Empala, twenty years old, was tall—only half a head shorter than Green—standing at about 1.75 meters.
Her light brown hair was casually tied at the back of her head, giving her a look that balanced feminine grace with a warrior's vigor.
Her skin was a dusky bronze, slightly rough to the touch.
The muscles on her body were lean and well-defined, not bulky.
Most women in the lands of House Clyburn worked the fields and hunted alongside the men—Empala was among the better-kept of them.
She wore a rough-spun brown robe with exposed arms, the hem reaching only mid-thigh. A thick rope was tied around her waist.
Her calves were wrapped in cloth bindings, and on her feet were straw sandals woven from wheat stalks.
Noticing Lord Green's gaze, Empala flexed her toes slightly.
This was her first time being summoned personally by the lord—and so suddenly too. Though she was a skilled hunter, she was clearly nervous.
"Empala, they say you once brought down a black bear?"
Green's voice, though tinged with the youth of his years, was calm and steady, carrying a maturity beyond his age. It helped ease some of Empala's tension.
"There were others helping. I landed more shots than the rest."
After a bit of light conversation, Green saw that she'd relaxed and asked, "Would you be willing to fight for me?"
Empala looked puzzled. "You mean against the wildlings? I've killed my share. At least ten. They often sneak into our hunting grounds and try to steal our game."
A bit single-minded, Green thought, and rephrased.
"You're brave. What I'm asking is—do you want to become one of my bannermen? Like the men in the training yard. I would grant you iron armor and a sword."
Empala blinked in surprise. Green continued, "You would earn at least two gold dragons a year."
"More, depending on your merit. Spoils from battle would be rewarded separately."
"I'm willing, my lord!" Empala answered quickly.
Still uncertain, she asked, "But I'm a woman. They're all men. Wouldn't that…?"
The Clyburn bannermen were all male. Empala wasn't worried about harassment—she could handle crude words and would gut anyone who crossed the line. What concerned her was being rejected by the men.
Green acknowledged her concern. "You're right. The spearwives of the land sometimes join the troops during skirmishes, but they're not formally enlisted. They just assist in minor tasks. That's temporary. No one cares much. But formal inclusion is different."
"And mixing men and women in the same company tends to cause… unnecessary trouble."
Empala nodded—That's exactly what I was thinking, just didn't know how to say it. The lord is wise.
"You're well-known among the spearwives. If I sent you to recruit, how many could you gather?"
"They can all become soldiers, right? I know twenty, maybe thirty, all skilled hunters."
"I intend to form a new corps made up entirely of spearwives. It shall be called the Thorn Regiment."
[A tribute to the Queen of Thorns, the old matriarch.]
"War is coming. Gather as many as you can. Any woman willing to fight alongside men—especially those without men—so long as they'll follow your command. You will lead the Thorn Regiment."
Green spoke patiently and with detail. Empala listened, understood, and was moved. Her chest rose and fell with emotion, and her eyes sparkled as she looked into Green's.
Green's tone turned serious: "Empala, can I trust you?"
At that moment, only three people remained in the study: Green, Empala, and Maester Al. The maester sat silently in a corner, looking as though he'd dozed off.
But how to prove it?
Empala glanced at the quiet Maester Al for a moment, then her eyes shifted. She bit her lip, as if steeling herself. "Should I prove it now?"
Green raised an eyebrow at the strange question but nodded calmly.
Rustle, rustle.
Empala's garments slipped from her body, leaving her bare.
As she stood there, cheeks flushed, locking eyes with Green, he couldn't help but think of a mother leopard.
His pupils widened slightly, then contracted. He turned his face away, coughing. "A fine figure."
At some point, Maester Al had awoken. The old man bared his few remaining teeth, trembling where he sat, and even gave Green a knowing wink.
Empala, finally sensing something was off, scrambled to cover herself with both hands.
"That's not what I meant. Put your clothes back on." Green's voice remained even. "But I'm honored. Truly. You've shown me your strength. Today's been… enlightening."
Once redressed, Empala's face remained crimson, and her toes curled so hard they could've carved out two new tunnels beneath Whispering Town.
"Empala, kneel," Green said, clearing his throat. "A warrior's kneel—one knee only."
The brief misstep behind them, the duties of lordship continued.
"Repeat after me: I, Empala."
"I, Empala…"
"I swear my loyalty—to love what he loves, and hate what he hates."
"I swear my loyalty—to love what he loves, and hate what he hates…"
"I vow that my every word and deed, my every action, shall follow the will of Green Clyburn, without question."
"I vow that my every word and deed, my every action, shall follow the will of Green Clyburn, without question."
"From this day, until my last."
"From this day, until my last."
"I swear by the Old Gods and the New."
"I swear by the Old Gods and the New."
———
A fine mist of rain blanketed Whispering Town.
Outside the gate, a girl of about sixteen or seventeen stood waiting. She wore a short orange tunic under a battered leather vest, an old hunting bow slung across her back.
Short and slight, she carried herself with a wiry strength.
Her name was Reyna. She had brown skin and striking silver hair tied in a high, defiant ponytail.
She waited, bored, glancing impatiently toward the gates.
Finally, Empala appeared. Reyna sprang to her feet.
"Hey, mother leopard! Lord Green finally let you go? How was it—sweet as they say?"
Empala strode up to Reyna with a scowl. "Little Reyna, rutting again, are you?"
She turned slightly to show off the deep blue cloak, embroidered with a golden marigold of the marshes.
Reyna wiped the rain from her face, eyes wide.
"The Marsh Marigold? That's the Clyburn sigil! Empala, are you mad? They'll hang you for this! Even if the lord spares you, the White Walkers will snap your neck. Put that back—no, stop pulling—we have to run! We can still leave! Now!"
"Stop, stop! It's not what you think."
"Oh? Then…"
Reyna raised a brow, her grin full of innuendo. "Did the lord enjoy your… wild passion? Is that your reward?"
Empala's cheeks turned crimson again. She sighed, covering her face with one hand. "Reyna, stop guessing. Shut your mouth and listen."
The cloak bearing the Clyburn crest had been given to Empala by Green himself. In the entire territory, only two others had worn such a symbol before—Ser Pell and Ser Marsen. It marked status.
Her task was urgent, and to ensure her authority while recruiting the spearwives, Green had granted her this cloak as an early reward. Whether she could keep it would depend on her abilities.
Green's test had already begun.
———
When Empala finished explaining everything, Reyna practically bounced with excitement. "That's amazing! Such good news—there'll be tons of sisters willing to join!"
"Well, come on! What are you waiting for? Deal with a few troublemakers and you could have a hundred, maybe two!"
She laughed. "Time to grab coin and claim the men!"
"Oh! And Commander of the Thorn Regiment—I call first dibs!"
Reyna spoke so quickly and excitedly that Empala couldn't get a word in.
But her joy was contagious, and even the normally stoic Empala found herself smiling.
They both quickened their pace, step by step.
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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