Lannisport, the second-wealthiest port city in Westeros, had become a feast for the Ironborn.
Black-sailed longships crowded the docks, their masts a forest swaying gently with the waves.
The salty sea breeze mingled with sweat and alcohol, fermenting into a smell at once nauseating and exhilarating.
Scattered loot littered the ground.
Some Ironborn hauled wooden chests crammed with gold, silver, and jewels toward their longships; others had stuffed their leather armor so full that the gleam of gold coins and the sparkle of gemstones occasionally showed through the gaps.
The captive women had their arms bound with rough hemp rope and were strung together in a long line, driven toward the longships like livestock.
Every Ironborn wore a savage, satisfied grin.
The spoils of this one raid equaled what they could plunder in a year.
Suddenly, a young girl at the rear of the line of captives broke free-perhaps her ropes had been tied too loosely-and ran for her life.
An ugly Ironborn escort cursed and hurried after her.
The girl was frail and weak. She had barely run a few steps before he caught her and sent her sprawling with a vicious kick.
The other Ironborn around them burst out laughing. "What's wrong, Uller? Worn your legs out whoring in the city? Can't even keep a woman down?"
"I reckon he let her go on purpose. He likes chasing them down!"
The Ironborn called Uller spat, backhanded the girl across the face, and roared back in a gruff voice:
"Shut your fucking mouths! Once I've broken her in, you lads can enjoy the show!"
He bound the girl's hands with hemp rope again and dragged her along the ground toward the other captives, ignoring her screams.
Someone jerked his chin toward the stone seawall nearby, his voice carrying a