“That’s what I’m talking about!”
“They say Jason Mallister killed Balon’s son himself…”
“When are we finally going to move on?”
“When the captain gets back…”
The talk never died down aboard the ship.
News that the Ironborn, led by Rodrik Greyjoy, Balon’s eldest son and heir, had been defeated outside Seagard had reached the islands aboard one of the arriving ships.
The news had stirred up the sailors.
Some were celebrating, others were arguing over what would happen next, but everyone understood one thing:
The real war had only just begun.
There were plenty of other signs of that.
The Black Betha had already been sitting in a small port on the Shield Islands for three days, surrounded by all sorts of ships.
Davos Seaworth had left for Highgarden aboard a fast galley with several sailors, but so far he hadn’t hurried back.
The crew left aboard the Black Betha had been going stir-crazy from boredom, watching more and more ships arrive from the mouth of the Mander.
But there was something strange about them.
They weren’t Tyrell ships.
They were filled with Lannister soldiers.
From what Arthur had heard, Tywin Lannister had paid an enormous sum to the Lord of the Reach, buying up half of the ships available to him.
The Lion of Casterly Rock wanted revenge for the humiliation inflicted by the Ironborn and was willing to spend a fortune to get it.
Now the Shield Islands were crawling with fair-haired soldiers from Lannisport.
Naturally, the local lords weren’t particularly happy about it, but the peasants certainly were.
They were making a small fortune selling fresh ale, food, and other supplies at wildly inflated prices.
Arthur had managed to buy himself a new tunic before everything became ridiculously expensive.
Ray had advised him to stock up on warm clothes before leaving with the captain, but Arthur already understood that one shirt and a pair of trousers weren’t going to be enough.
Not even on a ship.
He couldn’t help staring enviously at the Lannister soldiers.
Their crimson cloaks billowed in the wind.
Their armor gleamed beneath the sunlight, polished mail hugging their bodies while steel plates protected their arms and legs.
Their helmets were decorated with crests shaped like flowing lion manes.
The Lannisters really did look like the richest people in Westeros.
And standing among them, Arthur couldn’t help feeling like some street rat who’d accidentally wandered into a gathering of lords.
Still, he had something of his own to be proud of.
Maybe not golden lions on his chest, but at least his first set of armor.
Lately, he’d been training not only with a sword but with a shield as well.
Unfortunately, the heavy rectangular ship’s shield was primarily designed to protect against arrows, and it tired his arm out quickly.
A proper shield would have been much more convenient, but even after adding up all his wages, he couldn’t afford one.
When Davos had handed out the sailors’ pay before they sailed, Arthur hadn’t even expected to receive a share.
So he was genuinely surprised when he found a silver coin in his hand.
“Don’t drink it all away, lad,” Ray had grunted, ruffling his overgrown hair and reminding him of his less-than-successful evening at the Blue Plum.
Three silver coins and twenty-five coppers.
A little less than half a stag.
That wasn’t enough for a decent shield.
The local blacksmith wanted at least six silvers for a simple round one.
Arthur could have sold the ring he’d taken as a trophy, but he’d decided to keep it as a last resort.
He wouldn’t get a particularly good price for it here anyway.
So he had to train with what he had.
The heavy ship’s shield felt almost impossible to lift.
Even with his increased strength, his arm would start going numb after only a few minutes of training.
He tried gradually increasing the amount of time he could hold it, but as the second boatswain had put it:
He needed to “put some meat on his bones.”
“Honestly, all this is pointless,” Ray had grumbled during Arthur’s first attempts, even while giving him useful advice.
“You’re not a knight, and you’re not heavy infantry.
We’re on a ship, lad.
No sane man runs around with a shield here.”
“But I’ll get off the ship someday,” Arthur had argued.
His dream was still alive.
“Thinking about becoming a knight, young sailor?” the sellsword had laughed.
He understood the boy’s motivation perfectly well.
Arthur was far too young to be thinking sensibly.
“And what if I am?” Arthur had shot back defiantly.
“Then nothing, Ser Art,” Ray had replied with a smirk.
He’d disappeared into the hold, then returned carrying a battered round shield reinforced with iron.
