A blue falcon soared through the sky, cutting across the open air.
In the river valley, the wildlings' camp stretched out like a long river. Spreading campfires and tents bloomed little by little across the land.
To guard against the Others and the wights, the fires had to be kept burning. That was the lesson the wildlings had drawn for themselves, for they feared the nameless horror of the Others.
Every tribe understood that their numbers had been shrinking for no clear reason, especially among stragglers and scouts. That was also why they followed Mance. The Others had truly appeared.
The wildling camp in the Milkwater valley beneath The Frostfangs seemed endless. It was not one camp, but hundreds, and each one looked thin and vulnerable.
Because they were spread across several leagues, there was no real defense to speak of. No pits, no sharpened stakes, only a few small scouting parties patrolling the edges.
"The Free Folk have almost no discipline," Mance thought with a headache.
Though he had warned them many times, each group, clan, and village simply made camp wherever they liked, without the slightest care for anyone else.
"I have prepared for war, but I fear its coming," Mance Rayder thought.
There were many signs of war in the camp before him. The wildlings were preparing for the worst.
But Mance himself understood how cruel war was. The wildlings had little organization or discipline, lacked armor and weapons, and then there was the terrifying height of The Wall.
Without the Winter Horn, a forced assault would be no different from throwing their lives away.
Some men tempered the tips of long wooden spears by the fire while testing their throws. Two bearded youths in leather armor struck at each other with clubs, leaping over the fire as they chased one another, shouting all the while. A dozen women sat in a circle, fletching arrows.
"After we cross The Wall, we'll still have to face Last Hearth, Deepwood Motte, and Winterfell," Tormund said. Each place was more troublesome than the last.
"War is the worst thought, but it is still a choice," Mance Rayder said, his brow tightly furrowed.
Yet the camp was not only filled with signs of war. So many wildlings had gathered here with their families that it also had the feel of daily life.
Mance saw girls dancing and heard babies crying. He saw sheep and goats wandering freely, cattle searching for grass along the riverbank, and the scent of mutton drifting from the campfires, where whole goats roasted on wooden spits.
"Careful, children," Mance said as several little boys wrapped in furs ran past his horse, breathless from playing.
Children were their hope, the future of the Free Folk.
"You're home, Mance," said Tormund, the Giant-Slayer.
"Come have a chat, old friend."
Mance saw his own tent, the only thing about him that looked even a little like a king's symbol.
The King's tent stood out clearly. It was the largest in the entire camp.
Like the others, it was sewn from animal hides, but its material was the pure white fur of a snow bear. A pair of great antlers stood atop the tent, taken from a giant elk.
"King-Beyond-the-Wall!" Mance Rayder's guards cheered. Only his tent had two guards.
The two guards stood at the entrance, leaning on their spears, round leather shields strapped to their arms.
Mance and Tormund entered the tent. Tormund's men carried the enormous "Winter Horn" inside, then left.
The King's great tent was stifling hot and full of smoke. Baskets of burning charcoal sat in all four corners, giving off a dull red glow, and the floor was covered with thick animal hides as carpets.
There were only two women inside the tent, one pregnant and the other a beautiful blonde. They were Mance Rayder's wife, Dalla, and his sister-in-law, Val.
The pregnant woman stood beside a brazier, roasting skewered chicken.
"So this is the Horn of Winter?" the blonde Val asked.
Val had a rare beauty, like a true Princess.
She was tall and slender, with gray-blue eyes and a full bosom, captivating at any time. Her high cheekbones were sharply defined, and her thick honey-colored hair fell to her waist.
"If you say it is, then it is." Tormund the Giant-Slayer laughed. "I'm having some roast chicken. It's freezing out there."
Tormund sat down on a stool, and the pregnant woman handed him a skewer. He began eating the roasted chicken with relish.
Hot grease ran down his chin and into his snow-white beard, while he chuckled merrily.
"So is it or isn't it?" the blonde woman asked, still doubtful. "Would you like some wine?"
"That would be wonderful."
"Probably not. Tormund blew it, and he's still alive and kicking. He hasn't changed, and neither has The Wall. According to the legend, magic needs Fire and Blood. If this truly were the Winter Horn, Tormund would have been the first sacrifice," Mance said helplessly.
"We searched the whole valley, and this one looked the most like it. Too bad it isn't. The horn is a thousand years old, and we found it in a giant's grave. No one has ever seen a horn that large," Tormund said.
"In any case, we have a horn now, and the crows will believe we have one," Dalla said.
"My wife is a wise woman."
"Then we'll leave it at that for now. I can't let my people keep dwindling like this," Mance said. "The weather grows colder by the day, and the shadows under the sun are more terrifying than the crows."
"Our losses have been too heavy," Val said sadly, offering him a cup of mead.
Tormund gave a bitter smile. "Aye, we have to run soon. Even the giants are nearly being wiped out. As the days grow shorter and the nights colder, they grow stronger. They kill people first, then drive the dead. The giants can't withstand them, and neither can the Thenns, the Glacier Clans, or the Hornfoots."
"What a pitiful King-Beyond-the-Wall I am. I fear the shadow behind the sun." There was anger in Mance's voice, and a deep bitterness words could hardly express. "'Redbeard' Raymun, 'the Bard' Bael, Gendel and Gorne, the Horned Lord, they all went south to conquer, to sweep through the Seven Kingdoms. I have to tuck my tail between my legs and hide behind The Wall."
Mance stroked the great horn. If the horn was fake, then his threats and extortion would not amount to much.
"The crows only number a few hundred now. Otherwise we could fight them outright," Tormund suggested. "Mainly Castle Black, Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, and The Shadow Tower."
"We have enough men, but our equipment is far too poor," Mance said.
"What about those crows at the Fist of the First Men?" Mance asked.
"They're about to meet the Shadow," Dalla said. "They're too bold. Three hundred men are only a drop of water in the vast North. They came looking for you, but they only found the Shadow."
"The Old Bear is with them too. A pity we can't reach them," Mance said thoughtfully. First, the distance was too great. Second, the wildlings feared the Others and the wights. On top of that, they and the Night's Watch were enemies.
"If that group is gone, the Night's Watch will be in grave danger. This is an opportunity, a decline like we've never seen before," Tormund urged.
"Think again. There is also the news from the south. It has been some time since we last saw Tyroshi slave ships," Dalla said.
Slave masters from Tyrosh used to sail all the way north to Beyond The Wall to capture slaves for sale. But over the past year or two, they had disappeared without a trace.
There were also some daring ships that sold weapons and equipment to the wildlings, but the risk was too high. If Eastwatch-by-the-Sea discovered them, it meant a death sentence. So overall, the wildlings' news was rather cut off, let alone any word from overseas allies.
"The King in the South is a savage man, Robert's bastard, a killer in war. I saw Robert at Winterfell. He was fat and tall, but in his day he was a first-rate warrior. They say his son is even more brutal, as natural in war as a fish in water. Myr, Tyrosh, and the Iron Throne," Mance recalled.
Even if they broke through The Wall, if The North and the King's fleet came to support it, the wildlings' march south would still be doomed to total destruction.
"Blood. My people have shed enough of it." Mance thought for a moment. "I haven't even seen the crows yet, and we've already lost many people."
The Others had brought terrible harm upon the wildlings.
"If we had a ship, just one ship to carry a message south, we could bypass House Stark and negotiate directly with the King of the Green lands," Val suggested. It was a bold idea.
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