A Feast for Dragons

the
longer they would have to gather their strength and bring allies to the cause.
There should be ships on Estermont. It
is
an island. Haldon,
send word to Mandrake to leave a garrison behind and bring the rest of his men
over to Cape Wrath, along with any noble captives.”
    “As you command, my lord. House Estermont has blood ties to
both kings, as it happens. Good hostages.”
    “Good ransoms,” said Homeless Harry, happily.
    “It is time we sent for Prince Aegon as well,” Lord Jon
announced. “He will be safer here behind the walls of Griffin’s Roost than back
at camp.”
    “I’ll send a rider,” said Franklyn Flowers, “but the lad
won’t much like the idea of staying safe, I tell you that. He wants to be in
the thick o’ things.”
    So did we all at his age
, Lord Jon thought,
remembering.
    “Has the time come to raise his banner?” asked Pease.
    “Not yet. Let King’s Landing think this is no more than an
exile lord coming home with some hired swords to reclaim his birthright. An old
familiar story, that. I will even write King Tommen, stating as much and asking
for a pardon and the restoration of my lands and titles. That will give them
something to chew over for a while. And whilst they dither, we will send out
word secretly to likely friends in the stormlands and the Reach. And Dorne.”
That was the crucial step. Lesser lords might join their cause for fear of harm
or hope of gain, but only the Prince of Dorne had the power to defy House
Lannister and its allies. “Above all else, we must have Doran Martell.”
    “Small chance of that,” said Strickland. “The Dornishman is
scared of his own shadow. Not what you call daring.”
    No more than you
. “Prince Doran is a
cautious man, that’s true. He will never join us unless he is convinced that we
will win. So to persuade him we must show our strength.”
    “If Peake and Rivers are successful, we will control the
better part of Cape Wrath,” argued Strickland. “Four castles in as many days,
that’s a splendid start, but we are still only at half strength. We need to
wait for the rest of my men. We are missing horses as well, and the elephants.
Wait, I say. Gather our power, win some small lords to our cause, let Lysono
Maar dispatch his spies to learn what we can learn of our foes.”
    Connington gave the plump captain-general a cool look.
This
man is no Blackheart, no Bittersteel, no Maelys. He would wait until all seven
hells were frozen if he could rather than risk another bout of blisters
.
“We did not cross half the world to wait. Our best chance is to strike hard and
fast, before King’s Landing knows who we are. I mean to take Storm’s End. A
nigh-impregnable stronghold, and Stannis Baratheon’s last foothold in the
south. Once taken, it will give us a secure fastness to which we may retreat at
need, and winning it will prove our strength.”
    The captains of the Golden Company exchanged glances. “If
Storm’s End is still held by men loyal to Stannis, we will be taking it from
him, not the Lannisters,” objected Brendel Byrne. “Why not make common cause
with him against the Lannisters?”
    “Stannis is Robert’s brother, of that same ilk that brought
down House Targaryen,” Jon Connington reminded him. “Moreover, he is a thousand
leagues away, with whatever meagre strength he still commands. The whole realm
lies between us. It would take half a year just to reach him, and he has little
and less to offer us.”
    “If Storm’s End is so impregnable, how do you mean to take
it?” asked Malo.
    “By guile.”
    Homeless Harry Strickland disagreed. “We should wait.”
    “We shall.” Jon Connington stood. “Ten days. No longer. It
will take that long to prepare. On the morning of the eleventh day, we ride for
Storm’s End.”
    The prince arrived to join them four days later, riding at
the head of a column of a hundred horse, with three elephants lumbering in his
rear. Lady Lemore was with him, garbed once more in the white robes of a septa.
Before them went Ser Rolly Duckfield, a snow-white cloak streaming from his
shoulders.
    A solid man, and true
, Connington thought as
he watched Duck dismount,
but not worthy of the Kingsguard
. He
had tried his best to dissuade the prince from giving Duckfield that cloak,
pointing out that the honor might best be held in reserve for warriors of
greater renown whose fealty would add luster to their cause, and the younger
sons of great lords whose support they would