He had run before the Crow’s Eye as if he were still the weak thing he had been, but when the waves broke over his head they reminded once more that that man was dead. I was reborn from the sea, a harder man and stronger. No mortal man could frighten him, no more than the darkness could, nor the bones of his soul, the grey and grisly bones of his soul. The sound of a door opening, the scream of a rusted2 iron hinge.
The priest’s robes crackled as he pulled them down, still stiff with salt from their last washing a fortnight past. The wool clung to his wet chest, drinking the brine that ran down from his hair. He filled his waterskin and slung3 it over his shoulder.
As he strode across the strand4, a drowned man returning from a call of nature stumbled into him in the darkness. “Damphair,” he murmured. Aeron laid a hand upon his head, blessed him, and moved on. The ground rose beneath his feet, gently at first, then more steeply. When he felt scrub grass between his toes, he knew that he had left the strand behind. Slowly he climbed, listening to the waves. The sea is never weary. I must be as tireless.
On the crown of the hill four-and-forty monstrous5 stone ribs6 rose from the earth like the trunks of great pale trees. The sight made Aeron’s heart beat faster. Nagga had been the first sea dragon, the mightiest7 ever to rise from the waves. She fed on krakens and leviathans and drowned whole islands in her wrath8, yet the Grey King had slain9 her and the Drowned God had changed her bones to stone so that men might never cease to wonder at the courage of the first of kings. Nagga’s ribs became the beams and pillars of his longhall, just as her jaws11 became his throne. For a thousand years and seven he reigned12 here, Aeron recalled. Here he took his mermaid13 wife and planned his wars against the Storm God. From here he ruled both stone and salt, wearing robes of woven seaweed and a tall pale crown made from Nagga’s teeth.
But that was in the dawn of days, when mighty14 men still dwelt on earth and sea. The hall had been warmed by Nagga’s living fire, which the Grey King had made his thrall15. On its walls hung tapestries16 woven from silver seaweed most pleasing to the eyes. The Grey King’s warriors17 had feasted on the bounty18 of the sea at a table in the shape of a great starfish, whilst seated upon thrones carved from mother-of-pearl. Gone, all the glory gone. Men were smaller now. Their lives had grown short. The Storm God drowned Nagga’s fire after the Grey King’s death, the chairs and tapestries had been stolen, the roof and walls had rotted away. Even the Grey King’s great throne of fangs19 had been swallowed by the sea. Only Nagga’s bones endured to remind the ironborn of all the wonder that had been.
It is enough, thought Aeron Greyjoy.
Nine wide steps had been hewn from the stony21 hilltop. Behind rose the howling hills of Old Wyk, with mountains in the distance black and cruel. Aeron paused where the doors once stood, pulled the cork22 from his waterskin, took a swallow of salt water, and turned to face the sea. We were born from the sea, and to the sea we must return. Even here he could hear the ceaseless rumble23 of the waves and feel the power of the god who lurked24 below the waters. Aeron went to his knees. You have sent your people to me, he prayed. They have left their halls and hovels, their castles and their keeps, and come here to Nagga’s bones, from every fishing village and every hidden vale. Now grant to them the wisdom to know the true king when he stands before them, and the strength to n the false. All night he prayed, for when the god was in him Aeron Greyjoy had no need of sleep, no more than the waves did, nor the fishes of the sea.
Dark clouds ran before the wind as the first light stole into the world. The black sky went grey as slate25; the black sea turned grey-green; the black mountains of Great Wyk across the bay put on the blue-green hues26 of soldier pines. As color stole back into the world, a hundred banners lifted and began to flap. Aeron beheld27 the silver fish of Botley, the bloody28 moon of Wynch, the dark green trees of Orkwood. He saw warhorns and leviathans and scythes29, and everywhere the krakens great and golden. Beneath them, thralls30 and salt wives begin to move about, stirring coals into new life and gutting31 fish for the captains and the kings to break their fasts. The dawnlight touched the stony strand, and he watched men wake from sleep, throwing aside their sealskin blankets as they called for their first horn of ale. Drink deep, he thought, for we have god’s work to do today.
