Chapter 33

A week later ... Eastwatch-by-the-Sea...

“Whatever happened to the galleys that we once used to guard and trade from Eastwatch, anyway?” Theon asked Cotter, the thought more than once naturally occurring to an Ironborn prince, even a fallen one.

“Where do you think that the Night King got his ships? He turned every last one of those poor buggers, that is my only conclusion, plus any foolish smugglers and pirates caught in the open. Look, we have now been cut down to a force of what two hundred or so odd fellows, half of them wildlings these days ... or Free Folk, as they like to be called. We’ve had desertions, men never coming back from ranging, all kinds of mishaps, and yes, the loss by the turning of our seamen, no small number of them Ironborn, as you might have guessed,” Cotter admitted in low tones in their own Pyke dialect.

“Yes, well, I’ve just received this urgent message by raven, sir,” someone interrupted them, that someone being Tormund Giantsbane himself, “it’s from the Hound, Sandor Clegane, and he writes with the utmost urgency here.”

“I have spotted enemy vessels just six leagues south of the Wall, my lord. Please send some men at the earliest possible speed. This is a very sparsely settled area, with only a few hamlets along the coast, hardly able to put up much of a fight. The closest castle of any significance is Last Hearth, which belongs to the young Lord Ned Umber. That is still many leagues away, too, even if he is willing and able to commit to our aid. Nevertheless, I will attempt to get him to succor us, but it will aid immensely if I have your material as well as moral support, my lord,” the Hound warned the Commander now in his letter.

“Seven Hells!” Maester Harmune shouted after eavesdropping on the trio, “is the Night King willing to risk an attack on his rear?”

“Apparently so, unless this be a diversion. He’s been rather quiet this week since his last raid,” Tormund cautioned now.

“That’s quite possible. The Night King is clearly resourceful, more so than we at times, alas. He can be rather devious and he has had thousands of years to plan this second war of his. He has probably learned from his previous blunders by now. He could be up to anything at the moment, and poor Sandor is in no shape to fight him off alone. I had hoped to put him to good use, but so far, he has only been thrown into more peril,” Cotter Pyke fretted, somewhat oddly for him, but then he had grown to like and respect the Hound a great deal by now.

“His ships have been spotted, but they haven’t landed yet, either. Who knows where they’ll disembark, where they’ll strike ... but then, the Hound’s instincts were probably right. The Night King could have given up on Eastwatch and decided to strike the North along a weaker spot on the coast. That would make good military sense, other than the danger to his rear, of course,” Cotter conceded now rather ruefully.

“I’d say that we need men there ... now. But who to command them and how many?” Theon urged Cotter.

“Tormund, go south with a party of twenty handpicked men, a good tenth of our strength. Use your Free Folk for the most part, since you know them and they know you. Join up with Sandor Clegane, if you can. The Hound can’t deal with this threat alone. You’re in command, so if you have to pull rank with Sandor, he’ll just have to stomach it. Otherwise, he’s second only to you.

“Theon, you’re now my right hand man. You and I must be ready, in case the Night King also attacks Eastwatch, either as a diversion or another major assault. We’ll have about one hundred eighty fellows to carry on the fight ... against, who knows how many of those motherless fuckers. We can’t be sure of any of his intentions ... so we have to stretch ourselves to guard against any perceived threat. That’s risky, but so is trying to guess where he’ll land, too,” Cotter insisted, just as he saw the steward Dareon bring in Borcas, the head steward ... the man was dead, bleeding from his nose.

“Poison!” Maester Harmune shouted, recognizing what he deemed proof of poisoning.

“Burn him ... take him out and burn him ... NOW!” Cotter thundered, “we don’t have time for reckless conspiracy talk ... we have to burn all of the dead who are not already burned!”

“Yes, of course,” the maester agreed quickly, before adding, “and now his watch has ended.”

“And now his watch has ended,” Cotter confirmed as he sent the maeaster on his way, “you, lad, go burn the poor fellow! We can’t risk any of the dead turning wight!”

“Aye, m’lord,” Dareon answered dutifully, as he, the new head steward, assisted the maester in this matter.

The last thing that anyone wanted was more wights in their midst, after all ... right?