A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

shouted.
“EURON! EURON! EURON!”
It was kingsmoot come again.
    â€œI swore to give you Westeros,” the Crow’s Eye said when the tumult died away, “and here is your first taste. A morsel, nothing more . . . but we shall feast before the fall of night!” The torches along the walls were burning bright, and so was he, blue lips, blue eye, and all. “What the kraken grasps it does not loose. These isles were once ours, and now they are again . . . but we need strong men to hold them. So rise, Ser Harras Harlaw, Lord of Greyshield.” The Knight stood, one hand upon Nightfall’s moonstone pommel. “Rise, Andrik the Unsmiling, Lord of Southshield.” Andrik shoved away his women and lurched to his feet, like a mountain rising sudden from the sea. “Rise, Maron Volmark, Lord of Greenshield.” A beardless boy of six-and-ten years, Volmark stood hesitantly, looking like the lord of rabbits. “And rise, Nute the Barber, Lord of Oakenshield.”
    Nute’s eyes grew wary, as if he feared he was the butt of some cruel jape. “A lord?” he croaked.
    Victarion had expected the Crow’s Eye to give the lordships to his own creatures, Stonehand and the Red Oarsman and Left-Hand Lucas Codd.
A king must needs be open-handed,
he tried to tell himself, but another voice whispered,
Euron’s gifts are poisoned.
When he turned it over in his head, he saw it plain.
The Knight was the Reader’s chosen heir, and Andrik the Unsmiling the strong right arm of Dunstan Drumm. Volmark is a callow boy, but he has Black Harren’s blood in him through his mother. And the Barber . . .
    Victarion grabbed him by the forearm. “Refuse him!”
    Nute looked at him as if he had gone mad. “Refuse him? Lands and lordship? Will
you
make me a lord?” He wrenched his arm away and stood, basking in the cheers.
    And now he steals my men away,
Victarion thought.
    King Euron called to Lady Hewett for a fresh cup of wine and raised it high above his head. “Captains and kings, lift your cups to the Lords of the Four Shields!” Victarion drank with the rest.
There is no wine so sweet as wine taken from a foe.
Someone had told him that once. His father, or his brother Balon.
One day I shall drink your wine, Crow’s Eye, and take from you all that you hold dear.
But was there anything Euron held dear?
    â€œOn the morrow we prepare once more to sail,” the king was saying. “Fill our casks anew with spring water, take every sack of grain and cask of beef, and as many sheep and goats as we can carry. The wounded who are still hale enough to pull an oar will row. The rest shall remain here, to help hold these isles for their new lords. Torwold and the Red Oarsman will soon be back with more provisions. Our decks will stink of pigs and chickens on the voyage east, but we’ll return with dragons.”
    â€œWhen?”
The voice was Lord Rodrik’s. “When shall we return, Your Grace? A year? Three years? Five? Your dragons are a world away, and autumn is upon us.” The Reader walked forward, sounding all the hazards. “Galleys guard the Redwyne Straits. The Dornish coast is dry and bleak, four hundred leagues of whirlpools, cliffs, and hidden shoals with hardly a safe landing anywhere. Beyond wait the Stepstones, with their storms and their nests of Lysene and Myrish pirates. If a thousand ships set sail, three hundred may reach the far side of the narrow sea . . . and then what? Lys will not welcome us, nor will Volantis. Where will you find fresh water, food? The first storm will scatter us across half the earth.”
    A smile played across Euron’s blue lips. “I
am
the storm, my lord. The first storm, and the last. I have taken the
Silence
on longer voyages than this, and ones far more hazardous. Have you forgotten? I have sailed the Smoking Sea and seen Valyria.”
    Every man there knew that the Doom still ruled Valyria. The very sea there boiled and smoked, and the land was overrun with demons. It was said that any sailor who so much as glimpsed the fiery mountains of Valyria rising above the waves would soon die a dreadful death, yet the Crow’s Eye had been there, and returned.
    â€œHave you?” the Reader asked, so softly.
    Euron’s blue smile vanished. “Reader,” he said into the quiet, “you would do well to keep your nose in your books.”
    Victarion could feel the unease in the