The sea was stirring too. The waves grew larger as the wind rose, sending plumes32 of spray to crash against the longships. The Drowned God wakes, thought Aeron. He could hear his voice welling from the depths of the sea. I shall be with you here this day, my strong and faithful servant, the voice said. No godless man will sit my Seastone Chair.
It was there beneath the arch of Nagga’s ribs that his drowned men found him, standing34 tall and stern with his long black hair blowing in the wind. “Is it time?” Rus asked. Aeron gave a nod, and said, “It is. Go forth35 and sound the summons.”
The drowned men took up their driftwood cudgels and began to beat them one against the other as they walked back down the hill. Others joined them, and the clangor spread along the strand. Such a fearful clacking and a clattering36 it made, as if a hundred trees were pummeling one another with their limbs. Kettledrums began to beat as well, boom-boom-boom-boom-boom, boom-boom-boom-boom-boom. A warhorn bellowed37, then another. AAAAAAoooooooooooooooooooooooo.
Men left their fires to make their way toward the bones of the Grey King’s Hall; oarsmen, steersmen, sailmakers, shipwrights38, the warriors with their axes and the fishermen with their nets. Some had thralls to serve them; some had salt wives. Others, who had sailed too often to the green lands, were attended by maesters and singers and knights42. The common men crowded together in a crescent around the base of the knoll43, with the thralls, children, and women toward the rear. The captains and the kings made their way up the slopes. Aeron Damphair saw cheerful Sigfry Stonetree, Andrik the Unsmiling, the knight41 Ser Harras Harlaw. Lord Baelor Blacktyde in his sable44 cloak stood beside The Stonehouse in ragged45 sealskin. Victarion loomed46 above all of them save Andrik. His brother wore no helm, but elsewise he was all in armor, his kraken cloak hanging golden from his shoulders. He shall be our king. What man could look on him and doubt it?
When the Damphair raised his bony hands the kettledrums and the warhorns fell silent, the drowned men lowered their cudgels, and all the voices stilled. Only the sound of the waves pounding remained, a roar no man could still. “We were born from the sea, and to the sea we all return,” Aeron began, softly at first, so men would strain to hear. “The Storm God in his wrath plucked Balon from his castle and cast him down, yet now he feasts beneath the waves in the Drowned God’s watery47 halls.” He lifted his eyes to the sky. “Balon is dead! The iron king is dead!”
“The king is dead!” his drowned men shouted.
“Yet what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger!” he reminded them. “Balon has fallen, Balon my brother, who honored the Old Way and paid the iron price. Balon the Brave, Balon the Blessed, Balon Twice-Crowned, who won us back our freedoms and our god. Balon is dead . . . but an iron king shall rise again, to sit upon the Seastone Chair and rule the isles49.”
“A king shall rise!” they answered. “He shall rise!”
“He shall. He must.” Aeron’s voice thundered like the waves. “But who? Who shall sit in Balon’s place? Who shall rule these holy isles? Is he here among us now?” The priest spread his hands wide. “Who shall be king over us?”
A seagull screamed back at him. The crowd began to stir, like men waking from a dream. Each man looked at his neighbors, to see which of them might presume to claim a crown. The Crow’s Eye was never patient, Aeron Damphair told himself. Mayhaps he will speak first. If so, it would be his undoing51. The captains and the kings had come a long way to this feast and would not choose the first dish set before them. They will want to taste and sample, a bite of him, a nibble52 of the other, until they find the one that suits them best.
Euron must have known that as well. He stood with his arms crossed amongst his mutes and monsters. Only the wind and the waves answered Aeron’s call.
“The ironborn must have a king,” the priest insisted, after a long silence. “I ask again. Who shall be king over us?”
“I will,” came the answer from below.
At once a ragged cry of “Gylbert! Gylbert King!” went up. The captains gave way to let the claimant and his champions ascend53 the hill to stand at Aeron’s side beneath the ribs of Nagga.
This would-be king was a tall spare lord with a melancholy54 visage, his lantern jaw10 shaved clean. His three champions took up their position two steps below him, bearing his sword and shield and banner. They shared a certain look with the tall lord, and Aeron took them for his sons. One unfurled his banner, a great black longship against a setting sun. “I am Gylbert Farwynd, Lord of the Lonely Light,” the lord told the kingsmoot.
