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Theon, devastated and hollow-eyed, was locked in the dungeon of Pyke's Bloody Keep.
He had entered Pyke full of hope and lingering affection, wanting to stop his father from fighting a war that could not be won. And this was what he received in return.
"Since you and that little wolf cub are as close as brothers, I want to see whether he will trade Asha for you."
Standing outside the cell, Balon spoke coldly, his face expressionless.
"Father, so you truly do not regard me as your son anymore. Is that it?"
From the moment they met, Theon had felt the difference between how Balon and Robb treated him. Hearing that Balon wanted to exchange him for Asha, he asked in a wounded voice.
"Hmph. My sons should have been ironborn like Rodrik and Maron, brave enough to die in battle.
"Not a fool dressed like a greenlander whore, calling the enemy who killed his brothers his own."
Balon sneered and spoke without mercy. Then he turned to a young, strong ironborn beside him.
"Quenton, arrange men to guard him. Then gather everyone in Pyke who can fight and send them to the gatehouse to prepare the defenses.
"I have already sent ravens to the captains on the other islands. They will soon gather ironborn and come to our aid.
"Once they defeat the little wolf cub, the entire North will belong to the ironborn."
"Father, you are dreaming! Do you know how strong Robb's Winterfell army is?
"I know, because I helped train the Winterfell troops myself.
"Maybe one ironborn can fight one Winterfell soldier to the death. But when the numbers rise to ten, a hundred, a thousand, ironborn in loose formation will only be slaughtered.
"The entire Iron Islands have only around twenty thousand men in all. Robb's army alone has more than thirty thousand, and he has a giant wolf you absolutely cannot defeat.
"Surrender!
"After you surrender, you will still be King of the Iron Islands. You can join Robb's camp and raid the entire south with him!"
In the cell, Theon gripped the bars with both hands, trying desperately to make Balon understand the difference in strength between the two sides and change his mind.
"Tch. Look at you. House Stark's loyal dog."
Balon did not believe him. Instead, he shook his head with disgust. After saying that, he turned and left.
The young ironborn Balon had ordered was Quenton Greyjoy, Theon's cousin and captain of the longship Salty Wench.
Earlier, when he led men to control Ramsay's dozen trusted retainers, a small fight had broken out. His right leg had been injured, so he had remained at Pyke and had not joined the invasion of the North.
Quenton stretched his neck to look at Balon walking away, then turned back and asked quietly, "Theon, is the King in the North's army really as powerful as you say? And what is this giant wolf?"
"Everything I said is true. Robb's army is formidable in formation combat. If this were a sea fight, you might still have a chance. But now that they have landed, you absolutely cannot defeat him.
"As for the giant wolf, it is a huge direwolf he raised. Once it wears armor, it becomes a terrifying, merciless killing monster.
"Cousin Quenton, try to persuade my father again. Would surrendering, allying with Robb, and raiding the south for wealth not be the better choice?"
Theon answered honestly, and at the end he did not forget to ask Quenton to persuade Balon.
Quenton gave no response. He only limped out of the dungeon.
After leaving, Quenton followed Balon's order and began gathering men for the gatehouse. Even with ironborn men and women both able to fight, Pyke had fewer than five hundred people in all.
When Quenton had finished arranging the gatehouse defense, a horn sounded in their ears.
They looked toward it and saw a formation of greenlander soldiers marching onto the open ground before Pyke.
Step. Step.
Crey, who had ridden much more slowly than Theon, finally arrived at Pyke with two thousand Winterfell infantry.
They stopped outside the gatehouse archers' range and stood in a quiet, orderly formation. A killing pressure rolled toward the ironborn on the wall.
Awooo!
A terrifying giant wolf in finely crafted armor leapt nimbly onto a small hill and howled toward the ironborn on the gatehouse.
Gulp.
Quenton looked at the armored direwolf, unable to imagine what could possibly make a beast grow so large, and swallowed hard.
'No wonder Theon said we have no chance of winning. How could human strength match that thing?'
Seeing the disciplined ranks of Winterfell soldiers before the gatehouse and the armored wolf dominating the field, Quenton quietly began to form his own thoughts.
The northern part of Pyke was a headland, and Pyke itself was built upon that headland. The south was made up of gentler slopes that rolled down toward sea level.
Lordsport could not be built on the headland, so it had been established to the south, facing Pyke from a distance. House Botley's square fortress stood on a relatively flat slope not far from the port.
While Pyke was surrounded by Crey's infantry and Bloodwind, arranged there by Robb, the square fortress of House Botley was locked in fierce battle with the Dreadfort soldiers.
At the outer palisade of House Botley's square fortress, a group of ironborn women were drawing bows with all their strength and shooting at the Dreadfort soldiers in the distance.
