The Serpent's Steppe, Northeastern Yi Ti

314 AC

It took them yet another day to reach the foot of the valley from the hills.

By the time they reached the Serpent's Steppe, night had already fallen. Snow floated downwards in small flakes, brushing against Duncan's reddened nose as he and the others approached the mound of rocks and gravel before them.

Mormont glanced up. Far at the top of the lone mountain was the fortress they'd been enlisted to infiltrate.

It seemed almost within running distance-were it not over a thousand feet in the air above him.

Serpent's Reach was a glowing beacon among the midnight sky filled with clouds. Lights were ablaze, likely torches and lanterns that the guardsmen were holding while out on their nightly patrols. The wind passed around the mountain and hummed in the air… strange… the sound felt almost familiar. Yet, as much as he tried to focus, he could bring himself to narrow down the exact memory that feeling belonged to.

So close, and yet so far, he thought to himself. And then again, as he saw Suara wave the rest of them along-his father's voice had come back to guide him one last time, as his father usually did in his own direct way.

"Get to work, son."

Mormont nodded, almost as if the owner of said voice was there presently with him. He followed Suara up the inclining hillside of loose stones. It stretched upwards rather unevenly, and where there had once been soil and plantlife inbetween the cracks in the rock there was now only snow and small shards of ice. More than once, had Mormont needed to use his hands to regain his footing when a stone would shake under his weight. Being as tall and muscle-bound as he was did not come with its disadvantages-at least when it came to stealth.

After an hour of climbing without breaks-the uneven hill lost its dull brackish gray colouring, turning snow white as they continued upwards.

The loose stones became less and less prevalent. They were soon replaced by clumps of mounding snow which proved to be even trickier to ascend. More than once had Duncan lost his footing, though he managed to recover quickly enough.

He was not alone in this plight-so too had his fellow operatives had trouble making progress up the mountain. None of them made the slightest sound of exasperation at the inconvenience, however.

Mormont had placed his hands in between two large rocks, and felt the strain in his back and shoulders as he heaved himself upwards and around them.

Cold had seeped into his gloved hands, and now his palms and fingers were numb. Better still, covered in rock dust.

"From one of the most powerful up and coming lords in Westeros to peasant rock climber… simply brilliant," he mused, almost cursing as his hand caught against the sharp edge of a stone. It wasn't enough to draw blood through his gloves, but it did leave a small cut in the thin layer of leather vertically along his right palm. Certainly an inconvenience were he to come into contact with any more sharp rocks throughout their ascent.

Again, the mount seem to get ever so steeper the further up they went (a rather obvious observation in hindsight). Mormont occasionally glanced to his right, seeing Suara or Mobu nimbly climb over stones that were nearly three times their size. And yet, he himself seemed to be having a much worse time about it.

Sweat soon clung to his brow and forehead, even underneath the light padded wool of his black garments and cowl. In spite of the cold, it remained.

Water had been a blessed relief.

It was on the second break of their climb, when they'd just about reached the halfway mark up the mountain that Duncan had found Suara and the others sitting in at the bottom of a rather narrow ravine. The gap between the two walls of stone seemed to lead upward without end. Up towards the stars.

Mormont had slung off the harness and straps belonging to the Chimera's Breath barrel and placed the damnable thing onto the ground. Then he'd sat against the wall and finished off the last few drops in his first waterskin.

The cool liquid had gone down his parched throat easily, and Duncan breathed out an alleviating sigh, perhaps only to catch a few minutes rest.

How long had it been now, this grizzling ascent of theirs? Two hours? Three?

Another look at his companions told him that, despite they're stoical nature, they too were almost spent from that prior slog. Some of them were either making liberal use of their rations, or trying to sleep.

Dawn would not be far off, though Duncan estimated that they still had roughly four more hours to go until the sun would finally rise in the East. Probably more.

A few more hours climbing then. Likely just up and above this ravine. They'd rest during the day, of course. Climbing then would almost be akin to a death sentence as they were far more likely to be seen by the guardsmen up at the fortress in open daylight.