Aeron knew some Farwynds, a queer folk who held lands on the westernmost shores of Great Wyk and the scattered56 isles beyond, rocks so small that most could support but a single household. Of those, the Lonely Light was the most distant, eight days’ sail to the northwest amongst rookeries of seals and sea lions and the boundless57 grey oceans. The Farwynds there were even queerer than the rest. Some said they were skinchangers, unholy creatures who could take on the forms of sea lions, walruses59, even spotted60 whales, the wolves of the wild sea.
Lord Gylbert began to speak. He told of a wondrous61 land beyond the Sunset Sea, a land without winter or want, where death had no dominion62. “Make me your king, and I shall lead you there,” he cried. “We will build ten thousand ships as Nymeria once did and take sail with all our people to the land beyond the sunset. There every man shall be a king and every wife a queen.”
His eyes, Aeron saw, were now grey, now blue, as changeable as the seas. Mad eyes, he thought, fool’s eyes. The vision he spoke63 of was doubtless a snare64 set by the Storm God to lure65 the ironborn to destruction. The offerings that his men spilled out before the kingsmoot included sealskins and walrus58 tusks66, arm rings made of whalebone, warhorns banded in bronze. The captains looked and turned away, leaving lesser67 men to help themselves to the gifts. When the fool was done talking and his champions began to shout his name, only the Farwynds took up the cry, and not even all of them. Soon enough the cries of “Gylbert! Gylbert King!” faded away to silence. The gull50 screamed loudly above them, and landed atop one of Nagga’s ribs as the Lord of the Lonely Light made his way back down the hill.
Aeron Damphair stepped forward once more. “I ask again. Who shall be king over us?”
“Me!” a deep voice boomed, and once more the crowd parted.
The speaker was borne up the hill in a carved driftwood chair carried on the shoulders of his grandsons. A great ruin of a man, twenty stones heavy and ninety years old, he was cloaked in a white bearskin. His own hair was snow white as well, and his huge beard covered him like a blanket from cheeks to thighs68, so it was hard to tell where the beard ended and the pelt69 began. Though his grandsons were great strapping70 men, they struggled with his weight on the steep stone steps. Before the Grey King’s Hall they set him down, and three remained below him as his champions.
Sixty years ago, this one might well have won the favor of the moot55, Aeron thought, but his hour is long past.
“Aye, me!” the man roared from where he sat, in a voice as huge as he was. “Why not? Who better? I am Erik Ironmaker, for them who’s blind. Erik the Just. Erik Anvil71-Breaker. Show them my hammer, Thormor.” One of his champions lifted it up for all to see; a monstrous thing it was, its haft wrapped in old leather, its head a brick of steel as large as a loaf of bread. “I can’t count how many hands I’ve smashed to pulp72 with that hammer,” Erik said, “but might be some thief could tell you. I can’t say how many heads I’ve crushed against my anvil neither, but there’s some widows could. I could tell you all the deeds I’ve done in battle, but I’m eight-and-eighty and won’t live long enough to finish. If old is wise, no one is wiser than me. If big is strong, no one’s stronger. You want a king with heirs? I’ve more’n I can count. King Erik, aye, I like the sound o’ that. Come, say it with me. ERIK! ERIK ANVIL-BREAKER! ERIK KING!”
As his grandsons took up the cry, their own sons came forward with chests upon their shoulders. When they upended them at the base of the stone steps, a torrent73 of silver, bronze, and steel spilled forth; arm rings, collars, daggers74, dirks, and throwing axes. A few captains snatched up the choicest items and added their voices to the swelling75 chant. But no sooner had the cry begun to build than a woman’s voice cut through it. “Erik!” Men moved aside to let her through. With one foot on the lowest step, she said, “Erik, stand up.”
A hush76 fell. The wind blew, waves broke against the shore, men murmured in each other’s ears. Erik Ironmaker stared down at Asha Greyjoy. “Girl. Thrice-damned girl. What did you say?”
