The Jhala Wooden Ship Stratagem

Morning Dew Manor was especially quiet at dawn.

Leon stood at the second-floor window, watching the morning mist drifting over the Honeywine.

Three days had passed since his talk with Jalabhar, and one question had kept turning over in his mind:

How could he get an army into the Summer Isles?

A frontal assault? Impossible. He had no fleet, no siege equipment, and no logistical support.

Even if he poured in every coin he had earned, he could not put together an army capable of a landing operation.

But what if he did not attack head-on?

He turned toward the map spread across the table.

Walano Island, Omboru Island, and Jhala Island, the three main islands, lay like three game pieces upon the azure sea.

Lotus Port lay at the northernmost tip of Walano Island. It was the islands' capital, and also the territory Jalabhar had promised to help him secure.

The problem was that it was now enemy territory.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Come in."

Arthur pushed the door open and entered.

He had changed out of his white cloak and wore a dark gray coat of coarse cloth, with Dawn wrapped in old cloth and strapped to his back. Even so, he could not conceal his knightly bearing.

"Maester Loomis wants you. Willas is here."

When Leon went downstairs, Willas and his guards were standing in the sitting room. More than twenty heavy leather trunks sat at their feet.

Willas grinned at the sight of Leon. "Guess what I brought you?"

He opened the trunks one by one.

More than twenty trunks brimming with gold dragons gleamed dazzlingly in the morning light.

Leon raised his eyebrows slightly. "This is..."

"The money stored in the Tyrell warehouses after our earlier pottery and copper-silver mining partnership. Three years of earnings, minus the shares owed. It's all here."

Willas said, "My father wanted to send it straight to Lord Tywin at Casterly Rock, but I stopped him."

He looked at Leon. "This is your money, not House Lannister's."

Leon crouched and picked up a gold coin. On the front was House Tyrell's golden rose; on the back was the king's portrait used throughout Westeros.

"How much?"

"One hundred and sixty thousand gold dragons. Enough to buy ten galleys, plus a year's pay for three hundred men."

Leon fell silent for a few seconds.

One hundred and sixty thousand gold dragons. More than he had expected. It seemed Olenna's "investment" back then had been more generous than he had imagined.

He looked up at Willas. "I need a favor."

Leon called everyone into the sitting room.

Arthur, Oswell, Thea, Maester Loomis, Pudding Face, and Willas.

Jalabhar was there too. He had moved over from the inn the previous night and was now officially a member of this strange group.

Leon stood at the table, a map of the Summer Isles spread before him.

"We're going to the Summer Isles. But not as refugees. As avengers."

Jalabhar's face flushed deep red, and he stood. "You promised to help me reclaim Jhala Island, and I would help you obtain Walano Island. But you only have these few people-!"

"Which is why we need more people," Leon interrupted. "Ships, men, weapons."

He pointed at Jhala Island on the map.

"A frontal assault is impossible. No proper fleet, no siege equipment, no logistics. But we can do this another way."

He took a sheet of paper from inside his clothes. A rough sketch of a ship was drawn on it.

"I call it the 'Jhala wooden ship stratagem.'"

Everyone leaned in to look.

"We buy ten large transport galleys. On the surface, we're trading spices. The upper level will carry goods, but soldiers will be hidden in the holds."

He pointed to the river mouth at Red Flower Vale on the map.

"Jalabhar is the prince of Red Flower Vale. He can enter the harbor under the guise of a 'trading convoy.' Once the ships dock, we wait until dark. Then the soldiers come out of the holds and seize the harbor."

Willas's eyes lit up. "You mean... trick them into opening the gates?"

"Trick them into opening the harbor. Once we control it, since Red Flower Vale is a river valley, we can use the harbor as our base and launch a surprise attack that very night."

Arthur frowned. "Ten ships' worth of soldiers? Where are we getting that many men?"

