The day was grey and bitter cold, and the dogs would not take the scent.
"Seven hells." The man called Chet gave the leashes a hard yank to get the dogs' attention. "Track, you bastards. That's a bear print. You want some meat or no? Find!" But the hounds only huddled closer, whining.
Eric Cartman stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his hands tucked up into his armpits. He wore black wool gloves, but they didn't stop his fingers from getting frozen. "It's too damn cold to hunt," he said. "Fuck this bear, he's not worth freezing our asses over."
"We can't go back emptyhanded, Cartman," Barry rumbled. "The lord commander wouldn't like that."
"Fuck the Old Bear too," Cartman said. "That asswipe will be dead before daybreak, remember? Who cares what he thinks?"
Barry blinked. Maybe he had forgotten, he was stupid enough to forget most anything. "Why do we have to kill Mormont? Why don't we just go off and let him be?"
"You think he'll let us be?" said Cartman. "You think we'll just be able to say, 'Screw you guys, we're going home?' He'll hunt us down. You want to be hunted, you asshole?"
"No," said Barry. "I don't want that. I don't."
"So, you'll kill him?" said Cartman.
"Yes." Barry stamped the butt of his spear on the frozen riverbank. "I will. He shouldn't hunt us." Normally Barry wouldn't take part in a plot like this, but he had just run out of the pills he took to keep from becoming evil.
Cartman took his hands from his armpits and turned to Chet. "We need to kill all the officers, I say."
Chet was sick of hearing it. "We been over this. The Old Bear dies, and Blane from the Shadow Tower. Grubbs and Aethan as well, their ill luck for drawin' the watch, Dywen and Bannon for their trackin', and Steve Smith for the ravens. That's all. We kill them quiet, while they sleep. One scream and we're worm food, every one of us."
"Do we have to kill Steve?" said Barry. "I like him."
"We gotta kill him because he's the guy who looks after the ravens," Chet said impatiently. "And Barry, try and remember, it's third watch, not second."
"Third watch," the big boy said, through hair and frozen snot. "Me and Softfoot. I remember, Chet."
"There's no bear here," Chet decided abruptly. "Just an old print, that's all. Back to the Fist." The dogs almost yanked him off his feet, as eager to get back as he was.
"Maybe they think they're going to get fed," Cartman observed.
Chet had to laugh. "I haven't fed them for three days now, to turn them mean and hungry. Tonight, before slippin' off into the dark, I'll turn them loose among the horse lines, after Sweet Donnel Hill and Clubfoot Karl cut the tanners. They'll have snarlin' hounds and panicked horses all over the Fist, runnin' through fires, jumpin' the ringwall, and tramplin' down tents. With all the confusion, no one will notice we're missin'."
"After we get out of here, I'm going to make for the Summer Isles," Cartman confided as they walked back to camp. "I hear there are pirates there. I've always wanted to be a pirate."
"Not me," said Chet. "I like the look of Craster's Keep, myself. Craster lived high as a lord there, so why shouldn't I do the same? That would be a laugh. Chet the leech man's son, a lord with a keep. My banner could be a dozen leeches on a field of pink. But why stop at lord? Maybe I should be a king. Mance Radar started out a crow. I could be a king same as him, and have me some wives. Craster has nineteen, not even countin' the young ones, the daughters he hasn't gotten around to beddin' yet."
Cartman made a face. "Why would you want wives? Girls are gross! And half of those wives are as old and ugly as Craster."
"That doesn't matter. The old ones I can put to work cookin' and cleanin' for me, pullin' carrots and sloppin' pigs, while the young ones warm my bed and bear my children."
"Hmm," said Cartman. "Except for the part about the wives, that sounds pretty good. Maybe I'll take over Craster's Keep instead of becoming a pirate."
"Yeah," Barry said. "Maybe I'll take some wives too. I never had sex before."
Chet was furious. "That was my idea! You guys are just stealin' my ideas!"
Cartman clapped a hand over his mouth. "Shut the fuck up, man. We're almost to the Fist. We don't want to be overheard."
When they got back, they saw a bunch of guys practicing archery, trying to shoot a charcoal outline of a man drawn on a nearby tree. One of them was Steve. He was struggling to lift the heavy bow, which was as tall as him. Finally, he managed to lift it up and fire off an arrow, which disappeared into the greenery.
