Waves hammered against the jagged black reefs, exploding into plumes of white foam.
High above the surf, a pitch-black raven fought through the wind and a light drizzle, finally landing on a window ledge of Pyke. The castle was a grim collection of towers perched on rocky cliffs, covered in dark moss and enough bird droppings to turn the stone grey.
Maester Windamere didn't waste any time. He snatched the bird, offered it a scrap of raw meat, and untied the letter from its leg.
Living on Pyke was a death sentence for most Maesters. Between the dampness causing rheumatism and the "King's Justice" being a bit too hands-on, most of them didn't last long. Windamere still remembered what happened to the last guy Balon had personally chopped the man's hand off because he couldn't save his brother. The Citadel kept sending replacements because rules were rules, but nobody was exactly lining up for the job.
Windamere climbed the freezing, winding stairs to the top of the tower. He checked in with the guards who looked like they wanted to push him off the cliff and pushed open the heavy door.
Balon Greyjoy, the King of the Iron Islands, was huddled by a brazier. He was wrapped in a heavy sealskin robe that made his thin frame look even more skeletal. His hair was a mess of grey and black, and his eyes were like two pieces of flint.
"More news from the Riverlands?" Balon growled.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Balon snatched the parchment, scanned it, and then tossed it into the fire. "First, they tell me my son is coming home. Then they tell me he's missing. Now? Now they say Theon is on a 'secret mission.' What kind of game is this wolf cub playing?"
He looked at the Maester with a cold, hollow stare. "Write back. Tell them to stop guessing and find my son. If they can't find him, tell them to stop wasting my time."
Windamere bowed and bolted out of the room. He felt like if he stayed another ten seconds, he'd turn into a corpse.
Balon walked to the window. Outside, a hundred longships were bobbing in the storm. Ever since the news of Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark's deaths hit the islands, he'd been prepping for war. He wasn't going to hit the Westerlands, Tywin Lannister was an old lion with too many claws, and Casterly Rock was a nightmare to hold.
But the North? The North was wide open. The big wolf was dead, and his "King" son was a teenager playing soldier in the mud. Balon was going to take his crown back with iron and blood.
While the rain lashed the Iron Islands, the sun was shining over the Golden Tooth.
The castle sat between two massive mountains, a sprawling fortress of hard granite. It was basically a giant wall of arrow slits and towers, equipped with scorpions that could fire iron bolts the size of a man's leg. The gate was wide enough for five horses, guarded by a metal grate and a massive ditch.
Under the starlight, the sun-and-pillars banner of House Lyfford fluttered from the walls. It was a fortress designed to turn an invading army into a pile of bodies.
I watched it from the treeline, my heart sinking. "This thing is a tomb," I whispered to Robb.
In the original timeline, there should have been 5,000 Lannister soldiers camped outside. Now, thanks to the mess I'd made at the camps, those guys were gone. But even with just a few hundred guards inside, a cavalry unit like ours couldn't touch it without siege towers. And building those would take weeks, plenty of time for the Lannister neighbors to show up and trap us.
Robb's face was stone-cold. He was looking for a way in, and he was coming up empty.
The Blackfish was rubbing his chin, probably trying to figure out if he could climb the wall himself. Then, Grey Wind trotted back from the brush. The wolf's yellow eyes were glowing like embers, and he let out a low, guttural whimper. He'd caught a scent something fresh, something human.
Robb was too deep in his own head to notice. "Go play, buddy," he muttered.
I saw the look in the wolf's eyes and knew we had something. "Your Majesty, I think he found something. Might be a scout. Want me to go check it out?"
"I'll go with you," Robb said, standing up.
God, kid, are you really Ned's son? Or did Robert Baratheon leave a little too much DNA behind? You're a King! Stop trying to be a scout!
But you can't argue with a King. I took Abel, Dita, and Konn. Robb brought his personal guards Smalljon, Daisy Mormont, and Owen Norrey. The Blackfish tagged along because he didn't trust us to not walk into a trap.
We followed Grey Wind through the mottled moonlight of the forest.
Snap.
The Blackfish stepped on a branch. It sounded like a gunshot in the quiet woods.
"Who's there?!" a voice shouted from the dark.
Torches flared up instantly. We'd stumbled onto a group of about twenty or thirty guys driving mules along a hidden forest path. They were wearing old leather and looked like they'd spent their lives in the dirt. The second they saw us, they pulled their swords.
"Kill them!" their leader yelled.
"Get ready!" the Blackfish roared, charging in first. He buried his sword in the first guy's chest before the man could even scream.
Robb pulled his sword, looking surprisingly calm for a teenager about to get into a brawl. Grey Wind vanished into the shadows, waiting for a chance to tear a throat out.
I didn't wait. I spun my battle-axe in a wide circle, feeling the weight of the silver-and-black plate armor I'd looted from Prester. I charged the nearest guy CRACK and split him and his sword right down the middle. Blood sprayed my visor, but I didn't stop. I felt like a tank rolling through a picket fence.
Abel stayed on my wing, making sure no one got behind me. Dita was picking people off with her bow, her arrows thumping into chests with terrifying accuracy.
These guys were tough, but they weren't soldiers. They were brawlers. Against a squad of Northern elites and a King, they didn't stand a chance. After we cut down half of them, the rest broke and ran into the woods.
"Don't chase them!" Robb yelled. "We'll lose them in the dark!"
He didn't need to worry. A few seconds later, we heard a chorus of screams and a wolf's howl. One by one, the survivors came running back toward our torches, their hands up.
"We surrender! Just keep that monster away from us!"
We tied them up and sat them in a row. I walked over to one of the mules and pulled the tarp back. Inside were heavy wooden barrels. I pulled a plug, and the scent of expensive, sweet wine hit me immediately.
Arbor Gold.
I dipped a finger in and tasted it. Familiar. Very familiar. I looked at the guys on the ground.
"Well, well," I muttered. "Looks like we found ourselves some smugglers."