Leon looked at Willas. "Oldtown. It's the largest port in Westeros, always full of merchant ships from everywhere, and always full of mercenaries with nothing to do. And there's..."

He paused. "House Hightower. Your grandfather is Earl Hightower, the lord of Oldtown."

Willas's expression changed for an instant. "You... want me to ask my grandfather to lend us troops?"

"Not borrow troops. Recruit men. Retired veterans, experienced sailors, sellswords who have fought in wars. They don't need uniforms or House Hightower's banners. They're simply 'guards hired by a trading convoy.'"

He looked at Arthur. "Besides, your grandfather should be willing to meet Gerold Hightower's comrade-in-arms."

Arthur said nothing, merely nodding slightly.

Leon turned to Jalabhar. "You're a prince. With Jhala Island in civil war, you can't be the only one driven into exile. There are always Summer Isles merchant ships in Oldtown. How many of your exiled former followers can you contact?"

Jalabhar thought for a moment. "I don't know... perhaps a few dozen. Merchants, sailors, soldiers, all sorts."

"Then find them all. They know the islands' terrain, languages, and internal conflicts. Once we land, they'll be our guides."

Jalabhar took a deep breath and nodded.

Finally, Leon looked at Pudding Face. "Oldtown has a notorious black market. I need you to buy weapons there. Swords, armor, bows and arrows, enough for three hundred men. Don't attract attention. Buy in batches."

Pudding Face grinned. "That's my specialty."

Three days later, Willas entered the Hightower with Arthur.

The enormous stepped stone tower soared into the clouds, said to stand over eight hundred feet tall. A beacon burned at its summit, visible even from hundreds of nautical miles away.

It was the tallest man-made structure in Westeros, and the symbol of House Hightower's rule over Oldtown.

Earl Leyton Hightower received them in his study on the top floor.

The old lord of Oldtown was advanced in years, his hair streaked with white, but his eyes remained sharp. He stared at Arthur for a long time.

"Gerold's comrade-in-arms," he said hoarsely. "The Sword of the Morning."

Arthur bowed slightly. "My lord."

Leyton waved for them to sit. "Uncle Gerold... how did he die?"

Arthur was silent for a second. "At the Tower of Joy. He held off Eddard Stark and his six men alone. He said, 'I'll hold them off. You go.'"

Leyton closed his eyes and said nothing for a long time.

When he opened them again, something flickered in those aged eyes.

"House Hightower does not enter wars lightly. But we remember our blood."

He looked at Willas. "What do you want?"

Willas drew a deep breath. "Grandfather, I need some men. Not soldiers. 'Guards.' Retired veterans, sailors who know navigation, sellswords who can fight. Not too many. Around a hundred will do."

Leyton stared at him. "Where are you going?"

"The Summer Isles."

Leyton remained silent for a long time.

Then he rose, walked to the window, and gazed out at the harbor. "There are more than a hundred and twenty veterans of the City Watch of Oldtown who retired over the past few years. They're sitting idle at home. They probably wouldn't mind earning some extra money."

He turned to Arthur. "Gerold trusted you. So do I."

"There is someone else you should meet."

He summoned a servant and gave a few quiet instructions.

A quarter of an hour later, a man in his thirties entered the study. His skin was dark and weather-beaten, but he stood ramrod straight.

"Norman Hightower," Leyton introduced him. "He is a descendant of Eustace Hightower. His ancestor set sail in 56 AC on a voyage to seek new continents. He sailed to the Summer Isles and even reached Sothoryos."

Norman looked at Arthur and grinned, revealing several missing teeth. "Sword of the Morning. I've heard stories about you in taverns."

Arthur inclined his head slightly.

Norman turned to Willas. "I hear you're heading to the Summer Isles? I know that route."

Pudding Face spent ten busy days in the black market.

Oldtown's Ragman's Alley lay west of the docks, a narrow, winding lane crammed with pawnshops, gambling dens, and secret trading houses behind hidden doors. Anything could be bought here, provided one had enough money.

