The raven vanished into the pale northern sky.
For a long moment no one in the hall spoke.
Outside, the courtyard of Ravenhold stirred with quiet urgency. Men moved quickly between the stables and the armory, carrying bundles of arrows, shields, and winter cloaks.
War preparations had begun.
Corvyn stood near the long table, studying the map one last time.
"Will Winterfell believe us?" he asked.
Lord Edrick Ravaryn did not immediately answer.
"They will," he said finally. "Because the Boltons will not move quietly forever."
Ser Halric rested both hands on the table.
"And when they do?"
Edrick looked toward the open doors of the hall.
"Then the North will wake."
Halric gave a short nod.
"Good. Because I would very much like to repay last night's welcome."
Corvyn stepped away from the table.
"My men need rest," he said. "The ones who survived."
Edrick's expression softened slightly.
"They have earned it."
Corvyn turned toward the hall doors.
But before he could leave, a guard rushed inside.
"My lord!"
The man stopped abruptly, catching his breath.
Edrick frowned.
"What is it?"
"Riders," the guard said. "Approaching from the eastern road."
Halric straightened immediately.
"How many?"
"Three," the guard replied.
Corvyn's eyes narrowed.
"Boltons?"
The guard shook his head.
"No banners, my lord. But they carry a white flag."
Halric looked skeptical.
"Boltons hiding behind a white flag would not surprise me."
Edrick considered the report carefully.
"Bring them to the gate," he ordered. "But keep the archers ready."
The guard nodded quickly and hurried out.
Corvyn glanced at his father.
"You think they're spies?"
"Possibly," Edrick replied.
Halric shrugged.
"Only one way to find out."
Moments later the three riders entered the courtyard of Ravenhold.
Corvyn watched from the battlements above.
They wore travel-stained cloaks and rode tired horses.
One of them raised a hand slowly.
"We bring word from the North," the rider called.
His voice carried across the stone walls.
"For Lord Edrick Ravaryn."
Edrick stepped forward beside Corvyn.
"Speak it."
The rider removed his hood.
Snow clung to his beard.
"Winterfell has already sent its ravens."
A murmur spread among the guards.
Corvyn frowned.
"What ravens?"
The rider looked up at them.
"The Boltons are not just marching."
He paused.
"They have already begun the war."