The Silence emerged in fog made silvery by the light of a half-moon, the sound of branches scrapîng the hull.
Akkarulf wiped ichor off his sword and looked around. The daemons had been relatively few this time around, and there seemed to be only wounded men rather than casualties.
"Losses, Akkarulf?"
The Wolf was still holding what looked like a goat's leg ending in bird claws, though it soon disappeared into smoke.
"None that I can see, yarrl. I don't think..."
Akkarulf frowned.
"Where's Aron?"
He turned to Hjorgar, who looked behind him and shrugged.
"Did he fall off!?"
Akkarulf's heart sank. Aron had not been an exceptional warrior but a good if silent guard, obediently standing outside the door whenever Akkarulf had visited Bjarnhilda instead of looking in or sticking his ear to the lock, unwaveringly standing by him without wandering off to flirt with the maidservants, and never hesitating to step in to break up fights at his back. Such a companion did not deserve being dragged down into the daemon sea to be tortured for eternity. But the same gods that had rewarded him and others were fickle and cruel, as the Wolf had often explained.
The giant himself seem to have forgotten the matter, giving out orders to the crew. Akkarulf went over to the railing and looked down, but only branches shredded the fog like the arms of floating corpses.
"Where are we, yarrl?"
"Wherever the gods will us to be."
The Wolf shrugged irritably.
"All I know is Sven claims the gods told him this would be a good place to raid from. The ship knows where to go."
As the fog cleared, the Silence lowered itself into a small clearing. Marauders set to the task of unloading horses and supplies, others setting up tents, fires and torches, while those who did neither took up the first watch of the night in the surrounding forest.
Rasmarr the Thenn skinwalker fed his raven, slipping small slices of dried meat through the bars of the cage.
Akkarulf looked at the cramped tents and surrounding trees and made a note to cut several of the wider ones down in the morning to form a palisade and let the tents spread further apart.
Once the work was done, those not chosen for the raid returned to the ship. The Wolf turned to Akkarulf before climbing the gangplank.
"Rasmarr will guide you to battles and plunder. Take what you can from the region, see to it the Deathbound don't shirk their duty to the Changer and their queen. I'll be back..."
The giant's voice trailed off, and he shrugged.
"Who knows when."
The Wolf climbed up, the gangplank pulled up, and the Silence soon disappeared into the daemon sea.
Weeks passed with no further communication or attack from the Wolf, despite the trebuchets being worked as fast as their crewmen could load them and the Wildlings turning the night around Harrenhal into a cacophony of warhorns and drums.
Sansa had gone, returning to Winterfell with as many Northmen as Jon dared to spare, which should at least keep her safe from bandits and masterless men. Arya was still in the camp, and showed up at dinner every evening, reassuring Jon that she had not snuck off into Harrenhal again.
The Red Priests pored over the information Varys had passed and what Tyrion and Missandei's servants could tell them of the Wolf's forces, constantly praying for guidance.
The lake was now completely unnavigable, the waves preventing any boat from setting out even on perfectly windless days, as though something was churning within its depths.
Tyrion entered the command tent on a rainy morning, a scroll in his hand. He seemed oddly amused to Jon.
"News?"
"The Eyrie's cells are empty... and Sky reports no bodies found."
Grey Worm looked blank as Jon pondered the news and nodded.
"The what?"
"An inescapable mountain prison, where your only choice is to jump from the mountain or starve. But now they're all empty, and no bodies have been found below. So either they turned into birds, or the Wolf offered them a third choice."
Tyrion did not deem it necessary to add that Mord the jailer had been held responsible and been sent through the Moon Door for his treason. That would be cause for private celebration.
"Is he getting desperate, do you think? It's not only murderers they kept there."
Tyrion shrugged.
"If the warriors under him are turning to perversion instead of battle, I can certainly understand that."
"And any news of Widow's Wail?"
"Nothing."
The silence hung heavily over them. By his own admission the Wolf could not leave without the swords, but how long would that take if one had disappeared without a trace?
Night had long since fallen over Harrenhal, the Wolf crossing the empty northern courtyard when he stopped suddenly, just within a circle of torchlight. He sniffed the air and held a hand out behind his back.
"Shh. Not a word."
The Wolf sniffed again as he turned around. The flickering torchlight made his savage features look even worse, glinting off sharp teeth.
"Don't tell me, I know this one... Bran, was it? Bran of the Backwater?"
"It's Bronn."
Bronn emerged from the shadow of the wall, carrying a long object wrapped in cloth. Climbing spikes hung from a rope looped around his body.
"And do you have what I asked you for, Bronny-boy?"
Without a word, Bronn held the bundle out. The Wolf unwrapped it, holding it above his head.
"A sword? Hm."
The Wolf unsheathed the sword, swiping and stabbing at the air.
"Decent enough. And what makes this a wolf's jaw, stolen by a lion?"
"It was Eddard Stark's sword. The Lannisters took it from him after they had him executed, made it into this one. Jaime Lannister had it until he escaped Daenerys' camp. Took me a while to be able to get at it, had to slit a few throats."
"Who was this Eddard Stark?"
Bronn blinked a few times, but the Wolf remained impassive as ever, still looking at the sword.
"The... the Warden of the North, before he was executed for treason."
"I see."
The Wolf swung again, then shrugged. He sheathed the sword.
"Very well. Follow me. Enough gold for you to drown in, I think were the terms?"
Bronn tensed. The Wolf's tone seemed indifferent enough, but with such a madman you could hardly tell.
"To swim in."
"Ah yes. So no more than three feet deep."
The Wolf turned and strode off. Bronn hesitated before following him. Evading the guards on the walltop had been easy enough, those that weren't drunk or fucking had been few and far apart, and the constant blaring of war-horns from outside had been a welcome distraction. But inside the walls was a different matter, who knew how many crazed barbarians the castle could hold.