“Stand up, Erik,” she called. “Stand up and I’ll shout your name with all the rest. Stand up and I’ll be the first to follow you. You want a crown, aye. Stand up and take it.”
Elsewhere in the press, the Crow’s Eye laughed. Erik glared at him. The big man’s hands closed tight around the arms of his driftwood throne. His face went red, then purple. His arms trembled with effort. Aeron could see a thick blue vein77 pulsing in his neck as he struggled to rise. For a moment it seemed as though he might do it, but the breath went out of him all at once, and he groaned78 and sank back onto his cushion. Euron laughed all the louder. The big man hung his head and grew old, all in the blink of an eye. His grandsons carried him back down the hill.
“Who shall rule the ironborn?” Aeron Damphair called again. “Who shall be king over us?”
Men looked at one another. Some looked at Euron, some at Victarion, a few at Asha. Waves broke green and white against the longships. The gull cried once more, a raucous79 scream, forlorn. “Make your claim, Victarion,” the Merlyn called. “Let us have done with this mummer’s farce80.”
“When I am ready,” Victarion shouted back.
Aeron was pleased. It is better if he waits.
The Drumm came next, another old man, though not so old as Erik. He climbed the hill on his own two legs, and on his hip33 rode Red Rain, his famous sword, forged of Valyrian steel in the days before the Doom81. His champions were men of note: his sons Denys and Donnel, both stout82 fighters, and between them Andrik the Unsmiling, a giant of a man with arms as thick as trees. It spoke well of the Drumm that such a man would stand for him.
“Where is it written that our king must be a kraken?” Drumm began. “What right has Pyke to rule us? Great Wyk is the largest isle48, Harlaw the richest, Old Wyk the most holy. When the black line was consumed by dragonfire, the ironborn gave the primacy to Vickon Greyjoy, aye . . . but as lord, not king.”
It was a good beginning. Aeron heard shouts of approval, but they dwindled84 as the old man began to tell of the glory of the Drumms. He spoke of Dale the Dread85, Roryn the Reaver, the hundred sons of Gormond Drumm the Oldfather. He drew Red Rain and told them how Hilmar Drumm the Cunning had taken the blade from an armored knight with wits and a wooden cudgel. He spoke of ships long lost and battles eight hundred years forgotten, and the crowd grew restive86. He spoke and spoke, and then he spoke still more.
And when Drumm’s chests were thrown open, the captains saw the niggard’s gifts he’d brought them. No throne was ever bought with bronze, the Damphair thought. The truth of that was plain to hear, as the cries of “Drumm! Drumm! Dunstan King!” died away.
Aeron could feel a tightness in his belly87, and it seemed to him that the waves were pounding louder than before. It is time, he thought. It is time for Victarion to make his claim. “Who shall be king over us?” the priest cried once more, but this time his fierce black eyes found his brother in the crowd. “Nine sons were born from the loins of Quellon Greyjoy. One was mightier88 than all the rest, and knew no fear.”
Victarion met his eyes, and nodded. The captains parted before him as he climbed the steps. “Brother, give me blessing,” he said when he reached the top. He knelt and bowed his head. Aeron uncorked his waterskin and poured a stream of seawater down upon his brow. “What is dead can never die,” the priest said, and Victarion replied, “but rises again, harder and stronger.”
When Victarion rose, his champions arrayed themselves beneath him; Ralf the Limper, Red Ralf Stonehouse, and Nute the Barber, noted89 warriors all. Stonehouse bore the Greyjoy banner; the golden kraken on a field as black as the midnight sea. As soon as it unfurled, the captains and the kings began to shout out the Lord Captain’s name. Victarion waited till they quieted, then said, “You all know me. If you want sweet words, look elsewhere. I have no singer’s tongue. I have an axe39, and I have these.” He raised his huge mailed hands up to show them, and Nute the Barber displayed his axe, a fearsome piece of steel. “I was a loyal brother,” Victarion went on. “When Balon was wed20, it was me he sent to Harlaw to bring him back his bride. I led his longships into many a battle, and never lost but one. The first time Balon took a crown, it was me sailed into Lannisport to singe40 the lion’s tail. The second time, it was me he sent to skin the Young Wolf should he come howling home. All you’ll get from me is more of what you got from Balon. That’s all I have to say.”
