Westeros: Shadow Beyond the Wall
The blood of kings holds a great power within. The Others know this. They did not know just what power Jon Snow's held when it was spilt by his own brothers, accomplishing through blind idiocy what they had failed to do for so long. Winter is coming, carrying death with it.
I do not own Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. Nor do I own the Middle-Earth video game series or Lord of the Rings.
Xxx
Chapter Thirty: War in the North, White Harbour I
9th Day of the 12th Moon of 300 AC
The North, White Harbour
"Winter! Shall! Fall!"
The army continued its chant well into the night, swapping hundreds of men towards the front where they would continue the chant in near-perfect sync while the rest set about establishing siege camps. Jon snuck down to investigate and found that they were hard at work on digging down to the frozen soil and establishing peculiar dome shaped objects which they fed charcoal into before lighting.
Hearths? Ovens?
They set up small tents around each object with strict internal frames that seemed to be designed to keep the fabric from touching the ovens. The fabric still billowed upwards, straining against stakes set deep into the surrounding ground through painstaking effort. Several more were set up every hour, soon creating a line along the outer perimeter facing away from the city.
Nobody thought to look for Jon back there. The detour he took around the siege lines was worth it to be able to see and hear so much.
Nobody remained within these tents, which came equipped with holes to allow for thin chimney-like extensions to pass through and expel smoke, but many men would pause near one to stick their hands in through the flaps as they passed amidst their duties. Every several minutes some workers would use these shrouded ovens or more open fires to melt buckets of snow and then boil the resulting water before pouring it out on the ground within the tents, taking care to not let any leak out to the surrounding ground.
"I don't suppose you've seen these before, have you?" Jon asked.
"They are foreign to me." The Stranger denied. "Yet their purpose is clearly to build and contain heat. They would still be dangerous to take shelter in even if one did not catch fire-"
The echo of shattering glass rippled through the Wraith World.
"Fools! Do you know how expensive that is?!" An officer, judging by the more decorative cloak and helm he wore, harshly chastised two men whose lesser attire and reflexive kowtowing marked them as conscripts.
"A-a thousand pardons, sir." One simpered.
"I'll give you a thousand lashes if you break another one!" The officer harshly kicked the man in the posterior, sending him stumbling forward. "Now clean this up and get back to work!"
Jon peered at the object of the conversation: what seemed to be one of the tarps for the tents set up around the ovens. He could make out the broken glass now piercing through the fabric.
"Myrish glass?" Jon whispered.
"Not myrish." The Stranger said. "Else it would be transparent."
"Do all of those tents have glass lined on their inside?"
"So it would seem. Fair insulation against the cold, and those chimney shafts served as an escape for some heat and any smoke. The fabric must be to obscure them from a distance. But they would still make for an exorbitant purchase and they aren't trying to use them to keep their men warm or cook food with, save for water that they pour on…"
His emerald stare turned towards his own feet. "The ground. That's their aim: soil."
"What do you mean?" Jon asked, glancing around for any patrols that were passing close to the dug out patch of snow he was laying in.
"Soil! The heat within those tents, the glass making them almost like glass gardens combined with the boiling water, could thaw the soil overtime." The Stranger elaborated. "Charcoal fires with heat retained in a smaller space, warming it enough that the boiling water doesn't freeze, but instead thaws the frozen ground underfoot. Once softened enough they can dig there, reach softer layers, and from there begin truly building their siege camp."
Jon had never heard of such things being done before. "How can you be sure?"
"One of the greatest impediments of siege warfare during winter, particularly in the North, has always been that the ground can become as sturdy as solid rock. This limits the potential for siege camps to be built without deep snow to dig into. But if they can warm the soil and dig into it they could make trenches, lay down stakes, create and cover over dugouts for shelter."
"That sounds…"
"Like the dream of an addled fool?" The Stranger finished for him. "So was the idea of Andal sellswords marching an army from Widow's Watch to here, and yet here they stand with the main body of their host intact."
"I thought you said they were poorly prepared zealots." Jon watched another tent go up and saw armfuls of coal being fed into it.
"I'm not above admitting that I might have been-"
A distant sound trumpeted through the hills close by, sounding like a mournful wail.
"-…wrong." The Stranger finished. "We should report back."
"Agreed." Jon nodded before something by the supply wagons caught his eye. "Wait. Is that…?"
A catapult, far too large to have been carried aboard any off the hundreds of wagons brought with the enemy army, was wheeled out into view, followed by another. It was pulled by several cattle and pushed by several more men through a path already dug through the snow for them.
"Siege weapons already? I didn't see them being rolled in." Jon whispered as the catapult was set into its intended position.
"They must have built them after setting camp. Transported the pieces by wagon and assembled them." The Stranger reasoned before repeating himself. "We should report back."
This time Jon didn't bother to reply as he made his way back towards the walls, letting the darkness of night mask his departure. Back at the wall he was able to scale the outer surface and pull himself up to face an expectant Howland Reed.
"What did you find?" He asked.
"Siege weapons." Jon answered. "They have multiple catapults moving into position, and strange oven-like objects that they are covering with tents and using to boil water that they pour on the ground therein. I think they're using them to warm the ground underneath so they can dig. Their men are warmly dressed, their supply wagons almost fully stocked and from the sound of it they still have more coming in from the east."
"Craftiness from burners?" Maege scoffed, understating what had become a genuine concern judging by the expressions of the others. "Now I've heard it all."
"There's something else in the hills, further back along their path." Jon finished his report. "I couldn't see it and I didn't dare scout that way, but I heard it: the cry of some creature."
"They are well prepared for this war." Howland noted grimly. "But then they have been preparing for a long time. They must have brought enough animals, lumber, fuel for fire and food to last at least a moderate siege. This might not be the easy victory we hoped for."
"Eh, let them come all the same." Maege snorted. "There are She-Bears who still yet draw breath on these walls."
"They shalln't come tonight, Lady Maege." Howland yawned as the siege camp began blowing horns. "They prepare tonight, then attack tomorrow."
"Sure wish they'd shut up until then." Jory Mormont chimed in, returning from the gate house. "Can't imagine anyone on either side getting a wink of sleep with all that noise."
Sleep was the least of Jon's concerns. The Company of the Axe had proven to be nothing like what he had expected. He, the Stranger and every other leader of the defending force had assumed that the cold and the march would do most of the work for them, and every last one of their assumptions about the Company had been proven wrong. They were well equipped, well disciplined and from the look of their numbers they hadn't suffered nearly as many losses as they should have on the march from Widow's Watch. Even Ramsgate should have drained their vanguard if they had overwhelmed it with numbers, and yet there was still easily ten thousand out there.
To make matters worse: there were more surprises to come, like whatever they had tucked out of sight beyond the hills…
Wait…the hills.