The ironborn truly deserved their reputation as a people in which everyone fought. These women were strong and sturdy, and they drew bows and killed just as well as the men.
Thud, thud, thud!
Sharp arrows kept striking the kite shields in the Dreadfort soldiers' hands. Most were blocked, but some special ironborn arrowheads actually pierced the shields.
Even then, after being slowed by the shields, those special arrows had too little force left to do much harm to the soldiers behind them.
Eight hundred Dreadfort soldiers advanced steadily toward House Botley's square fortress behind their kite shields.
"Steadfast and fearless ironborn, it has always been we who invade our enemies. Now these greenlander whores have invaded our Pyke. Let us cut off their heads and make drinking cups from their skulls!
"What is dead may never die!"
Before House Botley's fortress, more than three hundred ironborn who had fled there from Lordsport and fewer than a hundred Botley men listened silently to the speech of Sawane Botley, Lord of Lordsport.
When Sawane raised his arm and shouted, "What is dead may never die," all the ironborn roared back. With a wild assortment of weapons in hand, they poured out through the opened wooden palisade gate in a disorderly rush.
The ironborn and the Dreadfort soldiers quickly met in close combat. The ironborn had no formation to speak of.
The Dreadfort soldiers' own formation had already begun to loosen during the charge. When several hundred ironborn hit them, it collapsed at once.
The fight turned directly into a bloody melee.
One ironborn chopped off a Dreadfort soldier's left hand with an axe. The next instant, another Dreadfort soldier stabbed him in the neck, sending blood spraying far across the ground.
Before that Dreadfort soldier could pull his sword back from the ironborn's throat, a short spear the length of a forearm flew from an unknown ironborn hand and drove straight into the soldier's eye.
The field before the square fortress became a slaughter yard of blood and torn flesh.
"Ah! Ah!"
A Dreadfort soldier at the rear of the battlefield could not bear the sight of blood and severed limbs. He broke, turned, and ran.
An arrow dropped from above and struck precisely into his heart. The Dreadfort soldier fell hard without even having time to scream.
"Tch. These recruits are useless."
At the very rear of the battlefield, Ramsay sat on horseback and lowered the bow in his hand, muttering under his breath.
Seeing his own men being pushed toward collapse by half their number of ironborn, Ramsay turned to his retainer Alyn and ordered, "If this continues, those eight hundred recruits will be broken by the damned ironborn. Have the archers loose."
"Lord Ramsay, our men outnumber theirs. If we shoot, our losses may..."
Alyn hesitated.
"If two useless recruits can trade for one strong ironborn, is that not worth it?
"As for losing men...
"Heh. I suspect the King in the North sent us here precisely so we would lose men. The more men we lose, the more at ease he will feel.
"Otherwise, if five or six thousand northern soldiers pressed in together, this little square fortress would be flattened in an instant."
Ramsay laughed softly and revealed his guess to Alyn.
Alyn nodded, turned at once toward the two hundred archers held in reserve, and shouted, "Draw!"
The two hundred Dreadfort archers hesitated for a moment, then obeyed and drew their bowstrings.
"Loose!"
At Alyn's command, the two hundred archers released. Arrows flew toward the more than one thousand men locked in desperate battle.
Two hundred arrows fell like rain. Ironborn and Dreadfort soldiers alike were struck and dropped.
Arrows knew no friend from foe. Flesh on the battlefield was pierced without mercy.
One volley, two volleys, three volleys.
The arrow rain seemed endless, turning the men concentrated on that piece of ground, enemy and ally alike, into corpses bristling with shafts.
Sawane, struck by an arrow in the left shoulder, watched with his own eyes as his second son, Tristifer, was turned into a pincushion by the storm of arrows.
Seeing fewer and fewer ironborn around him, his face filled with grief as he shouted, "Retreat! Back to the fortress!"
The ironborn near Sawane heard him and shouted the order as they ran toward the fortress behind them.
More and more ironborn heard the cries to retreat. Covered in blood, they broke away from the battle and rushed back toward the fortress, afraid the enemy would pursue.
In truth, the Dreadfort soldiers behind them no longer had the courage to continue chasing.
The morale of these Dreadfort recruits was already on the edge of collapse. If Ramsay had not ordered the merciless volley that struck both sides, they would absolutely have been broken by ironborn numbering only half as many.
Ramsay frowned at the soldiers shrinking back on the battlefield. He was just about to shoot a few men to establish authority, then offer a heavy reward to drive them forward and seize the fortress in one push, when a Winterfell rider came up beside him.
"Lord Ramsay, King Robb commands that you must not take this fortress before sunset tomorrow."
The rider reached Ramsay and delivered Robb's order.