Tomorrow evening was when they'd reach their ultimate destination, followed by another day's rest. Duncan had no illusions about what this entailed.

Infiltration. Scouting ahead, getting a layout of the fortress grounds, the courtyards, storehouses, critical points where they'd need to place the Chimera's Breath. Of course, this all would follow if they actually did discover any degenerate cultists laying about.

Mormont allowed himself an ironic smirk. If it did turn out that the Cult of Starry Wisdom wasn't even here in the first place, he'd just as well consider it his luck. He'd also look like quite the fool to his fellow operatives and to Mao in particular. Though the event of the spy in Jingsho would provide another lead in that case.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrghl… With the tightness that gripped his stomach, he'd instinctively reached into his satchel and procured some of the salted herring he'd been given as a ration.

The bones were easy enough to tear through with his teeth alone. The overbearing taste of cold fishmeat mixed salt and smoke was enough to reignite his senses, effectively waking him back up again with renewed energy for the upcoming trek.

"Storm is coming, Zūnjià."

Duncan glanced over to his right. Mobu was sitting across from him, with his back to the opposite wall of the ravine. He too was looking out to the vast forests beyond the mountainside.

"What?"

"A storm," Mobu reaffirmed. Though the other man did not meet Duncan's eyes. Strange. "We have barely been on this mountain for a quarter of a day, and already I know it is wrong."

Mormont scowled. "Wrong? How so, exactly?"

"You… do not feel it?"

What in the blazes was it with the YiTish and their feelings?

Was it intuition? Was it their steadfast faith in the Maiden-Made-of-Light that warned them of some equal and opposite evil force? Mormont, at least at the moment, had no clue as to which.

"No. Besides the ache in my bones and the cold, I haven't felt a thing."

Mobu frowned again, before looking back out to the stars above them. "This place… it is as if a heavy sickness looms over it. Almost like a soldier slowly decaying from an infected wound. I sense a small voice reaching outwards from the top of the mountain… one that inspires… despair."

The YiTish finally then matched Duncan's gaze once more. And said a few more words with a sense of finality.

"There is great evil here."

And with that, the other man turned over slightly and rested his head against the stone behind him.

Inspiring despair? Such an odd pairing of words indeed. And yet Duncan could not find it in himself to laugh, or even praise Mobu's normally uncharacteristic yet bardic-like usage of the Common Tongue.

Mormont hadn't sensed anything during the initial trek up the mountain. Admittedly he'd kept himself pre-occupied with not falling off to his death.

And yet… now that Mobu had brought it up, perhaps there was something after all…

…Even just the tiniest of sensations haunting the edges of his mind…

"You… not…"

He glanced over to his left so as to find the source of the sudden whisper…

No one was there at the mouth of the ravine though. And Mormont was suddenly reminded of the sound of soft snoring over to his right.

"What in the…" He was too baffled to finish the curse.

There was no chance that somebody had followed them up here-and yet that whisper was loud enough to have been said right into his own ear. So what exactly was going on here?

Was it just the snoring of the others? Was it the wind?

Probably. No, it simply had to be that. Likely a mixture of both now that he thought about it.

As Mormont made to tuck in for a rest, however… his instincts were firing off like a blacksmith's forge on a hot summer's day, and, even though he refused to acknowledge it, found himself slowly beginning to agree with Mobu.

Once they'd gotten up the ravine, the ascent had taken a sharp turn for the worst. Literally.

After waking in the early evening on the crag which was roughly seven hundred feet above the foot of the forest far below, Duncan had gotten a much better look at the fortress above. And, more importantly, at the distance he'd need to climb to get up to it.

Before, the challenge had been more of an upwards slope, a rather uneven hill mixed with ice, gravel and jagged stones.

Now however the mountain had jackknifed into a sharply vertical cliff-face; a sleek wall of pale rock that had been shaped over the course of thousands of years worth of wind, storms, and blizzards. Though it was inclined, there would be leverage for Duncan to lean against it, and, blessedly, there seemed to be plenty enough nooks and holes for one to place their hands and feet while ascending.

