THE CROWNLESS
Roars of disagreement filled the common hall of Castle Black to the rafters, as worry about the wildling army exploded out of many a black brother as anger. For days, reports came in of the massive legion of the savages moving from Craster's Keep. This was accompanied soon after by sight of the marching columns and the growing camp starting at the nine weirwoods.
At night, a man atop the Wall could see how large the wildling population had grown by the size of the area lit by their camp and watch fires. And every man in Castle Black had found their way to the top of the Wall at night to look for themselves. The wildlings played every drum they had throughout the day, congregating just north west of the gate, their beats so loud it sometimes felt like the sky and the Wall itself shook.
Out of nowhere, not one but two real threats had emerged and even seven hundred feet of ice did not seem sufficient a defence.
The unforgettable sight and smell of the dead woman's body possessed by magic on his mind, Jon had barely enough time to say his vows at the weirwoods before the wildlings arrived. The opportunity had come abruptly. One day, the training and misery imposed by Ser Alliser had disappeared, and all under his tutelage were informed they were to be brothers of the Night's Watch. Jon was assigned to the Rangers and placed directly under the command of Qhorin Halfhand.
Ser Alliser was too busy to torment anyone now, but he had made sure to place Jon in the most dangerous place he could. He had been hailed as Mormont's saviour alongside Ser Rykker, but the knight got the credit for driving off Rattleshirt's band in a bold cavalry charge. The Old Bear remained barely conscious due to fevers from the arrow wound he had received, so it was Ser Alliser who many of the men looked to.
Despite him knowing the reason for his placement with the Rangers, Jon had been happy.
Aside from having wanted to be a Ranger all along, the reign of Acting Lord Commander Alliser Thorne, knight of the realm, was not proceeding well.
Ravens had been sent to Winterfell and King's Landing. With them went warnings about the wildlings, the wights, the wight walkers and their strange visitor-enemies from 'Ithaca', as well as a call for men and supplies. Jon had been allowed to send word to Robb too, but he was not free to relay the offer of Ulysses to speak peace. Ser Alliser saw to that.
The Iron Throne did not reply. Court was absorbed by whatever had caused Father to order Robb to call the banners in the first place. Trouble in the Riverlands, it was said, caused by none other than Catelyn Stark. Jon did not know what to make of that, the full details were only known to the officers of the Watch. But somehow he believed it.
But it was the Stark in Winterfell who was responsible for the noise now filling the hall. Robb, despite the order to prepare for war in the south, did send a raven back north. Sam Tarly had read it aloud for Maester Aemon as the man delivering wood for the fire was at the door.
News of what message the raven had brought spread like wildfire through the castle. Robb could not march his main force north to stop the wildlings. King Robert had died. Lord Stark had been imprisoned by the new King Joffrey, accused of treason. Lannister riders were burning and reaving the Riverlands like ironborn, the riverlords scattered in their wake. The Starks, allied by marriage to the Tullys, were preparing to move against the Lannisters.
Jon barely paid attention to the ruckus around him, still numb from the rumours. Any joy at his joining the Ranger was forgotten. His father was imprisoned, his brother was marching to war… and he was stuck at the Wall, defending the realm from a threat that not even his family seemed to believe was real. How can I choose between helping family and fighting the evil stirring beyond the Wall? A Ranger cannot desert, but a Stark cannot abandon another. And Ulysses was right, I am my father's son, a Stark by blood if not by name… It was a question he had no answer to.
Only when Ser Alliser and the other officers walked in and took their place at the high table, followed by Donal Noye banging a hammer on its surface, was order restored. The brothers sat down, and waited for Maester Aemon to be seated too, assisted by Sam.
Ser Alliser rose from his seat again to address the men. Jon spared him only a glance, before leaning back on the table in front of him and looking up at the ceiling, thinking of his own problem and barely listening.
"There has been a lot of ignorant talk of ravens and messages in the castle of late. It has disturbed discipline, and those spreading it have done damage to the cause. But the Watch is no stranger to harsh truths, so I will tell the reality of the matter at hand."
