Chapter 257: This is Without Honor!
The salty sea breeze brushed against their faces, instantly lifting the Ironborn's spirits. Shortly after catching that familiar scent, the sound of waves crashing against the beach and jagged rocks reached their ears. After half a night of trekking through the forest, the crew members who had abandoned the castle finally reached the shore.
The pursuers had yet to show themselves. Along the way, they had broken their initial resolve to push through and rested several times, but each time they sat for a mere ten minutes, Asha would urge them back to their feet. When their soles finally traded moss and fallen leaves for solid ground and the dense canopy was left behind, half the men collapsed directly onto the earth, huddling in exhaustion, refusing to stand again for anything.
The pitch-black sea rippled with white-crested waves under the cold wind, clearly visible in the moonlight. This was not any of the pre-arranged extraction points, and the ships Asha had promised were, of course, nowhere to be seen. Her intuition told her to lead the crew along the coastline through the night until they found the vessels... but reason whispered in her ear: if no one had chased them after a night of flight, then Robb Stark must have let them go.
Looking at her loyal subordinates, broken by fatigue on the ground, she truly couldn't find the heart to push them further.
Regardless, they had reached the sea. Though she didn't put much stock in such things, if dying with wet feet truly made it easier to find the Drowned God's watery halls, then at least... they wouldn't have to worry about losing their way after death.
Near the beach, the ground was damp and cold. Finding a bare rock jutting high from the earth, Asha leaned against it and unfastened her boiled leather armor, slightly loosening the cinched laces of her vest to rest as well.
Sloe-Eyed Dykk displayed his legendary talent for sleeping while rowing; he began snoring the moment he hit the ground. Those with more stamina sat in a circle, passing around the meager cider and food they had brought from the castle while the riders tended to the remaining horses. Her cousin, Quenton Greyjoy, sent a few men up trees to keep watch.
After filling their bellies slightly, most of those who hadn't already collapsed found a place to lie down, while some sharpened their swords and axes. The only other woman in the group—Hagen's red-haired daughter—dragged a man who was apparently too energetic to rest into the woods. This sight prompted the men who harbored thoughts about Asha to consider seeking a "likely last toss of their lives." As their leader, she was in no such mood; after delivering a swift kick to the rear of the man who tried to pull her away, the matter was settled.
They had escaped Deepwood Motte entirely intact, without losing a single man, but now Asha knew she had to think about the next step.
Setting aside the long-term future, they first had to find the ships.
After being defeated by her uncle Euron at the Kingsmoot, four ships had remained loyal to Asha, sailing back to the North to retake Deepwood Motte with her. She had ordered the skeleton crews to moor them near a fishing village directly north of the Motte—as a precaution, she had instructed them to always keep half the ships patrolling at sea. If the wolf pups' counter-attacking army appeared on the shore, they were to immediately set sail for Sea Dragon Point.
The problem now facing the Daughter of the Kraken was this: she didn't know if the Northern army that attacked the Motte had swept the coastline beforehand.
If they hadn't, that was the best-case scenario. The four ships would be waiting along the shore a few leagues to the northeast, two at the coast and two at sea. By marching east along the coast for half a day, she could bring all her brothers back to the ships unharmed, leave the North—which had become a death trap since Robb Stark's return—and slowly decide their next destination at sea.
If the coast had been swept, things would be much more difficult. Sea Dragon Point was dozens of miles away. Given they were exhausted from a night of travel and dared not take the main road, whether they could reach it in a day was a major question. If they encountered a patrol sweeping the coast and were pinned down... with fewer than two hundred men, there was no chance of a clean escape.
It was said that the army Robb Stark led south numbered twenty thousand and had suffered little loss in the war... but the force attacking Deepwood Motte last night appeared to be less than ten thousand. The remaining ten thousand had likely been sent to the coast. Thinking deeper: if no pursuers had followed them through the night, was it because the coast was crawling with sweeping parties? Was she already surrounded with no way out, making a hot pursuit unnecessary?