“All right.
If you’re that determined, we’ll start with the basics.
When your opponent has a shield, aim for the head, neck, arm, forearm…
and especially the shin and ankle.”
And so Arthur had begun his first serious shield training on the way to the islands.
Now he had come ashore to practice by himself.
The first time he’d trained aboard the ship, he’d attracted far too much attention.
The moment he raised his sword, there was always some bored sailor ready to watch, throw out advice, make jokes, or yell comments that were more annoying than helpful.
“Hit harder!”
“Come on, Arkt!
Show us how you’re gonna scare those krakens!”
“Look at him!
Future knight!
Don’t forget us when you’re a knight, Black Arkt!”
Not one of those loudmouths had been willing to actually spar with him, though.
They were perfectly happy watching him practice against imaginary opponents.
So today, just like yesterday, Arthur had chosen a small rocky stretch of beach some distance from the port.
There were no noisy sailors here.
Only the cries of gulls and the steady roar of the waves.
The sun was high overhead, while the sea breeze cooled his skin.
Arthur was breathing heavily, but he didn’t stop.
He moved in full armor, practicing the strikes Ray had taught him, working on shield movements and changing stances.
His sword cut through the air with a faint whistle, while the heavy wooden shield weighed down his arm.
“I think that shield is too heavy.”
Arthur immediately spun around.
A tall young man with dark hair stood on a nearby rock, his arms folded across his chest.
He wore good-quality clothes, though they were deliberately plain.
There was a hint of curiosity in his eyes, but no mockery.
That alone was unusual.
“Who are you?” Arthur asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
He tried to make out the symbols floating above the boy’s head, but the sun was directly behind him.
“Talbert Serry,” the young man answered honestly.
“My father is the lord of these islands.
And you’re a sailor from the Black Betha, if I’m not mistaken?”
Arthur nodded, studying him carefully.
He’d never heard of him before, but he knew the island’s lord was Osbert Serry.
“Just a young sailor, my lord…”
Arthur wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to address a lord’s son.
Unlike Sam, this boy clearly wasn’t embarrassed by his noble birth.
“My name’s Arkt.”
“I watched you yesterday.
“I guess you want to become a knight?”
Unlike everyone else, he didn’t laugh.
Arthur immediately liked him a little more.
“Yeah…
my lord.”
Talbert unexpectedly winced at the formal address.
“Just Talbert.
‘My lord’ is my father.”
He paused, thinking for a moment.
“I train too.
How about a spar?
You clearly need a partner.”
He asked the question somewhat hesitantly, as though he wasn’t entirely sure whether he should have offered.
Maybe there was another reason for it.
Arthur stubbornly clenched his teeth.
He already knew he wasn’t good enough yet.
But he wasn’t going to give up.
“Why not?” Arthur replied.
“If it’s just training…”
“All right,” Talbert said with a grin.
“A sparring match.
Wait here.”
With that, he turned around and headed back toward the castle.
Arthur watched him go, wondering if Talbert had actually been serious.
Apparently, he had.
Some time later, Talbert returned in full armor.
His armor was made of iron, plain but sturdy, covered in the dents of countless previous battles.
A white rose, the sigil of House Serry, was painted on his shield.
He clearly knew how to move in armor.
Despite its weight, he moved confidently and easily.
He was probably a few years older than Arthur and half a head taller.
He had also wisely brought two blunted swords.
He handed one to Arthur.
“Let’s see what you’ve learned,” Talbert said, raising his sword.
“No hits to the head.
Only the armor.
You attack first.”
Arthur tightened his grip on the sword and swung it a few times, getting used to its balance.
Then he stepped forward, shield raised.
His heart was beating faster with excitement.
It wasn’t every day he got the chance to fight someone who was actually suited to sparring with him.
And certainly not the son of a lord.
This was his chance to show what he’d learned.
He began cautiously, testing Talbert’s speed and reactions.
One strike.
Then another.
Talbert parried both without difficulty, casually knocking away Arthur’s attacks with his shield and sword.
“Faster,” he said, almost encouraging him.
Talbert still hadn’t attacked.
He only made one feint toward Arthur’s legs, forcing him to lower his shield.