"Good. Before sunset tomorrow, I will certainly take... hm? Must not take it?"
Ramsay had already begun making his promise when he realized what he had heard. He stared at the messenger in surprise.
"Yes. King Robb emphasized that you are not to take this fortress. He also told me to say that you do not need to return to Lordsport. Make camp where you are. Tents and supplies will be sent to you."
"I understand."
"Then I will return with your answer."
Seeing Ramsay nod, the rider immediately turned his horse and left.
Watching his back, Ramsay frowned and muttered to himself, "He wants me to attack this fortress, but not take it. What is this King in the North planning now?"
Unable to understand it, Ramsay simply shook his head and ordered Alyn to begin clearing the field. Once the tents and supplies arrived, they would make camp.
Not long after the messenger left, a transport column made up of many Lordsport thralls brought Ramsay the tents and supplies.
After delivering the supplies, the column did not leave. Following Robb's command, the thralls left the wagons outside the camp and joined Ramsay's force.
As for the King in the North, who currently had him completely under his thumb, Ramsay could only obey every order.
Night gradually fell. Crey's troops surrounding Pyke and Ramsay's troops around House Botley's fortress both made camp and lit fires, one to the north and one to the south, facing each other from afar.
Splash, splash!
At the dark mouth of Lordsport's harbor, forty longships with their square sails furled moved silently over the sea like ghosts in the night.
These forty longships carried the ironborn forces gathered by the noble houses of Great Wyk and Saltcliffe.
Because their islands lay close to Pyke, they had already finished gathering at Saltcliffe that afternoon. But they had not sailed for Pyke at once. Instead, they waited until night fell before creeping toward the island under cover of darkness.
As pirates who often sailed far across the seas, the ironborn had to know how to navigate at night. Saltcliffe was also extremely close to Pyke.
These ironborn knew the surrounding waters so well that they could have sailed along the coast with their eyes closed and still not lost their way.
With their sails furled and rowers working hard, the longships moved quickly toward Lordsport, which was just as dark.
Lordsport was utterly silent. Aside from the ever-burning lighthouse, there was not a single candle flame. It looked like a dead city.
After the longships approached the harbor, the ironborn aboard quickly laid down planks and rushed into Lordsport with weapons in hand.
"Chief Gormond, the brothers searched the port. There is no one in Lordsport, and the valuables and supplies are gone too. The greenlander whores must have looted it clean.
"They also saw many campfires outside Pyke and some outside House Botley's fortress, though far fewer there."
A shorter man with long loose hair reported to Gormond Goodbrother, temporary commander of the forty longships and chief from Great Wyk.
Gormond was a powerful man. He wore the leather armor typical of ironborn, but around his waist was a distinctive belt made from the hair of spotted goats.
Gormond nodded and stroked his beard. After a moment's thought, he said, "The letter from Pyke said about two thousand men had surrounded them.
"Lordsport must already have been looted. Now the enemy is preparing to loot Pyke and House Botley separately.
"Chief Donnor, send a few brothers to scout the enemies outside House Botley.
"If they are few, we strike them first, join House Botley, and then attack the enemy around Pyke together."
Donnor Sunderly, the shorter chief from Saltcliffe, nodded and immediately arranged scouts.
Gormond ordered the noble houses to count their men and prepare for battle.
The forty longships carried twenty-three hundred ironborn warriors in all, a relief force assembled by five noble houses from two islands.
Soon, the ironborn familiar with Pyke returned from scouting and reported the enemy's situation.
When Gormond learned that the enemies surrounding House Botley numbered fewer than a thousand, even counting some thralls, he immediately ordered the household chiefs to take their warriors and launch a night attack.
For ironborn, there was no need for tactics or formations. They only needed to do one thing: kill every enemy.
Gormond led a dark, sprawling mass of ironborn quietly toward the camp where the Dreadfort soldiers were stationed.
Whoosh, whoosh!
Several arrows shot out of the darkness. In the Dreadfort camp, a few sentries on watch were struck and dropped at once.
"Kill them all!"
"What is dead may never die!"
Ironborn roars followed. Twenty-three hundred men charged the camp with weapons in hand.
A volley of arrows flew flat from the Dreadfort camp, cutting down the ironborn at the front just as they were about to reach it.
Inside the camp, Ramsay's face looked terrible. By the firelight and moonlight, he could barely make out the black mass of enemies.
Because Robb's strange order had occupied his thoughts all day and kept him from sleeping, Ramsay had deliberately arranged his seven hundred-odd soldiers to rest and stand watch in turns.
So when the ironborn attacked, he was able to organize some archers to strike back at once.
'So that damned Robb Stark used me as bait.'
'Damn it. These Dreadfort recruits alone cannot beat this many ironborn. I need to find a chance to escape.'
