The wind blew in from the west, sweeping across the Narrow Sea.
It carried more than the briny reek of seawater. Burned timber, rotting flesh, and some deeper despair mingled into a nauseating, acrid stench.
King Ghidorah glided steadily above the clouds, his three heads lowered, six molten-gold slit pupils gazing impassively down.
Aegon rode on the dragon's back, his black armor cold as iron in the thin air high above.
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing the drifting clouds.
Bloodstone Island spread beneath him like a jagged emerald stained with filth.
The terrain was treacherous. Nearly vertical black cliffs lined the eastern side, where waves shattered into white foam at their feet.
The western side sloped more gently, but natural caves riddled it like a monstrous honeycomb.
The pirates' wooden palisades and watchtowers clung to these cliffs and caves in overlapping tiers, easy to defend and hard to storm.
Burned shipwrecks littered the tidal flats west of the island, their blackened keels pointing skyward like the ribs of drowned beasts.
The tide washed back and forth, carrying away some sand and gravel while leaving other things behind: corpses swollen and bleached by the water, broken weapons, shattered shields.
Sea crabs crawled among the remains, feasting on this unexpected bounty.
Farther along the beach stood the Ashen Company's camp.
Campfires glowed like scattered orange-red eyes in the dusk. Hastily built barricades and low walls were visible, along with a glaring patch of white-the tents for the wounded.
On the other side of the island, however, the pirate stronghold presented a different scene.
Lights blazed, and faint sounds of raucous howling, crude songs, and clattering vessels drifted out.
They were celebrating another repelled assault.
Aegon's gaze swept rapidly over the terrain and the positions of both sides.
Cliffs, caves, a