Vultures circled in the sky while the soldiers began clearing the battlefield.
The bodies were gathered up and stacked into grim little mounds before being dragged into pits for burial.
The men did not understand why Solomon had ordered the wildlings buried together.
In their eyes, the best fate for those wildlings was to be left out in the open, torn apart by vultures and wild dogs, their souls denied any peace.
But Solomon's orders could not be disobeyed.
Fear, trust, reverence, it was hard to say which one ruled them more now. All they knew for certain was that his orders were absolute.
So they started digging.
They hauled the bodies with effort, kicking at the dead from time to time as though death itself still could not wash away the sins of their lives.
Then, suddenly, hoofbeats broke through the silence.
A messenger came charging into the camp on a foam-mouthed wildling pony, riding like a madman.
The pony gave a terrible cry, its legs buckled, and it collapsed.
The messenger rolled from the saddle and, ignoring the dust all over him, scrambled toward Solomon's tent on hands and knees.
"My lord!"
He raised a sealed letter high.
Then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed, exhausted from the long ride.
Solomon took the letter, broke the seal, and read the few words inside.
"Trouble in the Trident. Return at once."
His pupils tightened slightly.
His fingers unconsciously clenched the parchment.
The world was changing.
History had already been altered, and he could no longer simply follow its course. He would have to cross this river by feeling for stones himself.
He looked up at the soldiers watching him.
His voice was cold and decisive.
"Pass the word. Pack up. We march down the mountain at first light."
"No more burial. Let the mountain wolves have their fill."
Brin, standing nearby, answered loudly.
"Yes, my lord."
The orders went out at once, and the entire camp began to move.
Solomon turned to Coby, son of Gern, who was standing respectfully nearby.
This was the wildling chieftain who had just buried several clans with his own hands.
Now his face showed neither joy nor grief.
Only complete submission.
Solomon's voice held no emotion.
"From today onward, you are no longer highland wildlings of the Moonstone Mountains."
"You are my Solen tribe warriors."
"How many people does your tribe have now?"
Coby bowed immediately.
"Reporting to the Black Lion chieftain, our tribe now has two hundred and thirty-seven men and six hundred and twelve women. Many of them were just given to us by my lord."
Solomon nodded.
"Good."
"You will continue living in the Moonstone Mountains and keep your old way of life."
"I will provide grain regularly and make sure you do not starve."
"But your duty is this: in time of war, you will give me soldiers. I call it blood tax."
Coby lowered his head even further.
If the burning tribe had once been the symbol of terror in his mind, that image had now been completely replaced by the man in front of him.
"Understood, great war chief."
He paused, as though carefully arranging his words.
Then he looked up with a fierce, determined look.
"Black Lion chieftain, to show my loyalty, I am willing to send my eldest son and second son to your army to fight under you."
"My youngest son will remain with the tribe. From now on, my sons will take turns serving you until they die in battle."
Solomon studied him.
He had to admit Coby was smart.
They had already been driven into a corner.
And this wildling chieftain had acted decisively, cutting off any chance of rebellion while binding the future of his tribe tightly to Solomon's war machine.
In truth, whether Coby had offered this or not, Solomon had intended to do exactly that anyway.
After a moment, he said, "Agreed."
That night, the mountain was bitterly cold.
Solomon, Brin, Rosso, and Coby sat around the fire together.
A wildling chieftain sat among them, and the atmosphere was strangely stiff.
No one spoke.
The campfire cracked in the night wind, throwing their shadows long and short across the ground.
Solomon looked at Coby and saw that the man still seemed to have something to say.
Coby opened his mouth several times, then swallowed the words again.
His rough hands kept rubbing his knees.
He looked nervous.
At last, as if he had made up his mind, he stood abruptly and spoke in a loud, solemn voice.
"Black Lion chieftain!"
"Son of Gern, Coby, wishes to offer my daughter to you as your wife!"
The air froze.
Solomon's hand jerked as he held his cup of hot water, nearly spilling it.
An image flashed through his mind.
Coby's weather-beaten face. Rough skin. Heavy features.
Only now it had been forced onto a woman's body, with long hair attached.
A female wildling version of Coby looking at him tenderly.
A chill crawled up Solomon's spine.
Beside him, Rosso and Brin could no longer hold it in.
They both turned away, shoulders shaking violently as they tried not to laugh.
Solomon shot them a cold look.
They immediately straightened up and pulled their expressions back into place, though their faces were red with the effort.
Solomon's voice came out stiff.
"I don't need that."
Coby's face turned the color of liver.
