A Feast for Dragons

it in
the name of the king.”
    “What ransom? Who would pay good coin for sea scum?”
    “I did, ser.” The speaker came forward on his garron. He was
very tall, very thin, so long-legged that it was a wonder his feet did not drag
along the ground. “I had need of a strong escort to see me safely to the king,
and Lady Sybelle had need of fewer mouths to feed.” A scarf concealed the tall
man’s features, but atop his head was perched the queerest hat Asha had seen
since the last time she had sailed to Tyrosh, a brimless tower of some soft
fabric, like three cylinders stacked one atop the other. “I was given to
understand that I might find King Stannis here. It is most urgent that I speak
with him at once.”
    “And who in seven stinking hells are you?”
    The tall man slid gracefully from his garron, removed his
peculiar hat, and bowed. “I have the honor to be Tycho Nestoris, a humble
servant of the Iron Bank of Braavos.”
    Of all the strange things that might have come riding out of
the night, the last one Asha Greyjoy would ever have expected was a Braavosi
banker. It was too absurd. She had to laugh. “King Stannis has taken the
watchtower for his seat. Ser Clayton will be pleased to show you to him, I’m
sure.”
    “That would be most kind. Time is of the essence.” The
banker studied her with shrewd dark eyes. “You are the Lady Asha of House
Greyjoy, unless I am mistaken.”
    “I am Asha of House Greyjoy, aye. Opinions differ on whether
I’m a lady.”
    The Braavosi smiled. “We’ve brought a gift for you.” He
beckoned to the men behind him. “We had expected to find the king at
Winterfell. This same blizzard has engulfed the castle, alas. Beneath its walls
we found Mors Umber with a troop of raw green boys, waiting for the king’s
coming. He gave us this.”
    A girl and an old man
, thought Asha, as the
two were dumped rudely in the snow before her. The girl was shivering
violently, even in her furs. If she had not been so frightened, she might even
have been pretty, though the tip of her nose was black with frostbite. The old
man … no one would ever think him comely. She had seen scarecrows with
more flesh. His face was a skull with skin, his hair bone-white and filthy. And
he
stank
. Just the sight of him filled Asha with revulsion.
    He raised his eyes. “Sister. See. This time I knew you.”
    Asha’s heart skipped a beat.
“Theon?”
    His lips skinned back in what might have been a grin. Half
his teeth were gone, and half of those still left him were broken and
splintered. “Theon,” he repeated. “My name is Theon. You have to know your
name.”
    ----

    VICTARION
    The sea was black and the moon was silver as the Iron Fleet
swept down on the prey.
    They sighted her in the narrows between the Isle of Cedars
and the rugged hills of the Astapori hinterlands, just as the black priest
Moqorro had said they would. “Ghiscari,” Longwater Pyke shouted down from the
crow’s nest. Victarion Greyjoy watched her sail grow larger from the
forecastle. Soon he could make out her oars rising and falling, and the long
white wake behind her shining in the moonlight, like a scar across the sea.
    Not a true warship
, Victarion realized.
A
trading galley, and a big one
. She would make a fine prize. He
signaled to his captains to give chase. They would board this ship and take
her.
    The captain of the galley had realized his peril by then. He
changed course for the west, making for the Isle of Cedars, perhaps hoping to
shelter in some hidden cove or run his pursuers onto the jagged rocks along the
island’s northeast coast. His galley was heavy laden, though, and the ironborn
had the wind.
Grief
and
Iron Victory
cut across
the quarry’s course, whilst swift
Sparrowhawk
and agile
Fingerdancer
swept behind her. Even then the Ghiscari captain did not strike his banners. By
the time
Lamentation
came alongside the prey, raking her
larboard side and splintering her oars, both ships were so close to the haunted
ruins of Ghozai that they could hear the monkeys chattering as the first dawn
light washed over the city’s broken pyramids.
    Their prize was named
Ghiscari Dawn
, the
galley’s captain said when he was delivered to Victarion in chains. She was out
of New Ghis and returning there by way of Yunkai after trading at Meereen. The
man spoke no decent tongue but only a guttural Ghiscari, full of growls and
hisses, as ugly a language as Victarion Greyjoy had ever heard. Moqorro
translated