The shadow of the Giant's Lance had not yet fully faded, but the outline of the Gates of the Moon already revealed its hideous silhouette in the morning mist.
Across the moat, the tents of the mountain clans clustered like rotting mushrooms. The embers of bonfires emitted a fishy smell in the damp air, and crude war banners painted with twisted wolves and bears made flapping sounds in the mountain wind.
The moment Daemon pulled on the dragon saddle, The Cannibal let out a roar that shook the valley.
When the black dragon spread his wings, his shadow nearly covered the entire vanguard, his pitch-black pupils locking onto the main wildling camp.
The Vale coalition forces slowly spread out beneath The Cannibal—
The silver raven sigil of House Corbray glittered in the morning light, the scabbard of the Earl's Lady Forlorn reflecting cold light;
The bronze armor of House Royce formed a continuous line, runes glowing faintly on the plates;
The archers of Longbow Hall were in position on the high slope to the left, arrows nocked like a swarm of bees ready to strike.
"Remember the signal." Daemon's voice came through his helmet, clearly reaching the ears of every commander.
He looked at Rhea Royce. Beneath her bronze armor, she was using a tool to calibrate the string of her hunting bow. "The icicles on the western mountain path will help hide your tracks."
Rhea drew her bow and aimed at the sky in response. Gunthor patted her pauldron; the ornaments on the giant's bronze helmet swayed slightly in the wind.
A horn blast suddenly tore through the morning mist. Lord Corbray raised Lady Forlorn high and charged out of the formation first. Chaos instantly erupted across the moat of the Gates of the Moon.
Wildlings stumbled out of their tents, hands gripping stone axes and bone clubs trembling in the sunlight. They had never seen such a disciplined flood of iron armor, nor imagined that the giant dragon that nearly brought extinction to the Stone Crows last year would actually appear above their heads again today.
"Loose!" The commander from Longbow Hall roared, swinging down his flag. Arrows poured down like rain, piercing the wildlings' leather armor and riddling the charging ranks with holes.
Daemon patted The Cannibal's neck. The brand on his right shoulder burned hot, and the black dragon surged upward. Pitch-black dragonfire poured down like molten obsidian, instantly swallowing three of the largest tents.
Shrill screams came from the fire. The smell of burnt hair and leather rose mixed together, and even the mountain wind carried a scorching heat.
Dreamfyre followed closely, pale blue dragonfire sweeping over the wildling flank like a flowing glacier.
Gael's silver hair and red dress were striking on the dragon's back. The girl's gaze locked onto a wildling squad attempting to flee, and dragonfire precisely cut off their retreat.
"Now!" Daemon's Blackfyre pointed at the drawbridge of the Gates of the Moon. A thunderous roar erupted from inside the castle.
Yorbert Royce appeared at the front of a drawbridge, the Valyrian steel sword Lamentation cutting through the morning mist. Defenders surged out of the gate like a tide, forming a pincer attack with the coalition outside.
Though the old Earl's movements were slow, his sword strikes were steady as rock. Every swing carried the power of accumulated years, cleaving the wildlings blocking his way into bloody messes.
"For the Vale!" William Royce's longsword pierced a wildling's throat. Blood splattered on his young face, only making his gaze sharper.
Gunthor Royce swung his greatsword like a windmill, smashing wildlings attempting to climb the shield wall to the ground;
Jarmen Waters fired arrows in rapid succession, frequently hitting wildlings in vital spots, his single eye not affecting his sharpness in the slightest.
Mycah Rivers's hammer precisely smashed the skull of a clan chief, who was still clutching a silver necklace snatched from villagers.
Daemon swooped down on The Cannibal, Blackfyre drawing a pitch-black arc in the air. Three wildlings who jumped from a distant slope trying to trip Corlin Celtigar's warhorse with chains were instantly cleaved in two.
Before the blood on the blade could drip, Daemon vaulted off the dragon's back. Rayford Rosby and Rupert Crabb coordinated to repel wildlings surrounding and attacking the startled Corlin. Daemon kicked away a spear-wielding wildling, the flat of his sword smashing heavily onto the opponent's wrist.
"Behind the stone walls of the Gates of the Moon, the people of the Vale are still weeping!" Daemon's roar exploded in the melee. "Your wives and children are waiting for you to return home with victory and glory!"