With that his champions began to chant: “VICTARION! VICTARION! VICTARION KING!” Below, his men were spilling out his chests, a cascade90 of silver, gold, and gems91, a wealth of plunder92. Captains scrambled93 to seize the richest pieces, shouting as they did so. “VICTARION! VICTARION! VICTARION KING!” Aeron watched the Crow’s Eye. Will he speak now, or let the kingsmoot run its course? Orkwood of Orkmont was whispering in Euron’s ear.
But it was not Euron who put an end to the shouting, it was the woman. She put two fingers in her mouth and whistled, a sharp shrill94 sound that cut through the tumult95 like a knife through curds96. “Nuncle! Nuncle!” Bending, she snatched up a twisted golden collar and bounded up the steps. Nute seized her by the arm, and for half a heartbeat Aeron was hopeful that his brother’s champions would keep her silent, but Asha wrenched97 free of the Barber’s hand and said something to Red Ralf that made him step aside. As she pushed past, the cheering died away. She was Balon Greyjoy’s daughter, and the crowd was curious to hear her speak.
“It was good of you to bring such gifts to my queensmoot, Nuncle,” she told Victarion, “but you need not have worn so much armor. I promise not to hurt you.” Asha turned to face the captains. “There’s no one braver than my nuncle, no one stronger, no one fiercer in a fight. And he counts to ten as quick as any man, I have seen him do it . . . though when he needs to go to twenty he does take off his boots.” That made them laugh. “He has no sons, though. His wives keep dying. The Crow’s Eye is his elder and has a better claim . . .”
“He does!” the Red Oarsman shouted from below.
“Ah, but my claim is better still.” Asha set the collar on her head at a jaunty98 angle, so the gold gleamed against her dark hair. “Balon’s brother cannot come before Balon’s son!”
“Balon’s sons are dead,” cried Ralf the Limper. “All I see is Balon’s little daughter!”
“Daughter?” Asha slipped a hand beneath her jerkin. “Oho! What’s this? Shall I show you? Some of you have not seen one since they weaned you.” They laughed again. “Teats on a king are a terrible thing, is that the song? Ralf, you have me, I am a woman . . . though not an old woman like you. Ralf the Limper . . . shouldn’t that be Ralf the Limp?” Asha drew a dirk from between her breasts. “I’m a mother too, and here’s my suckling babe!” She held it up. “And here, my champions.” They pushed past Victarion’s three to stand below her: Qarl the Maid, Tristifer Botley, and the knight Ser Harras Harlaw, whose sword Nightfall was as storied as Dunstan Drumm’s Red Rain. “My nuncle said you know him. You know me too—”
“I want to know you better!” someone shouted.
“Go home and know your wife,” Asha shot back. “Nuncle says he’ll give you more of what my father gave you. Well, what was that? Gold and glory, some will say. Freedom, ever sweet. Aye, it’s so, he gave us that . . . and widows too, as Lord Blacktyde will tell you. How many of you had your homes put to the torch when Robert came? How many had daughters raped99 and despoiled100? Burnt towns and broken castles, my father gave you that. Defeat was what he gave you. Nuncle here will give you more. Not me.”
“What will you give us?” asked Lucas Codd. “Knitting?”
“Aye, Lucas. I’ll knit us all a kingdom.” She tossed her dirk from hand to hand. “We need to take a lesson from the Young Wolf, who won every battle . . . and lost all.”
“A wolf is not a kraken,” Victarion objected. “What the kraken grasps it does not lose, be it longship or leviathan.”