Jon lurched away from the table and turned towards the officers. He hadn't expected Ser Alliser to say such a thing. Either it will really be the truth or it will be a colossal lie.
"Much of what is being said about events in King's Landing and the Riverlands seems to be true," Ser Alliser continued, "War is coming. It would not be a concern, we take no part, except that it comes at the worst possible time. Ravens to the capital have gone unanswered. It appears we will not receive help from there."
Murmurs echoed around the hall. Ignoring them, Ser Alliser pulled out a small scroll from under his cloak and held it above his head.
"However, we are not to be left to defend the Wall alone. Lord Robb Stark, despite preparing to march south, pledges ten thousand foot under Mors Umber and what supplies can be made available."
A cheer went up from the benches, loud enough to hurt the ears. Jon just frowned. Mors Umber, why is that familiar? Then he remembered. Brother of the Greatjon. The man's daughter had been kidnapped by the raiders from beyond the Wall. His stomach dropped. Robb sends a man who hates the wildlings with all his heart. He means to fight the wildlings, not agree to a peace for the sake of fighting the Others. The wight snarling in his memory, Jon cursed Ser Alliser to an ugly death. For his insults, arrogance and for refusing to allow the offer of peace from Ulysses of Ithaca to go into his message to Robb.
The knight continued his speech. "Unfortunately, it will take some time for the Stark men to arrive. We still face a dire menace. The King Beyond the Wall commands many savages, enough that our defences may be overwhelmed. We must buy time. We must discourage an attack on the Wall or the gate. To this end, I plan to ride out and raid their camp, leading every man who can ride a horse and swing a sword!"
A larger eruption of cheers answered that declaration. Jon looked around him, at the benches of men, thinking them mad. Even if the numbers of the wildlings did not tell its tale, even if surprise held and favoured the Watch… He had seen the weapons of the men of Ithaca tear what seemed like hundreds of men down. The mounted column would be torn to pieces.
This had been considered, it turned out. "We require more than valour," Ser Alliser growled, his, "Though the savages know not of steelmaking or a true cavalry, they have strange and powerful allies. However, Qhorin of the Shadow Tower has spent time among these 'men of Ithaca' as prisoner. The truth is they number only four. One is a woman!"
The hall was dead quiet now. Many had seen the wildlings cut down from a distance during the battle at the weirwoods, and heard the strange sound of the weapons of the Ithacans. Many had asked Jon about it, and he had told the tale, until the word came down from the Lord Commander's tower to say nothing more about it. Too late.
Ser Alliser's gaze swept the room, until it met Jon's own. The knight stared, as he explained the plan. "Tomorrow, we shall send out a ranging party, led by the Halfhand. They shall determine the whereabouts of these strangers within the wildling ca..."
A great roar of objection went up, half the Rangers present getting to their feet, waving their fists and shouting.
Jon's jaw set, pitying the men that would be sent. Even a child can see that going north of the Wall now in small numbers is a death sentence. Ser Alliser's glare soon moved elsewhere, relieving him of any need to hide his feelings on the matter for fear of being accused of some petty treason. "We must determine the location of the strangers, so we may avoid battle against the unknown magic until the Stark men arrive. The Rangers to carry out this task have already been selected, based on their own abilities."
As Ser Rykker began to read out names, Jon wondered if they'd begin to practice on horseback for the big raid. The scouting mission wasn't something he was experienced enough to be a part of, he was sure, but numbers would count when the riders went out to attack. He didn't know most of the other rangers well enough to care much either, save for Qhorin and Ser Rykker himself.
It was only when Grenn, Matthar and Pyp's names were called that he turned his head to watch the high table again. Just in time for Ser Rykker to call the last name.
"Jon Snow!"
Jon his stomach twist, which only got worse when Ser Alliser turned a gleeful, canine filled grin at him. "Aye, you too Lord Snow," the knight said, "You think you're better than most. You instructed your fellow recruits. Now you can prove yourself and your teachings against the wildlings, and without Ithacan magicks to help you."