The morale of the coalition boiled instantly like ignited strong wine.
The light of Lord Corbray's Lady Forlorn and Yorbert's Lamentation met in the chaotic army. The crisp ring of Valyrian steel striking weapons sounded clear as a bell;
Rhea's arrows were like unsheathed blades. Every draw precisely hit a wildling's throat. The runes on her bronze armor were dyed red with blood, as if coming alive.
Most shocking was the rampage of the dragons. The Cannibal, soaring alone, plowed scorched furrows through the wildling positions with pitch-black dragonfire. Dreamfyre swept low, pale blue dragonfire attacking fleeing wildlings, driving them far toward the cliff edge.
The roars of two giant dragons interwoven with the shouts of the coalition caused the courage of the mountain clans to collapse completely—they could endure hunger and cold, fight bears and wolves in the forest, but could not withstand fire and steel descending from the sky.
"The chief is running!" someone shouted.
Daemon looked up to see a tall figure in a bearskin cloak fleeing along the cliff edge, followed by a dozen trusted men.
The black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder grew slightly hot. Daemon had barely formed the thought when The Cannibal in the air understood immediately, flapping his wings to give chase. When the black dragon's shadow covered the group, Daemon arrived on a captured wildling horse, Blackfyre pointing straight at the chief's back.
"You should have died of old age in the forest," Daemon's voice was icy, "yet you ran out to defile land not yours."
When the chief turned, his face was still splattered with his companion's brains.
He raised his stone axe, but froze in the pitch-black dragonfire spewed by The Cannibal—the fire didn't burn him, but melted a pool of ink-black mark on the rock at his feet.
When Daemon's light "Kneel" floated past the chief's ears.
His knees smashed heavily onto the ground, the stone axe slipping from his hand and rolling off the cliff.
When the last resisting wildling was cut down by Gunthor's bronze greatsword, all drawbridges of the Gates of the Moon were finally lowered.
Yorbert Royce rushed out holding Jeyne Arryn. The four-year-old Lady of the Vale clutched a silver falcon crest tightly, no tear tracks on her small face, only a composure mismatched with her age.
"Prince Daemon." Yorbert's voice choked up. Three arrows were stuck in the old Earl's armor, but he seemed unaware. "You saved us all."
Jeyne struggled free from the Earl's embrace and ran to Daemon, standing on tiptoe trying to touch the Blackfyre sword at his waist. "You are stronger than that Daemon," she whispered, eyes bright as stars. "And better looking than him."
Daemon smiled, bent down to pick her up, then looked toward the scattered wildling remnants in the distance. "Let's talk about that after we completely solve this trouble."
For the next seven days, the Vale coalition was like a sharp sword, sweeping the remaining wildlings along the folds of the Mountains of the Moon.
Daemon split the coalition into smaller units. Rhea and Gunthor chased down clans in the western valleys; Lord Corbray cleared deserters along the coast; William led light cavalry to protect fleeing villagers.
Wherever they went, The Cannibal's pitch-black dragonfire and Dreamfyre's pale blue dragonfire would scatter resistance first, leaving only awe and submission.
At dusk on the seventh day, Daemon stood on the square tower of the Gates of the Moon, watching the setting sun plate the Giant's Lance with gold.
Reports brought by Rayford showed that all mountain clans had retreated deep into the mountains, daring not cross the line again for at least three years.
Yorbert was hosting a banquet in the castle to celebrate this hard-won victory. Songs and laughter drifted up on the wind, mixing with the pine scent of the fireplace, exceptionally warm.
Gael walked to his side. Dreamfyre's pale blue scales shimmered in the twilight. "They say you are practically the Conqueror reborn."
Daemon smiled, reaching out to brush a snowflake from her hair. "Aegon had three dragons; you and I only have two."
"But you have me." Gael's finger traced the armor on his chest, where bloodstains had coagulated into dark red. "And Rayford, Rupert, and all those willing to charge with you."
From the distant valley came The Cannibal's roar. Daemon knew this victory was not the end of his journey, but the beginning.
When he turned to walk down the tower, Blackfyre hummed softly in its sheath, as if responding to the rebirth of the Gates of the Moon, and calling for a further journey.
The castle lights lit up one by one, like stars scattered in the mountains. On this land guarded by dragonfire and steel, a new story had only just been written.
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