As soon as Ramsay saw the enemy's numbers, before the real battle had even begun, he was already preparing to flee.
The ironborn in House Botley's fortress heard the fighting as well. Lord Sawane gathered the remaining men again and charged toward the Dreadfort camp.
Because the distance was so short, the Dreadfort archers only had time to shoot a second volley before the howling ironborn rushed into the camp.
Another bloody melee began. Inside the camp, Dreadfort soldiers and ironborn hacked at one another in confusion.
Ramsay held a bow, accurately shooting any ironborn who came too close while moving toward the camp's only dozen or so horses.
Suddenly, from a low slope to the left of the Dreadfort camp, hundreds of specially made burning arrows flew like fireflies across the sky toward the rear half of the ironborn army that had not yet reached the camp.
Thud, thud!
Those special arrowheads caused serious harm when they struck ironborn. Some even killed a man and set his corpse alight.
But their main purpose was not to kill.
Around the outside of the Dreadfort camp stood many transport wagons deliberately placed there by thralls under Robb's orders.
When the fire arrows struck those wagons, they quickly began to burn, lighting the whole battlefield as bright as day.
Rumble!
The sound of a thousand galloping horses rose from the low slope on the left. Seeing the rear of his army struck by fire arrows, Gormond immediately understood that he had fallen into a trap.
He shouted, "Ironborn of Great Wyk, turn and face the enemy! Cavalry are approaching from the rear!"
The ironborn of Great Wyk under Gormond immediately passed on his order. The ironborn army split in two.
One part continued attacking the Dreadfort camp, while the other stopped in place, gripped their weapons, and turned to await the enemy cavalry behind them.
Rumble!
As the enemy cavalry rapidly approached, the firelight from the burning wagons let Gormond see that these greenlander riders were hundreds of heavy cavalry whose horses were also armored.
"Run! Into the camp!"
Gormond, who knew enough to understand the terror of heavy cavalry, lost all will to fight. He shouted and turned to run first.
But fleeing from charging cavalry already close at hand was even more foolish than facing them.
Bang, bang, bang!
Five hundred heavy cavalry charged straight into the fleeing ironborn by the bright firelight, instantly knocking down the men at the rear.
Those ironborn fell before they could even struggle to their feet. Countless hooves trampled over them, crushing them into soft, ruined corpses.
Shrrrk, shrrrk!
The heavy cavalry's lances stabbed ironborn again and again. The savage, cruel men who usually terrified others had become lambs fleeing in every direction.
Behind the five hundred heavy cavalry were five hundred light cavalry. They followed the bloody path opened by the heavy riders and continued harvesting ironborn lives.
The ironborn outside the Dreadfort camp scattered in panic. Those who had rushed into the camp were still fighting, while the ironborn from House Botley's fortress were approaching.
On the low slope to the left of the Dreadfort camp, Robb sat astride a warhorse and looked down at the chaotic battlefield. He gave an order to Owen, commander of the Winterfell infantry, beside him.
"The fish are in the net. Blow the horn and tell them to close it."
Owen nodded and immediately blew a dark horn in his hand.
The long horn call rang out. Two thousand elite Winterfell infantry hidden in the darkness around the Dreadfort camp quickly formed a circular formation and advanced in ordered steps, enclosing the camp.
The first to make contact with the Winterfell infantry were actually the outermost ironborn led by Sawane.
He thought these closing Winterfell soldiers would be as brittle as the Dreadfort soldiers from earlier that day, so he led more than two hundred ironborn back to meet them.
The Winterfell infantry advanced in neat formation. Shieldmen in front held the defense, and the spearmen behind them attacked.
With only one orderly thrust, dozens of ironborn who had no time to dodge were stabbed full of bloody holes.
Sawane Botley, Lord of Lordsport, was pierced by two spears and died in the first round of attacks.
Winterfell cavalry rode back and forth outside the camp, cutting down ironborn, while the infantry surrounding the camp used spears to reap lives efficiently.
In the light of tonight's raging fires, the blood looked even redder.
Beside Lordsport's forty longships, the dozens of ironborn Gormond had left to guard the ships also heard the horn from House Botley's direction.
Just as they gathered and began talking among themselves, a huge dark shadow with eerie green eyes used the darkness as cover and approached at speed.
Whoosh, whoosh!
Dozens of arrows shot out from the darkness of Lordsport. More than half the ironborn guarding the ships fell instantly.
Awooo!
After the arrow storm, Bloodwind burst from the dark and bit one ironborn dead, then freely slaughtered the rest, who had no ability to fight back.
Dozens of Winterfell soldiers who had followed Bloodwind back from Pyke under Robb's order swiftly took control of the forty ironborn longships that had delivered themselves into his hands.
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