The hall quieted, the black brothers looking between the knight and Jon, expecting a response. He's daring me to say something, Jon's mind raced as his mouth dried, He's daring me to do something that he can hang me for. And if I don't, he hopes the wildlings will kill me.
Maester Aemon cleared his throat loudly, breaking the attention of the hall. "I will give my report on the Lord Commander's health now," the maester said, "If you do not mind, First Ranger?"
Being passed over for Ser Rykker, Ser Alliser scowled at the blind maester, his taking-offence something that would have normally cheered Jon up. But the fog of dread about the ranging would not go away.
"Aye," Ser Rykker allowed, "Give your report."
The maester inclined his head once in acknowledgement, and spoke as loudly as he could. "Lord-Commander Mormont has begun to wake, eat at his own accord, and his fevers are on the wane. Though he will not be well enough for battle for moons yet, it seems we shall not require an election for a new commander any time soon."
The high table rattled as the officers slammed their fists and palms on its surface, a celebration that the rest of the hall took up. "No wildling arrow could fell the Old Bear!" came a shout from the back, followed by an "Aye!" from the entire hall.
Jon didn't stay to hear the rest. Before he could think, his body forced itself to its feet and moved him through the benches out of the hall, into the frozen snow drifts outside.
It was only when the cold hit his face and hands hard that he realised why he had to leave; the planned ranging was suicidal for new recruits that had just barely went beyond the Wall. If Jon knew scouting the wildling camp was suicide, Ser Alliser had to know it. It had to be stopped. He began to trudge towards the Lord Commander's tower. Mormont is awake, he can stop this madness.
Jon ignored the crunch of boots behind him, assuming it was Grenn or Pyp, trying to stop him from doing something stupid. A rough grab told that it wasn't one of his friends, and he turned about quickly, expecting Ser Alliser or one of his cronies.
Instead, Qhorin Halfhand stood with his fingers around Jon's forearm, his eyes giving a cool look. "Where do you think you're going, Snow?" the ranger said.
Jon shook his arm free, and found it released without trouble. "To see the Lord Commander," he said honestly, knowing he could not pass a lie, "To see this madness stopped."
The big ranger shook with laughter, to Jon's confusion. "What madness?" the Halfhand asked, "Ser Alliser's command of the Watch? Worry not about that. His rule will be short. Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower have no love for him. And Mance Rayder is no fool, and used to be a ranger himself, he knows the danger of caval..."
"It's not that," Jon interrupted, his throat feeling like it was burning with anger, "The ranging to find the Ithaca men. It's certain death with men so inexperienced. Ser Alliser put all the new ranger recruits under your command for it, and you allowed it?"
The Halfhand's eyes widened. He hadn't expected this. "Aye, I did. Ser Alliser insisted. For the moment, there's no saying no to the man."
"He's trying to get us killed," Jon continued, "I'm sure of it. He knows new recruits will not move quickly or quietly enough to escape notice by the wildings."
"I chose you for the ranging, Snow," the Halfhand replied, "Not Ser Alliser bloody Thorne."
Jon blinked. "What?"
"You're ready. I saw you move and fight when Rattleshirt's men were all around. No hesitation, but you didn't revel in it either. Exactly the sort of man you want north of the Wall. Plenty left to learn still. But you won't learn sitting on your arse here."
"But what about the others? Grenn, Pyp, Matthar?"
"Ser Alliser's price for taking you. The man thinks he's being clever. If our ranging fails, he can claim that he cannot lead a sally against the camp. For lack of knowledge of the ground, you see. If he admits an attack is too dangerous before proving it, he offends the honour of many men in that hall. Makes himself look craven. Hurts morale. So he's sending us to fail, deliberately."
"So I'm right. He is sending us to die."
"No, he's sending us to come running back with our tails between our legs. But he's given me everything I need to succeed. That is what I mean to do. Are you the man to help me do it? Or are you a boy afraid to do his duty?"