He purchased weapons in batches:

Twenty swords on the first day, thirty sets of leather armor on the second, ten crates of arrowheads on the third, and five crates of fine iron scale armor smuggled from Lys on the fourth.

Each transaction used a different intermediary and a different location. Sometimes it was a warehouse beside the docks, sometimes behind a hidden door deep in Ragman's Alley, sometimes in a private room in a brothel.

On the tenth night, he returned to Morning Dew Manor and slapped the inventory onto the table.

"Enough equipment for three hundred men. It cost thirty-two thousand gold dragons. There's enough left to pay the men."

Leon glanced over the list and nodded. "What about recruits?"

"Still looking. There's no shortage of sellswords and mercenaries on the docks. But choosing ones who can fight takes time."

Meanwhile, Jalabhar found his countrymen at the docks.

This was Oldtown's shipping hub, filled with merchant ships from across the world.

Several brightly painted swan ships from the Summer Isles stood out. Such ships used no rivets, relying entirely on intricate mortise-and-tenon joints. It was said that even rams could not smash them apart.

Jalabhar spoke to the sailors aboard in his native tongue.

Over three days, he contacted more than fifty exiled islanders. There were merchants, sailors, soldiers, and even several former followers who had once served in Red Flower Vale.

"They're all willing to return," Jalabhar told Leon. "As long as there's a chance to reclaim their homeland."

Leon nodded. "Add them to the force. Once we land, they'll lead the way."

Maester Loomis entered the Citadel on a rainy afternoon.

It was his first return in the ten years since he had left. Those familiar stone arch bridges, towers, domes, and the pair of towering green sphinx statues flanking the main entrance.

One had a man's face, the other a woman's, with lions' bodies, eagles' wings, and serpents' tails. Nothing had changed.

He found an old acquaintance, an archmaester who studied ancient seafaring. They talked all afternoon in the reading room beside the scribes' desk.

The archmaester found several old accounts of the Summer Isles for him: monsoon patterns, reef locations, sailing times between islands, and even a century-old nautical chart of the islands.

"Will these be useful?" the archmaester asked.

Loomis nodded. "They will."

He did not mention conquering the islands. He merely said that a student wanted to trade in spices and needed to learn about those waters.

When he left the Citadel, the rain had stopped. Loomis stood beside the Honeywine, gazing at the distant beacon atop the Hightower.

He did not know whether Leon would succeed. But he knew he would follow him until the day he could no longer walk.

Thea and Oswell handled recruitment during those ten days.

Dressed in ordinary clothes, they made their rounds through Oldtown's taverns.

Their targets were clear: experienced veterans, sellswords who had fought in wars, and sailors who had crossed the open ocean.

"Where to?" the people they approached always asked.

"South, to trade." Thea's answer was always the same. "Guarding a trading convoy. One year's work, generous pay. There'll be hard fighting, compensation if you die, and a share of the profits if we win."

Over the course of a month, they recruited enough men.

Retired veterans: ninety-eight. Veterans retired from the City Watch of Oldtown, privately arranged by Earl Leyton. These men were experienced and disciplined. They knew how to fight, and how to keep their mouths shut.

Sellswords and mercenaries: one hundred and twelve. Unattached mercenaries recruited from taverns throughout Oldtown. Their quality varied, but they could fight. Pudding Face negotiated their rates one by one, signed contracts, and put down deposits.

Veteran sailors: forty-five. Seasoned sailors who had traveled the Summer Isles route and knew the monsoons and reefs of those waters. More than a dozen had been poached by Jalabhar from island merchant ships.

Summer Isles exiles: fifty-three. Jalabhar's countrymen. They knew the islands' terrain, languages, and internal conflicts, making them the best guides after the landing.

Core team: nine. Leon, Arthur, Oswell, Thea, Maester Loomis, Pudding Face, Jalabhar, Norman Hightower, and Rhaenys, who was always sleeping.