Asha desperately wanted to head straight for Sea Dragon Point, far from Deepwood Motte... but she dared not take the risk. Reaching the first meeting point required traveling a few leagues northeast, while Sea Dragon Point required dozens of miles to the west. If she went to the first point and found the ships gone, it was merely a matter of doubling back west—an extra dozen miles. But if she went straight to Sea Dragon Point and the ships weren't there, she would be trapped between the hammer and the anvil.
East or West?
That was the question.
Dozing off in a haze of indecision, Asha, overcome by fatigue, fell asleep.
In her dream, the ten thousand soldiers Robb Stark sent to sweep the coast had already burned her four ships at sea. Unaware, she led her brothers east to the shore north of the Motte, only to find nothing. Turning back to race for Sea Dragon Point, she still found no sign of rescue. After fleeing like a headless fly across that peninsula—one of the bleakest parts of even the North—for several days, she was finally overtaken by the leisurely pace of the Northern army... twenty thousand men swept over them like a murky tide, drowning the hundred-odd Ironborn in an instant. She was captured, and after a bout of torture and humiliation, she was tied to a stake and burned alive.
Asha snapped awake and looked around. No flames were scorching her, but the sky above had gained a hint of light—the stars were beginning to fade, and the night was nearly over.
"Wake up, you sluggards!" She jumped off the rock she had been leaning against and kicked Cromm, who was lying nearby and had tried to pull her behind the rock before falling asleep. "If you don't want to go home, keep sleeping! Otherwise, wake up, eat something, wash your faces with seawater, and get moving!"
The silent outdoor camp gradually stirred to life. Though they had rested for little more than an hour, the crushing oppression and fatigue had mostly receded. With loud grumbles, the Ironborn sat up, stretching and organizing their simple belongings for the continued flight.
"Move it!" Asha snapped her riding crop, sending a sharp crack through the air. "Anyone not ready by the time I'm mounted can chase my hoofprints!"
A crewman organizing his salt-stained mail paused his movements, looking into the distance. "What is that?!"
Asha looked where he was pointing. Under the whitening sky, the surroundings were still dark—being on the west coast, the sun would not rise from the sea. The light from the eastern sky was blocked by the Wolfswood, leaving very little to reach the ground. The Daughter of the Kraken looked closely; she saw nothing but blackness. Just as she was about to turn and scold her jumpy subordinate, a small "rock" in her field of vision moved.
She was suddenly wide awake. Looking again, she realized it wasn't a mass of darkness—it was a dense, black row of men. Looking around, they were everywhere, closing in. She had nowhere left to go!
(Dammit, the sneak attack failed.) Egger frowned in annoyance.
When the Gift-dwellers he led had finished resting at Deepwood Motte and followed the main road to catch up with the Ironborn—who had taken half the night to reach the shore via their zigzagging route—the skinchangers told him the enemy had lain down to rest without sufficient sentries.
Thus, Egger intended to take the Ironborn by surprise to minimize casualties.
He had managed to maneuver two thousand men into an encirclement, silently closing in on the sleeping enemy. With only two or three hundred meters left, the opposition woke up. Watching the shouting, chaotic mess of the enemy, Egger noted with irritation that they hadn't been startled by his men; they had simply happened to wake up on their own.
Rotten luck... but whatever. In war, there are always casualties.
"Blow the horns! Charge! Remember, the men don't matter, but try to take the woman alive... a hundred silver stags for whoever catches Balon Greyjoy's daughter!"
"Yes, sir!"
Had Asha Greyjoy known she was worth only a hundred silver stags to the enemy, she might have fainted from rage. But seeing thousands of enemies roaring as they surged forward, she was already furious enough. "Which son of a bitch was on watch? The enemy is this close and you didn't notice?"
"I... I... couldn't hold on, I fell asleep."
"Couldn't hold on? Couldn't you call for a shift change! Forget it, it doesn't matter. Rally! Ironborn, the ground beneath us is soaked with seawater! If we die here, the Drowned God's watery halls are right before us!"
"The watery halls!"