Since they’d agreed not to strike the head, Talbert merely tapped the upper edge of Arthur’s shield.
Arthur gritted his teeth and changed his stance, trying to attack from the side.
Talbert immediately countered.
Just like Ray had taught him.
Only now Arthur was experiencing the same technique from someone who actually knew how to use it.
Arthur barely managed to raise his shield in time.
The impact sent a shock through his arm.
Only then did he realize just how enormous the difference between them really was.
But he wasn’t backing down.
He suddenly stepped sideways, creating some distance, then charged forward again and attacked with all his strength.
Talbert raised his shield and blocked the blow.
Arthur didn’t stop.
He took advantage of the opening, twisted his body, ducked beneath Talbert’s guard, and thrust toward his opponent’s side.
His blade scraped across the plate armor.
“Not bad,” Talbert said, jumping back to create some distance.
“But it’s not enough.”
His sword came up faster than Arthur could react.
The heavy impact sent a vibration through Arthur’s arm.
Then Talbert slammed his shield into Arthur’s.
Arthur lost his balance and fell backward.
He landed hard on the stones, breathing heavily.
His leather armor softened the impact, but it also made it harder to roll away quickly.
He tried to get back up.
Talbert’s sword was already resting against his shoulder.
“You attack too directly,” Talbert said, lowering his weapon.
“You’re too predictable.
Though that last move wasn’t bad.”
The young sailor pressed his lips together irritably, but accepted Talbert’s offered hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.
“But you did manage to hit me,” Talbert added with the faintest smile.
“Not everyone on this island can say that.
Especially not a young sailor.”
Arthur wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded.
He’d lost.
But he hadn’t been completely outclassed.
That was something.
“Another round?” he asked, catching his breath.
Talbert smirked.
“I see you’re stubborn…”
“Art!
What the hell happened to your face?!”
Ray’s loud voice greeted Arthur the moment he staggered aboard the Black Betha.
Arthur barely managed to avoid crashing into him.
The second boatswain had been about to head ashore, but he’d stopped when he’d spotted Arthur.
The port was packed with people.
Sailors hurried back and forth, carrying crates of provisions, checking the rigging, and preparing the ship for departure.
The usual noise and shouting filled the air.
“Ray!
You’re back already?” Arthur asked happily, despite his exhaustion.
He hadn’t expected to see a familiar face so soon.
“Yeah, we’re back,” Ray grumbled, narrowing his eyes.
“And what happened to your eye?”
“Got into a sparring match…” Arthur replied, testing out the unfamiliar phrase.
“The shield hit me by accident.”
“Yeah, I figured it wasn’t on purpose,” Ray said with a laugh, looking Arthur up and down.
“So?
Did you win?
Please tell me the other guy looks worse.”
Arthur shrugged vaguely.
“Well…
I landed a couple of hits.”
Remembering the sparring match, he frowned.
Talbert had been stronger and more experienced.
Over seven rounds, he’d won five of them convincingly.
Arthur had managed one good thrust in one fight, and in another, Talbert had generously suggested that they exchange shields.
That decision had quickly turned against him.
Talbert had ended up cursing the heavy wooden shield, calling it impossible to move with and advising Arthur to get himself a proper lightweight shield as soon as he could.
It was good advice.
Unfortunately, Arthur didn’t have the money.
Talbert’s shield really had been much better.
Lighter and better balanced, it let Arthur move faster.
Using one of Ray’s techniques, he’d even managed to catch Talbert off guard.
“Well, all right…” Ray grunted, giving him a thoughtful look.
“Where’d you find another lunatic willing to swing a piece of metal around all day?”
“Actually, Talbert offered,” Arthur admitted sheepishly as he dropped the heavy shield onto the deck.
He was exhausted, but he was happy.
Especially because his new acquaintance had shown him a couple of his own techniques and had even offered to spar again.
Ray raised an eyebrow.
“Talbert…
You mean Talbert Serry, the lord’s son?”
“That’s the one.”
“Well then,” the boatswain grunted, “hold your head high, young sailor.
You’ve got something to be proud of.
He’s probably been holding a sword since he was six, if not younger.”
