Mist spread everywhere, and fire rose with the wind. Oldtown's docks had been completely turned into a world of Fire and Blood.
Oldtown had always been known for its wealth and for staying aloof from trouble. It had never suffered such a savage blow before, and even the Oldtown garrison was left stunned.
The pot-bellied Tyroshi merchant ship had only been the first step. The longships came soon after.
Crow's Eye and his elites had bought them time. It was a gamble, but the reward was extraordinary.
"Kill!"
The longships used the thick fog to hide their shapes, then rode the sudden wind to smash through the patrol ships blocking their path and gather around Crow's Eye.
Oldtown's fleet had many patrol ships, but even more warships were tied up near the docks.
At the stern of every longship flew a banner marked with a symbol the people of Oldtown had never seen before: two crows holding up a black iron crown, with a red eye and black pupil beneath it.
Fire rose in Oldtown. Wind stirred in Oldtown.
The smell of blood grew stronger, and the flames burned brighter.
The Ironborn fired flaming arrows from longbows, then finally poured barrels of fire oil and other flammable things straight onto Oldtown's warships.
Even Leyton's beautiful Honor of Oldtown fell victim, slowly swallowed by orange tongues of flame.
Splash. Splash.
The few sailors and shipwrights still aboard Oldtown's fleet had no choice but to jump into the sea. The Ironborn shot them from the water's surface, dyeing the sea red with blood.
Other sailors were burned alive as the warships went up in flames.
The defensive chain across Oldtown's docks was completely ruined. Not only the battered old ships, but many of Oldtown's warships as well.
The Iron Islands had few horses, but when it came to boarding actions and close combat, the Ironborn were exceptionally brutal.
"Victory is ours!"
"Kill these fat Oldtown pigs!"
"Long live King Crow's Eye!"
The Ironborn did not value their own lives, much less anyone else's.
They wore rusted armor and swung throwing axes and longswords in their hands.
"Our ships!"
Wails rang across the docks. It was not only the warships burning. Some unlucky merchant vessels had been caught in the flames as well, whether from Pentos, Qarth, Lys, or elsewhere.
Some Ironborn slipped into the water and took the chance to bore holes through the warships near the chain.
The Ironborn hacked at the chain with great axes, but the chain was far too long. In the end, they found its two ends and simply undid it.
The entire dock grew more chaotic and bloody by the moment.
The waters near Oldtown's docks were full of ships. Some burned, some sank, and some had been rammed to pieces.
The water between the hulls looked like a stew, dotted with countless corpses, broken oars, and people clinging to wreckage.
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
The Ironborn had never fought such a rich battle before. Crow's Eye commanded, and the Ironborn attacked.
Ironborn never lacked courage or savagery. What they lacked was brains.
"Take the watchtower first! The watchtower!"
The raiders moved with practiced coordination, keeping out of range of the watchtower's crossbowmen, while the stronger longbowmen suppressed them with arrows.
The Ironborn who closed in began setting the tower alight. The wooden tower burned easily, its body and the Hightower banner going up in flames together.
Some Hightower warriors finally reacted from all around the docks, and a few foreign sailors found the courage to come help.
They had steel in their hands, but panic in their eyes, and the Ironborn laughed as they tasted that thick fear.
"We are your death."
The Ironborn swung axes and longswords, killing and setting fires wildly across the docks.
They burned warships and seized merchant ships.
The Hightower banner of the stepped white tower with its burning beacon was thrown to the ground, while the Ironborn brandished their battle-axes.
The soldiers of the Hightower garrison were well equipped and tall. They wore gray steel ringmail and the same smoke-gray cloaks.
But they were confused, and they had not seen much blood. Their past fights had been little more than keeping order or catching smugglers.
Worse still, the man in charge of the docks, Ser Gunthor Hightower, had been the first taken, leaving them without a leader.
That was all the Hightower soldiers amounted to. In the battle between High Tower and Kraken, the shield and axe of two soldiers slammed together.
A shrill scrape rang against iron armor, followed by the Ironborn's shield splitting apart. The Hightower soldier had just begun to feel pleased.
"Die."
Unexpectedly, the Ironborn crouched halfway and closed in. A Valyrian steel dagger stabbed through the gap in his armor and pierced his heart.
The enemy had found the weak point at the joints, where only mail and leather protected him.
"Monster! Monster!"
A hairy Ibbenese sailor tried to rush in and stab Crow's Eye amid the crowd, but one of Crow's Eye's guards swung back with an axe and split his head in two.
The guard yanked the axe free, and the sailor's skull seemed to burst apart. Bone, blood, and brain matter sprayed everywhere. The corpse toppled down and slumped against his leg.
"Only the dead are kneelers," Crow's Eye remarked.
