Whenever traffic ground to a halt, the Wildlings behind began cursing. Wildlings had always been hot-tempered, blunt, and irritable.
Those behind threatened to slaughter the oxen on the spot and dismantle the carts right there. But the cart owners' relatives drew their knives too. Anyone who dared try would pay with their life.
"Get yourselves in order! Keep misbehaving and I'll feed you all to the dragons!" Mance and Tormund roared, giving the Wildlings a thorough scolding.
Their fear of the Magic Dragons soon restored order.
"You should widen the gate," Tormund Giantbane said. "This is too fucking slow. Perhaps one blast of Joramun's horn would turn this castle to rubble, and the Wildlings covering the hills could all climb over. Of course, I don't mean the one Mance gave you. That thing is a fine big horn, but unfortunately, it's a fake."
"Does this horn belong to the giants?" Gendry asked.
Tormund nodded. "Possibly. Anyway, we found it in a giant's tomb. No one had ever seen anything that big. It's at least a thousand years old. Mance was only using it to scare you. Unfortunately, we couldn't find the real horn. Even digging through glaciers did no good."
"We truly couldn't find it." Mance nodded bitterly. "Joramun blew the horn and woke the giants beneath the earth. But what I found wasn't the Horn of Winter."
Gendry smiled. He knew the real horn should be with Sam.
However, activating the horn might require a certain catalyst, just like Dragonbinder. Dragonbinder required blood and fire, fire and blood, a human life to sound it.
"Keep moving steadily. Don't stop," Mance Rayder ordered.
These Wildlings were a mixed lot. Some secretly cut in line and were stabbed for it. Mance cursed them out and made them start over.
"Black-haired King,