The smell of death seeped from every stone of Rushmarsh, like a ghost that could never be driven away.
House Vypren's banners had long since turned to dust. Now, the black clawed-banner of House Lychester flew from the towers.
Suleiman looked at the medium-sized castle, his thoughts drifting back to not long ago.
His campaign had begun here. Within its inner keep, he had trapped the ironborn and burned them all alive.
The reconstruction of Oldstones would not be completed overnight.
He had decided to temporarily move the Governor's residence to the small neighboring castle known as Rushmarsh.
Lymond Lychester sat tall in the saddle, his clouded eyes sweeping across the ruined castle.
House Vypren's castle had now become his new residence.
His dry lips moved, but no sound emerged. He merely sighed, filled with an inexplicable sense of melancholy.
House Vypren had also been one of the leaders during the Age of Andal Conquest. Their bloodline was ancient, yet they too had now embarked upon the road to extinction.
Suleiman rode beside him, calmly surveying everything.
In just a few months, moss had crept over the battlements, while weeds in the courtyard had grown so thick they nearly reached a man's knees.
Attendants and servants quickly entered the inner keep, clearing away the grim traces left behind by that blaze.
Three hundred newly appointed Junker knights stood in neat square formations in the castle courtyard.
Their curious gazes turned toward another group: the battle-hardened soldiers Suleiman had summoned from his old lands.
Suleiman looked at these soldiers, standing tall with scars covering their bodies.
They were all veterans who had followed him from the old lands, fighting their way through blood and steel. Their eyes were filled with the steadfastness of wolves.
They had waited for their lord's summons,