“Probably…” Arthur muttered tiredly.
He winced as pain shot through his battered arm.
Six years old or not, Talbert could fight.
Arthur’s ears were still ringing.
Right now, all he wanted was to take off his armor, collapse into his hammock, and sleep for a week.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen.
Only now did he notice that something was different aboard the ship.
This wasn’t just the usual bustle.
The sailors weren’t simply going about their daily work.
They were preparing the ship to leave.
“Are we leaving already?” Arthur asked, looking around in surprise.
He was a little disappointed.
He’d only just met his new friend and had already started getting used to the island.
“Yeah, lad,” Ray nodded.
“Tonight.
I was actually about to come looking for you.
We’re leaving with the Lannisters.
We’re heading for Fair Isle.
The king and his army are already on their way to Lannisport.”
The Kingsroad stretched wide and straight through the hills, disappearing into the dusty haze of the scorching day.
The steady rhythm of hooves, the creaking wheels of wagons, the ringing of metal, and the roar of countless voices blended into a single martial chorus, heralding the storm to come.
The column stretched for leagues, like a river of steel and gold flowing along the road, filling the countryside with banners and soldiers.
The bulk of the army consisted of the Stormlands’ vassals, powerful knights accustomed to storms and deadly battles.
They were accompanied by contingents of royal levies from the Crownlands, armed with whatever they could get their hands on, from simple spears and maces to hunting bows and old suits of armor.
They weren’t as well trained as the hardened knights, but determination burned brightly in their eyes.
The king himself, however, was in no mood for patience.
“Gods damn you all!”
Robert Baratheon yanked on the reins, pulling his restless stallion back.
Pure irritation filled his voice.
“Why are we still crawling along like some old woman pushing a bloody cart?!
I thought this was an army, not a damned procession!”
Once upon a time, Robert wouldn’t have minded a slower march.
He would have stopped at every halfway decent castle, held feasts, attended tournaments, and enjoyed himself along the way.
But not now.
Now his heart was hungry for battle.
“We’re waiting for the advance forces from the Vale, Your Grace,” Barristan Selmy reminded him, riding alongside the king.
“To hell with them and their snail’s pace!” Robert roared.
He’d already received the news from Seagard.
“We need to move faster!
While we’re sitting here doing nothing, those kraken bastards will be finished!”
He was no longer worried about the Lannisters getting there first.
Tywin had sent part of his forces into the Reach and hadn’t managed to secure as many ships as he’d wanted.
He had accepted Stannis’s plan and was now preparing siege weapons in Lannisport.
“Those are my men, Robert,” Arryn said calmly as he finally caught up with the column.
“And they’ve been riding without stopping since Gulltown…”
“Exactly!
And we’re standing around!” Robert growled, punching his fist against the saddle.
But no matter how badly the king wanted to charge ahead, he still had to wait.
When the Arryn advance forces finally joined the main column, Robert immediately ordered the army to increase its pace.
The plan was simple.
And brutal.
Pin the Ironborn between two armies and destroy them.
The Northmen and the Riverlords would attack from Seagard.
The Baratheons and Lannisters would come from Fair Isle.
Trapped between them, the krakens wouldn’t be able to escape.
There was just one weakness in the plan.
The fleet.
Without enough ships to transport the army to the Iron Islands, it didn’t matter how large their army was.
It would be useless.
The krakens had always been strongest at sea.
Robert himself hated the sea.
Especially after watching his entire family drown in a terrible storm before his eyes…
All he could do was put his faith in his brother.
Stannis had promised to break the Iron Fleet off Fair Isle, but he needed the support of the Redwynes and the Reach.
Their ships could give the Baratheons a decisive advantage at sea, leaving the Ironborn with nowhere to run.
That was why Stannis wasn’t marching with the army.
He was already commanding the royal fleet and sailing toward the Redwynes, trying to secure the ships Robert needed for his complicated plan.
A plan Robert hadn’t bothered to understand.
He’d simply signed the necessary letters and sent them off.
When it came to things like this, Robert trusted Stannis completely.
Robert knew his brother would get the job done.
But for now, he had to wait.
And Robert Baratheon hated waiting.