Jon looked at the latest ranks to have been dispatched to continue the war chant. They were positioned far enough forward that their torches made the siege encampment seemingly bulge outwards at the centre. But that also put them close enough that between the added distance, the winds blowing in from the sea and the general sound of activity within the walls the strange howling he'd heard would be almost imperceivable.
They aren't chanting to lower our morale. They're hiding whatever is in those hills.
His first thought was to excuse himself to vacate the walls and scout that area himself, knowing now that the Company wanted it kept secret. But he couldn't leave the walls now that there were enemy siege weapons moving into place. If they sought to launch a surprise attack during the night when sentries might be slower to perceive and react he would be the best hope of spotting the first salvo and rousing the rest of the fighters to respond.
Whoever was leading the Company of the Axe, Jon would almost feel bad for having to put them to the sword. Any mind that would conceive of everything he'd seen, or at least be open enough to making use of it all, would have been invaluable in the true war to come.
Xxx
10th Day of the 12th Moon of 300 AC
Company of the Axe Siege Camp
Commander Hugh had spent his first night outside of White Harbour sleeping in the comfort of a tent warmed by the company of some newly acquired camp followers, women from one village or another that he'd sacked on the trek west. When he awoke he was pleased to see that construction on the outer ring of fortifications had commenced.
Almost three score men were found keeled over and frozen by morning, almost all of them from among the conscripts and the rest some of the less hardy sellswords on the outermost watch points. Not a single Knight nor Axeman in the retinue of him or his colleagues Carlisle and Argil had forgotten their training and kept discipline among the rest of the army so that this was not repeated. Marching with impunity across the North and enjoying some of the early spoils of war had given even the lowliest scum a skewed sense of their own mortality, the sight of frozen corpses dragged in to be burned as fire fuel made for a stark reminder.
"Look at that miserable den of heretics." Hugh said, gazing at the white walls topped by the fluttering banners of houses that were sorely owed for the crimes of their ancestors. "The Mermen tried to bring the south to the North and were consumed by it instead."
"They all should have been butchered in the Reach." Argil, a shorter and stouter man with a face partly twisted on one side from a series of scars, agreed as his one intact nostril flared.
"Dwelling upon what 'should' happen will only distract you with overwhelming disappointment." Carlisle, by far the fairest of the three and the most dispassionate in the face of their goal, advised. "Hugh, the field is yours, as we agreed."
"Set the signal." Hugh commanded. "We attack immediately."
Argil tittered and drew his sword, raising it high to catch the sunlight that bore down upon the snow laden plains. He rotated his arm, demonstrating fine control as the sun momentarily turned the blade blindingly bright at the right angle. Hugh committed this to memory and shifted it back to this position several more times.
Some distance away, outlying sentry posts instructed to keep watch would see this signal and pass it on in their own way. The message would arrive several times over if they all did their jobs right, but the Lord-Commander had taught them that a lack of redundancy was what crippled the mightiest armies- well, that and a lack of careful preparation, steady logistics and informed, decisive execution once the table was set.
With the signal sent, Hugh turned his steed and trotted towards the front lines of his company.
"Men of the Axe! Sons of the Seven!" Hugh's voice boomed. "Today, we avenge the blood of countless godly men who have fallen in the quest to bring the light of the true gods to this pagan waste!" He pointed towards the distant city walls. "Behind those walls lays the greatest symbol of sacrilege to have marred this world, crafted for us by the hands of the Smith and by the will of the Father." He saw helmed heads dip and whisper in prayer. "Falsely pious and gluttonous men driven from the fertile lands of the Reach who sold out their very souls to seek shelter in the arms of the wolves!"
Hundreds of spear butts beat the icy ground once, then fell silent.
"The House of Manderly and all who follow it shall be swept from this world down to the last babe!"
Another beat of the spears.
"Their sacrilegious parody of the Seven who are One shall be torn down!"
A third beat.
"This city shall be cleansed with the blood of those who have rejected the compassion and guidance of the true gods!"
A fourth, then a fifth and then more in a slow, rhythmic pace.
Hugh looked proudly upon the lines of warriors arrayed before him. "And so too shall the rest of the North follow." He swept both arms up. "So come with me, my brothers! Come with me and we shall take this city!"
The spears were stabbed high into the air as thousands of men howled for blood, for glory and for victory.
Taking his axe from where it hung in his saddle, Hugh levelled it towards White Harbour. "Unleash the beasts!" He bellowed, and felt the earth shudder beneath his horse as his pets began their advance, each step crunching ice and snow underfoot as they lumbered along pathways set between individual companies.
The first of them that passed briefly blocked out the sun thanks to the tall wooden tower it supported upon its back, bristling with bowmen and arbalests who had drilled relentlessly for this moment; for their moment. Fourteen more joined it and began advancing across the open expanse, raising their great brown trucks to unleash a haunting yowl that sounded more akin to a despairing groan of a man.
Xxx
"Gods!"
"Monsters!"
"Beasts from the lowest of hells!"
"No they aren't, lads!" Jon, stepping onto the crenellations, tried to conceal his own disconcertment at the sight of fifteen gargantuan mammoths charging the city walls, each laden with siege towers that, combined with the twenty-odd foot height of each of the creatures, would allow their passengers to exchange fire on near equal footing with the defenders on the wall. "These are mammoths, and they bleed and die like anything else!"
They also should have been Beyond the Wall, which made a mystery of how he had come to face down a line of them.
"But they can also smash down the gates, or weaken them if failing at that and give away our trap along the rest of the wall." The Bright Stranger warned. "We must break their charge before that happens."
"Move, you gawk eyed green boys!" Maege howled from the nearest siege weapon. "Scorpions, ballistae and catapults! At the ready!" The cry was repeated several times, travelling in both directions along the wall.
"Loaded and ready!"
"Hold! Hold! Wait for the command!"
"Does hold mean fucking loose you stupid fuck?!"
"How?" Jon whispered amidst the overlapping shouts.
"With fear." The Stranger hissed. "These things have been bred and trained for war, but they remain animals like all of us." His eyes flared with a malicious emerald glint. "And all animals feel fear."
The mammoths neared the first firing line. There was the limit of the city's stronger and farthest reaching siege weapons.
"Catapults!" Maege bellowed, then watched as one of the white direwolf sculptures on the outerline crumpled underfoot. "LOOSE!"
Of the eight catapults established along the walls of the city only five were in position to fling their first salvo of rocks. Of those five, only three heard Maege's command at first, spreading their shots evenly along the line of charging war beasts. The next two followed moments later thanks to Maege blowing her horn, releasing three quick notes.
For most there could be little hope of attempting to hit even a target as large as a mammoth, given the issue of their mobility. But the crews of these catapults had trained relentlessly for many days under the watchful eye of the Lady of Bear Island, becoming familiar with every facet of their respective weapon in their efforts to avert her fury. They had not simply trained to establish the furthest effective range of these catapults, but to also train in accuracy, expending much of the excess rock taken to create the concealed moat before the outer wall towards this endeavour.
