Will immersed himself in the spicy flavor of his breakfast—a hot soup filled with mushrooms, thick translucent noodles, beef, and a heavy dash of black pepper that left a lingering richness on his tongue.
What a extravagant life these people led!
Licking his lips, he walked toward Seth’s command tent.
The camp was vast, but finding the main tent was easy enough: one only had to look for the largest and most splendid pavilion among the rows of canvas.
Will caught sight of a fluttering banner, a black flag embroidered with intricate gold patterns he did not recognize.
This had to be the lord’s family crest.
He committed the design on the flag to memory before approaching the main tent.
Dozens of fully armored guards stood watch around the perimeter, and patrol squads passed through the open ground from time to time.
These guards were different from those he had seen yesterday.
The soldiers in black armor carrying massive shields and heavy spears were nowhere to be seen; in their place stood men in golden armor, red tassels trailing behind their helmets, with crossed golden rods hooked behind their heads atop their pauldrons.
Will was nearly five feet seven inches tall, considered broad in the North, but before these golden-armored behemoths, he was shorter by two full heads.
They wore masks that obscured their expressions.
Will had expected them to stop him, but the towering golden guards merely tilted their heads to glance at him before returning to their duty.
Seeing that no one barred his way, Will carefully walked inside.
Passing through two lines of timber palisades, he arrived before the main tent’s entrance curtain.
“Maeve, has your squad reported any useful intelligence?” “My lord, the Shiranui ninjas have not sent word yet.” “Roxanne, how long will our grain reserves last?” “If we reduce rations starting today, we can stretch them for one month.” “One month…
that will suffice.” Seth appeared to be conversing with two women in a tongue Will could not understand.
Standing outside the curtain, Will announced himself loudly, “Ranger Will, awaiting your orders, my lord!” As Will’s voice rang out, the tent fell quiet, followed by Seth’s command: “Come in, Will.” Will took a deep breath, lifted the flap, and stepped inside.
Seth was still standing behind his desk, flanked by two women dressed in gorgeous attire the likes of which Will had never seen.
“My lord,” Will bowed his head, not daring to stare directly at Seth or the two women whose beauty made him feel self-conscious.
“Did you eat your fill?” “Yes, my lord.
Breakfast was delicious.” “Glad to hear it.” Seth stood up, wearing a dragon-embroidered robe rather than armor, looking enviable in his fine garments.
“Follow me.” The two maidens bowed slightly, and Will followed closely behind Seth out of the tent.
It took them about five minutes to walk from the command tent to the fort’s gate, where someone was already waiting.
“My lord.” Claire Vance dismounted upon seeing Seth.
She made to bow deeply, but Seth raised a hand to stay her.
“Claire, thank you for your hard work today.” “It is my duty, my lord.” “Don’t say that.
Hard work is hard work; who would want to step outside in weather like this?” Seth looked past the open gates, where snow drifted nearly knee-deep.
“However, your mission is vital.
Crow intelligence is often unreliable.
I need your squad to map the surrounding area in detail while bringing back local inhabitants.” “This ranger will accompany you.
He knows the terrain.” Seth patted Will’s shoulder as a handler led a horse over.
“Good luck to you all.” Watching the heavy wooden gates slowly close, shutting away the bustling fortress behind them, Will adjusted his cap and finally took the time to study his companions.
The squad consisted of thirteen people in total, including Will.
Among them was the silver-armored female officer he had seen in the tent, who was clearly the leader; another thin man who did not look like an ordinary soldier, likely the cartographer Seth mentioned; and ten cavalrymen.
Judging by their magnificent armor and their warhorses—which were likewise draped in heavy plate and fitted with deer-horn-like headpieces—these men were surely noble knights.
*Their horses are incredible,* Will thought with an envious gaze, eyeing the giant warhorses beneath the riders.
*To bear those fully armored knights and still carry such heavy barding!* “My lord, does this barbarian actually know the way?” one of the Jingsai heavy cavalrymen asked.
“Whether he knows every path or not, he knows this land better than we do,” Claire Vance said, glancing at Will at the rear of the column.
Seth had called him a ranger, which she assumed was equivalent to a scout.
If he was a scout, he ought to know the terrain.
She pondered for a moment.
According to the original plan, the patrol route should not stray too far from camp.
But if they stayed close, how could they find more locals?
She had asked Cassie before—Cassie had found Will quite a distance from the base.
“Hey, ranger,” Claire Vance reined in her horse, her voice cold.
“My lord!” Will spurred his horse forward immediately, snow still clinging to his saddle.
“Are you familiar with the surrounding terrain?” Claire Vance’s eyes were sharp as blades.
“I wouldn’t dare claim complete familiarity, but if we head further south, I certainly know it better than here,” Will answered promptly.
“South?” Claire Vance raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, my lord.” “Are there any other living souls out here besides your group?
Excluding those…
unkillable things.” “There are Wildlings, and plenty of them,” Will paused.
“A great many Wildlings.” “A great many?” A glint flashed in Claire Vance’s eyes.
“Excellent.
We’ll capture a few.
Even if you don’t know every path, the Wildlings will.” The corners of her lips curled slightly.
If these Wildlings were mere dim-witted savages, would they not be even easier to command?
Anyone who could survive in the North was no weakling; men who could fight and endure hard labor were prime material for a workforce.
…
The Wildling known as Blackhand got his name because his right hand had been burned coal-black.
Like the other Wildlings north of the Wall, his life revolved around three things: finding food, seizing territory, and taking women.
He led a fair-sized tribe of over sixty people, thirty of whom were young men in their twenties.
They all possessed iron weapons—traded from settled Wildling tribes capable of forging metal.
These men wore no armor; thick pelts were enough to protect against most dangers in the forest.
As for encountering those pesky “Crows,” in Blackhand’s eyes, those southerners were forced to shed their heavy metal armor just to keep from freezing, making them easy prey.
Blackhand had led his men in ambushing Crows before, taking their weapons.
Truth be told, those blades were far better balanced than anything forged by other Wildling tribes.
Today was no different.
With an axe and a shortsword tucked into his belt, Blackhand led two young men out to chop wood and hunt.
The beasts in the forest were perfect practice for them.
Once the boys spilled blood on wild animals, they would not hesitate when it came time to kill men.
Blackhand tallied his plans in his mind; he needed to expand his tribe.
He had heard rumors of a fellow named Mance who claimed to be the King-Beyond-the-Wall.
Blackhand didn’t know the man and thought Mance was utterly delusional.
There were tens of thousands of Wildlings living in these forests.
Why should anyone obey orders from a nobody who appeared out of nowhere?
Leaning against a fallen tree trunk, Blackhand stroked the axe at his waist, watching with satisfaction as the two young men worked a short distance away.