Prologue - Beyond the Wall, The Haunted Forest, 298AC

"What did you expect?" Ser Waymar Royce scoffed. "They're savages."

Will had just returned from scouting, frightened out of his mind, and told them in cracked sentences about what he had discovered. It was not the Wildling Raiders they were after he saw but desecrated dead bodies.

"You didn't see what I saw," Will shivered. "'I've never seen Wildlings do a thing like this. I've never seen anything like this, not ever, in my entire life!"

"Because you've seen all that is to ever be seen," Waymar was still unconcerned about the whole thing. It all sounded like the talk of a man who had nothing better to do other than exchange ghost stories over a fire.

Gared, on the other hand, was more cautious. He had been a man of the Night's Watch for more than forty years now, as a boy and man, he knew how easy it was to die out here. He lost Brothers here, had lost his ears and parts of his fingers and toes. He did not take anything lightly.

Especially on a night like this. There was an edge to this darkness that made his hackles rise. All day now, he felt as if something were watching him, something cold and implacable. Will had felt it too. Both wanted to ride like hell for the safety of the Wall, but Waymar was their Commander, and they were honor-bound to follow his orders.

"How close did you get?" Waymar asked.

"Close as any man could."

"We should head back to the Wall," Gared interrupted. "Mormont said to track them, and we did. They're dead. They shan't trouble us no more."

The young knight turned to his grizzled man-at-arms, a brow raised. "And you don't think they'll ask us how they died?" He shook his head at the two men who were acting more like frightened kittens than men of the Watch. "Get back on your horses."

Gared's lip curled, but he went to obey the order.

Will wasn't so keen on doing so, however. He went up to Waymar, hoping to dissuade him from going. "Whatever did that to them, could do it to us. They even killed the children."

"It's a good thing we're not children, then." The knight got onto his horse, looking down at the man as he spoke. "If you want to run back South, then run. Of course, they'll behead you as a deserter. If I don't catch you first. Get. back. On. Your. Horse. I won't say it again."

Will could only obey.

"Lead us there then. I would see these dead men for myself."

Will went to the front, Waymar up next with his sturdy warhorse, and lastly Gared brought up the rear, muttering to himself as he rode. They dismounted near an ancient gnarled ironwood. "It's just over that ridge, m'lord." Will started up the slope to the low ridge he'd used as a vantage point. They came to the top of the clearing where he had seen the bodies, and looked down.

His heart stopped in his chest.

They were gone. All the bodies were gone.

Ser Waymar let out a laugh beside him when he saw the empty space. "Your dead men seemed to have moved camp."

"They were here," he insisted.

Waymar looked at him with open scorn. "I'm not going back to Castle Black empty handed on my first ranging. We'll find these men, and report back to Mormont."

Will turned away, wordless. There was no use arguing. He went to the trees, and began climbing up. While Gared searched the ground for any tracks.

He reached the halfway point, when suddenly, Ser Waymar called out, "Who goes there?" His voice was uncertain, a contrast to his earlier cocksure demeanor.

Will stopped climbing, and looked down, listening. He heard the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of the stream, and a hoot of an owl.

Down below, Ser Waymar was turning in a slow circle. "Will? Gared? Answer me!"

Will opened his mouth to answer, but the words froze in his throat. Instinct screamed at him to keep his silence. Instead, he clung more tightly to his perch, pressed his face harder against the trunk.

The wind stopped. Cold surrounded him. A shadow emerged from the dark of the wood.

A Woman.

She wore a short-sleeved dress, despite the snow around them. She was tall and full-bosomed. Her skin was as white as the moon. Her hair, a stark white, surrounded her face and fell down in waves to her waist.

Unnatural. Was the first thought that came into Will's mind. Abomination.

Ser Waymar must have thought the same, for his breath came out as a hiss. "Come no farther," he warned. He threw his cloak back over his shoulders, to free his arms for battle, and took his sword in both hands.

The Woman - thing - merely stared. Will saw her eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice. Those eyes were fixed firmly on Ser Waymar.

Another shadow emerged from behind the Woman. It stood beside her. Tall and gaunt, with flesh as pale as milk. It wore strange armor that seemed to change color as it moved; both white as freshly fallen snow, then as black as the shadows.

The Other looked to the Woman. When she continued her staring, it slid forward on silent feet. In its hand was a longsword like none Will had seen before. No human metal had gone into the forging of that blade. It was translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it seemed to vanish when turned. A faint blue shimmer surrounded it, and somehow Will knew it was sharper than any razor.

Ser Waymar, to his credit, met them both bravely. "Dance with me then."

Will thought then, that he was a proper member of the Night's Watch, and regretted the words he had said about the lordling behind his back.

Before Ser Waymar could make another move, they came from behind the trees. Three…four…five… Behind him, to the right, to the left, they surrounded him.

The Woman said something in a language Will did not understand; her voice was like the cracking of ice on a winter's lake. The Other, the one that first appeared, answered back in a similar voice, but the tone was mocking.

The Woman took one last look at Ser Waymar, and turned away, seemingly dismissing him.

The Other took this as a sign to finally make its move, but Ser Waymar was ready to meet him. When their blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal; only a high thin sound that made Will want to cover his ears. So horrid it was. Ser Waymar lasted only a few moves, before his blade suddenly shattered like shards of ice. There was no time for either of them to be shocked, however, for the Other thrusted his sword forward where it bit through the ringmail of his stomach. He shrieked in pain and dropped to his knees. Blood welled out, streaming to the snow beneath and staining it.

The silent watchers moved forward then. Swords rose and fell, all in deathly silence. The only sounds were Ser Waymar's screams. Will shut his eyes. He could still hear their voices and laughter sharp as icicles.

By the time he found his courage, the sounds had long stopped, and the ridge below was empty. It took the cramping of his muscles and his fingers numb with cold, to finally climb down.

Ser Waymar laid face down in the snow. His cloak slashed in several different places. Will saw what was left of the sword a few feet away, the end was splintered and twisted like a tree struck by lightning. Will made to snatch it, 'this will be my proof'. The Old Bear or Maester Aemon would know what to do. Mayhaps Gared.

Gared. Was he still waiting out there with the horses? He had to hurry. Get back to Castle Black. Let the others know what had happened.

A shadow fell over him.

His heart froze.

Slowly he turned around.

Ser Waymar stood over him.

His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. The right eye was open. The pupil burned blue. It saw. The sword fell from his hands. Will closed his eyes to pray. Long, elegant hands tightened around his throat.

The touch was icy cold.