On a battlefield that became a meat grinder, nearly two-thirds of the mountain clansmen—led by the Stone Crows—were slaughtered before their wildling host finally broke completely under Kal's onslaught.
Blood and scattered limbs littered the ground. The surviving prisoners were rounded up and herded together.
The Shagga, son of Dolf, whom Timett had spoken of earlier, by some stroke of fortune had not died in the fighting. Instead, he was bound and thrown before Kal as a captive.
"I've heard your name, Shagga."
Kal sat upon a jutting rock, wiping his gilded longsword with a rag so stained its original color could no longer be seen. Blood still soaked his clothes, trickling down until it pooled at his boots.
Those passing nearby lowered their heads instinctively, averting their eyes in respect as they glanced at Kal.
"Then I hope the next time you hear it, it will be with my boot grinding down on your skull. And your women spread beneath my hips."
"Bah!"
Though taken prisoner, Shagga would not yield.
Hearing Kal's lofty words, he spat his curses without hesitation. Not satisfied, he even tried to spit out a mouthful of bloodied phlegm.
But the spittle never reached Kal. The instant Shagga opened his mouth, before he could spit, a fist smashed into his face, knocking him down and driving his head into the muddy ground.
Shagga lifted his face with difficulty, looking toward the one who had struck him—Chella, who now squinted coldly at his ear.
"Peh—hah! I like you even more, woman!"
His face smeared with blood and mud, Shagga still refused to break. He spat out a tooth shattered by the blow, grinning with bloody gums as he bared them in a smile at Chella.
Seeing the wretch dare to look at her like that, Chella's anger boiled over.
She was about to strike him again when Kal raised his head and called her off.
"My time is short. I already gave you your chance. Let's not waste it any further."
Kal spoke, sheathing his longsword as he rose to his feet and strode over to where Shagga knelt in the mud.
Feeling the cold gaze of this living tower of blood fixed on him, Shagga could no longer hold onto that defiant smile.
"Two choices for you. First—you refuse me, and I wipe out your clan."
"Second—you do as they did, and you and your people will be given the chance to eat and drink your fill."
"You will have endless wine, endless meat, fine warm houses, strong weapons, a good life—and more beautiful women."
Kal delivered his recruitment speech without a trace of expression. Then he raised his longsword and laid it against Shagga's neck.
Feeling that icy sharpness, as if it could slice open his skin from a distance, Shagga could no longer maintain his forced display of strength. He had summoned all the remaining fighting power of the mountain clans for one final struggle.
Now, with their failure, he understood that the mountain clans of the Moon Mountains truly had no chance left.
This Warden of the East before him was unlike any Vale king or Warden in the hundreds or thousands of years past.
He had somehow found them here in what was supposed to be their own territory, and he possessed a combat strength beyond compare.
Defeated, Shagga knew full well: the mountain clans of the Moon Mountains would never again have an opportunity.
Even hiding had become a luxury they could no longer afford.
Looking at the familiar faces from other clans who had already bent the knee to this man, Shagga could no longer keep up his defiance. He lowered his head.
"I hope you will keep your word, my lord Warden of the East."
Whether for himself or for his people, Shagga knew clearly that, as chieftain, his duty was not to lead those who trusted him into annihilation.
Defeated, he would accept fate with composure.
Besides, he was not the first to surrender.
Having heard the answer he wanted, Kal withdrew his sword and slid it back into its sheath.
"Congratulations on making the right choice. In the future, men will look back with honor on the decision you made today."
"Welcome, Shagga son of Dolf."
Looking at this burly figure clad in animal hides, reeking with a stench almost unbearable, his voice low and hoarse in speech, loud and booming in laughter and battle-shouts, Kal allowed a smile to cross his face.
Hearing Kal's words, Shagga lifted his head and smiled as well.
"You said it. Endless wine."
"That will be after you've washed that stench off yourself."
...