And it showed when even just one of the mammoths were hit. The rock smashed the tower atop its back to splinters and glanced off of its side, spilling men down as it howled and veered to one side, favouring its opposing hind leg so much that it fell onto that side with a pained, almost sonorous cry.
"WE GOT ONE!" The leader of the crew responsible for the kill held his arms high as he and his fellows were clapped on the backs and arms by many surrounding men, celebrating this moment of victory while morale swelled among the ranks.
Jon's words were proven true. The mammoths, looking unstoppable, could bleed…and he had to be sure they wouldn't forget that.
"Ballistae!" He shouted, holding Blackfyre up. "Loose at will!"
With his free hand Jon lifted a horn from his waist and blew into it three times. Two short notes, one longer. The ballistae crews nearest to him were already taking aim. Unlike the more versatile and smaller scorpions, these great crossbows could not be so easily adjusted from their fixed positions. But the crews, eager to show that they were just as capable as their counterparts among the catapult teams, rose to the occasion.
Of the twelve full sized ballistae spread along the outer wall only six could attempt to shoot. Jon saw two of the mammoths stagger as great bolts dug into their flanks, one even recoiling as a bolt glanced off of its oversized tusks. Those crews hurried to reload in time for a second salvo and managed it, finding their tasks easier as their targets grew larger with every step. None of the mammoths went down, but some were slowed and their line grew staggered.
The grey statues marking the range of the scorpions vanished, smashed to dust.
"Scorpions!" He heard Howland bellow, then heard two long blows of a horn before a barrage of bolts longer than most men were tall swept out with greater regularity, now harassing over half the remaining mammoths and making them protest despite their riders keeping them on track. One of them suddenly reared back its head with a shriek, a bolt having pierced its eye.
It was no lone dragon that fell and no Targaryen Queen who died, but the sight of a second kill and dozens more men who fell to death or crippling injury while more were crushed under their own mount brought a fresh wave of cheers through the ranks on the wall.
It wouldn't be enough. The remaining thirteen mammoths closed in, the third and final set of black wolf statues vanishing in a cloud of dust and snow kicked up by the centre of the line.
"Keep them engaged!" Jon shouted to Howland. "I'll be back shortly."
"Where are you-" Howland was drowned out by a chorus of horrified cries as Jon stepped over the edge. "JON!"
He landed unharmed before the Gate of Garth, feeling he eyes of his comrades on him as he tread forward. Jon's eyes slowly tilted upwards to keep track of the leader of the charge, seeing the eager grin and wild eyes of the man seated behind the mammoth's head as he urged his mount on, driving it to charge towards the gate and crush anything that got in its way.
Fear.
Jon visualized the expression of the Orcs he had branded with his mark. The terror and reverence in their eyes as they beheld him as their Lord and master. Never in his life had he aspired to be seen in such a light, but now…
Show too much kindness, people won't fear you. Stannis had told him what felt like a lifetime ago. If they don't fear you, they don't follow you.
The last thing he wanted was for his own allies to fear him, but the men and their tower sized beasts of burden on the other hand…their fear would do nicely.
Jon could feel that craving build up inside of him, rousing like a beast in its den, sensing food for the first time in ever. His entire form shivered as he felt that force collect itself and then rip its way free, exploding out through his flesh and manifesting as the Bright Stranger, whose form was laid over Jon's.
And from their mouths erupted a sound, most unholy and inhuman.
It was a shriek that could shatter glass and frighten babes in their beds to death, mixed with an almost animalistic howl or squeal. Both attackers and defenders collapsed, hands gripping their ears to try and block out the head splitting tune that had escaped from Jon. Many of the conscripts broke and tried to flee down the far side but were quickly forced back to their post by more experienced knights, guardsmen and men at arms. Some who frantically clawed at any who got in their way, shrieking of demons and prayers to the gods all the while, had to be beaten down and dragged down.
But outside the wall there was a greater spectacle that distracted from those instances. All along the line of wooly beasts the charge faltered as riders struggled against their mounts attempting to turn away. Some shifted so violently that they threatened to, or actually did, dislodge men and send them tumbling down their sides.
The central mammoth, less than ten paces from stepping over Jon as its rider urged it on faster, threw itself up onto its hind legs in its haste to back away from him. Passengers were flung from the siege tower on its back and crushed underfoot or slammed into the frozen ground to never rise again. Then the mammoth fell to one side and spilt the rest from the fortified basket, including its own rider who tumbled into a snowdrift.
Digging his way free with a snarl, his eyes settled on the still luminous form of Jon. With a half crazed, animalistic snarl the man took up a great throwing spear that had fallen with his companions and charged. Shrieking some prayer to the Warrior, he thrust the spear forward-
And exhaled heavily as its head was rammed up through his ribs, shattering them and sprouting through his back. Jon and the Stranger's gazes were cold and derisive as they slowly raised him up, impaled upon his own weapon. Slowly, strength left the mammoth rider as his body fell limp, held aloft in the light of the sun as it reached the apex of its ascent.
Displaying the impaled man for his surviving allies to see, Jon forced the shaft of the spear into the earth after thawing it with a brief use of the hellish fire he'd gained dominion over. He made sure to press it in deep enough that the man's lifeless limbs could almost brush the mud and slush.
His task done, Jon looked up at the line of pale faces atop the ramparts and proclaimed, again joining his voice to the Stranger's: "WINTERFELL!"
Their conjoined voices rippled across the plain, spooking many a horse. The front lines of the Axemen rippled as fear gripped the hearts of men who had just witnessed a charge of full grown mammoths get turned aside at the last possible second.
On the opposing side of the expanse there was silence across the gatehouse and the adjacent sections of wall.
Then Lyra Mormont howled. "Winterfell!"
This cry was picked up- reluctantly at first, as Jon's little show had been seen by them as much as the intended audience. Men who had not attempted to flee the wall were shaken from horrified stupors and took up the chant.
"Winterfell!"
"Winterfell!"
"For White Harbour!"
"Winterfell!"
"The White Wolf!"
Lyra seized the nearest loaded Scorpion and reoriented it towards one of the mammoths now moving parallel to the wall, its passengers strafing the defenders with arrows and any siege weapons they could see with flaming arrows. Those around the she-bear fled to cover against this barrage, some too slow. But Lyra loosed her shot despite taking two arrows and watched as the great bolt tore through the siege tower's centre, splinting a good portion of it on the way and actually tearing a man in half in a rain of blood. Though she hadn't killed it, her courage inspired several to take up their bows and aid her, felling more of the passengers.