Jon looked away, unsure of himself. The idea of turning Ser Alliser's scheme appealed to him, but putting his friends in danger to do it seemed cruel and petty.
"If you need convincing, there is one more thing," the Halfhand said, "I did tell the Lord Commander of my plan. He approved and has set aside some things for you. It seems he ordered preparations be made before the fever took him."
The ranger walked towards the Lord Commander's tower himself. Unable to help himself, Jon followed. I spoke the oath.
The dark metal of the sword had silver ripples down its length, crossing seamlessly over the three fullers running down the flat of blade. Turned this way and that, the ripples shone bright or the metal drank the light away. It was beautiful and deadly, one of the most lethal things devised by men. The entire ranging party watched its every movement as it was inspected.
Jon could still not believe it. Valyrian steel. I have a Valyrian steel sword. Longclaw.
The Mormont family blade had handed to him by Qhorin Halfhand with a note.
The Lord Commander had been asleep when they had come to his tower, but it was waiting for him nonetheless. Mormont had ordered its preparation for Jon, before he fell deeply into his fevers. The silver bear pommel was replaced with a pale stone wolf's head, tiny garnets in its eyes gleaming. It was half again as long as the longsword he had been given by his Father, but it was lighter and sharper. Its balance was perfect, its grip soft but firm, and would never lose its edge.
Longclaw was Mormont's thanks for the part Jon played in saving his life at the weirwoods. By taking it, the Lord Commander expected in return that he remain steadfast, to do his duty.
The note hadn't said what Mormont meant by that, but Jon could guess. News from the south was darker with every raven and rider. The Lord Commander wouldn't have needed to see him to know duty to the Watch and duty to his family would be at conflict within him.
Jon turned the blade and swung it, listening to the air whirl as it too was cut. Ghost padded up from his position beside Grenn and sniffed at the pommel carved in his honour, before nipping at Jon's hand. The direwolf was getting big, bigger than any wolf Jon had seen except for Ghost's mother. I wonder how big the others are?
Halfhand strode into the broken circle of evergreen shrubs the party was hiding in. "Put the sword away, Snow. You'll have it out again soon enough. It's time."
Jon did as he was told, as the other rangers stood up and crowded around. They were twenty one in all, two thirds of whom had been on at least one ranging far beyond the Wall. The last third were ranger recruits like Jon. The fodder for wildling axes, his mind whispered darkly.
Halfhand examined the group for a moment, before speaking. "We're changing the plan. Bedwyck, Kedge, you'll lead half the group on the old game trail. Take the recruits and a few others."
Jon could hardly believe his ears. "We're splitting up?"
"Silence," Halfhand commanded, directing the order to the entire group of recruits.
Chastened, Jon looked to the rangers named, hoping to the gods old and new they'd talk the Halfhand out of it. Kedge, the elder and larger of the two, glared with his one good eye. "Qhorin, we'll be seen if we go that way. Especially with the recruits."
"You'll be seen, aye." Halfhand confirmed, " Like as not as you pass the lee of Round Hill at the clearing. You don't have numbers to cause any hesitation from Mance's men. So, what will happen next?"
"We'll be attacked," said Bedwyck, the man's voice booming to compensate for the fact he stood barely five feet tall, "Overwhelmed."
"Attacked, aye, but not overwhelmed. You've all got good steel in your hands, and mail on your bodies. Useful things if a man was going to attack the Wall. The wildlings on guard will attack you themselves, not looking to share the loot with reinforcements."
Jon understood at once, which made him feel better about the whole ranging. "They attack us, and you lead the rest of the rangers to attack them when they least expect."
Halfhand gave a single nod. "Snow has it right. We take them all, the wildling camp will be blind to our movements, we can get a good look at it from Beacon Hill to the north."
"A fair plan," Berwck conceded, "But if you're late by even a moment…"
"I won't be," Halfhand stated, "Take the recruits and pick your men. We march as soon as you have."