Clicking his tongue, Duncan looked towards the others. Suara and Mobu were speaking in whispers, while the others were getting out their rope and iron pitons.

"What's the word?" He asked as he approached the two men.

Both of them glanced at him. It was Suara who spoke. "We are approaching the northern flank of the Reach," he said, then pointing up to what appeared to be a lower parapet, almost fifty feet above. As it was below the main curtain wall of the castle, it was probably some sort of lookout. "See that?"

"Aye,"

"What?"

"I see it."

Suara almost shrugged and went back to his explanation, "From what we know of the castle, that battlement is inaccessible, as the tunnel connecting it to the Reach had collapsed in a storm. We believe it will provide suitable cover for our ropes and climbing gear, as the guards on the walls will not be able to see directly below the battlement itself. Once we reach the battlement, we will leave our climbing ropes behind and scale the wall one by one, and slip inside. We will first send in a smaller scouting party to find suitable hiding spots for the rest of us. If this cannot be done, we will have to…" Suara seemed to bite out the last word with a reserved snarl, "Improvise."

Mormont nodded. There was a lot riding on this little operation of theirs. Suara, understandably, didn't want to leave anything to chance. "I understand. What sort of spots should I be looking for then?"

"Granaries are excellent for concealment. So are storehouses, as there are plenty of barrels and stocks to hide amongst," The other man guided him back over to their view of the underside of the castle above. "As you are nearly three heads taller than myself, I recommend you take shelter inside one of the storehouses, or the upper floor of the stables. There are many such miscellaneous things kept in storage within these old castles. I have no doubt that you will find a suitable refuge."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Mormont said, "What if I or one of the others gets a good line on this fellow? The Yellow King, I mean. If an opening to get him presents itself… what are we to do then?"

Suara's expression had darkened somewhat, "Follow the plan. As instructed. If he is here, then we will light the barrels tomorrow at midnight. Most of the castle will be sleeping then. You remember the details, yes?"

"I do."

"Good. Now, get some rest. We will need all of our strength."

The wind was howling.

Only later in the day had a great gale come down from the North, and in the evening a chill had firmly settled within Mormont's bones.

Drawing parallels with Mobu's earlier dread, Mormont could only wonder if the sharp change in weather was some kind of premonition. Some sort of foreboding sense of doom lingering in the air.

No matter. The climb would be good enough exercise. Sweat would provide an additional layer of protection from the cold.

As night fell, the others had been hammering pitons into the cliffside inbetween smaller cracks in the rockface, of course they'd been covering the pitons each with a thick woolen cloth over them so as to suppress the noise created by the hammer strikes. Mormont had done the same, having chosen a fine position on the far side of the ledge they were stationed on.

Two pitons were needed to set up the anchor. Seeing as it would be one of the only things keeping him from falling to his death, he took his time setting it up, making sure each of the points held. As for the third, Mormont had decided to make use of a large stone horn jutting upwards out of the cliff. If he fell, then it would at the very least keep him from becoming a motionless pile of bones and Northman.

He looped one end of his rope through the holes in the two pitons and around the horn. Mormont then made up a double fisherman's knot-the one his mother taught him-and tied it just below the highest point, that being one of the pitons. Joining all three strands together, he pulled down to even out the tension, and then finally tied them together with an overhand knot-also taught to him by his mother.

Mormont tugged at the finished product once again, and was satisfied with his work when he felt that each point were weighted relatively equally, with the pitons holding strong. Another series of knots came when he tied himself to the loop of the master point of the cordelette. But over all if he suffered a fall, then he was confident that he'd be fine.

Suara came, and nodded along as he inspected Duncan's handiwork in what could only be considered 'stiff approval'.

The others had already wrapped up their own anchors, and Mobu had even begun the climb. It was time to go.

Mormont tested his anchor one last time. It held true. Then he glanced up towards the lower battlement of the castle situated above them and knew that what came next was going to be hell.