"Set them alight, lads!" Howland Reed hollered, drawing back an arrow with the head wrapped in an oil soaked rag and held it just long enough for the torch beneath it to light it up. The other Crannogmen assigned to the Gate of Garth were swift to follow their liegelord's example and peppered the two mammoths nearest to the gate- including the one engaged by Lyra on the eastern flank.
All along the wall, the remaining twelve mammoths strode parallel to the fortifications so that arrows could be exchanged. The Company bowmen proved themselves keen in their vocation, more often than not scoring a direct hit on defenders who were too slow to release and duck.
The thirteenth that Jon had spooked struggled to climb back to it's feet, but was weighed down by the siege tower on its back. Jon cut through ropes thicker than his leg that were wound under the mammoth's body and around its limbs, allowing the partly splintered platform to tumble free while the mammoth pushed itself upright.
And Jon made sure that it pulled him up with it, clinging to the fur on its head and dragging himself into the now unoccupied saddle.
"You have an idea." The Stranger realized.
"The beginnings of one." Jon planted his hand atop the mammoth's head and forced it to submit to his will, trumpeting its mournful wail in protest as it was made to turn from its intended path of escape to instead barrel into the side of its nearest fellow, goring it in the side upon its large tusks and knocking it over as a horn blew from the siege camp.
"A good one, it would seem." The Stranger said with a vestige of pride.
Jon eased back from the writhing, disemboweled creature and its many dead or dying passengers to look to the north. The remainder of the mammoth assault line, now at eleven when not counting Jon's new mount, had turned and begun to pull back towards their lines. More bolts and rocks rained down on their retreating figures but failed to bring any of them down before they were out of range.
"They're running." Jon held his mount back.
"They did not expect to lose so many so quickly." The Stranger said. "Not for so little gain."
If Jon hadn't been there, the gate might already be smashed open. A streak of luck- beginning with the siege weapons scoring two kills and ending with whatever had resulted in Jon's unliving state and its accompanying powers, had prevented that.
The remaining mammoths returned to the ranks of the enemy army where Jon spied a mounted man in splendid armour riding back and forth, sword held high and barking out commands to officers who restored order. He picked up the tail end of echoed words such as 'sorcerer' and 'pagan'. No imagination was needed to guess at what else was said.
The recent failure of the charge would not break this army. If it were any other motivated by anything but faith it might have, but to the pious crusaders it would stand only as proof that their cause was truly righteous. A pagan city defended by a heathen sorcerer invoking dark powers would only make them more determined to win, their conviction in their own righteousness being so great that it would trounce any sense of survival.
The battle had only begun.
"…what do we do with this?" Jon asked, looking down at the now docile mammoth.
The Stranger smirked. "You can never have too many war beasts when at war. Besides, I recall you meeting a man with six skins aside his own. What is a wolf and a mammoth compared to that?"
Jon mirrored his expression, but this ended as the mammoth struck by the catapult barrage let out an agonized howl. He looked to where the beast lay in the field, one of its hind legs damaged beyond mending. Its fellow slain by the enthralled mammoth had already expired, and the one killed by the scorpions had been given a clean death. But it would be a long while before this one succumbed to its injuries.
And it was not alone. Jon could see signs of life in many of the Axemen who'd been tossed from their perches. Some were unmoving and silent, others wept and cursed. One, little more than a boy by his size, even whimpered for his mother. A few were fortunate enough that they would survive, whole and healthy, but most of them would be lucky if they lived at all.
"Stay." Jon commanded his mount before manifesting his bow.
"They wouldn't do the same for you or yours." The Stranger pointed out.
"That's what makes me and mine different from them." Jon drew back a ghostly arrow and put the boy out of his misery first. "It isn't about honour. It's about mercy."
"And what of those who will live?" The Stranger asked, testing Jon in truth.
"They can earn mercy like any prisoner." Jon ended the suffering of a man whose broken back had left him wheezing and weeping where he lay. "By singing for it."
Xxx
To say that Commander Hugh was displeased was an understatement.
He was bloody pissed and he made sure to demonstrate it the moment that the surviving riders had been brought before him.
"Cravens!" His armoured hand tore open the skin of one man and dropped him to his knees in the face of Hugh's fury. "You dare return to me in disgrace?! You had but one task and you couldn't even manage it!"
"Mercy, sir! It was the White Wolf!" A second mammoth rider pleaded along the line of chained and kneeling men before Hugh's tent. "He invoked dark magics that almost sent the beasts into panic! It was all we could do to keep them from bolting!"
"That explains the noise." Commander Carlisle muttered, peering towards the city wall. "A horn of some kind? One that mimics the sound of a pig or something close enough. The mammoths care little for the squeals of swine just like their elephant cousins."
"Do not excuse their incompetence!" Hugh snarled.
"If the burden of failure is shrugged from a leader onto those who stand beneath them, soon that leader will have nothing left to stand on." Carlisle replied, casting an unimpressed glance at Hugh. "The enemy was craftier than we'd expected. We lost only two because we underestimated their defences and another two to a completely unanticipated foe. We were lucky to lose only those four after what we just witnessed. Will you let this one failure break your temperament so easily?"
"Tis proof of the need for our good work." Commander Argil's scarred face peeked out from beneath his hood. "The enemy has held counsel with the abhorrent false gods for their unnatural gifts. Let that galvanize our men to fight and die harder, knowing their deaths are for a righteous cause."
"And why should I not send these shits off to be judged by the Seven as an example right now?" Hugh demanded.
"Because, Hugh, we have orders to avoid executing or maiming those of critical value; of which the mammoth riders are counted." Carlisle drawled in exasperation, refraining from calling Hugh a half-wit no matter how true it felt. "Punish them if you must, but nothing permanent. If you need me, I go to await word from the fleet."
"Need not, Carl." Argil jerked his head towards an approaching runner.
"M'Lord." The runner greeted and then whispered to Carlisle, who nodded and dismissed him.
"Ah, good." Carlisle smiled. "At least something has gone right today. You see, Hugh? This is why you must always plan for failure. Having been in your company since we were in swaddling clothes, I've come to accept that as common practice."
Xxx
The failure of the mammoth charge had not deterred the attackers, just as Jon predicted.
While he had shown great success blunting the charge at its centre, the mammoths further off to both flanks had been able to serve as examples of what would have happened without Jon. The siege towers slung across their backs allowed the attackers, whose experience far outweighed that of conscripted bowmen, to thin the ranks of defenders at several points and force reserves to move up to replace them. To make matters worse, it was discovered that not all of the attackers had been using burning arrows; any arrowheads not wrapped in oil soaked rags were found to be covered by residue of what had been identified as excrement, human or otherwise.
Those who'd been so much as scratched during the engagement were hurried off the wall and to healers in the hopes of preventing infection and potentially fatal spasms, but the Stranger had been blunt in detailing how many were likely to be beyond help. The Axemens' methods of warfare, being foreign to Westeros, had taken the Northmen by surprise and could have cost them far more than it had. Now the defenders at the wall were warned and stockpiles of water were to be brought forward for future engagements.