"The wind took that one," said Snot.
"Anata wa sono Ki kara ha o tataita to omoimasu," said Toshi, which meant, "I believe you knocked a leaf off that tree."
Steve lowered the bow, and Cartman thought he was going to start bawling. "It's too hard!" He tried to break the bow in his frustration, but he wasn't strong enough.
"Anata wa kesshite sore o shimasen," said Toshi, which meant, "You'll never do it."
"You're right, Toshi!" said Steve. "I shouldn't give up!" Dutifully, Steve plucked his final arrow from the earth, notched it to his longbow, drew, and released. He did it quickly, without squinting along the shaft painstakingly as he had the first two times. The arrow struck the charcoal outline low in the chest and hung quivering. "I hit him." Steve sounded shocked. "Snot, did you see? Toshi, look, I hit him!"
"Put it between his ribs, I'd say," said Snot.
Cartman started clapping sarcastically behind them. "Congratulations, douchebag. You've killed a tree."
"Hello, Eric," said Steve.
"Let's see how you shoot when you're facing those wildlings," Cartman said. "They won't stand there with their arms out and their leaves rustling. They'll come right at you, screaming in your fuckin' face, and I bet you'll piss your pants. The last thing you'll hear will be the thunk of an axe bitin' into your skull."
Steve was shaking. Snot put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Just because it happened that way for you doesn't mean Steve will suffer the same, Cartman."
"What are you talkin' about, asswipe?" Cartman asked angrily.
"The axe that split your skull. Is it true that half your brains leaked out of the ground and the dogs ate them?"
Steve managed a weak smile. "Good one, Snot."
Cartman turned red. "Fuck you guys."
"Assemble!" The shout came suddenly, from a dozen throats, and quickly spread to every part of the hilltop camp. "Men of the Night's Watch! Assemble at the central fire!"
The boys all hurried there, where Mormont stood before the fire with his officers. "Brothers," he said. "Men of the Night's Watch. The wildlings are on the march, following the course of the Milkwater down out of the mountains. Thorin believes their van will be upon us ten days hence. Their most seasoned riders will be with Harma Dogshead in that van. The rest will likely form a rearguard, or ride in close company with Mance Radar himself. Elsewhere their fighters will be spread thin along the line of march. They have oxen, mules, horses… but few enough. Most will be afoot, and ill armed and untrained. Such weapons as they carry are more like to be stone and bone than steel. They are burdened with women, children, herds of sheep and goats, and all their worldly goods besides. In short, though they are numerous, they are vulnerable… and they do not know that we are here. Or so we must pray."
Thorin Smallwood stepped forward. "Mance Radar means to break the Wall and bring red war to the seven kingdoms. Well, that's a game two can play. On the morrow we'll bring the war to him."
"We ride at dawn with all our strength," the Old Bear said as a murmur went through the assembly. "We will ride north, and loop around to the west. Harma's van will be well past the Fist by the time we turn. The foothills of the Frostfangs are full of narrow winding valleys made for ambush. Their line of march will stretch for many miles. We shall fall on them in several places at once, and make them swear we were three thousand, not three hundred."
"We'll die!" Steve cried out before he could stop himself.
"Many of us," the Old Bear said. "Perhaps even all of us. But as another lord commander said a thousand years ago, that is why they dress us in black. Remember your words, brothers. For we are the swords in the darkness, the watchers on the walls…"
"The fire that burns against the cold." Ser Mallador Locke drew his longsword.
"The light that brings the dawn," others answered, and more swords were pulled from scabbards.
Then all of them were drawing, even Cartman and Chet, and it was near three hundred upraised swords and as many voices crying, "The horn that wakes the sleepers! The shield that guards the realms of men!"
Speaking of horns, one was sounding now. Steve perked up. A single blast of the horn meant rangers returning. Maybe the Halfhand had come back with Brian.
Then the sound came again, longer and louder. "Gods," Steve whimpered. "Two blasts. Two means wildlings."
The horn blew a third time.
"Three," Steve squeaked. "That was three, I heard three. They never blow three. Not for hundreds and thousands of years. Three means…"
"HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Three blasts meant White Walkers.
