Oldstones, the castle of the ancient Kings of the Rivers and the Hills. Its glory and power had faded into the past, leaving behind only the crumbling remnants of its old walls.
The banner of House Blackwood—a flock of ravens circling a dead weirwood on a black shield against a scarlet field—now fluttered weakly atop the ruined battlements of this ancient castle, with little more than its old walls left standing.
The envoy had returned, a fresh scrape on his face and half an arrow shaft still caught in his armor. Tytos Blackwood was stubborn as ever; he'd rather starve while gnawing on stones than open the gates.
"Cleftjaw" Dagmer glanced at the envoy's expression and spat into the mud. His snow-white beard trembled with rage, and the old scar that cleaved his jaw made his lips look like four writhing chunks of flesh.
His voice was so rough it sounded like gravel. "Still refusing to surrender?"
The envoy shook his head and dared not speak. His gesture confirmed Dagmer's suspicions, and all Dagmer could do was glare at the walls and curse in frustration.
"Is your axe getting rusty, Cleftjaw?"
A voice came from nearby, magnetic yet as though a snake were crawling over the skin, its scales scraping against flesh and sending a shiver down the spine.
Dagmer turned. Euron Greyjoy was leaning against a massive tree, a mocking smile on his pale, handsome face. He had black hair and a black beard, a bright blue right eye like a fine sapphire, and a black leather patch over his left.
Euron's lips curled. "Still trying to talk them into surrendering?"
"These nobles from the Green Lands are like stones in a cesspit—sometimes foul, sometimes stubborn."
He straightened and strolled closer, his steps as light as a cat's. His