Aeron stared at Crow's Eye's banner: two crows holding up a black iron crown, with a single red eye beneath it, its pupil black.
So the red had been blood all along, symbolizing the blood and evil Crow's Eye brought with him. Unfortunately, Aeron had understood it far too late.
"Only death can pay for life, little brother." Crow's Eye looked at Aeron, whose blood was flowing freely.
"Drowned God... Drowned God curse you." Aeron's tongue had been cut out, and his words came out slurred. Every sound was filled with blood and hatred.
"Drowned God?" Crow's Eye laughed. "You were the one who called for the Kingsmoot, my brother. All of this is the will of your god."
"Throw him into the sea."
With a splash, Aeron was hurled straight into the ocean. Then came the priests from the other ships, one after another, their flesh slit open before they were thrown into the sea.
"And you." Crow's Eye looked at Fadia Flowers and gripped her chin. "A pregnant woman, an unborn child, a king. Your blood is an even better gift."
The naked bastard daughter, who had already fallen into a daze and was waiting for death, opened her eyes wide and shook her head in terror.
Crow's Eye only laughed. "Blessed are those who sacrifice themselves for me. You have witnessed my great work, girl."
"The storm is coming." Crow's Eye looked ahead in satisfaction.
Bubbles began rising from beneath the sea, strange and uneven. The water churned as if it were boiling, though it had not yet reached its fiercest point.
...
Oldtown was one of the wealthiest cities in Westeros. Perhaps "one of" could be removed.
Oldtown had a thousand years of history behind it, while King's Landing seemed more like a city of sudden wealth that had risen because of the Dragonlord.
At the top of the Hightower, green flames were lit, an omen of ill fortune.
A hundred years ago, when the Hightowers joined The Dance of the Dragons, green fire had burned there day and night without ceasing.
But during The Dance of the Dragons, House Hightower had fought away from home. This time, they had been reduced to fighting on their own ground.
Many books and stores of gold were loaded by maesters and Hightower soldiers onto wagons and the remaining riverboats, then sent in an endless stream upstream along the Honeywine to be stored at Highgarden for the time being.
The people, however, could not leave so easily. Baelor Hightower only allowed women, children, the old, and the young to leave Oldtown. The men had to remain and defend the city.
All of Oldtown was as silent as a graveyard. Many people fled in panic, but many men who tried to escape were stopped.
A large number still put blind faith in the Hightower. Old men volunteered to help defend the city, while commoners dragged their families with them, unable to bear leaving their homes.
"We want to see King Gendry the Breaker. We want to see the king."
"We want to go to Highgarden and have an audience with the king."
"Leyton couldn't even protect his own son or his fleet. How is he supposed to protect us?"
"The Iron Throne's reinforcements are at Highgarden. Why don't Leyton and Baelor go to the king in person and pledge their loyalty?"
Panic filled the streets and alleys of Oldtown. They had seen the fall of the Shield Islands and the burning of Oldtown's docks with their own eyes.
The Ironborn had come. The storm had come.
Lord Leyton Hightower, the Old Man of Oldtown, had seen his reputation collapse of late, even though he had not come down from his tower in years.
But these were times of war, and such behavior could be seen as abandoning his people.
Oldtown's nobles and wealthy merchants had even more reason to doubt House Hightower's ability to defend the city.
It had been too long. So long that people wondered how much ability House Hightower still had when it came to war. The Hightowers relied mainly on trade, not Fire and Blood.
After all, they had performed terribly during The Dance of the Dragons.
"The Hightower still stands. Oldtown is safe," soldiers of the Oldtown garrison proclaimed in the streets.
"Are you joking? The Hightower can withstand the Ironborn, but can we?" the people of Oldtown scoffed.
Once, within the span of a century, Oldtown had been taken in turn by King Samwell Dayne of Dorne, Iron King Qhored Hoare, and Gyles Gardener I, King of the Reach, yet none of them had been able to break the Hightower.
It was said that Gyles Gardener I sold three-quarters of Oldtown's population into slavery, but still failed to capture the Hightower.
"So this day has come after all." In the castellan's study inside Oldtown's city hall, Baelor Hightower slowly wiped his fine steel sword with an oiled cloth.
The oak chair behind Baelor had belonged to generations of Hightower lords. Its back was inlaid with precious woods of many colors, forming a stepped white tower with a beacon burning at the top.
Perhaps now, he too would have to take the field himself.
"Crow's Eye may be fearsome, but my sword is no less sharp," Baelor thought.
With a bang, the doors of Oldtown's city hall were thrown open, and Gray Iron Garth hurried inside.
"You mean to duel Crow's Eye?" Garth, dressed in gray steel ringmail, looked at his elder brother.
"Why not? We have to hold out until the King arrives. As Oldtown's commander, it is only natural that I take the field myself."
"The King's soldiers are still on The Roseroad?" Garth asked.
"Yes." Baelor nodded. "The King believes we have twenty to thirty thousand soldiers, enough to hold for a while."
"All right." Garth nodded bitterly. "Some of our vassals no longer plan to come. If we had been able to gather a few more, we might have reached forty thousand."
"With that many soldiers, I fear they would drink Oldtown dry."
That was a reasonable way to think. With twenty to thirty thousand soldiers already here, House Hightower still kept begging for reinforcements. It sounded like a joke.
But using twenty or thirty thousand men to defend such a vast city meant that trying to defend everything was almost the same as defending nothing.
"So someone has to lead from the front."
"Not you. Me." Gray Iron Garth looked at his elder brother. "Were you born a warrior? No. Neither was I. So there is no need for both of us to die in the streets. Gunthor is already dead."