The Axemen resorted to moving up their siege weapons: two great trebuchets and a number of ballistae and catapults. Unlike their counterparts on the wall they were not burdened with the need to aim for moving targets, content to launch burning rocks towards the city wall. This was where losses began to build by the scores before the majority of the defenders hunkered down behind the walls while Mormont-led artillery crews retaliated.
The Company itself was on the march, sending forth men with ladders and tower shields. They remained dispersed until they had gotten close enough for regular arrows to reach them, whereafter they formed their columns with shields creating an armoured shell around those carrying the ladders. They advanced towards the wall- where Jon's moat had thankfully not been revealed too early by the mammoths. Whether this was because they had remained just far enough away or had not lingered long enough for the tunnel supports to cave in, he cared not. It would serve its purpose after the attackers had committed to fighting their way over the ramparts.
In the meantime: Jon's return to the city, leading a great mammoth that was chained to his will, was met with suspicion and fear by many of his own allies as Sir Edric led riders out to collect the survivors from the failed charge. The Mormonts and other commanders had kept calm heads (for the most part) when they next met with him, but almost two score men in chains who reacted to his presence as if he were a Wight more than made it clear that his little stunt had cost some morale among the defenders.
Howland had quickly spread a rumour along the other portions of the wall that Jon had used a special horn to frighten the mammoths, something crafted by the Free Folk much like how elephants in Essos were said to be frightened by the squealing of pigs. Those who had not been close enough to see the truth of this were quick to accept it, and those who did not were either silent or too crazed with terror to be considered a credible source. It helped that even if news of Jon's powers had become common knowledge since his arrival, actual witnesses to them were few and their word was understandably treated with a grain of salt.
That wouldn't last, and the collective reaction of the masses would become a whole new problem. He only had to forestall it until the enemy was driven away for good, but any plan for what to do afterwards eluded him. Stannis may accept his continued service, given that he already treated with a Red Priestess, but when word of Jon's powers became established fact it may very well give their enemies something to turn others against them.
But that was a whole different bridge to cross later. Right now he was faced with crossing one called Maege Mormont, the only exception to those calm heads among the leadership. Jon had reconvened with those overseeing the inland flank in the area immediately behind the outer wall where they were safe from any stray bolts or rocks. The newly acquired mammoth was guided by Jon to a wide enough space for it to stand or rest while keeping a good distance between it and many a tense or awestruck Northman.
And there, the Mother Bear made her ire with him known after leaving command of the defence to Lyra and Jory.
"You damn near sent all our horses into a panic, boy!" She snapped, but then relented as she looked upon the mammoth as it was offered a cart of vegetables. "Though I can't argue with results. But a little warning next time before you make our troops shit themselves."
"I hadn't planed on that." Jon defended. "And I couldn't have predicted that the enemy would have gods damned mammoths with them. I've only seen them beyond the Wall or among the Free Folk before today."
"Ib, Lord Snow." Wylis Manderly provided as the mammoth's trunk reached forward. "The men of Ib share their island with many strange beasts. Some claim that includes mammoths and unicorns, but how they came to possess and tame so many is beyond me."
"Now he tells us." Maege grunted.
"Ib has mammoths too?" Jon stared at Wylis. "The company was fighting against Ib."
"That it was, my lord." Wylis' head shifted up and down in a nod that was almost concealed by his thick neck.
"Which is in the Shivering Sea."
"That is is, my lord."
"Which would make it not unlike the North in both weather and terrain."
"That it would, my lord."
"Fuck me." Jon whispered.
"My wife might object, my lord."
Ignoring the knight's dryly delivered jape, Jon connected several new pieces to the puzzle that he'd been working on in his head: that of the Company of the Axe's history and present decisions.
They weren't just unusually well prepared for a winter campaign. They were ready for it.
Garbing their men in warmer clothing while sacrificing heavier armour for all but their knights.
Overstocking on supplies for their men and bringing mammoths, which could forage for themselves in even the coldest winter, as beasts of war.
Those blasted furnaces that would let them erect a proper encampment for both shelter and security.
And all of this after a prolonged stay at the Axe where they'd built what sounded like a kingdom in all but name at the behest of Norvos. All while fighting against enemies who lived in one of the few known regions outside of Westeros that might best resemble the North in terms of extreme cold and relative barrenness.
Ib had been a means to an end. A test to bloody their ranks and teach them how to both wage…and win war on northern soil. But for how long? The Company itself may have existed for a long time, but it was the dissolution of the Faith Militant that saw it take on its present form. That gave them more than a century, at the very least, to study and implement these ideas.
"Suffice to say, I was completely wrong about these Axemen." The Stranger voiced Jon's thoughts.
A loud crunch broke Jon from his thoughts. His new mammoth had begun to feast on some of the contents of the cart, lifting the vegetation into its mouth by using its trunk to scoop it up.
"It's accustomed to being fed." Howland stated, drawing his hood back to get a good look at it.
"Is that all the thing eats?" Ser Edric asked, having noticeably kept a further distance from the mammoth than the rest.
"Mammoths don't eat meat." Jon shook his head, arising from the turbulent sea of concern that filled his mind. "They graze north of the Wall and forage for everything. Plants, grass, sedges, shrubs, moss, bark. And they ate a lot of it each day. Enough to feed many men."
"Great, one mouth with the stomach of twenty men." Maege deadpanned calmly even as a tower a hundred feet away partly crumbled when struck by a blazing rock lobbed by the enemy trebuchets. As men raced to put out the fires before they could spread she sighed, apathetic to the destruction behind her. "Can we at least eat it if it doesn't earn its keep?"
"I've made a grave mistake." Jon confessed, surprising Maege with his sudden change in tone and topic. "Even after they showed their worth, time and time again, I thought our enemy would be just a distraction for Roose Bolton to rally his forces and weaken us. I was wrong."
"They very well could have smashed the gates open, barring your presence." Howland looked to the lines of chained men. "Being proven wrong is a small price to pay if you ask me."
"Aye, true!" Maege hefted a morningstar and rested it across her shoulder. "And they've played their trick now. It failed. We'll be ready for their beasties and their shit throwing the next time they show their heads."
That was what worried Jon: what if the worst was yet to come? He'd made the mistake of assuming this would be a rabble that would gouge itself by simply marching. That the true threat would only come by sea-
"Their fleet." Jon looked south and reached out to where he'd left Ghost to watch that flank.
He saw the harbour ablaze, ships spilling out hordes of marauders that waved the Sword and Stars. But that banner did not stand alone. It was flanked by a myriad of others symbolizing that
A green rose upon a pink field.
A black helm upon a silver field.
A ring of white horses around a black circle on a green field.
A bright white sun on a black field.
That and more filled the ranks of men storming White Harbour's outer reaches.