The march behind the two ranger scouts took Jon and the others through the most dense part of the forest near the gates of Castle Black. The environment felt oppressive, somehow, and time seemed endless.
The trail was just wide enough for the party to pass single file, branches of trees, shrubs and bushes regularly sticking out to scratch and poke if you weren't paying attention. The trail itself was cut into the side of the hill's slope, simply through years of animals and men walking it.
The old signs of Rattleshirt and the Weeper's men were everywhere Jon looked. Small clearings in the foliage made by axes. Abandoned sleds and fur-wrapped packs belonging to dead men under trees, waiting forever more. Here and there, the dead themselves, frozen into the snow and their heads removed.
No wonder the watchers didn't see the wildings, Jon thought as he glanced upwards, I can barely see the sky through the leaves and needles. He still remembered the moment the arrows started flying from among the weirwoods, the shock of it. Now it was the turn of the Night's Watch to inflict the same.
Just ahead of him, Ghost walked, his great white head turning side to side as he stuck his nose up in the air, sniffing at the cold air. The direwolf suddenly stopped, and looked uphill through the brush. Grenn grunted as he bumped into Jon from behind, and the man behind him did so in turn.
"What is it, boy?" Jon asked Ghost. The wolf glanced at him, not turning his head away from where it was pointed, before breathing out heavily once as if sighing and continuing on the trail. Unable to see or hear anything himself except the brush of the wind across the many leaves, Jon continued on.
Grenn chuckled under his breath. "Your wolf is more nervous than we are."
Jon adjusted his helmet and shot a look over his shoulder. "He hears or smells something you can't," he said. "Pay attention, look through the trees where you can. Maybe we should all be as nervous as he is."
Apparently not willing to discuss that possibility, Grenn did not reply. But he held his shield a little higher before Jon turned back to watch where they were going.
It was not long before flatter and more open ground appeared. The sky was finally visible again, the grey-white of the clouds stained with the black and darker tones of smoke pouring up into it. The camp was close. As Ghost entered the clearing, he gave a silent snarl, his canines fully exposed. Jon did not wait to see what it was the wolf was snarling at. He drew his sword first, causing everyone behind to do the same one after the other.
Berwyck, leading the way, held up his hand for the party to stop, as if it wasn't already doing that. In response, Kedge pushed men to the sides, forming a crude battle line in a crescent shape. Jon, Ghost and Grenn took their places in it. Pyp and Matthar had been in front and were right in the middle of it.
"You there!" Berwyck said, "Come out!"
Jon watched where the trail began again on the other side of the clearing, the way Ghost was looking. Soon, a single man stepped out from behind the large trunk of a soldier pine.
He wore a full helm of iron and bronze, raven feathers like wings at its side, long grey and brown hair leaking out of it. A black wool cloak hung over his shoulders, his movement revealing that it had been slashed at some point and red silk now held it together. Once he stopped, the cloak parted, revealing black ringmail, shaggy fur breaches and boots. A steel longsword and a bronze axe hung from a belt at his waist.
"Good day, Kedge," the man said, "It's been years, hasn't it?"
There was utter silence. Kedge refused to reply. Nor did Berwyck move. The recruits waited for their lead, but nothing came. Jon looked at Kedge, and saw his eyes wide and bulging, slowly watering from the cold. What is going on?
"Last time we met must've been the expedition up the Milkwater as far as the Valley of the Thenns," the man continued, placing both of his hands on the pommel of his longsword to rest them, "282, was it? A fateful year for many."
The man's gaze moved and came to rest on Jon. Every hair on his body stood on end.
"You must be Jon Stark. Your wolf is unmistakable," he said, "And is that Valyrian steel I see?"
This is a wildling? Jon opened his mouth to respond, but found nothing to say at first. He tried again, succeeding the second time. "You know my name, and the name of my family… but what is yours?"
"It's Mance Rayder, you fool!" Berwyck snapped back.
Jon did not know why, but he didn't doubt it. He gripped his sword tight, and scanned the trees for more foes. He saw nothing, though the tops of trees beyond swayed.
