Lynn figured this was the smart play. He needed a solid crew, but he didn't want to get sucked in too deep.
Yeah, it was a little scummy. Still beat getting trapped with no way out.
So right there in front of everybody, he handed the multi-tool knife to Kassa and told him exactly how to hollow the handle and fit it with good wood. The result would be a spear that could punch through armor—perfect match for the guy's new nickname.
Lynn had no clue what kind of steel the blade was made from, but it was light-years ahead of anything this world had ever seen. Magic didn't count, of course.
Kassa walked away "Star Spear" on the spot.
The night stayed quiet.
Next morning when they broke camp, Kassa reported three people missing.
Missing meant dead. Everyone knew it.
The Thenns gave Lynn a sheep-pulled sled for riding, but even the tame ones were stubborn bastards with those curved-blade horns. Lynn had a thought and slipped his mind into the lead ram.
It worked perfectly.
He discovered the skinchanger gift felt smooth no matter the animal. The power came straight from the Three-Eyed Crow, who'd spent centuries riding beasts. Lynn had inherited the ease of it—just not the Crow's trick of controlling dozens at once. That took a merged mind of countless greenseers. Ordinary skinchangers who tried usually went mad.
Though rumor said Mance had a Sixskins named Varamyr who rode three wolves, a shadowcat, and a big snow bear all at the same time. Born freak, probably.
While Lynn guided the sled from inside the ram, he overheard the camp talk through the animal's ears.
Some called him White King. Others said Son of the Stars. He'd already picked up White Walker Slayer, Dragon Tamer, Dragonborn. Now they'd added Sheep Spirit to the list.
Lynn ignored it and kept the sled moving.
Every so often he glanced back and saw himself sitting rearward on the sled, knees draped in a fur pelt, the baby dragon curled tight inside it.
What a goddamn weird world. I'm pulling myself.
The column moved slower than he'd expected, and the distance left felt longer. Lynn was quietly grateful he hadn't tried this alone. Solo he would've died in the snow days ago.
Stragglers joined them the whole way—little bands of Free Folk that swelled the group into a messy thousand-strong horde. Chaos and brawls were guaranteed, but as long as nobody slowed the march the Thenns didn't interfere. They neither robbed nor helped.
At least the mixed crowd let Lynn see how varied the Free Folk really were.
The biggest newcomers were the Hardfoots—short, stooped, every man, woman, and child looking like a wrinkled old man. They marched barefoot across the ice, soles tough as boiled leather, wearing furs and carrying spears with stone heads or fire-hardened points. They lived deep in the northern Frostfangs and had warred endlessly with the Nightrunners until Mance forced a truce. The Nightrunners were few and had already moved out ahead, so Lynn never saw them.
Then came the cave dwellers with blue, purple, and green faces and teeth filed sharp like rasps, plus the Ice River clans rumored to eat human flesh. Aside from their clothes they looked pretty much like Thenns.
Too bad he never spotted any giants or woolly mammoths.
Nymo stuck to Lynn's side every day like a bodyguard. When Lynn wasn't riding the sheep, the kid turned full tour guide, naming every clan that passed.
Once Nymo quietly told him his mother had been taken in a Thenn raid from the Ice River clan. She'd remarried and given birth to him. She'd said the Ice River folk really did practice cannibalism—but only on people who died naturally or by accident. They never hunted the living. Life up there was just that hard.
By the sixth day the fights got ugly. Theft was nothing; robbery and murder were the main show. Lynn, fresh from a civilized world, finally had enough.
He pulled Kassa aside and asked the Thenn warriors to take over security. No private duels, no robberies. Keep the body count down so no hidden corpses could be turned into wights by the Others.
The Free Folk burned their dead to stop them rising—though the Ice River clans hated it. Still, some killers hid their crimes. You couldn't expect a murderer to cremate the evidence himself.
Lynn's orders were carried out fast. The hard-eyed Thenn fighters shut down any noise.
The Thenns had a high warrior ratio for a reason. Generations of brutal culling left only strong men and fertile women. Anyone too old or weak to fight or mine was driven out to die. Same for women once they could no longer work or bear children. It was how they survived. Lynn couldn't judge them. Even south of the Wall, in the so-called warmer lands, plenty of old folks claimed they were going hunting in deep winter and simply never came back. Some bodies turned up in spring. Most didn't.
The column kept moving, but people still died every day. Lynn felt useless against it.
Hunger killed as surely as the Others, and he had no right to order the Thenns to share food—even though Kassa probably would have. All he could do was keep order and cut the losses as low as possible.
Word of his name had spread. Now every family or clan dispute landed in front of him. He'd banned private fights, so it made sense they brought the rest to him for judgment.
Between marches Lynn found himself holding court. It was ridiculous and exhausting.
He quickly learned the Free Folk were stubborn but not stupid. Hit them with clear logic and they usually got it. Their fights were almost always simple—whose kill was whose, who got the better campsite. Stay fair and you could usually find a deal that left everyone half-satisfied.
When words failed—like the Ice River clans insisting their dead should be emergency rations—Lynn let Nymo and his boys settle it with fists.
Truth was, their way wouldn't create wights; they carved the meat and jerked it. Lynn stopped them mostly because the thought made his stomach turn. He just couldn't stomach cannibalism.
To get them to stop, he had to ask Kassa for help. The Thenns gave the Ice River folk six sheep as compensation.
A few days later Lynn picked up another nickname: Lynn the Just.
By the twelfth day the Thenns' own stores ran dry. They started butchering the draft sheep and spotted donkeys. They always spared the one pulling Lynn's sled and kept him and the dragon fed. Lucky the little one still ate like a kitten.
Hunting parties came back empty. Everything wild had already been stripped clean by earlier migrations, and the hunters refused to range far from camp for fear of the Others.
Stragglers kept joining, but the total numbers never grew. Every morning when the column set out, a huge bonfire roared at the very rear—burning the dead so the Others could not claim them.