A wooden camp belonging to the Riverlands had become an impassable barrier.
Victarion Greyjoy stared at the towering watchtowers, where countless figures shifted back and forth. He could almost hear the creaking of the enormous, unfamiliar siege crossbows being cranked. They were clearly devastatingly dangerous.
He glimpsed a flag fluttering at one corner of the camp: a black field bearing a dead weirwood, surrounded by a flock of ravens. A shadow passed over his heart.
The weirwood longbowmen of House Blackwood, the finest archers on the Westeros Continent, now stood against him.
But the four thousand warriors behind him showed no fear. Their eyes burned with hunger and vengeance.
Their morale was sky-high, as if they were the ones with the advantage.
"Kill every Riverlander!"
"Kill them all!"
"Cut that bastard down!"
Their roars soared into the sky, making the ground tremble beneath their feet.
Inside the camp walls, Suleiman looked down at the gathering iron-gray tide, his expression calm.
Some of the soldiers beside him, who had never been to battle, had sweaty palms and gripped their weapons tightly.
The air grew so heavy with the imminence of battle that it was hard to breathe.
Suleiman's voice carried clearly along the wall. "Don't spare the arrows."
"This battle will be over soon."
The crossbowmen and archers under his command had already readied their weapons. They waited for the Ironborn to charge with a roar, and for them to enter the Riverlanders' optimal range.
Countless cold arrowheads were aimed at the restless sea of men, waiting for the order.
Victarion Greyjoy's rough shout drowned out every other sound. "Halt!"
The Ironborn came to an abrupt stop.
Then he bellowed again.
"Battering ram!"
"Archers, cover us!"
"Shield wall!"
The Ironborn answered with bestial howls. Their massive round shields slammed together, forming