They walked for some time, the Wolf moving no slower in the unlit corridors until they came to a door guarded by two armored marauders. The Wolf took a torch from the wall and opened the door, gesturing Bronn inside. He hesitated, but the glint of gold revealed by the torchlight was too convincing.
Once inside, Bronn could do nothing but stare. Immense piles of gold jewelry representing scorpions, scarabs and snakes were strewn round the storeroom, while coins lay ankle-deep on the floor. In the middle was a long wooden crate, filled to overflow with such plunder.
"Hold still."
Without warning the Wolf had grabbed Bronn by the leg and shoulder and hoisted him over his head, before laying him on the crate.
"Good! Just long enough. Lucky you're so short, eh Bronny-boy?"
Bronn tentatively stretched his arms, pushing aside golden bracelets and drinking cups engraved with vultures. His fingers barely brushed the sides of the crate, and he was struck with the crate's resemblance to a coffin.
Sudden terror seized him to see the Wolf standing over him. Hurriedly he got up,wincing at the crashing sound the jewelry made.
"All yours, Bronny-boy... as soon as I've confirmed this is what I wanted."
Bronn started.
"It's the real thing alright, I've seen it often enough at Jaime's belt."
"Oh, I don't doubt your skill as a sneak-thief, Bronny-boy, I want to know if your interpretation of the riddle was right in the first place."
The Wolf turned. Bronn hurried after, barely slowed by the coins he had slipped into his pockets. They were of no make he had ever seen, but from the weight alone they were certainly mostly gold, easy to melt down into a universally-accepted currency.
After another long trek through interminably long and unlit corridors and stairs, the Wolf stopped on a landing, entering without knocking. Bronn quickly followed, the masonry above was making disquieting groans.
The Wolf gave the sword to an aged man with horribly scarred cheeks carrying a staff to which a raven had been crucified. The old man took up the sword and examined it, before wrapping it again and returning it to the Wolf. The two exchanged words while Bronn looked at the sparsely-furnished room and the pile of furs in the corner, then the giant turned and stared down Bronn.
"Where's the other one?"
Bronn licked his lips nervously. He had not closed the door behind him, he could probably make it out. Then he saw the old man look at him, grin hideously, and suddenly his back felt a lot hotter. He risked a glance behind him. The door was still open, but the opening was filled with gold and blue flames that did not spread to the wood around it. He turned back around, fighting to keep his face free of panic.
"The... other one?"
"Sven tells me there's another sword. This is only one. Did they not teach you your numbers in Backwater, Bronny-boy? Do you really need all those fingers if you can't count that high?"
"You didn't say anything about both!"
The Wolf's face darkened and his hand went to his sword, but he stopped and took a deep breath.
"That is true."
The barbarian sighed deeply. For a moment there was only the sound of the flames behind Bronn.
"Well then, since neither of us can deliver on our bargain..."
Bronn tensed up.
"You will take as much of the gold as belongs to you as you wish, and the rest will be yours once you bring me the second one."
"As much as I want!? I can't even drag a tenth of that with me! I'd need a horse and cart to-"
"A horse and cart? During a siege? I could sell you one, but prices have gone up, you know how it is..."
The Wolf grinned sardonically. Bronn sagged, defeated.
"So: you take however much you dare, and return to me with the other sword in exchange for the rest. Seems fair enough to me, rest assured none among my men will dare help themselves to the slightest share of your reward."
The Wolf stepped forward. The seer waved his staff, and Bronn felt the heat behind him die instantly.
He followed the Wolf back to the room of gold, taking what seemed the easiest plunder to carry. Once he had finished, having some difficulty walking, the barbarian escorted him back outside.
"So, how did you get in? The front door, perhaps? Or did you grow wings and fly over?"
Biting his tongue to keep from answering, Bronn pointed silently at the climbing spikes.
"Ah, of course. Our sneak-thief climbs like a spider."
The Wolf accompanied Bronn to the top of the wall, stepping on drunken guards and kicking the sleeping ones awake, ignoring their protests. When Bronn stopped at the place he'd climbed up, the Wolf clapped him on the shoulder, just hard enough to make Bronn stumble and grab the parapet.
"Off you go, Bronny-boy. Don't bother coming back without it."
The Wolf turned around as though he had no more interest in Bronn than a pile of horse droppings. Bronn stepped carefully on the spikes he had left embedded in the wall. The darkness made it hard enough, but the weight of the gold made his balance uncertain.
A dozen spikes down, he heard a noise. He looked up to see the old man holding his glowing staff and looking straight down at him, grinning. There was a flash of light, and suddenly the wind was rushing in Bronn's ears and he felt like he was flying and-
The next morning, Gendry held up the results of his labor.
"Well?"
Mott looked critically at Gendry's handiwork and nodded. His reflection did the same.
"No idea why they want it for, but it works. Now for the others."
On hearing Tyrion's request for mirrors that could be carried on the battlefield, Mott had laughed at first, then set to work on learning what he would be paid. Thanks to materials requested and sent by the guild of Alchemists, as well as Wisdom Hallyne to supervise their use, they had produced a shield of metal and glass that reflected anything before it with barely any blurring.
It would not survive a blow, of course, but apparently that was not the point. Having long since learned that the customer thought themselves always right and would pay any sum to keep their illusions, Mott had kept his mouth shut and his arm busy.
Tyrion pronounced himself satisfied, and then started to explain his plan to the rest of the commanders. They seemed doubtful at first, but were convinced after the Red Priests confirmed his idea, or at least stopped opposing him.
Now there was only to wait until the missing sword was found, and then for the Wolf to give battle.