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"Rather than serving, it's more like getting screwed by an old friend, my good king."
Salladhor Saan rose smoothly and launched into a fluent complaint in the Common Tongue.
"Davos found me back when he was still the Onion Knight. He talked me into serving his king—lent him my fleet to hit King's Landing and take the Iron Throne."
"But their war went to shit. All I walked away with was one fancy sheet of parchment, thin as a whisper, signed by Hand Alester Florent himself with the king's seal on it."
"Later Stannis had the red priestess burn Alester alive—called him a traitor—then made Davos Hand instead. Davos begged me to keep supplying ships and swore I'd get gold and jewels. Never saw a single coin of it. Just another noble royal IOU."
Salladhor kept talking. Lynn barely got a word in edgewise.
"The king's new Hand told me to stay loyal. Said if I cut Stannis loose now, I'd kiss any chance of real payment goodbye. I had to stand firm until Stannis took back the Iron Throne—or I'd get nothing."
"Listen to that. Is that the kind of thing an old friend who just got made Hand says? Even the sharpest merchant wouldn't push it that hard."
"But what good is a king's paper when you're hungry? Can sheepskin and a wax stag seal quench your thirst? My good king, to this day I haven't seen one copper piece. Instead I've spent plenty and had to listen to that North wind cut straight to the bone…"
"Is this what serving Stannis looks like? I'm just a poor captain hoping for a little payback."
He finally shut up and gave Lynn a sly, calculating look, waiting for the verdict.
Lynn hadn't expected the Lysene pirate to have such a silver tongue. Maybe the man wasn't just a pirate—maybe he dabbled in trade or money-lending on the side.
"So that's how it is," Lynn said, nodding once. "What do you want me to do? Cut you and your ships loose?"
Before Salladhor's face could light up, Lynn added,
"Tormund says you were calling yourself Prince of the Narrow Sea and Lord of Blackwater Bay. Care to explain that?"
The pirate's expression soured instantly. He regretted running his mouth earlier and handing Lynn that exact leverage.
Everyone knew only the most vicious sea-raiders dared call themselves princes of any stretch of water. And Blackwater Bay sat between King's Landing and Dragonstone. You didn't become Lord of Blackwater Bay without a king's appointment—and that king sure as hell wasn't little Tommen.
Seeing the pirate captain drop the smooth talk, Lynn turned to Tormund.
"Lock this lying bastard and his officers up—captain, first mate, all the leaders. Separate cells. Then pick out any ordinary sailors willing to work for us and have the walrus-folk start learning how to sail these ships."
The wildlings didn't build ships and sure as hell didn't know how to run them. Only the Frozen Shore men used inflatable seal-hide rafts for fishing or hunting, and they could swim and dive. That was the closest thing to sailors the Free Folk had.
Salladhor dropped to his knees again the moment he heard the order. He begged for mercy and offered gold to ransom the fleet.
"Ships are off the table," Lynn said flatly. "Keep your gold to buy your own freedom—and your men's. A pirate who helped the enemy attack me… Hmph. If the number doesn't satisfy me, the acting Lord Commander of the Night's Watch was just complaining he's short on men. You've heard of them, right? Maybe the black cloak is your new destiny."
Lynn's voice was ice.
Pirates in this age all deserved the sword. They didn't just rape and pillage at sea—they ran the filthy slave trade. Countless families had been destroyed because of them. Next to real pirates, even the Weeper and Rattleshirt looked almost decent.
Tormund grinned.
"Can I strip the fancy coat and hat off him? Fat Sam told me in his letter you wanted the prisoners treated well. I've been holding back!"
Lynn waved a hand—once, and only once. All future loot belonged to the crown.
Salladhor's already pale Lysene skin went even whiter.
He had thought the wildlings were treating him politely because they weren't the savages the stories claimed. Now he understood—the captives hadn't been roughed up these past few days only because of one line in this king's letter.
Salladhor tried to plead again, but Tormund's fist shut him up.
Meanwhile the giants started herding the woolly mammoths onto the flat-bottomed ships.
It wasn't easy work. Mammoths feared seawater almost as much as fire. It usually took three or four giants pulling and shoving to get even one beast into the hold. Lynn was half-tempted to skinchange and lend a hand.
One large flat-bottomed ship could carry four mammoths. Any more and they'd fight. The fleet would need over ten round trips to move them all.
Halfway through the loading, the first of Stannis's abandoned soldiers began arriving from the north after hearing the news.
Carter Pyke's ships hadn't had room for everyone, let alone horses, so the men who came all arrived mounted—but both riders and mounts were gaunt and half-starved.
Most were cavalry. A few were infantry and longbowmen who had survived fights with wights.
Lynn ordered their weapons taken, then had men and horses separated to wait on the beach. Once a ship was full they'd cross the bay together.
These were trained professional cavalry. In time they would join Harma's command and become the core of a real heavy cavalry force that could actually charge.
The only downside: most of the captured plate armor had already gone to the Thenn Royal Guard. Even the horse barding had been cut up and refitted for men to equip the Godsworn. New armor would have to be assembled from scratch.
When the last group arrived under mercenary knight Derrick, the total number of routed troops who had surrendered to Lynn reached exactly 330.
Minus the ones Carter Pyke had taken, the once-proud Steel Lions were down to this handful.
"Your Grace," Derrick reined in, white breath steaming as he spoke, "this is the last batch. There are still about a dozen who won't come over."
Lynn raised an eyebrow. "They're stupid enough to wait for Stannis to pick them up?"
"No, Your Grace."
Derrick's face was heavy with sorrow.
"They say Stannis can't be trusted, but they won't surrender to a wildling king either. They'd rather fight the Others to the death and then rise as wights to settle the debt with the living."
Lynn shook his head. Sometimes the thought processes of this age still baffled him.
Let them go. There were already plenty of wights; a dozen more wouldn't change anything.
Once the final mammoth was aboard a flat-bottomed ship, Lynn climbed aboard one himself.
Weeping Blood refused the ship and simply flew across the bay on its own.
By the time Lynn stepped onto the Eastwatch dock, the dragon had already landed on a tower.
Three months after hatching, it had finally reached the south side of the Wall.