Home again, home again. The Arbor was steaming today, the bloody spring had left far too fast and the true heat of summer had caught Ferment off guard. He used a purple handkerchief to wipe the sweat off his brow - or at least to attempt to. As soon as he dabbed the sweat off it popped right back up and he was back where he started. He had hoped his visit back to The Arbor would be peaceful, relaxing even. He was surprised he was even allowed to leave Oldtown and take the relatively short ship back to The Arbor under the guise of surveying the remnants of his fleet.

His fleet was fine. 120 ships remaining, 60 docked at The Arbor - all at Ryamsport rather than their customary anchorage at Starfish Harbor. Their sails were sewn shut, the hulls were patched with timber and tarred as to make them waterproof, and a large variety of other things were fixed as well. The Redwyne fleet might not be whole, but it would be after he won this damned war. Ferment ran his hands through the black tangled mass of hair atop his head and began his walk along the beach.

The Redwyne Fleet - or a small part of it - lay before him. Sixty ships, sixty war galleys. Another sixty were at Oldtown, they had lost 80 during the battle for the straits. *Eighty,* Ferment groaned. It would take time to rebuild those, and money too - things that were getting increasingly rare as this war dragged on and on. His feet ached, his leg ached, the injury had supposedly been as healed as it ever could be yet it still pained him. Usually after a long time walking up the long steps of the Hightower or late at night where the pains lost him hours of sleep. Yet he could walk, and damned if he didn't appreciate that even more.

Ferment was interrupted when he heard a guttural voice shout his name. "Lord Ferment, Lord Ferment!"

He saw several guards leading forward an assortment of sailors. They all looked nervous, their skin pale and he thought he could see them even shaking.

"What is it?" He said slowing down, turning around as to face the oncoming convoy.

"You told me to talk to you if I saw anything m'lord," the man who stepped forward was large, hairy arms and a thick chest, his beard looked like he had tried to cut it but failed and left it how it was. He was a sailor on one of the scouting ships he had sent out to scour the Straits, as to keep the relative peace and to tax the ships that still dared to sail through there - which were few and far between.

"And?" Ferment tapped his foot, if this was something stupid he swore he would geld the man.

"Ironborn ships," the man licked his lips, somehow managing to look afraid, "a lot of them. All headed this way. We barely escaped ourselves m'lord."

Ferment was shocked, Ironborn ships? Headed this way? The only ironborn ships in commission were the Iron Fleet - at least as far as he knew. Had they finally decided to test their luck and confront him?'

"How many, specifics!"

"One of our scouts reported thirty, another nine and twenty, another one and thirty."

So few? Only around thirty? Ferment nearly laughed and he had to bite down on his lip to prevent him from doing so. He had sixty here in the Arbor alone, and another sixty at Oldtown. He called over his squire - a pale blonde haired boy who was far too skittish.

"I'll need you to deliver several messages. One, tell King Gylen I have the iron fleet in my hands. Two, tell Aurane to transport half of the ships at Oldtown to The Arbor if worst should come to worst. Three, send word that all sailors and captains are to report to their ships immediately and prepare to set sail."

The boy licked his lips several times and nodded, sprinting off at full pace.

**********

An hour later Ferment stood on the deck of his flagship *The Arbor Pride* as everyone stood nervously around him. What if the sailors had been lying to him? What if this was some jape and he was the joke that was to be greeted with a rousing chorus? Yet when the man atop the crows-nest announced that what the man had said truly was true, Ferment wished it had been a jape all along.

"Raise anchor," he said, and his command echoed from ship to ship. He did not plan to lay in wait for the Iron Fleet - no - he was to meet them straight on.