"We can't worry about them anymore."
Oliver cut him off, his voice tinged with bitterness but firm. "If we don't make up our minds now, the Ironborn coming from the north will devour every ship we have left. Send the order. Now."
The adjutant could only grit his teeth and raise the signal flags, ordering the formation to close ranks.
Oliver continued studying the Ironborn's lines of attack around them. He could see that they were equally reluctant to fight his fleet head-on, so they had left an escape route westward into the fog banks of the Sunset Sea.
But he refused to take this path to survival the Ironborn had so generously "offered." Asha and her men clearly intended to wear down his entire fleet without lifting a finger.
Everyone knew the fog-shrouded waters of the Sunset Sea were riddled with reefs and plagued by unpredictable storms. There were even tales of sea monsters. If one ship out of ten made it back alive, that alone would count as a blessing from the Seven.
Asha Greyjoy had laid her plans well, setting an escape route plainly before him, certain he would never gamble the lives of his entire fleet and the wealth aboard it on the chance of breaking through by force. But Oliver had lived long enough to know that the last thing he should trust was a path to survival handed to him by the enemy.
Oliver's gaze remained fixed on the southeastern horizon. He knew full well that only by breaking through the Ironborn blockade and reaching the Shield Islands could he use the strength stationed there to give the soldiers following him a real chance of survival.
The briny wind carried the stench of smoke and blood, lashing his gaunt, angular face. The flagship's mainsail