NOVEL NEXT Chapter 18: The Storm of Iron
Chapter 18: The Storm of Iron
The salty sea air was calm, the waves lapping gently against the docks of Sunblode Isle. Merchants bustled about, unloading goods from ships bearing the banners of allied houses, while villagers worked tirelessly to strengthen the defenses. From his vantage point atop the newly constructed watchtower, Ivar surveyed the bustling scene below. The island was alive with purpose, but the dark clouds gathering on the horizon were an ominous reminder of what lay ahead.
Timothy Sunrise joined him at the top of the tower, leaning casually against the railing. "It's too quiet," he said, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon.
"Storms often begin with silence," Ivar replied, his gaze fixed on the distant waves.
Timothy smirked. "And when the storm hits, are we ready?"
Ivar turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "Readiness isn't the question. Resolve is. The Ironborn won't come to raid this time—they'll come to destroy. We have to make this their last mistake."
As if on cue, a watchman called down from the opposite tower, his voice urgent. "Ships on the horizon!"
Ivar and Timothy exchanged a glance before descending the stairs at a brisk pace. By the time they reached the docks, Lysa Blackthorne was already waiting for them, her usually calm demeanor replaced with a grim urgency.
"Scouts report at least ten longships," she said, handing Ivar a spyglass. "More could be following."
Ivar raised the spyglass, his jaw tightening as he counted the black sails approaching from the west. Each ship bore the kraken sigil of House Greyjoy, its ominous symbol flapping in the wind like a herald of death.
"They're committing a significant force," Ivar said, lowering the spyglass. "This isn't just a raid. They're here to make an example of us."
Timothy crossed his arms, his grin faint but confident. "Then let's make an example of them instead."
The Plan
Back at the war room, Ivar and his council gathered around a map of the island, their faces lit by the flickering glow of candlelight.
"The Ironborn's strength lies in their mobility," Roland Emberhill began, pointing to the coastline. "They'll hit the docks first, then fan out to loot and burn. If we lose the harbor, we lose our supply lines."
"We can't let them gain a foothold," Duncan Greenfield added. "But if we spread our forces too thin, they'll pick us apart."
"Then we don't spread out," Ivar said, his tone firm. "We funnel them. Let them think the harbor is weakly defended and draw them into a kill zone. Once they commit, we cut off their retreat."
Lysa nodded. "The cliffs to the south are narrow. If we can force them there, their longships won't have room to maneuver."
Ivar pointed to the village square. "The villagers will be our priority. Evacuate them to the fortified hall and station archers on the rooftops. We'll turn the village into a fortress."
"And the ships?" Timothy asked.
"We burn them," Ivar said coldly. "Let the Ironborn watch their precious krakens go up in flames. It'll break their spirit."
Roland hesitated. "That's a bold move, my lord. If we fail—"
"We won't," Ivar interrupted. "Failure isn't an option. Not here."
The Calm Before the Storm
The preparations moved swiftly. Villagers carried supplies to the fortified hall while soldiers sharpened swords and prepared for battle. Lysa dispatched scouts to monitor the Ironborn's approach, their reports growing increasingly grim.
Timothy stood near the docks, watching as the enhanced soldiers assembled in perfect formation. Their faces betrayed no fear, only a quiet determination.
"You ever think about what we'd be without them?" Timothy asked, his voice low.
Roland, standing nearby, glanced at him. "The soldiers?"
"The enhancements," Timothy said, gesturing to himself. "The strength, the speed. Makes you wonder if we're still… us."
Roland frowned. "We're still men. We just have an edge now."
"An edge," Timothy muttered, his gaze distant. "Or a leash."
Before Roland could respond, Ivar approached, his presence silencing their conversation. "Focus," he said, his voice sharp. "The time for doubts is over. We fight, or we die."
The Ironborn Arrive
As the first Ironborn ships reached the harbor, the air grew thick with tension. Their battle cries echoed across the water as the raiders leapt from their longships, axes and swords gleaming in the dim light.
Ivar watched from the rooftops, his enhanced vision allowing him to track every movement. "Hold," he ordered, his voice carrying through the quiet streets. "Let them come further."
The Ironborn charged into the village, their confidence palpable as they encountered little resistance. But as they reached the square, they found themselves surrounded.
"Now!" Ivar shouted.
Arrows rained down from the rooftops, cutting through the Ironborn ranks with deadly precision. Soldiers emerged from hidden positions, their shields forming an impenetrable wall as they pushed the raiders back.
Timothy led a group of enhanced soldiers into the fray, their movements a blur as they tore through the enemy ranks. "Is this the best you've got?" he shouted, his twin daggers flashing in the firelight.
The Ironborn fought fiercely, but they were unprepared for the discipline and coordination of Sunblode's forces.
Burning the Ships
At the harbor, a second team moved swiftly to execute the next phase of the plan. Lysa directed the soldiers as they doused the longships with oil, the acrid scent filling the air.
"Light them," she ordered.
The flames roared to life, spreading from one ship to the next. The Ironborn near the docks turned in horror as their fleet was consumed, their cries of rage and despair cutting through the night.
Ivar arrived just as the last ship ignited, his expression cold. "Their escape is gone. Now we finish this."
The Turning Point
The Ironborn, realizing their situation, rallied for a desperate counterattack. Their leader, a hulking man with a braided beard and a blood-streaked axe, roared as he charged toward the village square.
"I am Harwyn Stormtide!" he bellowed. "You think you can stand against the kraken?!"
Ivar stepped forward, his sword gleaming in the firelight. "The kraken is a relic," he said, his voice calm. "And so are you."
The two clashed in a flurry of steel, their strikes sending sparks into the air. Harwyn fought with brute strength, but Ivar's precision and speed gave him the edge.
With a final, calculated strike, Ivar drove his blade into Harwyn's chest. The Ironborn leader fell to his knees, his axe slipping from his grasp.
"The kraken dies tonight," Ivar said, his voice cold.
Harwyn slumped to the ground, his lifeless body a symbol of the Ironborn's defeat.
Aftermath
The battle was over by dawn. The beach was littered with the bodies of fallen raiders, their once-proud longships reduced to smoldering wreckage. The villagers emerged from the fortified hall, their faces a mix of relief and awe as they surveyed the scene.
Roland approached Ivar, his armor spattered with blood. "It's done," he said. "The Ironborn are broken—for now."
"For now," Ivar repeated, his gaze distant. "But this isn't the end. It's the beginning."
Timothy joined them, his usual smirk tempered by exhaustion. "You really know how to make an impression, don't you?"
"Impressions fade," Ivar said. "Legacies endure. And we're building ours, one battle at a time."
The Price of Victory
That evening, as the fires of the forge glowed and the villagers tended to the wounded, Ivar stood on the cliffs overlooking the sea. Lysa joined him, her expression thoughtful.
"You've won," she said. "But every victory comes at a cost. The other lords will see this as a challenge to their power."
"Let them," Ivar replied. "They'll either join us or fall behind. The Riverlands need unity, and I'll give it to them—even if it has to be through fire and blood."
Lysa studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Just don't forget who you are, Ivar. Ambition can be a dangerous thing."
Ivar's gaze hardened. "Ambition isn't the danger. Complacency is. And I won't let it claim me."