Oldtown's docks had become slick with blood, with heaps of corpses and dying men lying on every side.
The iron tide raged on, unstoppable, slaughtering the garrison and any sailors who dared resist.
"Set fire to those foreign sailors' temples. Any priests you find, send them to my ship."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Flaming arrows were lit again, this time aimed at the foreign temples not far from the docks.
The temples of foreign sailors were all near the docks, and Crow's Eye's dogs pushed deep inside them to plunder the magnificent idols and carry off the priests Crow's Eye wanted.
Crack. Crack.
The Ironborn slaughtered wildly inside the temples. Everyone except the priests could be killed.
And there were those magnificent statues of the sailors' gods, each worth a fortune.
The Weeping Goddess of Lys, the Mermen King, the Black Goat, the Three-Headed God of Tyrosh, R'hllor the Red God, and more.
The Ironborn hacked with their axes, taking the golden cheeks of Lys's Longsword God, its silver longsword, and its pearl eyes. They spared nothing.
Boom.
Before leaving, the Ironborn, newly rich from the plunder, set the temples on fire as well.
"Hahahahaha."
Crow's Eye watched the bloody scene unfold. This was his gift to the people of Oldtown.
The docks had become the sum of all chaos. No one had the heart to resist anymore, leaving Crow's Eye and his Ironborn free to burn, kill, and plunder as they pleased.
"Cowards, cowards," the Ironborn jeered. After so many men had died, Oldtown's defenses collapsed.
The remaining Hightower garrison actually fled with the sailors and crewmen toward the city, praying that Oldtown's gates would open.
But the Ironborn did not pursue them. Crow's Eye had already given his orders.
Crow's Eye looked at the towering city walls. They had already won the docks. As for the richer belly of Oldtown behind those high walls, that would have to wait until next time.
The Hightowers were not all fools. They certainly would not open the gates. And with the men he had, unless he sacrificed to the Kraken, there was little chance of victory.
"I have already won my victory. The next one will be for dealing with the King on the Iron Throne."
"Are we storming Oldtown?" one of Crow's Eye's men asked.
"The gates won't open. Prepare to withdraw. Hang that Gunthor from the prow of my ship, to win us a fair wind home."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Save us!"
"Do not abandon us, Lord Leyton!"
Refugees and sailors wept beneath Oldtown's walls, their cries rising and falling again and again.
Crossbowmen appeared along the battlements, staring tensely at the scene below.
"Should we open the gates?" the pale-faced Oldtown garrison man asked Ser Garth Hightower, "Gray Iron," who had hurried over.
"No. The gates are not to be opened. That is exactly what they want, to slip in amid the chaos. And for all we know, Ironborn may be mixed in among the refugees," Garth ordered.
"But Young Lord Gunthor?"
"Enough. Gunthor was most likely the first one taken. Perhaps he is already dead," Garth said helplessly.
Garth looked at the docks, where flames leapt into the sky, and could not put his feelings into words.
The Ironborn had come too fast, and the people of Oldtown had performed far too poorly.
"What in the world happened?" Baelor Hightower arrived as well, accompanied by Ser Moryn Tyrell, commander of the Oldtown garrison. "I heard the shouting from City Hall and saw the flames."
"Brother, something is wrong. The Ironborn disguised themselves as Tyroshi and forced their way into the docks. They captured Gunthor, burned the warships and the foreign temples, and seized merchant ships," Garth said.
"What?" Baelor nearly lost his breath. "Is Gunthor an idiot? I had him prepare two or three layers of defense, and the chain besides."
Oldtown's patrol ships and the dock blockade had all been fooled by Crow's Eye.
Baelor's vision went dark, and dizziness washed over him. Most of the Hightower fleet had been at the docks. With this, it was almost entirely wiped out.
"It wasn't Gunthor's fault. Look at the wind," Garth said. "Crow's Eye's Sorcerers are terribly powerful. If he disguised himself like this, deceiving Gunthor would not have been difficult."
Baelor stretched out his hand. The wind was indeed feeding the fire.
"The wind," Baelor murmured. "No wonder it is so troublesome."
Baelor gritted his teeth. "Do not open the gates. And do not attack."
"Understood." Ser Garth and Ser Moryn nodded.
"Ask for aid, Baelor," Garth said. "The situation before us is more than we can handle."
Oldtown's docks had been burned, and most of the fleet had sunk into the sea. Fighting the Ironborn would be even harder now.
Even on land, Hightower's soldiers seemed lacking. They were well equipped, but they were not ruthless enough, much less truly hardy.
"They... they have tied Ser Gunthor to the prow of a ship," Moryn said, raising a Myrish lens and seeing it clearly.
Baelor snatched the lens from him. That silver hair belonged to his younger brother, without question.
"It's him. It really is Gunthor."