He had not expected such a blunt rejection after gathering up all his courage.
He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, then tried to explain.
"Chieftain, listen to me."
"In our highland clans, we used to exchange women for marriage between tribes, because within one tribe, everyone is practically blood kin."
"But now... now our Tree Men tribe, no, our Solen tribe, is a traitor to all the tribes. No one will marry us anymore."
Then he changed tone and looked oddly proud.
"Of course, we don't really need women from the other tribes anymore anyway."
At once, Solomon understood what he meant.
They were all kin. Inbreeding was the problem.
Apparently, even these wildlings had some strange sense of decorum in this absurd matter.
Solomon glanced at Brin and asked casually, "Brin, do you want to marry his daughter?"
Brin looked up, eyes wide.
"My lord, my wife and children are dead. I will never marry again in this life."
"I only live for one thing now. Revenge."
Solomon nodded.
That made sense.
Then he turned to Rosso.
"Rosso, are you married?"
That question seemed to light a spark in the middle-aged knight's pride.
Rosso's face went red instantly, not from embarrassment, but from anger and humiliation.
He shot to his feet and stared at Solomon as though he had just heard the most outrageous insult in the world.
"My lord!"
"I may have no land of my own, but I am still a knight of the Seven Kingdoms! A nobleman!"
"How could I possibly... how could I possibly marry some wild savage woman who eats raw flesh and lives like an animal?!"
Coby jumped up too.
He was already furious from being rejected, and Rosso's words only poured oil on the fire.
"What did you say?!"
He jabbed a finger at Rosso and roared.
"You damned plains sheep! If you've got the guts, fight Son of Gern, Coby, one on one! I'll show you whether a wildling's fist is harder than your iron bucket!"
Rosso's hand went straight to his sword hilt.
"Come and try it, you traitor to your own people!"
"Enough."
Solomon's voice was low.
That was all.
The campfire fell silent at once.
Rosso and Coby glared at each other, chests heaving.
Under Solomon's gaze, both men backed off and sat down again.
Coby saw that the plan for marriage alliance had completely collapsed and grew anxious.
Then he suddenly brightened, as if another brilliant idea had struck him.
He rushed back in front of Solomon.
"Chieftain! Lord!"
"If you won't marry my daughter, then let's do it another way. My daughter is strong. Very strong! A lot of the strongest men in our tribe can't beat her!"
"Female warriors are no worse than men! Let her and the other female warriors in our tribe serve as your guards! They will be loyal, and they will fight fiercely!"
That suggestion did interest Solomon.
He had already seen how savage, fearless, and relentless wildling warriors could be.
Even if they were women, a bodyguard unit made up of them might be a good idea.
"Bring her to me," Solomon said.
Coby ran off excitedly.
Soon he returned to the fire with a tall figure beside him.
When that figure stepped into the firelight, even Solomon's eyes widened a little.
The woman was at least six feet tall, with sharp facial contours, a high bridge to her nose, and deep-set eyes that gave her an exotic beauty.
Unlike the broad, bulky wildling women Solomon had seen before, this one had a lithe, powerful build.
Her bronze skin gleamed in the firelight.
Her limbs were long and strong.
Her muscles flowed with clean, elegant lines, full of explosive force.
She looked like a leopard ready to pounce, wild and untamed.
Solomon almost blurted out, "Are you really Coby's daughter?"
Brin was stunned too.
He had never seen a woman that tall in Westeros.
Only Rosso sneered and muttered, "Still just a savage woman who eats raw flesh."
Solomon ignored him.
He looked at the female warrior and asked, "Would you serve as my guard?"
She looked at him without fear and simply nodded.
She said nothing.
Coby, standing to the side, looked a little embarrassed and rubbed his hands.
"Chieftain, my daughter... she can't speak."
Solomon studied her again.
Mute, then.
Sometimes that was a benefit.
He made his decision at once.
"Very well."
"These twenty female warriors will serve as my guard from today on."
After some more discussion, Coby left happily with Rosso and Brin.
The tribe's numbers had grown so much that there was no shortage of people.
Since these marriageable women from tribes with no possible exchange had become a burden, it was a good thing to offload them wherever possible.
Night deepened.
The camp finally went quiet.
Only the footsteps of patrols and the distant cries of night animals remained.
Solomon sat alone in his tent.
He slowly opened his right hand and stared at his palm.
The air around it seemed to twist ever so slightly.
A moment later, a bright flame sprang into being in the center of his palm, dancing silently and lighting his cold face in flickering gold and shadow.
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