Morning light pierced the mist, making the Marigold sigil shine all the more fiercely.
Dense blue-and-gold banners fluttered in the wind—this was no harassment lurking in the shadows, but blatant intimidation.
Hoofbeats rolled in from deep within the forest road, drawing nearer and nearer. Snow grains sprayed into the air, revealing the gray-brown mud and dead branches beneath.
First came the outlines of a dozen or so warhorses emerging from the shadows of the trees. Their riders were wrapped in gleaming silver armor, the chill of morning frost seeping from the gaps in their plates, while their cold, murderous lances pointed diagonally toward the ground.
They advanced in orderly ranks, step by step, blocking the broad forest road so completely that not even water could pass through. More men and horses continued to pour out behind them, a vast, dark mass that seemed endless.
Such a display stirred a strange flicker of pleasure in Stannis's chest.
It seemed Gryn Crabb thought highly of him as an opponent. Stannis felt a long-forgotten sense of respect, enough to outweigh the peril of his desperate situation.
Woooo—
The horn of the First Men split the sky. Its familiar tune struck like thunder, rousing every survivor in the camp.
Almost instinctively, they seized the weapons beside them and stumbled together, forming a circle around Stannis.
More turned toward the forest road at the sound of the horn. When they saw the blue-cloaked knights closing in from all sides, the haze in their eyes faded.
Clearly, the morning light had rekindled their fighting spirit.
It was unseen enemies that drove old soldiers to despair, but now the enemy stood clearly revealed in the morning light. At least they knew whom they had to kill; their target was clear.
At roughly two hundred yards from the