“And what have we grasped, Nuncle? The north? What is that, but leagues and leagues of leagues and leagues, far from the sound of the sea? We have taken Moat Cailin, Deepwood Motte, Torrhen’s Square, even Winterfell. What do we have to show for it?” She beckoned101, and her Black Wind men pushed forward, chests of oak and iron on their shoulders. “I give you the wealth of the Stony Shore,” Asha said as the first was upended. An avalanche102 of pebbles103 clattered104 forth, cascading105 down the steps; pebbles grey and black and white, worn smooth by the sea. “I give you the riches of Deepwood,” she said, as the second chest was opened. Pinecones came pouring out, to roll and bounce down into the crowd. “And last, the gold of Winterfell.” From the third chest came yellow turnips106, round and hard and big as a man’s head. They landed amidst the pebbles and the pinecones. Asha stabbed one with her dirk. “Harmund Sharp,” she shouted, “your son Harrag died at Winterfell, for this.” She pulled the turnip107 off her blade and tossed it to him. “You have other sons, I think. If you’d trade their lives for turnips, shout my nuncle’s name!”
“And if I shout your name?” Harmund demanded. “What then?”
“Peace,” said Asha. “Land. Victory. I’ll give you Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore, black earth and tall trees and stones enough for every younger son to build a hall. We’ll have the northmen too . . . as friends, to stand with us against the Iron Throne. Your choice is simple. Crown me, for peace and victory. Or crown my nuncle, for more war and more defeat.” She sheathed108 her dirk again. “What will you have, ironmen?”
“VICTORY!” shouted Rodrik the Reader, his hands cupped about his mouth. “Victory, and Asha!”
“ASHA!” Lord Baelor Blacktyde echoed. “ASHA QUEEN!”
Asha’s own crew took up the cry. “ASHA! ASHA! ASHA QUEEN!” They stamped their feet and shook their fists and yelled, as the Damphair listened in disbelief. She would leave her father’s work undone109! Yet Tristifer Botley was shouting for her, with many Harlaws, some Goodbrothers, red-faced Lord Merlyn, more men than the priest would ever have believed . . . for a woman!
But others were holding their tongues, or muttering asides to their neighbors. “No craven’s peace!” Ralf the Limper roared. Red Ralf Stonehouse swirled110 the Greyjoy banner and bellowed, “Victarion! VICTARION! VICTARION!” Men began to shove at one another. Someone flung a pinecone at Asha’s head. When she ducked, her makeshift crown fell off. For a moment it seemed to the priest as if he stood atop a giant anthill, with a thousand ants in a boil at his feet. Shouts of “Asha!” and “Victarion!” surged back and forth, and it seemed as though some savage111 storm was about to engulf112 them all. The Storm God is amongst us, the priest thought, sowing fury and discord113.
Sharp as a swordthrust, the sound of a horn split the air.
Bright and baneful114 was its voice, a shivering hot scream that made a man’s bones seem to thrum within him. The cry lingered in the damp sea air: aaaaRREEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
All eyes turned toward the sound. It was one of Euron’s mongrels winding115 the call, a monstrous man with a shaved head. Rings of gold and jade116 and jet glistened117 on his arms, and on his broad chest was tattooed118 some bird of prey119, talons120 dripping blood.
aaaaRRREEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
The horn he blew was shiny black and twisted, and taller than a man as he held it with both hands. It was bound about with bands of red gold and dark steel, incised with ancient Valyrian glyphs that seemed to glow redly as the sound swelled121.
aaaaaaaRRREEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
It was a terrible sound, a wail122 of pain and fury that seemed to burn the ears. Aeron Damphair covered his, and prayed for the Drowned God to raise a mighty wave and smash the horn to silence, yet still the shriek123 went on and on. It is the horn of hell, he wanted to scream, though no man would have heard him. The cheeks of the tattooed man were so puffed124 out they looked about to burst, and the muscles in his chest twitched125 in a way that it made it seem as if the bird were about to rip free of his flesh and take wing. And now the glyphs were burning brightly, every line and letter shimmering126 with white fire. On and on and on the sound went, echoing amongst the howling hills behind them and across the waters of Nagga’s Cradle to ring against the mountains of Great Wyk, on and on and on until it filled the whole wet world.
And when it seemed the sound would never end, it did.
The hornblower’s breath failed at last. He staggered and almost fell. The priest saw Orkwood of Orkmont catch him by one arm to hold him up, whilst Left-Hand Lucas Codd took the twisted black horn from his hands. A thin wisp of smoke was rising from the horn, and the priest saw blood and blisters127 upon the lips of the man who’d sounded it. The bird on his chest was bleeding too.