"It can't be," Grenn commented, "Why would Mance Rayder be alone in the woods?"
"Why indeed?" said the King Beyond the Wall, giving a menacing grin.
He's here for us, Jon realised, Which means… "He's not alone!"
"No, I am not." Mance Rayder brought his hand to his mouth, and whistled loudly using his fingers, before drawing his sword. As he flourished it, the bushes all around him shook with movement. Men and spearwives burst out into view, at least twice as many as the ranging party and armed with bronze.
With them strode three huge bears, two of them brown-furred and the largest as white as Ghost. The beasts were under control, as much at the service of Rayder as Jon's direwolf was at his.
"We have you outmatched, Kedge," Mance Rayder stated, "And I know all about Halfhand and his group."
"How?" Jon asked, "How could you possibly know?"
"I'll be happy to show you, Jon Stark," Mance replied, "As a prisoner of the Free Folk."
Kedge pointed his own sword at the King. "We'll not be your playthings, wildling. We prefer to fight." Berwyck made his feelings known by nocking an arrow to his shortbow, though he kept it pointed downwards and did not pull back the string, for fear of the wildling archers opposite.
I was right, Jon thought as he levelled his own sword to charge, We were always going to die out here.
The King Beyond the Wall frowned and looked to the east, up the hill for a moment. When nothing seemed to happen, and Rayder shrugged a hide-covered shield off his back, taking it in hand. "Since you insist…" he began.
More rustling interrupted him, from the place he had been looking among the bushes on the upward slope.
First, wolves, boars and a shadowcat padded into the clearing, facing off against the battle line just in front of Rayder. Jon More beasts at his beck and call?
Next, Halfhand and two of the veteran rangers stumbled through, their hands bound. They were quickly followed by another group of warriors and spearwives. Both groups were blood-splattered and panting, their breaths creating clouds of mist in front of them. Lastly, a large wildling in a wooden mask of white weirwood, stained with blood, shoved her way to the front of her warband. Jon flinched, the warrior's look the most menacing he had seen.
"Morna, you have gods-sent timing," Mance said with good cheer, "And is that Qhorin I spy? Not so gods-sent, are you?"
"Aye, it's me," Halfhand sighed, glowering at the King Beyond the Wall.
"You promised to return to Craster's. Swore an oath on the weirwoods, Tormund said. You broke that oath."
"My brothers in the Watch said leaving would make me an oathbreaker too. Knew that you would hear of Ser Alliser's declaration. I made my choice. Competing oaths are tricky things."
"That they are," the king agreed, "You're back now, though."
Without warning, the wildling Morna smacked Halfhand on the back of the head hard, forcing him down into the snow. "They resisted," the masked wildling leader said to her king, her voice revealing she was a woman, "Their steel is sharp. They killed forty two, Mance. Forty two. Give them to me. All of them. I will show their fellow Crows what awaits them."
Mance Rayder ignored her. He sheathed his sword and walked over to where Halfhand lay, and pulled him up to his knees by the cloak. The ranger's eyes swam for a moment, before he blinked it away. Only when the king was sure Halfhand was okay did he address the chief's request.
Finally, the King laid a hand on the spearwife's shoulder. "The Canadians would kill far more of yours than forty-two, Morna. We agreed with them, prisoners would not be killed or tortured. Are you willing to risk that they would not believe whatever excuses you can dream up?"
The masked Morna turned her head away sharply in anger, but said nothing. Her warriors looked at each other, and lowered their weapons.
Even in absence, the Canadians loom large, Jon thought, remembering his ears ringing at the sound of their fiery weapons.
With a deep breath, the King Beyond the Wall grabbed the still kneeling Halfhand by the hair and pulled out his axe in a smooth motion, holding it up to strike. "Brothers of the Night's Watch, I will give you the offer again. Yield and you will be kept in the same condition as Qhorin here was when he was with us last time. The rest of his ranging party are still safe."