"A second army. More Sellswords." Jon heard Howland call after him as he raced towards the outer harbour with best speed. "Fuck! Where the hells are they getting these men from?"
At this point Jon was ready to believe that the leader of the Axemen was some kind of sorcerer himself. He had but to clap his hands and fresh troops sprang from thin air!
Xxx
Galbart Glover's troops were already exchanging arrows with the advanced elements of the enemy by the time Jon had leapt atop the harbour-facing wall. His sudden arrival spooked a man who was carrying a rock towards the battlements, nearly making him drop it before Jon caught it with one hand and held it up for him to take back.
"Thank you, ser." The man mumbled, unaware of his mistake in naming Jon a knight as he resumed his task, adding to rock to a growing pile stacked just behind the crenellations- one of many space apart evenly in preparation for when the enemy advanced closer.
Jon sought out Lord Galbart by his banner over the Gate of Seals. He saw Robett first, organizing ranks of conscripts positioned below in the event of a breach. The lesser brother was fully adorned in boiled leathers and chainmail, holding in one hand a shield with the Glover mail-clad fist and in the other a great spiked mace.
"Listen to that!" Robett roared, pointing towards the closed gate as horns were blown in the harbour. "You hear that?! That's the sound of the man who's going to rape your wives and daughters, the man who will butcher your sons and burn your homes and steal your wealth!" He banged his mace against his shield. "But first he has to get past you. First he has to kill you to get to them!"
He picked out one pale faced man in the crowd. "You!" Robett barked, making the man jump in place. "You have a family?"
"Yes-yes my lord!"
"A wife? Children?"
"A wife, sister, son and-and two nephews, my lord!"
"Your wife and sister will be raped and your son's and nephews' throat cut." Robett said, making the man's eyes widen and his spear hand shake. "There's a man out beyond that wall who wants to fuck your wife 'til she's heavy with his seed, a man who wants to force your sister to wed him and a man who wants to kill all three children so they can't grow up and avenge you. He wants to pillage your house for every last coin, every scrap of food and then burn it to the ground."
He raised his voice and leaned in towards the spearman. "But only if you fucking die and let him in! Will you?"
"No- my lord."
"Will you?!"
"No my lord!"
"Will you?!" Robett roared, pointing at the next man.
"No!"
"WILL YOU?!"
"NO!" More men took up the chant, finding some courage in it.
"When those sellsword shits try to cross this gate, will you let them?!"
"NO!" Men beat their weapons to their shields or tapped their spears against the street.
This was a side to Robett Glover that Jon had not seen before. The man who led the army at Duskendale had been melancholic, withdrawn unless addressed and clearly suffering from the weight of his own failure. But now he was offered a test, an opportunity to redeem himself for the Northmen who lay in unmarked graves under Crownland soil.
"Lord Snow!" The elder Glover shoved his way along the wall towards him. "How fairs the other flank?"
"The flank holds, Lord Glover!" Jon had to raise his voice over the din. "I'm here to reinforce you."
"Who do you bring with you?"
"Myself only!"
Galbart scowled and shook his head. "It'll have to do."
"Do you recognize any of those sigils?" Jon asked, pointing to the standards being born through the harbour
"Maiden's Men with the green rose, Gallant Men with the white horses. I also see the Men of Valour and the Bright Banners!" Galbart spat over the wall. "Some of them fight each other often. How they were made to work together, only the gods know."
These weren't pious sellswords or conscripts then, but genuine articles of mercenary. During the War of Five Kings, Tywin Lannister had employed many of them- not with actual payment so much as with his blessing to keep whatever they pillaged. That may very well be what had bought this second army.
Smallest of the five major coastal cities or not, White Harbour's silver mines made it a source of wealth that no pirate had been able to touch. A fortune that tempting, with the knowledge of a larger army to keep the defenders divided, would make any mercenary feel both motivated and confident.
"Numbers?" Jon asked.
"Three thousand at least!"
"What is the plan of defence?"
"Orders from Lord Wyman: hold the wall, allow the enemy to land and then blow the Merman's Horn thrice!" Galbart pointed to the gatehouse where Jon saw signs of a great horn that had been positioned by a window facing in towards the city streets. "Sortie out only if needed! Retreat to the gate at the first blow, no matter what!"
The Merman claimed to have a plan, but Jon had hoped for at least Galbart to have been given more substantial knowledge of it.
"Will a sortie be needed?" Jon had barely asked when he saw the answer through Ghost's eyes.
The direwolf was outside the wall, living up to his name in avoiding the sellswords ravaging the abandoned structures for anything that had been left behind by the original occupants. He'd stalked and killed a few stragglers already, mainly among their scouts. But now, from atop an abandoned home, his eyes rested upon the harbour itself, where men were unloading what had once been the trunk of a great tree, now with a steel ram's head affixed to one end. These men, unlike the sellswords, were Axemen led by several knights who directed and aided in quickly carrying down beams, planks, ropes and wheel.
Galbart was answering Jon when he returned to his true body. "I don't know as of yet, but-"
"They're building a ram." Jon pressed himself to the battlements and tried to spot it.
The Lord of Deepwood Motte stopped, mouth open, and looked to him in surprise. "What? Where?"
"Ghost saw it." Jon explained. "Axemen are assembling a ram down by the docks, not unlike the catapults the main army assembled on the northern flank."
Galbart cursed and bellowed down at his brother. "Robett! Prepare for sortie!" He looked back up to Jon. "How long?"
"Not long." Jon switched back to Ghost's vision to find that the basic frame for the ram was complete. "I'll see if I can deal with it myself. Hold off on that sortie until-"
Ghost saw the moored ships unleash bolts from scorpions built onto their decks. Some of the larger ones that could hold a catapult added to this barrage aimed at the wall…and the Gate of Seals.
"COVER!" Jon grabbed Galbart and threw him down just before a blazing rock struck the top of the gatehouse, smashing stone and splintering wood- both of which rained down as Jon used his body to shield the Lord. The lobbed rock continued on into the city streets where Jon heard cries of alarm and pain when it landed.
"Fire! Fire!"
"Get water!"
To either side of the gate, scorpion bolts slammed into the walls while two struck atop and one even impaled a man, flinging him down the back with it as he shrieked.
Jon helped Galbart to his feet, the Lord Glover looking shaken by the close call. "My thanks, Lord Snow."
"Do we have anything on this side that can hit those ships?!" Jon shouted, pressed low and close to the battlements with Galbart, who shook his head.
"Naught but a few scorpions over here!" Galbart looked to his left and saw that the scorpion closest to the gatehouse was gone along with a good chunk of the battlements where it had been fixed. "And we'll be lucky to have any by the time that ram gets up here!"
"Forget what I said." Jon climbed onto the ramparts. "Get your men out there. I'll make an opening for them."
