Villagers reported that the mountain clans nearby were becoming more active.
Glyn, who liked to be fully prepared, originally planned to let the army train for a few more days. He wanted to improve some details.
But the mood among the people was growing restless. Glyn realized he could not wait any longer. War had to begin.
If he delayed again, the people might think he was afraid of the wildling.
After inspecting the Thorn Corps' volley training, Glyn walked toward the council hall of Whispers Castle. His steps were steady.
–
Glyn sat high on the lord's chair. Carved on the back was House Crabb's sigil—the marsh marigold.
He took the wine cup from Kaleya, frowned, and took a sip of the red wine.
Strangely enough, the sour red wine wasn't so bad once you got used to it. It even had some kick.
House Crabb's retainers stood quietly on both sides of the hall.
Ser Massen spoke first. "My lord, talk with the mountain clans are complete. The time is set for tomorrow, after sunrise."
"How many have they gathered?" Glyn asked.
Ser Per replied, "About one thousand."
Glyn rested the back of his hand against his cheek and let out a soft, mocking laugh.
After hearing the lord's scornful tone, there was a brief silence. Then the hall filled with laughter and jeers toward the wildling.
Looking down on the enemy was part of their strategy. It raised morale without effort. This habit had long existed in the territory.
Still, Glyn would never underestimate the enemy in actual tactics.
He raised a hand for silence. "Herschel, are the shields ready?"
Steward Herschel answered respectfully. "Yes, my lord. Thirty iron-faced shields from the armory and seventy oak shields from the carpenter's workshop. One hundred in total. All have been handed over to Ser Massen."
Glyn passed the cup back to Kaleya. "Well done, Steward Herschel."
Herschel bowed deeply.
"I will restate the battle plan," Glyn said.
"The Thorn Corps has one hundred and twenty longbow shooters. Each will carry two quivers. Make sure all arrows are prepared in advance."
"The range of the Crabb longbow is more than enough. Everyone here has seen it."
"When the mountain clansmen charge, the first thing they will face is the Thorn Corps' volley fire."
"Massen. In the first phase, your task is to hold the line with the one hundred shields. Lead the clan soldiers and protect the Thorn Corps. Do not retreat a single step until you receive the next order."
"Once the Thorn Corps finishes its volleys, the first phase is complete."
"After eating several waves of arrows, let's see how much courage those wildlings still have left. Take a look—maybe some of them will even wet themselves."
The hall burst into laughter.
Glyn continued, "In the second stage of battle, the armored soldiers will be in front. All clan soldiers will push forward steadily. We will fight them close up and crush the wildlings completely."
"At the same time, the Thorn Corps will rest and wait for my command."
After speaking, Glyn had each commander repeat their own part of the plan.
This style of war meeting was very different from the old ways of the territory. As lord, Glyn needed patience. He needed repeated explanations to be sure everyone truly understood his intent.
Someone always had to take the first step. Time, for now, was on his side.
Glyn tapped his fingers lightly on his knee and thought to himself—this should be enough.
The first true joint battle of House Crabb's forces, rushed by time and pressure, was about to begin.
–
Glyn's lunch was onion-roasted lamb, vegetable soup, honey bread, and a jug of malt ale.
He took one sip of the ale and frowned.
Bad. Bitter.
Why does this malt ale taste different every time? I clearly remember it tasting fine last time.
Glyn didn't want to drink it anymore. But as a poor lord, he also hated wasting things, so he reached for the jug and poured the remaining ale back in.
With a gentle smile, he said to Kaleya, "This malt ale is very good today. Herschel has been working hard lately. Take this jug to him."
Herschel was broad and heavyset. This was care from the lord.
Kaleya nodded and carried out the order faithfully.
In the dining hall, Steward Herschel, eating together with everyone else, accepted the jug from Kaleya amid cheers and envious looks.
Herschel really had been exhausted these past days. Glyn had kept him running nonstop, until his legs felt thinner.
This was the lord acknowledging his ability. Herschel's fatigue vanished at once, replaced by renewed energy.
–
Because of the ale, Glyn thought about Mermaid Harbor while he ate.
He thought about one of the port's key sources of income—alcohol.
Relying only on imported wine would cause problems sooner or later.
It would be best to have a famous drink made and sold locally, like the wines of the Arbor.
But given House Crabb's resources, malt ale was the best choice.
Glyn had long noticed that, outside the castle, there was almost no concept of cleanliness at all.
He suspected that the unstable taste of their malt ale had a lot to do with poor hygiene.
Sometimes Glyn was glad that, as a lord, he did not need to explain his laws.
Otherwise, just explaining what "hygiene" meant would exhaust him.
For example, hygiene during brewing could be solved with strict rules. No one would openly defy regulations set by the lord.
Of course, problems would still appear during execution, so proper supervision and checks would be necessary.
Thinking this way, Glyn felt that giving the ale to Herschel earlier had been perfect. Another task for the steward—just right.
The malt ale also needed a good name. A strong, elegant name was half of success.
Mermaid Malt Ale?
Not related enough. It felt forced.
Marsh Marigold Malt Ale?
That worked. Malt ale was golden in color.
But "marsh" lowered the tone. That part had to go.
So it would be called—
Marigold Malt Ale.
–
After lunch, Glyn had been feeling a little drowsy. But a reply from King's Landing instantly woke him up.
He read the letter several times, then snapped his fingers in satisfaction.
According to the message, about two months from now, the queen would leave King's Landing for the royal hunt. Glyn was to provide part of the escort.
The escort troops would be chosen from his own territory, with a limit of twenty men.
Glyn's goal was simple—to gain a chance to appear at the Red Keep through Queen Cersei.
The Game of Thrones was about to begin, and Crackclaw Point was far away.
Kaleya saw that Glyn, who usually showed little emotion, was very happy. Her mood improved too. "Lord Glyn, it is rare to see you so happy. Would you like a glass of red wine?"
Glyn glanced over. "Yes. Pour one for yourself too. Let's drink together. A small celebration."
He raised his cup to Kaleya and drank it in one go.
Thank you, Queen Cersei.
(End of chapter)