Euron Greyjoy climbed the hill slowly, with every eye upon him. Above the gull screamed and screamed again. No godless man may sit the Seastone Chair, Aeron thought, but he knew that he must let his brother speak. His lips moved silently in prayer.
Asha’s champions stepped aside, and Victarion’s as well. The priest took a step backward and put one hand upon the cold rough stone of Nagga’s ribs. The Crow’s Eye stopped atop the steps, at the doors of the Grey King’s Hall, and turned his smiling eye upon the captains and the kings, but Aeron could feel his other eye as well, the one that he kept hidden.
“IRONMEN,” said Euron Greyjoy, “you have heard my horn. Now hear my words. I am Balon’s brother, Quellon’s eldest128 living son. Lord Vickon’s blood is in my veins129, and the blood of the Old Kraken. Yet I have sailed farther than any of them. Only one living kraken has never known defeat. Only one has never bent130 his knee. Only one has sailed to Asshai by the Shadow, and seen wonders and terrors beyond imagining . . .”
“If you liked the Shadow so well, go back there,” called out pink-cheeked Qarl the Maid, one of Asha’s champions.
The Crow’s Eye ignored him. “My little brother would finish Balon’s war, and claim the north. My sweet niece would give us peace and pinecones.” His blue lips twisted in a smile. “Asha prefers victory to defeat. Victarion wants a kingdom, not a few scant131 yards of earth. From me, you shall have both.
“Crow’s Eye, you call me. Well, who has a keener eye than the crow? After every battle the crows come in their hundreds and their thousands to feast upon the fallen. A crow can espy132 death from afar. And I say that all of Westeros is dying. Those who follow me will feast until the end of their days.
“We are the ironborn, and once we were conquerors134. Our writ83 ran everywhere the sound of the waves was heard. My brother would have you be content with the cold and dismal135 north, my niece with even less . . . but I shall give you Lannisport. Highgarden. The Arbor136. Oldtown. The riverlands and the Reach, the kingswood and the rainwood, Dorne and the marches, the Mountains of the Moon and the Vale of Arryn, Tarth and the Stepstones. I say we take it all! I say, we take Westeros.” He glanced at the priest. “All for the greater glory of our Drowned God, to be sure.”
For half a heartbeat even Aeron was swept away by the boldness of his words. The priest had dreamed the same dream, when first he’d seen the red comet in the sky. We shall sweep over the green lands with fire and sword, root out the seven gods of the septons and the white trees of the northmen . . .
“Crow’s Eye,” Asha called, “did you leave your wits at Asshai? If we cannot hold the north—and we cannot—how can we win the whole of the Seven Kingdoms?”
“Why, it has been done before. Did Balon teach his girl so little of the ways of war? Victarion, our brother’s daughter has never heard of Aegon the Conqueror133, it would seem.”
“Aegon?” Victarion crossed his arms against his armored chest. “What has the Conqueror to do with us?”
“I know as much of war as you do, Crow’s Eye,” Asha said. “Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros with dragons.”
“And so shall we,” Euron Greyjoy promised. “That horn you heard I found amongst the smoking ruins that were Valyria, where no man has dared to walk but me. You heard its call, and felt its power. It is a dragon horn, bound with bands of red gold and Valyrian steel graven with enchantments137. The dragonlords of old sounded such horns, before the Doom devoured138 them. With this horn, ironmen, I can bind139 dragons to my will.”
Asha laughed aloud. “A horn to bind goats to your will would be of more use, Crow’s Eye. There are no more dragons.”
“Again, girl, you are wrong. There are three, and I know where to find them. Surely that is worth a driftwood crown.”
“EURON!” shouted Left-Hand Lucas Codd.
“EURON! CROW’S EYE! EURON!” cried the Red Oarsman.
The mutes and mongrels from the Silence threw open Euron’s chests and spilled out his gifts before the captains and the kings. Then it was Hotho Harlaw the priest heard, as he filled his hands with gold. Gorold Goodbrother shouted out as well, and Erik Anvil-Breaker. “EURON! EURON! EURON!” The cry swelled, became a roar. “EURON! EURON! CROW’S EYE! EURON KING!” It rolled up Nagga’s hill, like the Storm God rattling140 the clouds. “EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON! EURON!”