"That's crazy, lad!" Galbart protested, but grabbed only thin air as Jon leapt from White Harbour's walls for the second time that day. "Damn it, Snow!"
At first Jon was worried his order wouldn't be obeyed- technically any order he made to Galbart would hold no authority, but as he raced to the nearest roof top he heard the Gate of Seals being opened behind him.
"White Harbour!" Robett roared, leading a stream of his house's fighters, city guardsmen with their tridents and a mass of conscripted fighters out.
Jon kept ahead of them, going as far as where he spotted the enemy vanguard. Fighters of the Gallant Men, armour gleaming like silver and red cloaks billowing behind them, marched in a thirty-man line along the central road with shields up and spears out on the first three ranks. Behind them, two more lines were ready and another formation of equal size stood in reserve behind them.
Seeing the mass of Northmen racing to meet them, the officer leading the spearmen barked an order. They stopped and expanded their line to cover the street completely, becoming two ranks deep before they were further reinforced by their company. A wall of spears pointed up or parallel to the ground awaited Robett Glover's charge of lighter armed and armoured fighters.
Outnumbered but dug in with reserves close at hand, the Gallant Men would make short work of the charge.
Or they would have if Jon's first move wasn't to cut down their leader. He loosed a shot from his bow to warp down, targeting the more decorative helmet at the back of the spear wall, and lopped the man's head off with a single clean swing of Blackfyre. His men who witnessed this stumbled back in shock, gaining the attention of those closest who only now realized their leader was dead. The men at the head of the second column beheld Jon's attack in plain view as they hurried to reinforce their allies.
Seeing a man appear from nowhere and decapitate what should have been the most heavily defended member of the first column understandably led to reactions of surprise, confusion and fear as they tried to stop, discarding their discipline as a unit in their haste, only for those immediately behind to slam into them.
Jon pulled the Fist of the First Men off of his belt and slammed it down into the street as the nearest men recovered and lunged towards him, weapons out. A wave of force erupted from the ground, travelling outwards like a ripple across a pond and fracturing white washed stone. Any who were caught in this wave found themselves thrown off balance, the closest suffering the full effect of this.
And the closest were those manning the spear wall, which was thrown into disarray as its centre collapsed, men being thrown down or stumbling just moments before Robett claimed his first kill by caving in the helm and skull of one men who'd mostly kept his footing.
"Kill them all!" The younger Glover roared, leading the way through the breach and bringing his mace down on another man's head, his helmet splattered with blood already. "No mercy! Justice for King Robb! Justice for the Young Wolf!"
With the centre collapsed, the Gallant Men on the flanks quickly folded as tridents, spears, swords and axes struck them from the sides. They quickly tried to pull back, only a lucky few managing to escape, much less put up a fight before they were beaten, chopped or pierced from multiple angles.
But Jon had already moved on towards the second column. Seeing the first half of their company being torn apart before they could even reach them was a heavy blow to their morale, but their leader was able to rally them into a fresh shield wall with just enough space at the sides to let survivors of the first column flee through.
It was too much to hope that using the same trick would work, but Jon felt compelled to try anyways in the hopes that they would still be shaken and slow to react to the sudden presence of a fighter wielding magic. When he reappeared behind the second spear wall Blackfyre was locked with the officer's sword.
Jon saw the man's eyes wide with disbelief behind the visor of his helmet.
"What the fuck-"
Jon quickly broke the lock and twisted his body so that a spear grazed along his back instead of sinking into him. A swing of his hammer crushed the attacker's head and flung his body down so quickly that it flipped entirely, feet swinging up into the air as the crumpled remains of his helmet hit the street.
Completing his spin, Jon stabbed towards the officer who parried the blow aside and countered with his own stab. Jon narrowly avoided it and felt a strike to his arm that nearly made him lose his grip on Blackfyre. Before he could retaliated two more its came from behind, then another from the opposite side.
The officer, in what little time he'd had to organize his men, had kept a small group at the back to act as his personal guard. They were now eagerly applying their one advantage against Jon: numbers. He tried to fend them off but took several more hits and felt himself progressively weakening.
Salvation came in a flash of white that slammed through three of of the eight fighters, bowling two of them aside and knocking the third to the ground where Ghost's jaws ripped his throat out. The direwolf lifted the corpse up in his jaws and flung it into the officer, knocking him down under its weight.
This was the reprieve Jon needed to cut one man's legs out from under him and bash another in the chest, sending him flying back into the nearest wall where his body made a distinct squishing noise as it left a trail of red behind it as it slid down. Ghost moved onto the officer, who screamed and tried to shift the corpse off of him before the direwolf's powerful jaws closed around his head with a wet crunching sound.
Jon dealt with the remaining fighters, chilled by the reminder that for all his power he could still be brought low by a few lucky hits from regular men.
"Ghost!" He called, and joined his companion as they attacked the spear wall from behind, weakening it at the centre again as Robett and his men tried to push through it, giving the Northern lord exactly what he needed to overwhelm the second column.
"Onto the harbour!" Robett commanded. "We're almost there, lads!"
The rest of the mercenary army had spread out across the harbour, leaving the centre to be held by the Gallant Men. The first two columns had represented a little under half of the company's strength, which remained back as a rear guard. The third was encountered and destroyed in short order with a few score in losses among the Northmen, but the fourth was further back to protect the battering ram as it was fully assembled and being pushed up by the Axemen who'd built it.
"There it is!" Jon shouted, Ghost bounding alongside him.
As the Northmen slammed into the final column of the Gallant Men, one of the Axemen Knights pushing the ram abandoned his task and blew into a horn hanging around his chest. A call for reinforcements if ever Jon had seen one. The mercenary companies acting independently instead of parts of one whole, as well as Jon's powers, had allowed the Northmen to get this far quickly enough that the other companies on the flanks hadn't the time to realize what was happening. That would change quickly if that horn was meant to alert them to an attack on the ram.
"We don't have much time!" Jon shattered a man's shield (and the arm behind it) with a hammer blow. "Prepare your men to withdraw!"
"Not before our task is done!" Robett retorted, much of his front stained with a splattering of red much like the head of his mace. "Push on, sons of the North!"
Jon had learned that years ago, back when even his father still drew breath, Robett Glover had been a popular choice for commanding the van. The man fought at the Green Fork and later played a role in taking Harrenhal by deceit. By all accounts he, like his elder brother, was not an extraordinary man in terms of martial skill or strategic prowess like Randyll Tarly or Robert Baratheon. Yet failure and treachery had proven harsh but effective teachers, driving the lesser Glover to fight with the ferocity of ten men, inspire hundreds more behind him and terrify just as many in front of him.
