The center of the new factory complex was dominated by the Converter.
It was a terrifying object. A massive pear shaped vessel made of riveted iron plate lined with heat resistant brick. It hung on heavy trunnions allowing it to tilt back and forth like a giant's goblet.
Two hundred workers stood in a wide circle. They were silent. They had worked with iron all their lives but they had never seen anything like this.
"Charge the vessel!" Andar ordered.
He stood on a raised metal gantry wearing heavy leather apron and smoked glass goggles.
A crane lifted a ladle of molten pig iron fresh from the blast furnace. It tilted pouring the glowing orange liquid into the mouth of the Converter. Sparks flew like fireworks. The heat was so intense it singed the eyebrows of the men in the front row.
"Air blast on!" Andar signaled.
Mott pulled the lever on the massive water powered bellows.
Compressed air rushed through the tuyeres at the bottom of the vessel bubbling up through the molten iron.
For a second nothing happened.
Then the beast woke up.
ROAR.
A sound like a dragon screaming erupted from the mouth of the Converter. A column of flame shot thirty feet into the air. It was not orange fire. It was blindingly white.
The workers screamed and scrambled back covering their faces.
"Hold your ground!" Andar shouted over the roar. "It is just the impurities burning! Carbon! Silicon! Manganese! It is cleaning itself!"
The noise was deafening. The ground shook. The reaction inside the vessel was violent as the oxygen attacked the carbon in the iron raising the temperature to levels never before seen in Westeros.
For twenty minutes the volcano raged. The light was so bright it cast sharp shadows in the corners of the factory.
Then suddenly the flame dropped. It changed color from white to a soft transparent blue.
"Cut the air!" Andar commanded.
The roar died down to a hiss.
"Tilt it!"
The massive vessel was tilted forward. A stream of liquid metal poured out into the waiting molds. It flowed like water thinner and hotter than iron.
Andar walked down to the molds. He waited for a test bar to cool.
When it was black he picked it up with tongs. He placed it on an anvil.
"Mott. Hit it."
Mott hesitated. If this was cast iron it would shatter like glass under a heavy blow.
Mott swung the sledgehammer.
CLANG.
The bar did not shatter. It did not crack. It dented slightly absorbing the energy.
Mott hit it again. And again. He bent it. He twisted it.
It remained whole.
"Steel," Mott whispered dropping the hammer. "It is mild steel. Soft enough to shape hard enough to hold an edge."
He looked at the tons of metal cooling in the molds.
"We made five tons," Mott gasped. "In twenty minutes. It would take a thousand smiths a month to forge this much."
"Welcome to the Industrial Age," Andar said.
He pointed to the pile of cooling ingots.
"Roll it into plates. One inch thick. We are not making swords Mott. We are making skin for a ship."
Five hundred miles away in the Sunset Sea the mood was very different.
The Iron Fleet cut through the waves like a school of sharks.
Fifty longships. The pride of the Iron Islands.
On the deck of the flagship Iron Victory stood Victarion Greyjoy.
He was a giant of a man clad in full plate armor. Most sailors feared drowning in armor but Victarion feared nothing. He worshipped the Drowned God and he believed that if he died he would simply feast in the watery halls.
"Captain," a sailor called out. "The wind is shifting. A storm is coming from the North."
"Let it come," Victarion growled. His voice was deep and grinding like stones rubbing together. "The storm is our friend."
He looked at the map nailed to the mast.
King Balon had given the order. Asha was to take Deepwood Keep. Victarion was to take Moat Cailin. Theon was... well Theon was useless.
But Victarion had heard rumors. Rumors of a sorcerer at Deepwood. A boy who killed Dagmer Cleftjaw.
"We change course," Victarion said suddenly.
"Captain?" The helmsman looked confused. "But King Balon ordered us to Moat Cailin."
"Dagmer was a fool," Victarion said. "But he was a strong fighter. If he died at Deepwood there is something there worth killing. Something dangerous."
Victarion clenched his gauntleted fist.
"I will not let Asha take the glory. We sail for Deepwood Keep. We will crush this 'Black Sorcerer' and burn his toys. Then we will take the Moat."
"But the King's orders..."
Victarion turned and looked at the helmsman. His eyes were cold and dead.
"I am the Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet. I go where the battle is."
The helmsman gulped and spun the wheel.
The fifty ships turned their prows North toward the Wolfswood. Toward the smoke.
Back at Deepwood the keel of the new ship was being laid.
It was not being built in the water. It was being built in a dry dock dug out of the mud of the riverbank.
It did not look like a ship.
"It looks like a barge," Cullen observed standing on the muddy bank.
"It is a Monitor," Andar explained.
The ship was flat. It had no masts. No sails. Its deck would sit only eighteen inches above the water line making it an impossibly small target for enemy archers or scorpions.
"Where are the oars?" Cullen asked. "How does it move?"
"It does not row," Andar said.
He pointed to the center of the hull where a massive copper boiler was being installed. Next to it sat a primitive two cylinder steam engine.
"It pushes," Andar said. "We are installing a screw propeller at the back. The engine turns the screw. The screw pushes the water."
"And the weapons?"
Andar pointed to the circular track being laid in the center of the deck.
"A rotating turret. Armored with three inches of laminated steel. Inside we put two of the 12 pounder cannons."
"Only two guns?" Cullen was skeptical. "The Ironborn ships have fifty men each. If they board us..."
"They cannot board us," Andar smiled. "The deck is covered in grease and steel spikes. And if they get close..."
He pointed to small pipes running along the edge of the hull.
"...we open the steam valves and boil them alive."
Andar looked at the sky. The clouds were gathering. He could smell the salt in the air.
"Work faster," Andar ordered the shipwrights. "Double shifts. Use the lanterns at night. We have weeks not months."
He felt the pressure.
Victarion Greyjoy was not a raider. He was a commander. And he was coming with the full might of the Iron Fleet.
Andar looked at the half built engine.
"Wake up," he whispered to the cold metal. "I need you to breathe."
[Quest Update: The Ironclad]
[Progress: Hull 40% / Engine 20% / Armor 10%]
[Time Remaining: Estimated 14 Days before invasion]
[Threat Level: Extreme]
....
Author Note
Hi guys! Thank you for reading my fanfiction.
I wanted to let you know that I'm releasing bonus chapters for Power Stones. Here are the goals:
25 Power Stones: 1 Bonus Chapters
50 Power Stones: 1 Bonus Chapters
75 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
100 Power Stones: 2 Bonus Chapters
Thanks for the support!