After leaving the Moon Mountains and returning once more to Saltpans, Kal's original band of six had swelled like a balloon into a host of more than two thousand.
The aged and witless Ser Quincy Cox had hidden himself away in his castle, trembling with fear.
Thus, the ones to receive Kal and his army were still his sons.
Only, where once they had been cordial, now they were visibly uneasy and restless.
Kal paid no mind to this.
He first resolved to settle his own followers—the clansmen of the mountain tribes who, after being subdued, had marched out of the mountains at his side. Along the way, everything they saw was fresh and wondrous to them, and on their faces lingered a lawless look, as if they wished to touch and pocket every new thing they encountered.
"Keep an eye on them. No looting. This is not the Moon Mountains anymore."
With this brief instruction, Kal had Timett, Chella, Shagga, and the others manage the clansfolk. This time, he even left Jon Snow behind to assist.
Then, bringing only Samwell Tarly, he entered the castle of House Cox, where he met the ones who had come ahead of them—Lord Robert Arryn of the Eyrie and the others, waiting there already.
"Good afternoon, Lord Kal."
More than a month had passed since Robert Arryn had last seen Kal Stone. Now, once again, before his eyes stood this terrifying man—arriving at Saltpans at the head of a great army, dust-laden from the march. Robert bowed obediently, fear written plainly across his face.
His stiff, mechanical movements made it clear that the shadow Kal had left on his heart was not one that would fade easily.
Facing the boy's greeting, Kal stepped forward, laid a hand on his head, and tousled his longish brown hair into a mess. Only then did he notice that Robert's complexion had improved greatly, and his eyes seemed clearer than they had a month before.
Seeing this, Kal smiled with satisfaction and gave a slight nod before replying, "The same to you, my lord."
With that said, Kal straightened and turned his gaze toward the grim-faced Blackfish, Brynden Tully.
"Robert's condition looks better. That seems to confirm some of my assumptions."
The potion he had left behind—half as an exchange, half for Robert's health—appeared to have worked well on the boy.
Hearing Kal mention this, Brynden too looked toward Robert Arryn.
"Yes," Brynden said, though his expression remained unchanged, his mind seemingly elsewhere.
He did not linger on the topic. Instead, he reached into a pouch on his belt, drew out three sealed letters, and handed them toward Kal.
"What has happened?"
Catching Brynden's strange expression, Kal realized at once that something was amiss. His smile vanished as he accepted the letters and asked the question casually.
But Brynden thought he was asking about the letters themselves, and raised his hand to indicate each in turn.
"One is from the Eyrie—originally from King Robert Baratheon to you, later passed on by Maester Colemon to Saltpans."
"The second comes from Gulltown, in Robert Arryn's name, but likewise meant to be delivered into your hands."
"The third is likewise from the king and the Hand. I did not read it, but it should have been dispatched to Saltpans after word came from the Eyrie that you had already departed."
Kal accepted the letters, and upon inspection he found that the seals on two of them had been broken.
"Is this about the war? You read them already?"
Kal did not concern himself much with the broken wax. What mattered was that the letters came from those three places, which meant there must be some trouble with the war.
"It should be. The situation has grown complicated," Brynden said with a nod.
Seeing Kal Stone's suspicion, the Blackfish quickly explained, then added, "It is fortunate you returned in time. Otherwise, I would have had to find a way to send these letters to you by hand."
"And there is something else—the situation in the Riverlands is not what we expected. The northern host has already clashed several times with Lord Tywin Lannister's western army."
That the Stark host had fought battles with Tywin during his absence did not surprise Kal.
Thinking as much, he unfolded one of the letters while asking, "And the outcome?"
"The outcome is poor. The reinforcements that should have arrived have yet to come. Each clash so far has been hurried and disordered, and no real results have been gained."
"Tywin Lannister, however, has kept his men engaged in scattered skirmishes, dragging out the line of battle. Now he has stationed his main host at Harrenhal. It looks as though he means to make his final stand there."
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