A thunderous crash came from far away.
The rumbling went on and on, as though something kept exploding in the distance.
The young knight's squire reined in his horse and listened.
He could not tell what the sound was-not thunder, nor anything he had ever heard described.
The man leading them reined in his horse as well.
He glanced back toward the sound, raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and fell silent for a moment.
Lord Tywin had promised that anyone who brought his own warhorse, armor, and weapons to the Gates of the Moon to enter his service would be knighted.
But by the time they finally scraped together their horses, armor, and weapons and reached the Gates of the Moon, Lord Tywin had already mustered his army and marched into the Mountains of the Moon.
With no other choice, they had come to this battlefield, hoping to join the war and earn their knighthoods from Tywin.
Yet the disturbance ahead made him hesitate. What good was a reward if he lost his life?
He gritted his teeth and finally waved a hand. "Keep moving."
If I die, I die. Until now, he had been nothing more than a hired outrider. If he missed this chance to become a knight, this chance to rise above his station...
He would regret it for the rest of his life.
The party moved on.
The young squire followed, tightening his grip on the reins.
This was his first time taking part in a real battle.
He had imagined the battlefield countless times-horns, banners, charging cavalry, clashing blades.
He had imagined distinguishing himself in battle, earning his lord's praise, and being knighted. Perhaps he might even receive a small fief.
The thunderous crashes continued, but gradually, they stopped.
The