He twisted the axe this way and that in the air. "The alternative is that I bury this axe in poor Qhorin's skull and we kill you all."
Kedge and Berwyck looked at each other. They were considering it.
"Accept the offer," Qhorin rasped loudly, "Your deaths will not grant the Watch any advantage. You won't get to Mance. As captives we force them to guard us. Men they cannot use against the Wall."
Jon watched Halfhand carefully as the ranger looked to every individual in the party. There was something in his tone and his gaze that told he had other plans. Some way to win if they yielded. What is your plan?
The wildlings began to edge around the sides of the clearing, preparing to attack from both sides through the trees. The wolves revealed their teeth. The shadowcat crept forward a few steps towards Ghost, causing the direwolf to raise himself to his full height, his fur standing on end. The bears groaned and stood on their hind legs.
Still the lead rangers said and did nothing. They stood, licking their lips, eyes shifting to every potential enemy. They'll get us killed while they're deciding, Jon thought, The wildlings will attack without warning. Even if we decide that trying to kill their king is worth the cost, those bears and wolves and boars will stop us. Unable to see a way out or a useful way to die, he decided to trust Halfhand.
Jon stepped out of the battle line, holding his sword with one hand and raising his free palm. A few archers shifted their aim towards him, but he walked forward regardless, until he was at the middle of the clearing. The King Beyond the Wall lowered his axe again, watching carefully.
With a sigh, Jon planted the tip of his Valyrian steel sword in the snow, standing it up. It rang slightly with the impact. It was a nice thing to have, if only for a day, he thought gloomily.
"We yield."
The whole captured party was thrown in with the survivors from Halfhand's previous one, deep inside the wildling camp. A tiny fenced enclave of black canvas in a sea of hide tents. The brothers there welcomed the newer captives with thin chicken and mushroom soup, commiserating as best they could in the circumstances.
Jon barely paid attention to the exchanges or the bowl pressed into his hand. He had heard there were tens of thousands of the wildlings and he had seen their camp from the top of the Wall. But there was nothing quite like being among them.
He had never seen so many people in one place before, not even during a stay in White Harbour on market day. The air was filled with the sounds of people talking, animals fighting or toiling, food and furs being prepared, and the smells associated with all of that activity; sweat, smoke, meat sizzling, pine, shit and piss.
This isn't an army, Jon decided, It's a city.
The realisation confused him. Cities had well managed lands around them to provide food and everything else they needed. The wildlings had a wild forest. Aye, one thick with game, fruit, mushrooms and wood, but it wasn't the same. And gathering all of those things would be disrupted by the wights wherever the Others could press the advantage.
The wildlings cannot stay here for long, Jon concluded, So why are they simply camping here? Where are their preparations for an attack on the Wall? He assumed that finding out the answers to these questions was one of the unspoken reasons why Halfhand had decided to proceed with the ranging. But the one declared by the officers of the Watch also remained unanswered.
"Where are Ulysses and the other strangers?" Halfhand asked his original ranging party, giving voice to Jon's own thought, "We have not seen any sign of them from atop the Wall."
A short, wiry ranger of about fifty years answered. "They aren't here. Wildlings say they're still up near Craster's, preventing the White Walkers from attacking. Not all the wildings have arrived yet."
The bald man beside the wiry one scoffed at this. "They're lying, Qhorin."
"How do you know?" Jon asked. The bald man's brow raised. He was a Shadow Tower man, and so didn't know who Jon was.
"This is Jon Snow," Halfhand offered, "Ned Stark's son. It's a good question, Ebben. Answer it." Jon's jaw clenched. The senior ranger hadn't called him a bastard… but it was somehow jarring to the ear to hear 'Snow' from him. It was Ser Alliser and his ilk who used the name like the insult it was supposed to be. The King Beyond the Wall and Ulysses both called him Stark. I like it too much, he thought warily.
"The wildlings tell the same tale about guarding the rear," said bald Ebben, gathering his cloak around him, "The same words in the same way. No talk 'f how things go, nor talk 'f the feats 'f the foreigners."