There were no toe-holds carved into the smooth rockface, so Mormont simply had to make do with the small bulbous stones that jutted outward. It was fairly often that his toes had almost slipped off the smooth round edges. Some of them seem to even come-

Immediately, Mormont's whole body tensed as the stone beneath his right foot came loose and jettisoned down into the cliffs below. A rough, harsh tearing sound emitted from below him and he heard the echoes of stone cracking against stone. His leg dangled helplessly over the drop, and he desperately searched for another stone to hold him. "Shit!"

Blessedly the sound was muted by the wind… but Mormont was still shaken. He caught his breath as he hugged the vertical cliff, leaning against it so as to fight off the weight of the small barrel strapped to his back.

First he glanced down and almost instantly regretted doing so.

The great ravine below yawned up at him, almost like the gaping jaws of a lion. The naked branches of the trees in the forest were practically invisible.

Such a long way down… Mormont forced himself to cool his nerves, to force the ice into his veins.

He looked away from the immeasurable pit beneath him and found relief in the cold stone in front of him.

"Seven hells, Duncan! Get it together!" He scolded himself, glancing upwards towards the battlements. "You're out of your depth. That's fine. You'll make it. How would Father handle this? How would Father handle this?"

The repeated question was almost like a prayer. Instinctively, as if in answer, Mormont reached for another stone above him.

Keep going. Just keep going. That's all you need to do. Keep going. Keep going. That's what Father would do. He'd just keep going.

"You plod along, one foot in front of the other, look up, and suddenly, there you are! Right where you wanted to be all along," more of Father's words came back to him then. Dredged up from memories from over a decade ago… almost as a reminder.

"You're almost there," he told himself as he continued to scale the cliff-face. Beads of sweat were already rolling down his forehead, dripping down onto his cheeks and lips.

He swiped away all thought of wiping the perspiration away. The others were ahead of him, and he refused to be the last one to make it to the castle wall.

New determination had settled in. Mormont reached for another rock and felt it loosen somewhat. But this time he was gentler, and edged away further to the left of the cliff, soon finding another stone to latch onto.

Suddenly, almost as if by miracle, the stones came easier to him. The rockface began to slope inwards! He scaled upwards, both further and faster.

It took him twenty minutes to climb the rest of the seventy or so feet up, and he made it to the base of the lower battlement before Suara had.

The wind up here was more powerful than ever. Great gusts hurled themselves into the immovable object that was the mountain, and were enough to make Mormont reposition himself closer to the battlement.

The foot of the castle wall started roughly ten feet above him, just where the parapet had jutted outwards. After a quick inspection of it, Duncan knew he'd be able to slip his aching toes inbetween the giant blocks of stone, and grasp for adequate handholds. His muscles were tensed and strained, but perhaps he had one last go in him before they settled in for the evening.

Suara and the others had made it up soon enough, and they all began to untie themselves from the rope connected to the anchor points below. Mormont did the same, and quietly hammered his last piton into the rock, tying his rope to it. Certainly, it would be out of sight of the guardsmen patrolling the walls, even during the day, as it would be hidden by the parapet.

There was light on top of the wall. Likely lantern-light. A torch wouldn't last long in the great gusts of wind. Mormont wondered how often the patrols were, and whether it would be possible to slip inside tonight.

Likely. No, almost definitely.

No doubt, Suara had the same idea. The YiTish had edged further out along the base of the parapet and waved them along. Very slowly, Mormont followed the others to the foundation of the castle wall.

His prior analysis had proven correct. The great stone blocks were aged and weather-beaten. He would find purchase in climbing it, certainly.

Mobu and Suara had gone up first. For the nimble YiTish, it had taken scarcely a few minutes to cover the upwards gap of ten meters. At the top, they seemingly paused to glance back and forth along the wall before waving the rest of them up.

Now it was his turn.

Mormont slipped his toes into the cracks in the wall, feeling them scream worse than they had when he was climbing the cliff-face. He slithered quietly up the bulwark, and just before he reached the top, saw both Mobu and Suara slip up and over it.

Mormont grappled the stone ledge above him, hands grasping in between the crenellation, and with the muscles in his legs, swung himself up and over the top of the wall.