Yet no matter how quickly Oliver gave the order, the Arbor warships already laden with cargo could not possibly turn around in so little time.
Several large ships carrying precious valuables tried to turn away from the fleet, but they sat too low in the water. Their clumsy turns only sent them crashing into neighboring vessels.
Other ships laboriously traced awkward arcs across the sea, but the Ironborn longships to the south were already charging straight at them, exploiting the speed of a following wind.
More than half the Ironborn were already standing along their longships' gunwales, hunched over as they drew their shortbows. Another dark hail of arrows rained down on Oliver and his men in an instant.
Oliver's Greenstone had become the Ironborn archers' primary target early on. Had several trusted soldiers beside him not shielded him with their bodies from this incoming volley, he would likely have died in the ambush.
Even so, several arrows pierced the soldiers' chests and continued past them, grazing Oliver's arm. His wrist went slack, and hot blood instantly soaked his sleeve. Only the gunwale kept him on his feet.
When he looked up again, the leading Ironborn longship had closed to within fifty paces. The ragged-looking Ironborn leaders at its prow raised bloodstained axes and unleashed deafening war cries in his direction.
Meanwhile, the Oak Rose, already at the rear of the fleet, failed to evade the volley and ended up broadside to the Ironborn. Its thick canvas sails were instantly riddled with holes. More than a dozen sailors who had failed to find cover behind the cabin walls fell into pools of blood without so much as a groan. Even the captain was not spared.
Before the other Arbor soldiers aboard could form up for battle, the leading Ironborn longship