About a hundred leagues behind those drifting, iceberg-like ice giants, across the vast expanse of the North, countless pairs of eyes glowing with a cold blue light moved forward in silence through the wind and snow.
They were wights awakened by the Others, so numerous that their numbers inspired despair, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Wherever this vanguard of death passed, extreme cold followed.
The ground froze in an instant. Grass and trees turned into ice sculptures. Rivers solidified, and even the air itself seemed on the verge of tearing apart.
Those farmers who, for one reason or another, had failed to retreat south in time and were barely surviving among the ruins of northern villages stood no chance against the bone-deep cold and the sudden emergence of the wight horde.
They did not even have time to scream before being swallowed whole.
Soon, their stiffened corpses rose once more, the same icy blue glow lighting their eyes as they joined the ranks of the wights.
In this horrifying way, the army continued to swell.
These ancient harbingers of death were methodically erasing the last traces of life from the North.
Then, as one, their cold and merciless gazes turned southward.
...
Meanwhile, at Moat Cailin.
The snow fell even heavier.
Goose-feather flakes descended so densely that they nearly blocked all vision, leaving the world reduced to a boundless wash of gray and white.
The freezing wind screamed through the newly built wooden fortifications and the ancient stone towers, producing a mournful, ghostlike wail.
Even wrapped in the thickest furs, the soldiers stationed on the curtain walls and towers shuddered uncontrollably, stamping their feet as the breath they exhaled froze instantly into glittering crystals.
Inside the main keep's great hall, the hearth fire crackled loudly, yet it could not fully dispel the biting cold that seeped into every corner.
Lo Quen had gathered all the key nobles and commanders to discuss their final defensive measures.
Davos frowned deeply, worry plain on his face.
"Your Grace, I personally led men to inspect the marshes this morning. The situation is far worse than we expected. The entire marsh has frozen solid. We tried breaking through the ice and discovered it isn't just surface ice. The mud beneath has all turned into hard frozen ground. We dug five or six feet down and still found nothing but ice and frozen earth. There's no liquid water at all."
A heavy weight settled in the nobles' chests.
The Neck had always been a natural barrier precisely because of its impassable marshes.
If even the deep mud had frozen so completely, then the Others' army could bypass Moat Cailin's frontal defenses entirely, marching south through the vast stretches of marshland that had once been impossible to cross.
All the defenses they had labored so hard to establish would become meaningless.
Anxious eyes turned toward Lo Quen on the throne, hoping he had an answer.
At that moment, Daenerys stepped forward.
"Your Grace, we can ride the dragons. Let all our dragons breathe dragonfire along the Neck. Dragonfire can melt the ice and turn the marshes back into impassable mud."
A spark of hope ignited in the nobles' eyes.
That's right.
They still had dragons.
Lo Quen looked at Daenerys, her expression earnest, then at the lords watching him with expectation. He smiled faintly.
"Daenerys, the Neck is far larger than you imagine. Even if six dragons breathed dragonfire day and night, the area they could melt would be insignificant compared to the entire marsh."
Daenerys nodded, choosing to trust her husband's judgment.
Mance Rayder frowned. Though he had already sworn allegiance, the bluntness of the wildlings made it hard for him to remain silent, especially when everyone's survival was at stake.
"Your Grace, forgive my bluntness, but if dragonfire won't work, then what is your plan? Time isn't on our side. Those monsters… they won't give us the chance to hesitate."
Anxiety filled his voice.
Some of the southern nobles bristled at his interruption, yet they shared the same question in their hearts.
Lo Quen's gaze swept calmly across the hall.
"There is a solution," he said evenly. "And you'll see it with your own eyes soon enough. When the ice giants arrive, the answer will reveal itself."
Ice giants?
The nobles exchanged confused looks.
Did the king intend to make use of those legendary, terrifying beings?
The idea sounded utterly unbelievable.
Yet seeing Lo Quen's composed expression, as though everything were already within his grasp, they could only swallow their doubts, half believing, half uncertain, and wait in restless anticipation.
...
Beyond the castle walls, the wind and snow raged even more fiercely.
The soldiers atop the towers and curtain walls pulled their fur cloaks tighter around themselves, forcing their eyes open as they strained to watch the vast, white void in the distance. The cold was so intense it nearly froze their thoughts.
Then a dull, thunderous sound, so heavy it seemed to shake the earth itself, cut through the howling blizzard and rolled in from the frozen marshes far away.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Every soldier jolted. Drowsiness and numbness vanished in an instant as fear took hold, and they stared toward the source of the sound.