Total: three hundred and seventeen.

The ships were refitted in a secluded cove outside Oldtown's harbor.

Ten large merchant transports lay side by side, their decks piled with goods ready to be loaded.

Spices, cloth, pottery, all things a "trading convoy" should openly carry.

But belowdecks, the cargo holds had been converted into troop quarters.

Thick planks divided them into cramped spaces, large enough to lie down and sleep, but anyone standing would hit their head. Weapon crates were hidden in the corners, and secret compartments were packed with arrows and crossbow bolts.

Each ship could conceal thirty men.

"This looks like a merchant ship," Oswell said, climbing up from below after inspecting one. "Open the hold, and it's full of men."

Leon stood at the bow, gazing out to sea. "Once we reach the mouth of Red Flower Vale, we wait until dark, open the hatches, and let them out."

Oswell walked up beside him. "Where did you get this idea?"

Leon was silent for a second.

"A story I heard a long time ago. Someone used a wooden horse to trick their way into a city."

Oswell looked at him, a trace of amusement in his dark eyes. "Wooden ships. Wooden horses. You like trickery."

Leon did not answer.

He merely gazed south. Beyond that expanse of azure sea lay the Summer Isles.

There lay the territory he wanted, the future he wanted.

The night before their departure, everyone gathered in the courtyard of Morning Dew Manor.

Willas brought five barrels of good wine, which he said he had stolen from his father's cellar.

Jalabhar told a few Summer Isles jokes that made Rhaenys giggle.

It was the first time Leon had heard her laugh. The little girl nestled in Thea's arms, her brown curls loose, her small hands clutching Thea's clothes tightly.

Maester Loomis sat in a corner, poring over the rolled sea chart borrowed from the Citadel. Arthur leaned against an oak, gazing at the night sky, Dawn across his knees, its blade gleaming pale and cold in the moonlight. Oswell and Pudding Face were gambling with dice, surrounded by a ring of veterans watching the fun.

Leon stood alone at the manor's second-floor window, looking up at the starry night sky.

He was going to conquer a kingdom.

Thea pushed the door open and came in. "Young master, they're all waiting for you."

Leon nodded and walked into the courtyard. Everyone fell silent.

More than three hundred pairs of eyes watched him.

"Tomorrow, we set sail. To reclaim Jhala Island."

No one spoke.

"Some will die. Some will come back alive. Those who live get a share of the money. Those who die, their families get compensation. Those are all the rules."

He paused.

"If you're willing to follow me, board the ships tomorrow. If not, leave now. No one will stop you."

Silence.

No one moved.

Jalabhar stood and walked over to Leon.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this day?" His voice was a little hoarse. "A year. In the Westerlands, in Highgarden, in Dorne, I begged for so long. Not one person was willing to help me."

He looked at Leon. "Only you. You, the 'Elf.'"

Leon said nothing.

Jalabhar raised his cup. "To Elf!"

More than three hundred cups rose. "To Elf!"

The corners of Leon's mouth lifted slightly.

At dawn, the fleet left the harbor.

Ten large ships formed a V, sailing slowly south. Morning light spilled over the canvas, tinting the white sails gold and red.

Leon stood at the bow, watching the coastline of Westeros recede into the distance.

Arthur came to stand beside him. "What are you thinking about?"

Leon was silent for a long time. "What we'll be like the next time we come back."

Arthur followed his gaze north. "Things will be different. This journey won't be for nothing."

Leon turned to look at him. "How do you know?"

Arthur did not answer. He only gazed north, the morning light reflected in his dark eyes.

"Because everyone believes in you. That's your gift."

Leon asked no more.

In the distance, Oldtown's lighthouse grew smaller and smaller, until it vanished below the horizon.

Ahead lay the boundless Summer Sea.

Beyond the sea lay the Summer Isles. More than fifty islands, a fractured kingdom, a future to be conquered.