Even a priest may doubt. Even a prophet may know terror. Aeron Damphair reached within himself for his god and discovered only silence. As a thousand voices shouted out his brother’s name, all he could hear was the scream of a rusted iron hinge.
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1
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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2
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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4
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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5
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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6
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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7
mightiest
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| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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8
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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9
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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10
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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11
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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12
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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13
mermaid
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| n.美人鱼 | |
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14
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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15
thrall
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| n.奴隶；奴隶制 | |
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16
tapestries
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| n.挂毯( tapestry的名词复数 )；绣帷，织锦v.用挂毯（或绣帷）装饰( tapestry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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17
warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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18
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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19
fangs
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| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
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20
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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21
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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22
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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23
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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24
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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25
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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26
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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27
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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28
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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29
scythes
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| n.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的名词复数 )v.（长柄）大镰刀( scythe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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30
thralls
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| n.奴隶( thrall的名词复数 )；奴役；奴隶制；奴隶般受支配的人 | |
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31
gutting
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| n.去内脏v.毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的现在分词 )；取出…的内脏 | |
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32
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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33
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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34
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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35
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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36
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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37
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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38
shipwrights
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| n.造船者，修船者( shipwright的名词复数 ) | |
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39
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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40
singe
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| v.(轻微地)烧焦；烫焦；烤焦 | |
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41
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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42
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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43
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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44
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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45
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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46
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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47
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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48
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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49
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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50
gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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51
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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52
nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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53
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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54
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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55
moot
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| v.提出；adj.未决议的；n.大会；辩论会 | |
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56
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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57
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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58
walrus
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| n.海象 | |
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59
walruses
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| n.海象( walrus的名词复数 ) | |
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60
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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61
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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62
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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63
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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64
snare
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| n.陷阱，诱惑，圈套；（去除息肉或者肿瘤的）勒除器；响弦，小军鼓；vt.以陷阱捕获，诱惑 | |
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65
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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66
tusks
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| n.（象等动物的）长牙( tusk的名词复数 )；獠牙；尖形物；尖头 | |
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67
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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68
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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69
pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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70
strapping
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| adj. 魁伟的, 身材高大健壮的 n. 皮绳或皮带的材料, 裹伤胶带, 皮鞭 动词strap的现在分词形式 | |
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71
anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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72
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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73
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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74
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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75
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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76
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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77
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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78
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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79
raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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80
farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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81
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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83
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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84
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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86
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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87
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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88
mightier
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| adj. 强有力的，强大的，巨大的 adv. 很，极其 | |
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89
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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90
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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91
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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92
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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93
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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94
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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95
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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96
curds
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| n.凝乳( curd的名词复数 ) | |
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97
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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98
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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99
raped
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| v.以暴力夺取，强夺( rape的过去式和过去分词 )；强奸 | |
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100
despoiled
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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103
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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104
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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105
cascading
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| 流注( cascade的现在分词 )； 大量落下； 大量垂悬； 梯流 | |
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106
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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107
turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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108
sheathed
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| adj.雕塑像下半身包在鞘中的；覆盖的；铠装的；装鞘了的v.将（刀、剑等）插入鞘( sheathe的过去式和过去分词 )；包，覆盖 | |
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109
undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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110
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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112
engulf
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| vt.吞没，吞食 | |
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113
discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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114
baneful
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| adj.有害的 | |
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115
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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116
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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117
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
tattooed
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| v.刺青，文身( tattoo的过去式和过去分词 )；连续有节奏地敲击；作连续有节奏的敲击 | |
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119
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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120
talons
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| n.（尤指猛禽的）爪( talon的名词复数 )；（如爪般的）手指；爪状物；锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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121
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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122
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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123
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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124
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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125
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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126
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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127
blisters
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| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
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128
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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129
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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130
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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131
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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132
espy
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| v.（从远处等）突然看到 | |
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133
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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134
conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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135
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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136
arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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137
enchantments
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| n.魅力( enchantment的名词复数 )；迷人之处；施魔法；着魔 | |
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138
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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139
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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140
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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