The True Horn!

The Wildling party continued climbing the mountain, leaving the captured crow behind.

Robb kept his head low and secretly took out several dragonglass arrowheads.

He dropped one every so often, as a small comfort to himself.

The Wall, Black Castle.

Cregan summoned his bannermen, gathering them in the utterly silent hall.

A burly man from House Umber couldn't stand the quiet and muttered, "The king's been gone for half a month. Shouldn't we be making some preparations?"

At once, the others shushed him into silence.

The lands north of the Wall were now bitterly cold, and there were rebellious Wildlings and White Walkers who appeared and vanished without warning.

The king had risked a great deal by going beyond the Wall.

"I'm not wrong. We can't just sit here and wait for death."

The Umber raised his voice, displaying the Northmen's ferocity to the fullest.

What good was huddling in a hall with drafts blowing in from every side?

They might as well take out the Wildlings already inside the Wall and summon every man in the North to defend it.

Thump, thump, thump!

A dull knocking on the table silenced the growing din.

Everyone turned to look.

Cregan's expression was grave as he spoke to raise their spirits. "The king has a dragon at his side. We should be all the more determined to carry out the task at hand."

"My lord, tending to those Wildlings doesn't count as a task."

The Umber was the first to object, his face sour.

"Exactly. Wildlings shouldn't be allowed past the Wall."

"The king is letting Wildlings through the Wall. Who's going to control that pack of bastards?"

The objections drew an immediate chorus of agreement, and more than a dozen nobles rose to their feet.

Some wore the flayed man