For this eastward campaign, nearly all of House Crabb's forces were mobilized:
100 Crabb troops, 400 from the Thorn Corps, 100 from the Crabb Longbow Corps, and 200 from the Crabb Spear Corps—800 combat soldiers in total; together with 300 auxiliary troops responsible for logistics, the force numbered 1,100 men.
For the Crabb lands, there had been no expedition on such a scale in more than a decade. Lord Glyn Crabb could clearly feel the surge of excitement among the people.
At the lord's command, Steward Herschel gathered as much dried meat as possible from across the territory. Once preparations were complete, the Crabb host marched east.
–
The fourth day of the march brought the first skirmish since heading east.
After a month of continuous training, the Crabb longbowmen had grown far more seasoned. Several coordinated volleys directly shattered the assault of some five hundred mountain clansmen.
Near dusk that same day, however, several veteran Crabb soldiers finally erupted.
The relentless marching had already exhausted them. They had won a battle today, yet there was no wine, no camp women, and prisoners were strictly off-limits.
It was not disloyalty to their lord—rather, too many habits had suddenly been changed. Discomfort, dissatisfaction, and pent-up frustration piled onto already short tempers, and they finally boiled over.
Those who were shouting and making a racket did not even realize that such behavior could throw the camp into chaos.
Military orders are as immovable as mountains.
Glyn knew well that mercy does not command an army. To quickly eradicate habits that threatened combat effectiveness, discipline would only be enforced more strictly.
–
Sensing the disturbance outside, Glyn gripped his riding crop, strode out of his tent, mounted his horse, and on the way casually snatched a spear from a nearby soldier. Without hesitation, he hurled it at the loudest of the ringleaders.
With a sharp whoosh, the spear pierced through the man's chest and burst out his back. The force carried him several meters through the air, before the spear—still impaling the body—drove deep into the ground, its shaft quivering.
The soldiers gathered nearby felt their breaths catch, and the camp fell abruptly silent.
Clop, clop, clop—only the slow, rhythmic sound of hooves remained.
Glyn flicked the reins lightly. The horse beneath him tossed its head with a soft snort and walked calmly through the crowd.
His unflinching gaze swept over the soldiers. Like a mountain pressing down, the weight of it bore upon them, and one by one they began to tremble, dropping to their knees before Glyn.
Glyn's voice rang out far louder than usual: "I told you—there is no gathering and no noise in the camp!"
"Look at me. Look at your lord. The laws I issue—if you dare violate them, that is an affront to the lord. And there is only one outcome for affronting the lord: death!"
Among the relatively closed world of Crackclaw Point, the people of the Crabb lands were indeed less civilized. The reasons Glyn wished to change what he saw as crude customs—explaining them would achieve nothing. Say too much, and they would only be confused.
If they could not understand, there was no need for endless explanation. Let them remember with their bodies that a lord's laws cannot be defied.
"I will say it again," Glyn declared.
"Crabb soldiers—so long as we are at war, there is no wine, and no women!"
"In wartime, there is only obedience to orders!"
"When the war is won, I will reward you generously—reward your courage, reward your discipline! Farmland, houses, fine food, good wine…"
He pointed his riding crop at the nearest group of soldiers. "You all—stand up and answer me."
The men he indicated rose shakily to their feet.
"Answer me—did you understand? Can you obey the laws?"
The men replied in turn: "Yes," "We can," "I swear it."
Glyn then pointed to another group and asked the same question.
"Louder. Haven't I fed you well? Shout it for me—obey the lord's laws!"
"Obey the lord's laws!"
"Obey the lord's laws!"
"Obey the lord's laws!"
The soldiers' shouts grew more unified, the roar rising wave after wave.
Glyn's previously impassive face finally showed the faintest smile.
He then ordered extra meat to be added to the soldiers' evening meal.
Having just sworn their loyalty at the top of their lungs, the soldiers cheered again, ignoring the pain in their throats.
–
As the Crabb troops advanced, the mountain clans finally realized that the Crabb soldiers were not a force a single tribe could withstand. In haste, several major tribes formed a coalition.
More than three thousand warriors from the mountain clans gathered across the hills.
Amid synchronized chants, the Crabb Spear Corps formed a disciplined three-layer defensive formation.
The Crabb troops split into two groups of fifty each, positioning themselves tightly on both flanks of the spear formation.
Behind the defensive line stood a combined force of five hundred from the Thorn Corps and the Crabb Longbow Corps.
The wildlings' horns sounded, and the charge began.
Each Crabb longbowman carried forty arrows. Once the three thousand mountain warriors entered the effective range of the longbows—beyond two hundred yards—they faced a baptism of arrows.
–
Two Seven-worshipping septons who had volunteered to accompany the army watched the battlefield, utterly shaken.
"This is no longer a war on the same level."
"Yes. If the Crabb archers numbered ten thousand, they would be unbeatable."
"After more than a decade of silence, this house—under its young lord— is about to rise. Without outside interference, the entire Crackclaw Point will fall into his grasp sooner or later."
"Have you decided to intervene? If you decide so, I will contact the High Septon in King's Landing at once. Perhaps we could even reach out directly to Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King—he may be more concerned about this."
"However, I wish to offer a presumptuous suggestion. Crackclaw Point is the land of the First Men. They never trust outsiders. The old gods' weirwood roots run deep here, and this young lord seems more inclined to support us. He needs stable rule after the war, and he wants the light of the Seven to shine here."
"..."
"He has conditions!"
"Oh? Other than bringing the gods' light to the suffering, what else can septons offer? The few pitiful copper stars in a poor septon's pouch?"
"You misunderstand. Not copper stars, and not gold dragons either. What he wants is the right to appoint the Septon of his lands! Hah—that is power that belongs to the king!"
"The bait is tempting indeed. If we gain the young lord's support, all of Crackclaw Point will enter the embrace of the Seven. It would be a monumental achievement—opening a new chapter in the history of our Faith."
"That is truly an offer hard to refuse."
(End of Chapter)