Oliver had spent more than half his life at sea, and he understood one thing very well: if your prey was too easy to catch, it might be a trap.
That was why he did not like this feeling. The sea around them was too calm, as deceptively still as the quiet before a storm.
News of the Iron Islands' destruction should already have spread throughout Westeros while they were scavenging the ruins, but that did not mean every last Ironborn was dead.
Asha Greyjoy, King Balon's only daughter, was still roaming out there with a fleet of her own, like a wounded she-shark searching for anything she could sink her teeth into.
At that thought, he drew the sword at his waist and shouted another order to the lookout on the mast. "Send a signal at once. Have the two patrol ships on the left wing move forward immediately and find out who they are."
"And order all fighting men to their stations. Have the archers and crossbowmen ready and keep everyone on alert. If those fishing boats refuse to stop or resist, sink them. Do not let a single suspicious vessel anywhere near the center of our formation."
After all, the Ironborn had always been full of tricks. When raiding the Westerlands and the Reach, they had loved disguising their vessels as fishing boats to slip past coastal patrols, then seizing the wharves and harbors before anyone could react.
Meanwhile, less than ten nautical miles northeast of the Arbor Fleet, Asha Greyjoy stood at the bow of the Daughter of the Sea Monster. The sea wind tossed her short brown hair and dashed salty spray against her face.
She had been drifting through these waters with her fleet for nearly two months. Of the more than a hundred