"And they aren't smart enough to make it sound true," Qhorin mused, "What are they up to?"
The sound of a throat being cleared caused Jon and every other black brother to turn towards it, back the way they had come. Its source was none other than Mance Rayder, now without his ravenwing helm but carrying Longclaw in its scabbard like a banner on his shoulder, wolf-pommel up. With him were a dozen warriors and spearwives, armed with bared steel. Ghost put himself between Jon and the King, but didn't bare his teeth in reply.
"We've tried to be bloody clever and failed, I see," the king said, "Ah well. It's time for truth-telling, now that we have you."
He looked to Jon. "The young Stark here asked how I knew about your plan. I'd tell you now, if it please you."
Halfhand made a low noise with his throat. "Spit it out, Mance. I'm not going to stand here in a state of wild suspense."
The King guffawed and moved closer. To Jon's surprise, he went to Ghost first, holding out a hand for inspection. Jon watched carefully. Ghost would know the man's intentions. The direwolf sniffed the offered limb, but nothing more.
Mance smiled at Jon. "I mean you no harm."
"But why?" Jon asked.
The king held up his free hand. "We'll speak of that too. But to explain that and how I was able to find you all so quickly, I first need to speak of our allies."
"The Canadians?" Halfhand said, "Or Ithacans, as they tried to claim to be. It was they who told you where we were?"
Mance's smile widened considerably, his eyes laughing at them. Jon simmered, misliking his attitude. "The Canadians are not here," the king stated, side stepping the wolf to stand opposite the Halfhand, "But they are the reason why we were able to find you. After you Crows declared war, their prince came to me. He said I can't arm you with our weapons, but I can arm you with ideas."
Prince? What prince? Jon thought. "Arm you with ideas?"
"I thought it fanciful myself, but he was not lying. The man you know as Ulysses has more ideas than time to speak them, it seems. Ways of doing things, and ways of thinking. He offered them freely, for me and mine to consider. Some, I liked right away."
"And that helped you catch us how?" Halfhand asked, impatient.
"Wargs," Mance replied, "Those of us who can wear the skin of animals at great distances are very useful. But they were scattered throughout the tribes, using their talents randomly. It was the Canadians' idea to bring them together and make better use of them."
"I knew there were those that could warg among you," Halfhand confirmed, "But not enough to make a difference."
"The blood of the First Men is thick north of the Wall, there are hundreds of wargs," Mance stated proudly, "Our camp is ringed with warged animals as sentries. Warged birds watch for the Others from the sky and bring messages like ravens. All tellings of goings-on and commands come and go from a single place; my tent."
The Halfhand grimaced. "So wolves, bears and shadowcats as much a part of this army as men and spearwives? No one south of the Wall will believe it."
"Until they see it," Mance agreed.
The animals… they weren't just tame, there were men riding in their minds. Jon couldn't believe his ears. "So you were able to know we were out there. You were able to inform the nearest tribe about our position, and dispatch the other wargs to surround us?"
The King wandered back towards his guards. "Aye."
He eyed Jon over his shoulder. "I promised to answer why we don't wish to harm you. The answer is that we'll soon be treating with your brother for terms of peace and settlement. It wouldn't do to have harmed you, or your direwolf. It was lucky for us that you were sent out, and that the wolf isn't at Castle Black. And even more luck that we had the means to take you, courtesy of our allies' ideas.."
Halfhand's face was stoney. "You're not planning to try the gate. I saw no preparations for battle… Where are the Canadians, Mance? Where is the tribe of the Laughing Tree?"
The King became equally grim, but resolute.
"They breached the Wall two days ago at the Nightfort, with Thenns, Ruddy Hall men and unicorn riders alongside. By now, they are readying themselves to attack Castle Black from the south."
Imagining the sound of the Canadians' weapons once more, Jon's blood turned to icewater in his veins. The Watch doesn't stand a chance.
Internet cookie to anyone who gets the reference in the chapter title