The Ironborn had been prepared for further flight, but hope had turned to a death trap in an instant. Since escape was impossible, they could only stake their lives on a final gamble!
"What is dead may never die!"
"But rises again!"
"Harder and stronger!"
"Kill!"
Over a hundred Ironborn, eyes bloodshot and weapons raised, charged with immense momentum toward the western side of the encirclement. From their posture, it looked as though a single charge might punch through the enemy line, but what met them first was not the blades of their opponents, but a rain of arrows from dozens of meters away.
Screams and grunts of pain broke out, but after the first volley of ranged attacks, Asha found that far fewer men had fallen than expected. Only one or two unfortunates were shot dead; some had arrows sticking out of them but miraculously hadn't lost their fighting capacity... Before she could react, the second volley to fall consisted of stones of various sizes.
"Those aren't soldiers led by the wolf pups! they don't even have enough bows!" Asha quickly deduced the truth from the intensity of the arrow fire and the meager, bizarre appearance of the stones. Her spirit soared. "Brothers, hold steady! We can win!"
The discovery that the enemy might just be a rabid mob of peasants galvanized the Ironborn. They shouted the names and prayers of the Drowned God, lunging at the Gift-dwellers like starving wolves.
On one side were well-equipped, battle-hardened elite raiders; on the other were Gift-dwellers who couldn't even manage an iron weapon for every man, with only a hundred-odd bows for two thousand people. Even the well-trained Night's Watch Industry New Army among them had seen very little actual combat. Despite the massive numerical advantage, the outcome was genuinely uncertain.
Standing on a mound in the rear, surrounded by dozens of clan warriors, Egger observed the battlefield and reluctantly admitted that his side's combat strength was inferior. However, he had no intention of letting his men engage in a bloody melee. Having arrived with the Gift army only half an hour ago, there had been no time to set traps or ambushes. Fortunately... he had something else.
The Ironborn charge rapidly approached one side of the circle, but as the front rank of mountain clansmen hurled unidentified spherical objects, the sharp crack of breaking jars was followed by a wall of fire erupting between the two armies, glowing with an eerie green light.
The flames were barely wider than a man and less than two men high... but their color and heat instantly petrified the Ironborn in their desperate charge. In the eyes of the Iron Islands' people, who worshipped the sea and believed in the Drowned God, "death by fire" was the most terrifying way to go: the body reduced to ash in the flames, destined to wander forever lost on the road to the watery halls.
This green flame, which could roar and burn even on the damp seaside silt, was enough to make a man lose his will to fight instantly.
The heat hitting their faces ground the Ironborn charge to a halt. Asha led her crew to turn, intending to circle around the fire.
Clang, shatter—
With another series of sharp cracks, a second and third wall of fire formed. Asha quickly understood the enemy's strategy—without a doubt, no matter which direction the Ironborn chose to break out, this ghostly stuff would be waiting for them.
A single burst of courage, a second of decline, a third of exhaustion. Under such a massive disadvantage, the moment the momentum stopped, the outcome was decided.
"Cowards!" She hurled a throwing axe at the enemy across the fire, screaming in despair: "This is without honor! Where is your commander? If you're a man, come face me in single combat!"
No one paid her any mind. Her response was a third volley of mediocre arrows and stones. The encirclement tightened to a diameter of less than a hundred meters. Two thousand Gift-dwellers were a significant number, enough to form a thick ring. If the Ironborn had punched through a single line with their momentum, they could have escaped. But now, amidst the roars coming from all directions, Asha and her crew were completely overwhelmed by enemies outnumbering them more than ten to one. As man pushed against man... and weapons jabbed from every side, individual skill and weapon superiority vanished entirely.
It was indeed a battle without honor. No singers would compose tunes to sing of it, no maesters would record it in books. No banners flew, no warhorns wailed, no great lord rallied his men with a soul-stirring pre-battle speech. They fought by the faint light of dawn, unable to see each other's faces, with only killing intent in their eyes.
They weren't shouting "Winterfell" anymore—that was Asha's last thought before being tackled by an unknown number of men... Now, they were shouting: "Surrender and live!"
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