Within the swirling curtain of snow, countless colossal shapes slowly emerged, dark and massive like moving mountain ranges.
Their outlines appeared and vanished amid the storm, but their staggering height and the pressure they radiated were enough to leave even the bravest warriors gasping for breath.
"Enemy attack! Giants! Massive giants!"
The sentry atop the watchtower screamed with all his strength. Sharp horn blasts tore through the silence of Moat Cailin, sounding again and again as the highest alarm was raised.
Lo Quen led the nobles, commanders, and wildling leaders, including Mance Rayder, swiftly up to the main gate tower of Moat Cailin.
Snow-laden wind lashed against their faces, but when they saw the enormous figures advancing slowly through the ice and snow, the physical cold was instantly replaced by a deeper chill rising from within.
The sheer height of those figures surpassed anything they had imagined.
Mance Rayder's earlier description of "nearly a hundred feet" had been terrifying enough, but seeing them with their own eyes delivered a shock beyond words.
They stood more than ten times taller than the largest giants among the wildling tribes.
Each one looked like a walking mountain, formed entirely of ancient ice that shimmered with a deep blue glow. With every step, the earth trembled, and massive cracks spread across the frozen marshland.
Lord Wyman and the others who had once doubted Mance Rayder now stood pale-faced, mouths hanging open, unable to speak. All their skepticism was crushed by the reality before them.
Mance Rayder's expression was grim as he turned to Lo Quen.
"Your Grace, they've come…"
Lo Quen nodded, his face calm, showing not the slightest hint of panic.
"Bring the horn," he ordered.
Under the puzzled gazes of the crowd, a Dragon Soul Guard led a Dothraki undead warrior with ashen-gray skin up onto the ramparts.
In the undead warrior's hands was a horn of unusual shape.
Its material looked like ivory yet gleamed like metal. Ancient, intricate ice-blue runes covered its surface, radiating an ominous aura.
"That is…"
The nobles whispered among themselves, guessing at the horn's origin, their eyes flickering.
The undead warrior raised the horn to his lips.
The next moment, a piercing, desolate blast rang out, sharp enough to seem as though it could freeze the soul itself.
Wooooo——!!!
The horn's cry cut through the wind and snow, echoing across the empty, frozen marshes.
The ice-blue runes carved into its surface seemed to come alive, lighting up one by one with an eerie glow.
A visible wave of bitter cold spread outward from the horn, making every noble nearby shudder as though they had been cast straight into the Land of Always Winter.
Then, an astonishing sight unfolded.
The ice giants, who had been advancing steadily, froze in place the instant the horn sounded, as if bound by invisible chains.
In the next breath, countless complex ice-blue runes appeared across their massive bodies, seemingly etched directly into the ancient ice.
The runes were nearly identical to those on the Horn of Winter, blazing with intense light. Like glowing chains, they wrapped themselves around the giants from head to toe.
The giants seemed to feel a powerful compulsion and restraint. They let out furious, unwilling roars that shook the snow loose from the walls of Moat Cailin.
They struggled, but under the runes' overwhelming force, they were compelled to change direction, taking earth-shaking steps as they moved straight toward Moat Cailin.
"They're charging!"
Lord Rowan cried out in alarm, his face draining of color.
"Prepare defenses! Hurry!"
Panic spread across the walls as the soldiers fought down their fear and tried to form a defensive line.
"No need!"
Lo Quen's voice cut through the chaos at once.
"Just watch. They won't harm us."
As he spoke, the Dothraki undead warrior who had blown the horn was rapidly encased in a thick layer of ice.
His skin began to crack with sharp snapping sounds, and then, under the horrified stares of everyone present, it shattered completely with a dull boom, collapsing into a pile of glittering ice shards.
The power of the Horn of Winter was far beyond what any body could endure.
Everyone held their breath, eyes locked on the giants drawing closer and closer.
Yet, to their surprise, the giants did not attack the walls.
With their ground-shaking strides, they advanced to a point roughly a hundred yards from Moat Cailin and then stopped.
Like soldiers lining up for inspection, the ice giants slowly arranged themselves along the front of Moat Cailin, forming an enormous, arcing formation.
They stood in silence amid the wind and snow, resembling a terrifying wall built entirely of icebergs.
Lo Quen drew a deep breath and shouted his command.
"Dig a deep trench along both sides of Moat Cailin. Cut off the north-south passage!"