Kuna stepped into the tent and fixed her one good eye on the baby dragon napping by the fire. She didn't look away until Nymo nudged her shoulder.
"Son of the Stars, Lynn," she said, her voice flat and cold as wind off the Milkwater. "I've come to make you a new hilt and scabbard."
Lynn handed her Dark Sister. The moment she saw the crude layers of leather wrapped around the tang, her face showed open disgust.
"Very light," she commented. "Valyrian steel. Never seen one north of the Wall."
The second sentence came out in fluent Common Tongue—rare for a Thenn. There wasn't even a word for "Valyrian" in the Old Tongue.
Kuna continued muttering to herself:
"The pommel weight is perfectly balanced, so the grip material needs to be light or it will ruin the center of gravity. For the scabbard, swordbone-fish skin would be ideal—light and incredibly tough. Nothing better."
Nymo spoke up. "We can get swordbone-fish skin from Harl of the Ice River clan. His family owes the Son of the Stars a debt."
Harl was the small Ice River chieftain who had traveled with them. He was only still alive thanks to the six sheep Lynn had secured for them.
Kuna nodded, then pulled out a thin cord and carefully measured Lynn's right hand—every finger and the width of his palm.
When she saw his smooth, callus-free hands, she paused for a moment, visibly surprised. A warrior who could kill a White Walker in a single breath having such soft, unscarred hands was clearly strange to her.
After Kuna left with the sword, Lynn asked curiously, "What's a swordbone fish?"
"A rare fish that only lives in the dark rivers under the glaciers," Nymo explained. "Long and thin like a sword, but almost no meat on it. The Ice River clans catch them, strip the skin, and pull out the bones to use as knives."
He continued, "The bones are very hard but only good for cutting, not real weapons. The skin is extremely tough—almost impossible to cut or even punch holes through. If you can find a piece the right size, it makes the perfect scabbard. Our bronze swords are too thick and short to need one."
Lynn nodded, then asked, "Kuna seems very good at the Common Tongue?"
Nymo grinned. "She was born south of the Wall. Raiders stole her many years ago. They say she was a nobleman's daughter."
"A raider tried to rape her, so he lost his manhood forever. That's when Kuna lost her eye. Later the raiders sold her to us. Even missing an eye she fetched several good pieces of bronze. But no one managed to steal her."
Nymo was referring to the wildling custom of "stealing" a wife. If a man wanted a woman, he would try to take her at night. Even if she was willing, she was expected to fight back. If her family caught him it got ugly, but if he was strong enough, he usually got what he wanted.
Nymo's voice grew respectful. "She nearly froze and starved to death, but she still wouldn't submit. In the end, 'Spear Maker' Flivvi took her in. He was the best spear crafter in the clan. He promised he wouldn't demand husband's rights from her—she only had to work for her food and blankets."
Lynn felt uneasy listening to the story. No matter how harsh the environment and times were, the Free Folk were still brutally savage.
It reminded him once again to hold onto his own civilized values. He couldn't let himself be swallowed by this world just to survive.
"Strange thing is," Nymo continued, seeing Lynn's interest, "Flivvi never managed to steal her. She stole him instead. She called it 'love.' They had several children, but only their youngest daughter survived. Kuna gave her a southern name—Lyanna. The girl's a real beauty."
Nymo shrugged.
"Too bad when Flivvi was dying of sickness, he begged the Magnar to forbid any man from stealing Lyanna unless she herself agreed. The gods witnessed it—it was completely against tradition. The man who got stolen by a woman now wanted his daughter to do the stealing too. Everyone said Flivvi must have been bewitched by Kuna's magic."
"You look like you'd like to steal Lyanna yourself," Lynn said, raising an eyebrow.
"Every man wants to," Nymo replied with both hunger and regret. "Even the ones who already have wives. But the Magnar gave the order, and no one dares disobey."
"Of course, once we have a new Magnar, the old order no longer stands."
The moment Nymo finished speaking, loud noise erupted outside—mixed with a deep, rumbling roar like some massive beast.
Nymo's face changed. "Giants!"
The giants lived in the mountains not far from the Thenns' valley. They had no real feud with the Thenns, but they were far from friendly.
In the narrow valley the giants had never been much of a threat, but out here in open ground even the fiercest clan would struggle against a charge of giants riding woolly mammoths. No wonder Nymo looked tense.
Lynn wasn't worried. The King-Beyond-the-Wall had worked hard to unite all the Free Folk. He probably wouldn't allow big fights to break out, especially not bloody ones on this scale.
Besides, Lynn really wanted to see a giant up close.
He told Nymo to take him along. Nymo had clearly wanted to go anyway and quickly agreed.
After posting two men to guard the dragon in the tent, Lynn followed Nymo toward the commotion.
Even from a distance, Lynn could see the giants—they were taller than two Thenns stacked on top of each other. Their chests were roughly human-shaped, but their long arms hung down almost to the ground. Their lower bodies were nearly half again as wide as their upper bodies.
In their hands they carried weapons made from entire dead tree trunks. Some still had broken branches attached, with heavy stone balls lashed to the ends like massive maces. They looked brutally dangerous.
Up close, Lynn saw their legs were shorter than their arms, thick and bare, with wide, black, callused feet. They had no visible necks—their huge, heavy heads jutted forward from between their shoulder blades. Their faces were flat and savage, with tiny rat-like eyes almost lost in thick horny skin. Their noses seemed very sharp; they sniffed the air constantly as they walked.
They weren't wearing hides. They were simply covered in long, shaggy hair—thicker below the waist, thinner above. The stench rolling off them was overpowering even from far away.
The giants weren't alone. Walking with them was a man in a ragged red-and-black cloak.
He was of medium height with a sharp face, clever brown eyes, and long brown hair that was already heavily streaked with gray. He wore no ornaments, just a simple wool tunic and leather under the cloak.
He had no crown, no gold, no jewels—yet he walked at the front and the giants followed closely behind him. Lynn knew instantly who he was.
This was the King-Beyond-the-Wall: Mance Rayder.
Behind Mance walked several others. The most striking was a man wearing an enormous skull as a helmet and armor made of countless bones—including what looked like human ones.
Next to him was a woman built like a barrel, her cheeks two thick slabs of white flesh pitted with pockmarks. A long spear rested on her shoulder with a dog's head impaled on the tip, still dripping blood.
Then came a fat man with shaggy yellow hair and watery eyes, carrying a huge, sharp steel scythe. Lynn wondered if the man had some kind of condition that made his eyes constantly tear up.
The most ordinary-looking of the group was a short but extremely sturdy man. His beard was graying, and thick gold bands engraved with mysterious runes circled his arms, which were as thick as Lynn's thighs. He wore a black chainmail shirt.