Victarion led more than a hundred Ironborn along the main road from the waterfront toward the inner city.
He issued orders as he walked, and messengers scattered into the streets and alleys to gather the Ironborn dispersed throughout the city.
But even now, some men were still too absorbed in looting to stop.
Shop doors were smashed open, shelves overturned, and gold coins and silverware clinked into pockets.
Some Ironborn even fought in the street over a pearl necklace.
When the orders reached them, some turned a deaf ear, while others voiced their obedience but kept moving deeper into the city.
Victarion wasted no words.
He hauled out two Ironborn who had disobeyed and chopped off their heads with his battle axe on the spot.
Two heads rolled across the cobblestones, blood pooling around them. Only then did the men fall into line.
By the time he reached the outer city, nearly a thousand Ironborn had gathered behind him.
But the sight before him made his heart sink.
Lannisport's outer walls had been completely lost.
The banner flying above the walls was no longer the golden kraken on black, but the Targaryens' Black Three-Headed Dragon Banner.
Soldiers in matching black surcoats poured through the collapsed gate and breaches in the walls, forming orderly ranks as they advanced along the streets toward the inner city.
Their steps were steady, their shields fitted tightly together into a moving wall, with spears protruding through the gaps.
Victarion cursed Tywin eight hundred times in his mind.
But he knew this was no time for anger.
The thousand or so men behind him were only a small fraction of the Ironborn. Far more were still scattered throughout the city, busy hauling their plunder onto the longships.
He had to hold back the advancing Targaryen army