When the final line of spears and shields broke, it did so without need for grand feats of magic. Seeing a bloodied but intact host of enraged Northmen bearing down on them from the direction their comrades had marched had been a sharp blow to the morale of the remaining sellswords. Jon had only been given enough time to target the enemy commander, this time the actual leader of the Gallant Men himself by the look of his more decorative armour and mount. No sooner than he'd knocked the man from his saddle did Robett's mace come down and crumple the gleaming cuirass like it was made of cheap tin.
"FOR THE NORTH!" With that, the armoured fighter's mace came down and brought a gruesome end to the first of the Axemen attempting a frantic defence of the battering ram.
This defence didn't last long, needless to say. But Jon found any reason to celebrate quickly dashed as Ghost warned him of a wave of fresh troops surging up from the docks. He spotted more racing from adjacent streets through any passage available to them, bearing the colour and sigil of other mercenary companies.
"Enemy reinforcements!" Jon roared, and wreathed Blackfyre's blade in a coat of hell fire as he stabbed it into the battering ram, quickly setting fire to it. "Fall back!"
"What if they-" Robett had turned and set eyes on the blaze that danced along the valyrian blade, ending whatever protest he had just before a horn blow sounded from the Gate of Seals. "The horn! Fall- fall back! FALL BACK!" The man bellowed, drawing his men out of their celebrations and waving his mace up the street. "Back to the gate! Everyone back to the- FUCK!"
The reason for his sudden cursing was a pair of crossbow bolts that pierced his armour, sank into his back and knocked him to his knees. Other men were shot down by arbalests that had appeared on nearby roof tops and begun to let loose on the retreating defenders. Another salvo of burning rocks flew in from the docks and tore down buildings, crushed men under their weight and set more ablaze without care for which side they were on.
Jon seized a shield and used it to protect Robett from several more shots. "Get him to the gate!" He shouted as a guardsman and the same spearman who Robett had personally addressed earlier pulled the older man to his feet and aided him in fleeing.
"No-no!" Robett groaned as another man moved to help, pulling against them both when he saw that Jon was not retreating with them. "Not again! I won't leave another!"
"You've fought well, live to fight again!" Jon threw down the shield and loosed three shots of his own back at the pursuing arbalests.
"I've one Stark's blood on my hands, don't make it two!" Robett begged.
"Fear not." Jon looked back at him. "I'm not a Stark and I won't die today. Now go!"
Ghost appeared and pushed Robett with a prod of his snout, finally making the man give in and make for the gate.
As the last of the Northmen passed him by, Jon saw a wall of armour charging towards him as reinforcements from adjacent companies moved to fill in the gap left by the Gallant Men. Their numbers and his recent misfortune against numerous enemies left Jon mindful not to be caught in a protracted fight. Instead he warped to a nearby roof top where he dispatched a man, took his freshly reloaded crossbow and shot a second, using the bolt to perform a second warp strike and land him further down the street towards the docks.
The Merman's Horn sounded a second time as he reached where a second wave of sellswords were disembarking from their ships. Further behind them he could see the vessels that bombarded the city with fire. Among the dozens of masts and sails was a galleon bearing the sword and stars.
It couldn't be anything but the flagship, but it was also out of his immediate reach. Three smaller vessels positioned closer to shore as well as some moored right at the piers were another story.
Jon leapt to a wooden treadwheel crane that loomed over a berth clogged with sellsail ships. From there he flung himself towards the nearest vessel and grasped some of the rigging to keep from plummeting. Jon looked down, concerned that he had been noticed, but saw that nobody below and in the immediate vicinity had any interest in looking up when the prized jewel ripe for plundering was ahead.
"Whatever the Merman intends to do, he'd better do it quickly." The Stranger said, seeing ladders being raised onto the harbour wall.
"We can buy him some time." Jon aid as he hauled himself up onto one of the higher spreader beams, giving him a vantage point from which he saw the ship-mounted catapults being reloaded with a heavy rock and a torch set to light the oil coating it.
Jon loosed a shot that pierced the torch bearer's arm, making them drop it. His companions looked for the source as Jon lined up his second shot, this time aiming for the cup of the catapult. Instead of a controlled fire, it erupted in an explosion of hell fir that swept over the deck. Men shrieked and raced for the sides flinging themselves into the sea in desperation as the flames spread across the vessel.
Their neighbours spotted this and were left confused as to how it had happened. Jon took advantage of their inaction to repeat this tactic on the second, this time with the explosion clearly seen by all. By now the surrounding vessels' crews reacted as if under attack, their Captains frantically pointing back out to see as sails were unfurled and oars extended.
This put the third catapult bearing vessel out of Jon's reach.
"Do you think that was enough?" He asked of the Stranger.
The third blow of the Merman's Horn sounded.
"We shall see for ourselves." Came the disembodied reply.
A fourth horn blow followed, but this did not come from the Gate of Seals…but from the mouth of the White Knife where a wave of green blossomed outwards across the bay. Jon stared in silence as a fleet, a genuine armada of galleons propelled by both sail and oar, erupted into view and veered to one side, setting a course that would put the mercenary fleet between them and the city. The few sellsail ships that had begun to withdraw were heavily outnumbered by those still pinned in the harbour.
Jon recalled in that moment something that had escaped his recollection for weeks ever since it had been said.
I built the first fleet of warships the North has seen since the days of Brandon the Burner…
"Oh." A smile crossed his face as he watched the leading galleon slam into one of the fleeing sellsail ships, snapping it in two while burning arrows flew to another close by. "Well played Lord Manderly. Well played, indeed."
Xxx
End of Chapter
Before you all say it: I know this took forever. Real life conspires to sap me of my literary willpower.
For anyone who has taken the trouble to look up mammoths as they were in the real world: those in the setting of ASOIAF are easily bigger than the real deal. They are big enough that giants, who would be as tall as real mammoths based on their book description and television appearance, can ride them like steeds.
I can't speak for how mammoths would stand against a ballistae bolt or even a scorpion bolt, or whether they'd make better wear beasts than the mûmakil shown in The Lord of the Rings. I took creative liberties in this. Hell, I took liberties with pretty much everything about this chapter. Sue me.
Also, tetanus (which can be summed up as painful and potentially fatal muscle spasms and still exists today, killing thousands every month worldwide) induced by blades dipped in excrement is a tactic that goes back as far as the Roman Legions. That being said, it typically required a very deep wound. Biological warfare took on many forms back in antiquity and the medieval era, but in a setting like Westeros this would simply fall under the umbrella terms of 'fever' or 'spasms' given the complete lack of medical science at the time. Other methods included flinging carcasses over city walls, poisoning water supplies, even flinging baskets of poisonous snakes onto an enemy ship.
Treadwheel cranes were around figuring the medieval era and used primarily for construction or loading and unloading cargo from vessels at port. They work by a man walking within the wheel to generate the lifting force.
I want to try and get back into updating this more regularly. But between work, personal projects and applying for the navy I've found myself struggling to find motivation. Rest assured though, I haven't given up on this story as of yet.