THE IRON THRONE OF ICE AND FIRE

Ser Pell and his scouting corps had already set off before the first light of dawn, moving with quiet precision. Their task was no simple raid—nearly a dozen savage tribes had emptied their ranks, leaving only the old, the sick, and the feeble behind.

The scouts were the best hunters in Kleb's domain, men who had spent their lives tracking prey through the marshes and hills. Cull the weak? That would be no challenge. But scattered as the tribes were, they could not be taken as one. If they were gathered together, they would not be a dozen small tribes but a single, greater force.

They were spread across the wilderness, each holding to its own stretch of land, some larger, some smaller. Three stood apart, the most formidable of them, each numbering several hundred souls.

The command Ser Pell had received was clear—these three great tribes must fall today, at least two by sundown.

Speed would be the key to victory.

Ser Pell understood this well. The land was rough, too treacherous for horses, so he rode on foot like the rest of his men. He had left behind his heavy silver plate, though he never parted with it in battle, and instead donned the lighter chain-and-leather armor crafted by Lord Greene himself.

As long as you face your enemy, there is no need to protect your back. That was what Lord Greene had said.

Ser Pell had always fought that way.

Though his lord had not spoken the words outright, Pell felt the unspoken praise in them. He understands me.

This was the Kleb lord's first battle since taking his seat, and Ser Pell meant to see it won decisively. Not just won—but won with such a flourish that none could doubt his place as Whispering Castle's most loyal and valiant knight.

With swift command and careful timing, the old and weak could be scattered like leaves in the wind. And once the great tribes fell, the smaller ones would crumble in terror.

The Gathering

Morning broke, a dim and gray light spreading across the mustering grounds.

Greene stood upon a rise, clad in black leather stitched with the emblem of the swamp marigold, watching the soldiers form ranks below.

The air was thick with the noise of preparation—barking orders, the clatter of armor and weapons, men tightening straps and adjusting their gear.

One sight caught his eye. Amparo's newly formed Thorn Corps had assembled first.

They stood in disciplined ranks, their gear in place, their bows strung. Amparo was already among them, inspecting their equipment with a practiced eye.

Greene had no illusions that discipline was built in a night, but it pleased him to see Amparo's efforts take root. He gave his commander a few brief words of instruction, small adjustments that might make a difference before the battle.

Amparo listened carefully, executing each step with deliberate precision.

That too is a talent, Greene thought. And one I value most in my commanders right now.

Amparo was proving himself dependable. A man worth investing in.

The Girl with Silver Hair

Lena stood out from the crowd, her silver hair braided tightly and pulled high, catching the morning light.

After finishing her inspection of the Thorn Corps alongside Amparo, she turned her gaze toward Greene. She spoke a few quick words to her commander, then broke into a trot in his direction.

Greene spotted her approach immediately.

She moved lightly, skipping a step here and there, her manner bright and unguarded. He allowed himself a small smile.

With a flick of his hand, he dismissed his guards.

Lena stopped a few paces before him and bowed deeply. "Forgive my intrusion, my lord."

She was mimicking the courtesies Amparo had taught her, though there was an eager energy to her voice that made it clear she was excited to speak with him face to face.

Greene studied her a moment. "Rena, isn't it? You serve as Amparo's second in command."

Her violet eyes widened. "Oh! You know my name already? They say you know everything, my lord, and I'm starting to believe it!"

She grinned, holding up her hands. "Also, the leather gloves you had made for us—they're perfect. I've tested them already. My fingers don't ache nearly as much after continuous shooting. The girls are confident we can loose forty arrows without fail. We will succeed!"

Greene had found a stockpile of soft leather in the armory and put it to use. He knew how grueling it was for archers to fire volley after volley without their fingers going numb. After crafting the new leather armor, he had ordered gloves made for them as well.

Rena, caught up in her excitement, was practically bouncing in place.

There was still time before they marched. Greene, ever patient, let her finish.

"Well," he said at last, "the gloves were made in haste. Some may be too large, others too small. That will be corrected."

Rena waved her hand. "Oh, that's nothing! Look!"

She stretched out her palm, wiggling her fingers. "I tailored mine last night. It was simple. The others who had trouble did the same—I showed them how."

Greene gave an approving nod. "Well done. Now return to Amparo and keep your focus. Remember, we stand united as one."

Rena saluted, grinning ear to ear. "Yes, my lord! We are united!"

The Battle Begins

The battlefield lay two miles east of Qingyu City, a rare flat stretch of land amid the rugged Crab Claw Peninsula.

By the time the sun had fully risen, Greene and his army had reached the field where they would meet the mountain savages in open combat.

The enemy was already gathering in the distance, a great dark mass shifting restlessly.

Ser Mason dismounted, barking commands. "Armor up!"

He strode through the ranks, cuffing the sluggish, shouting orders left and right.

"Shield-bearers, form up! Close ranks! Move it, you lazy dogs!"

"Don't panic! Get to your positions! Hurry, damn you!"

"If you want your wife warming another man's bed tonight, by all means—keep fumbling with your straps!"

His curses sent men scrambling to attention.

Greene remained astride his horse, the Thorn Corps at his side, watching the scene unfold.

The way battles were fought on the Crab Claw Peninsula was crude, slow, and disorganized—little more than a chaotic press of bodies.

Greene had studied war in another life. Had his army been drilled and disciplined, he would have ordered an advance before the enemy had fully gathered. A well-trained force could have shattered them before they had even formed their ranks.

But this was not that world.

As Greene's formation settled into place, the first sound of war reached them. A guttural roar rose from the savages, raw and primal, echoing across the battlefield.

The cries grew louder. The enemy, loose and disorganized though they seemed, pressed forward in a great wave.

"Position arrows!" Greene ordered.

"Yes, my lord!"

The bowmen loosed a line of marker arrows—thin shafts tipped with bright cloth, landing like stakes in the earth ahead.

The enemy surged toward them.

Greene raised his hand.

"Loose."

The sky darkened with arrows.