore a silver robe over gray enameled scale armor.
"It pains me that decent people must endure this kind of tedious treatment, but caution never hurt anyone. We must make sure the Ironborn don't slip in," Ser Gunthor said.
"You are quite right."
The "Tyroshi captain" invited Ser Gunthor aboard.
Gunthor brought twelve soldiers with him onto the Tyroshi merchant ship.
For some reason, Gunthor felt something was odd.
The Tyroshi were a noisy people, yet on such a huge, pot-bellied merchant ship, only the captain smiled and listened to him speak.
There was also that poor mute priest, a priest of the Three-Headed God whose eyes were watery, though he could not speak.
But Gunthor did not keep thinking about it. The Tyroshi captain's crisp, powerful voice made him feel somewhat dazed, until he forgot the doubts he had noticed.
"Oldtown's situation is truly terrible," Gunthor said as he chatted with the "Tyroshi captain" in the captain's cabin.
He had studied at the Citadel for several years and had a good gift for languages. He even spoke the tongue of the Summer Islands, let alone Tyroshi.
The Tyroshi man's eyes seemed to carry a kind of magic, bright blue eyes.
"Let them through."
Gunthor signaled for the chain to be opened, allowing the pot-bellied merchant ship to pass the barrier and enter the docks.
After the pot-bellied merchant ship tied off its mooring ropes, Gunthor meant to lead his men away quickly and wait for the next ship entering the harbor.
The Oldtown docks were wrapped in mist. The cobblestones underfoot were wet and slippery, and the weather was damp. People seemed wrapped in fog as well, like the face of a sphinx.
"Ser Gunthor, thank you for your generosity."
The Tyroshi captain suddenly called out to Ser Gunthor, and the Tyroshi strode forward, surrounding Gunthor's men in a small circle.
"...Ah."
Gunthor was a little confused, because the captain had suddenly switched to the language of Westeros, and spoke it with a pure Westerosi accent.
Some of the Tyroshi with their brightly colored beards had also come down from the ship, but they showed none of the curiosity of men newly arrived in Oldtown. Sailors usually looked for some fun, or sought out the temples of their own gods.
The temples for foreign sailors were all near the docks.
"What is going on?"
Gunthor realized these Tyroshi had none of that joy. Instead, there was a naked greed in them, as if offering Fire and Blood to the world.
They looked at the Oldtowners' faces as though looking at corpses, like beasts eyeing prey.
A chill ran through Gunthor as he turned back toward the Tyroshi captain, then felt beneath the man's Tyroshi finery. There seemed to be some kind of hard armor underneath.
"Lord, quick. Go, go!"
One of Ser Gunthor's men staggered as he spoke.
Bright red blood ran from the corner of his mouth. A "Tyroshi" Valyrian steel dagger had cut across his throat, its blade dark as smoke. This was the first drop of blood spilled by the Oldtown guards.
Once inside the docks, the "Tyroshi" acted at once, drawing longswords and daggers from their sword belts.
They were Ironborn.
The Drowned God had shaped the Ironborn to please himself through slaughter.
"Kill them! Kill all these Oldtown dogs!"
Throwing axes and steel swords gave off a thrilling tremor. This band of Ironborn might not have armor as fine as the Oldtowners'.
But their weapons were hardly inferior. They were even better.
"Euron!"
"Euron!"
"Euron!"
The Ironborn who had come to ambush the docks carried Valyrian steel daggers provided by Crow's Eye, rewards Crow's Eye had obtained from the ruins of Valyria. Every one of them was a vicious brute handpicked by him.
These splendid Oldtown knights had never seen enemies this savage. In other words, wealthy House Hightower had rarely seen blood.
Worse still, the Ironborn had high-grade equipment supplied by Crow's Eye.
"No."
A knight of House Hightower tried to swing his longsword with all his strength, but several Ironborn closed in and surrounded him.
Axes and daggers. No weapon was sharper than a Valyrian steel dagger.
The daggers pierced the knight's chest and joints, and drove through his shoulder blade.
Then came an even more savage slash. A dagger cut through helmet, hair, and skull.
The Ironborn cheered as they began the killing, their clothes already spattered with blood.
Some Ironborn started stripping House Hightower's gray steel ringmail from the dead right there and putting it on themselves.
"You're no Tyroshi. Who are you?"
Gunthor hurriedly drew his sword and roared.
"I am the Storm, my lord. The greatest storm under heaven. I have led the Silence on far longer journeys, through dangers far worse than this."
A faint smile appeared on Crow's Eye's blue lips.
"Kill! Kill!"
"You're Crow's Eye."
Gunthor swung his longsword, only to find the blade's path strangely slow and restrained, as if some invisible weight were dragging at his movements.
Thud.
Crow's Eye punched Gunthor Hightower in the face.
Ser Gunthor's vision burst into stars, and dizziness washed over him.
Then came the crack of Ironborn daggers striking the joints of Gunthor's armor, followed by Valyrian steel blades stabbing into his body.
"It hurts..."
Gunthor's body convulsed in pain. His beautiful silver robe was soaked with blood until it turned dark black.
"Why... did I not see it?"
"I want him alive," Crow's Eye declared. "One priest of the Three-Headed God is dead, so I can replace him with Hightower blood. A fair bargain."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Crow's Eye's men dragged Gunthor away.
"Throw that priest of the Three-Headed God into the sea," Crow's Eye ordered again.
From the water came the sound of something like a stone being hurled into the sea as the priest of the Three-Headed God was thrown overboard.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Fire arrows! Fire arrows!"
The Ironborn loosed arrows soaked in fire oil. The flying shafts scattered sparks across the sky, and the Hightower docks fell into chaos.
"It's the Ironborn! Run!"
With Gunthor captured, fire arrows next flew toward House Hightower's ships and warships.
"Pour the fire oil!"
The sky seemed lit with countless bonfires. The wind was rising, and the sudden gusts shifted the battle.
Arrows soaked in fire oil struck the battered ships, then the warships moored behind them.
"The city gates are too thick, and then there is the High Tower."
Crow's Eye looked toward Oldtown. They did not have the advantage in numbers. If they entered the city, it would become a battle of bodies against bodies.
In that case, being able to burn the docks and set House Hightower's warships aflame was already an unexpected delight.
There were also bold Ironborn who swam out into the harbor to bore holes through ships at sea.
As the docks sank into chaos, the shapes of longships began racing through the fog, like flies drawn to blood.
***
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