The Tigerfang Tribe's camp was located about twenty miles northeast of Eagle's Beak.
The camp was built on a clearing by a lake and fortified with a double-layer fence made of iron-oak that rose twenty feet high, with over a dozen tall watchtowers within. Outside the fence, a man-made moat connected the camp to the lake, creating a natural island fortress.
Although such defenses couldn't rival the castles of the nobility, the Tigerfang camp was well-fortified.
"Who goes there?"
From a watchtower, a wildling archer aimed his bow at a figure approaching the camp gate, shouting his question.
Since the retreating survivors from Eagle's Beak had returned, a heavy tension hung over the camp.
The crushing defeat had decimated the tribe's fighting force, nearly wiping out its strength—a disaster they would struggle to survive.
"It's me, Chiman."
Hearing the familiar voice, the wildling guard lowered his bow and quickly opened the gate.
Chiman walked into the camp in silence, asking only, "Where's my father?"
"The chieftain…fell ill upon hearing of the defeat."
Expressionless, Chiman gave a short nod. "Take me to him."
"Right away."
Led by a servant, Chiman arrived at a small cabin by the lake.
Inside, a brazier filled the air with smoke as the tribe's shaman tossed strange plants into the fire, muttering incantations under his breath.
Amid the swirling smoke, Chiman spotted his father lying on a bed, covered in various animal fangs.
"Leave us," Chiman ordered.
The shaman hesitated but then led the servants out of the cabin.
Hearing footsteps, the old chieftain opened his eyes, and looking up at his youngest son, parted his dry lips to ask weakly, "Where are Chika and Chimu?"
"They're dead," Chiman replied, his face unreadable.
The old chieftain shut his eyes in pain, his body trembling slightly as he tried to control his emotions. After a long pause, he finally spoke, voice wavering:
"Immediately write letters in my name to the fourteen nearby tribes. Tell them the Reach has invaded the mountains that the gods gifted us. If they do not wish to be driven from their ancestral lands, they must join together, so that we may fight back…"
"Father." Chiman interrupted, his voice calm. "Do you truly want more of our warriors to bleed for this?"
The chieftain's eyes flashed with anger as he looked at his son.
"What's this? Has one defeat taken your courage?"
Chiman met his father's gaze without flinching. "This isn't a matter of courage. Father, you've met the Reachmen; you've fought their armies. Do you not understand the true gap between us?
"Are our warriors any less brave?"
"No! Our failing isn't in courage. It's the mountains of bread and dried meat they can stockpile, the well-crafted steel weapons, the knights raised for war, and their unbreakable castles!
"Without these, even if we gather every tribe, we can never hope to defeat the Reach!"
The chieftain's face flushed with anger, and he was seized by a fit of coughing. "What do you suggest, then? Should we surrender to the Reach and live as slaves?"
"Not slaves—subjects."
"Subjects?" The chieftain scoffed. "Have you seen the people under these nobles? They're no different from slaves!"
Chiman retorted, "And what of our people? They're worse off than the 'slaves' you speak of."
"What are you saying…" The chieftain coughed violently, struggling to breathe.
Chiman watched his father's suffering without a trace of pity, even adding fuel to the fire: "You're old, Father. Your stubbornness will only drag the Tigerfang Tribe into despair."
"Silence!" wheezed the chieftain. "What? You think you should lead the tribe now? Just wait until I'm dead, then—"
"Fine."
Before the words left his father's mouth, Chiman grabbed a tiger pelt from the bed and pressed it down over the old man's face.
"Urgh…"
The old chieftain struggled wildly, but his youngest son's strength held him firm.
In the firelight, their shadows played upon the cabin walls, father and son locked in a final, grim struggle.
Eventually, the chieftain's struggles ceased.
Chiman carefully laid the tiger pelt back over his father, replacing the scattered animal fangs in their proper places.
He stared at his father's face for a long moment, then forced himself to look stricken. His expression now filled with panic, he cried out, "Father! What's wrong? Father! Shaman! Shaman!"
The shaman, hearing the calls, hurried back inside.
"Quick, look at my father! He just fainted!"
The shaman felt for the old chieftain's breath, recoiling in shock as he realized the truth. He turned to meet Chiman's icy gaze.
Realization dawning, the shaman quickly lowered his head and said, "My apologies, Chiman. The chieftain…has returned to the gods."
"What? Father!" Chiman collapsed over the body, wailing loudly.
---
On a hill outside the Tigerfang camp, Tod Follard turned to Samwell.
"My lord, you shouldn't have accepted Chiman's loyalty," he said.
Without taking his eyes off the camp below, Samwell asked, "And what sort of man is Chiman?"
"A man who would kill his own kin!" Tod replied gravely. "Anyone who would murder his own family is capable of anything."
Samwell gestured toward the camp.
"How many men would you need to take that camp?"
Tod hesitated, then answered, "About five hundred."
"And casualties?"
"They would be…significant," Tod admitted.
Samwell sighed. "Yet Chiman can give us that camp without us losing a single man."
Tod frowned. "But why do we need it, my lord? After that last battle, neither the Tigerfangs nor any of the other tribes would dare challenge us. We can build our settlement in peace."
Samwell gave a silent sigh.
Some things were beyond Tod's understanding.
Growing slowly would take too long, and the world was descending into chaos faster than he had time to wait. So he needed people, and fast. Absorbing the wildlings was the quickest way.
Taking control of the Tigerfang Tribe, the most powerful and respected tribe nearby, would be a significant step in bringing the wildlings under his rule.
Just then, the camp gates opened, and several wildlings approached Samwell's position.
Chiman led them.
He walked up to Samwell and knelt, proclaiming, "Respected Lord Caesar, as the new chieftain of the Tigerfang Tribe, I submit all our people to you."
Samwell stepped forward, his tone solemn.
"I, Samwell Caesar, in the sight of the gods, accept the people of the Tigerfang Tribe as my subjects. From this day forth, you shall provide for me, and in turn, I shall protect you."
(End of Chapter)