Baelor Hightower was no longer a young man. As Lord Leyton's heir, he was wealthy, handsome, and famous, known as "Brightsmile" Baelor.
But what did any of that have to do with war? What did any of it have to do with victory?
War was fought with Fire and Blood, with ferocity and cunning, with strength and speed.
How could the wealthy people of Oldtown possibly overcome the Ironborn?
Baelor fell into uncertainty. "This is my responsibility too."
"How much honor have you won in the tourney yard? And on the battlefield?" Garth asked him.
Baelor had no answer. The truth was, almost none. As Hightowers, they loved books and refinement far more than swords and spears.
"Go where you should go, brother. Go listen to Father's advice, and think about where you ought to be."
"And the city hall? The army?"
"I'll handle them," Gray Iron Garth promised. "We are brothers. At a time like this, there is no need for us to keep pushing the burden back and forth."
"Very well." After thinking it over, Baelor finally nodded. "If things become desperate, retreat to the Hightower. Its defenses are the strongest."
"I understand. I hope it does not come to that."
"If Father still... still refuses to give any advice, then you should flee. Go see Gendry the Breaker," Garth reminded him.
"You want me to be a coward?" Baelor snapped. "I should stay."
"A coward is better than a fool. If Crow's Eye can be dealt with, the two of us can deal with him. If Crow's Eye is beyond anything we expected, staying here will only get you killed.
"I cannot guess what Father is thinking. I suspect he may wait until the battle is already decided. But you cannot. You should preserve a line for our house."
"Hightower... how has Hightower fallen to this?" Baelor covered his face with his hands.
"This is not your fault, Baelor. We are capable enough. The situation has simply changed too drastically."
For reasons no one could clearly explain, Oldtown had not been surrounded like this for nearly two or three hundred years.
The most recent occasion had been during the First Dornish War, when the Dornish raided the region.
The second Dornish army, led by Ser Joffrey Dayne, had set out from Starfall and struck at Oldtown while it was vulnerable.
Oldtown's walls were too strong for the Dornish to breach, but Ser Dayne burned the fields, farms, and villages within twenty leagues of the city, and killed Garmon, the second son of Lord Hightower, who had led troops out to fight him.
This time, however, the Ironborn were even more terrifying and bloody than the Dornish, and there were those strange, uncanny things as well.
Baelor hurried out of city hall and headed for the Hightower.
At the ruins of Oldtown's docks, soldiers of the Oldtown garrison had prepared new chains. The wreckage from the last ships had not been cleared away either, and served as another line of defense.
"What is that?" The Hightower soldiers on the walls saw a faint black line appear in the distance, accompanied by a thunderous howl.
One of them looked more closely. The black line was drawing nearer and nearer, rolling forward like a heavy bull.
The soldiers shouted to one another. It was not a black line at all, but a black tide piling upon itself.
A fierce wind swept between heaven and earth, and dark clouds gathered one after another.
With a crack, black rain poured from the thick black clouds in a torrential downpour.
In the distance, the sea suddenly began to surge, rising like a wall of heavy waves.
"Tell Lord Baelor! Heavy rain, violent winds, and the tide is rising all at once. Gods save us!" a Hightower soldier shouted.
Horns sounded from the walls of Oldtown, urgently spreading the terrible news.
The sea suddenly roared with fury. Black waves rushed forward at terrifying speed, sweeping in like a streak of light.
Black seawater surged over the walls. One savage wave struck and swept away a whole stretch of soldiers.
A dozen men were carried off by the wave, as if the Stranger himself had descended without warning.
"It's a Kraken, Mother." A soldier in gray steel ringmail, with nowhere left to run, fled up into a watchtower.
When he looked carefully, he saw black shadows moving deep within the tide. The Kraken's tentacles looked like black kelp or seaweed.
A tentacle lashed out. One of the Kraken's arms seized a soldier and stuffed him into a blood-red maw, devouring him like some strange flower opening in bloom.
Countless tentacles moved with the waves and the rain, sweeping up pedestrians and beasts, destroying everything in their path.
"There are ships too. Bloodraven ships."
"Seven Gods, the Ironborn are here again."
Riding the black tide, driven by the howling west wind, a vast fleet of longships and warships came killing in with the roar of the waves.
Oldtown had water gates. It was a port city. Its walls enclosed the city, and though the docks lay outside the walls, the inside was still crossed by waterways.
Oldtown's walls were strong, but it had several water gates as well, allowing ships to pass in and out.
White lightning split the sky. The Kraken's black and blood-red tentacles swept across the land, tearing apart oxen, horses, carts, and ships, flattening houses, and shaking the city walls.
Gurgle, gurgle.
The sea roared again.
Tentacles covered in black suckers awakened from the black tide and overturned the sluice gates at the water gates.
The black tentacles spread like a jungle, ripping through everything in a vision of Doom.
The first place fell. Then the second.
More and more warnings sounded from across the city: the dock ruins, the water gates, the shipyards.
"It's the Kraken! The Kraken is here!"
"My gods, is this the Doom?" Terrified cries rang out again and again.
With a roar, a wave as huge as a small mountain came crashing down. The small boats in Oldtown's canals were like leaves, tossed and crushed at will.
Far out at sea, Euron watched Oldtown amid the waves with smug satisfaction.
"I demand that you follow the Old Way and pay the iron price."
"Kill."
"Kill Hightower!" the Ironborn shouted in excitement.
For that moment, they truly believed Crow's Eye was a god.
The storm winds, the torrential rain, the Kraken. Next would come the Dragon.
***
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