Gunthor Hightower was being carried by Crow's Eye's sailors.
"Then let me lead the soldiers out. There are still some warships inside Oldtown, and we can borrow some from the guilds," Garth pleaded. "I am the second son. I should go rescue my brother. With the Ironborn, he will suffer worse than death."
"Shut up, Garth. I have already lost one brother and the docks. I don't want to lose another," Baelor said coldly. He clenched his fist until blood seeped through his fingers, today's humiliation cut deep. "For the honor of House Hightower, if both of you are captured, that would be an even greater disgrace..."
"I understand." Garth turned his head away, treating Gunthor as if he were already dead.
For the honor of House Hightower and Oldtown, anything could be sacrificed, even kin.
"What about Father?"
"I will explain to him when the time comes. We are foolish Hightowers who have disgraced the family's honor. We burned the docks and lost our own family."
"I'm afraid the Redwyne fleet alone will not be enough. Lord Paxter himself likely does not dare make a move," Ser Moryn said. "Crow's Eye appears and vanishes like a ghost, and he can advance or withdraw as he pleases. If we want to destroy the Ironborn, we cannot do without the Iron Throne's three dragons, the King's fierce warriors, and fleet support."
"That's true," Garth said with a nod. "We have enough soldiers, but their fighting strength... And besides, there is no good way to counter Crow's Eye's attacks, except with Dragons."
Ser Garth placed his hopes in the Iron Throne. As long as King Gendry attacked, everything would turn out all right.
The undefeated Storm. The Dragon King's Storm.
"That is true, Ser Garth. King Gendry has won every battle he has fought. Everyone knows he is the fiercest warrior of this age. And under him, there is a vast fleet and Dragons."
"Write to the Tyrells, to Redwyne, to King Gendry on the Iron Throne, and to Stannis..." Baelor's handsome face was full of worry. "The Ironborn are ravaging us here, and Oldtown has suffered a great calamity. Crow's Eye is unpredictable. We beg King Gendry on the Iron Throne to come quickly to our aid."
"No, I will write it myself," Baelor said firmly. For something this important, there was no better way. "In addition to the letters, gold and gifts must also be sent to King's Landing."
Baelor clenched his teeth. These were all sacrifices. Oldtown needed support.
"But before that, I must go to Father and ask forgiveness. I lost Gunthor. Also, this time, the ghastly green beacon must be lit."
Ser Garth looked at his elder brother and said nothing more.
"Euron!"
"Euron!"
"Crow's Eye!"
The longship captains cried out Crow's Eye's name.
Crow's Eye had enchanted them with his silver tongue and smiling eyes, luring the captains into his service with plunder from distant lands.
Now Crow's Eye had brought them so much: the taste of conquest, the joy of victory.
Great King Balon had indeed been brave, but he had fought nothing but losing battles, and several of his own sons had died.
The longships swaggered away from the waters of Oldtown, loaded with spoils. With the fleet damaged, the warships inside the city did not dare show themselves.
The Iron Fleet began to return. Outside the fleet, a convoy of merchant ships trailed behind them: cargo ships, great sailing ships, fishing boats, and several huge freighters, swollen like sows bloated by water, as large as sea beasts. All of them were prizes.
"Crow's Eye" Euron stood once again on the deck of the Silence, wearing a suit of black scale armor no one had ever seen before. It was black as smoke, yet as light to wear as a silk shirt.
The edges of the scales were red-gold, flashing with light when he moved. Patterns decorated the metal: whorls, hieroglyphs, and mysterious symbols, all etched into the steel.
"Your Grace, I have brought Gunthor," Crow's Eye's lieutenant Redhand said.
"Tie him to the prow of the Silence. Let them feel the mist at the prow. That is the Drowned God's kiss, wet and salty."
Gunthor Hightower's eyes were wet. His tongue had been cut out.
They bound Gunthor with leather straps, which would shrink tighter once wet. He wore nothing but a loincloth.
"Don't be afraid, child. The brave dead will find joy in the Drowned God's watery halls." Crow's Eye held Gunthor's chin and laughed. "Such a pretty face. You did not violate my guest, did you?"
"We meant to at first, but no, Your Grace. A ship too fragile gives no urge to conquer it."
"The Hightowers are not easy to deal with. But in the end, this is all they are."
"Set sail. We leave."
Crow's Eye gave the order. The black sails rose, and the ropes were loosed.
The Silence drew away from the shore to the oarmaster's slow drumbeat. The oars rose, fell, and rose again, churning the water.
The High Tower loomed above, looking down at the docks below like a scar, and remained still.
***
...
If you'd like to support my work and unlock advanced chapters, you can follow me on p-@-treon.
[email protected]/PinkSnake (50 Chapters Ahead).
You can also follow as a free member to read a few advanced chapters.
***