THE PRIVATE
"So you are one of the Canadians I have heard so much about? I am disappointed. You do not look particularly deadly. Though the red hood is sinister enough."
Louis regarded the woman with a frown he couldn't control. He was disappointed too. His expectations of what Rowan Umber would be like were shaped by her daughters; the commanding Dalla and the stunning Val. Their mother was tall, lean and had the same shape of the face and body build, and she had the same sort of red hair that Dalla did. But life north of the wall had not been kind otherwise. Her skin seemed hard, and wrinkles extended from the corners of her eyes but nowhere else.
Should've expected that, he thought to himself before responding, Anyone would age twice as fast in this place.
"I'm the deadliest and most sinister of us all," Louis joked back, "We've been ordered to escort you to the Canadian Forces Base at Gilly's Hall… You know it as Craster's but he's dead." He gestured to a number of Free Folk with him, young ones that would obey his orders without too much trouble. 'Being groomed for command' was how Sergeant O'Neill had put it, with a laugh and a slap on his back.
Lady Rowan gave a terse nod. "Aye, I had heard Craster was given what he deserved," she said, "Am I to meet the woman who did it? She at least should live up to her reputation."
Louis smiled. Zheng was going to enjoy this. "She'll be there," he assured his guest, "If you'll follow me please." The Free Folk fell in behind her, getting his hint.
"Don't have any choice," Lady Rowan replied, picking up her pack.
"The Queen commands, and we obey," Louis chanted, not sure if the lyrics translated properly, "Over the hills and far away."
His guest gave a roaring laugh at that, indicating her approval. "Aye, that's how it is, north or south of the Wall."
They moved towards the camp again, following the path Rowan and a small group of villagers had been walking before Louis and his squad had dropped out of cover. They soon ran into the first of the new inhabitants.
The giants strode out of the trees, giving friendly noises and gestures to Louis as they spotted him. He waved casually back to them and shouted hellos in their own tongue, before getting on with his task as they moved away to continue their own. Or he tried to. Lady Rowan had slowed down, as had some of his squad.
"Come on," Louis urged, "Don't have all day. It'll be dark soon." And everyone knows what comes out in the dark around here.
That snapped all of them out of their tardiness, but didn't stop their mouths running.
"You speak the Old Tongue?" Lady Rowan asked.
Louis could see that was a question the warriors following behind her also shared. "I can speak every language of Westeros," he replied, "Something I thank God for every day, or else we'd all be dead already."
"What god?"
"…That's a long story."
They continued on to the tent city that was the camp of the King Beyond the Wall, finding many of its tents being packed up and put onto sleds and carts. The plan was being put into action.
Louis knew the general details. Six Skins with the Ice River and cave dweller clans would go west to attack the Shadow Tower. The tribes gathered at Hardhome would round the wall at Eastwatch on boats. Mance would take almost everyone else to just north of Castle Black. The LT would lead the Thenns, Giantsbane's clans, the unicorn riders, the giants, some wargs and the Laughing Tree tribe to an abandoned castle of the Wall to breach it.
A plan involving people no one back home has never heard of before.
What Louis didn't understand was how all of this would be coordinated, and that bothered him. The LT hadn't told anyone and everyone knew better than to ask. His thoughts were occupied by this
"The plan shall not work," Lady Rowan said out of the blue.
It was Louis' turn to slow down. How did she know what I was thinking about? "What do you mean?"
"Your plan. Mance's plan. My father does not care for me. The northern lords will hate me for bearing the children of wildlings. I told King Mance this, I told my daughter this, they do not listen. Only my Val listens, but she loves her sister too much for sense."
Louis stopped entirely. "You don't know that you'll be rejected, maybe the lords will see sense, or your father will see himself in you. Your daughters are beautiful and wise too..." Feeling his cheeks burn red at that admission, he snapped his mouth shut, regretting it at once.
Lady Rowan barked a laugh. "An honest one, at least! But you're wrong boy. You'll see. The lords will regard me as a traitor for not trying to get home and for laying down with a wildling, no matter that he was a good man, a better man than all of them. Except perhaps the Starks, they have decent heads on their shoulders, though they were no aid to me either."
"But doesn't the Wall stop everyone getting home?" Louis asked. Including us.
"Aye, that it does. And it will matter not."
The hall was full of people when they arrived, but they all got out of the way when Louis told them to. Twenty or more chiefs sat shoulder to shoulder on the benches, their unique dresses more obvious with familiarity. The white wooden mask of the one called Morna, the walrus tusks of the Great Walrus who wasn't actually a walrus. Craster's former 'family' watched them all from the loft spaces, weapons near their hands.
At the end of the benches, Zheng was on her throne, dressed and armed for battle in every way except for her helmet and goggles. The others were too. The march was to begin after midday. Sitting opposite the LT and O'Neill, the King, Queen and Princess were smiling at something someone had said, as were the nearby chieftains.
They're in a good mood, Louis thought as he led Lady Rowan forward, They have hope. The negotiations on how things would play out had been heated, but now that a plan, any plan, to get past the Wall so quickly was in motion, the Free Folk saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
"We have more and more villages joining us every day…" the King grinned at the LT, "Word is spreading, and bringing us more animals, stores and seeds daily."
"Well, most important thing is we're denying the Walkers fresh bodies," the LT replied, before noticing Louis and his charge, "Ah, Sayer. You got here quickly."
Louis snapped off a salute to the officer before speaking. "Yessir. Lady Rowan walks fast."
A rumble of laughter went around the firepits. To them, Rowan was just some random village woman. It was amusing to them that she was some kind of noble to the 'kneelers', even if she was mother to women that were regarded almost as highly. Louis felt they were stupid in that, parents shape their children and deserve some dues when the children succeed. Maybe you just miss your own mother, he thought to himself, as Rowan stepped past him.
"Lady or not, here I am," she said, addressing the King, "As agreed. Though you said it would likely be next year you would need me."
"When I said that, we had not yet the strength to bypass the Wall with certainty," the King replied, "But now we do. I am not sorry I called you."
Lady Rowan shook her head. "Of course," she replied, "I doubt you have felt regret for anything in your life. Except spending so much time with the Crows, mayhaps."
The King did not react, though the Queen's face darkened with displeasure. Louis grimaced. Clearly there was some truth in what had been said, and Lady Dalla did not see it the same way as her mother. He inched away from Rowan. Too many eyes, too close.
The LT cleared his throat. "Argue about this another time. You know why you were called. You have agreed to it or you would not have come. Or did you hike it up here just to say no to our faces?"
"I'll do as I said I would," Lady Rowan stated, "I keep my promises." The words unlike some were left unspoken, but lingered in the air after the sentence regardless, so much so that Louis could practically read them in the air above her head.
The LT stared at her for a moment, considering a reprimand, before relenting and turning his attention back to the King. "We have everything we need to give this idea a chance. Now is our last opportunity to change our minds. Even if all your clans do not do what they say, my people and the tribes coming with me will be south of the Wall within days."
The Queen shook her head. "No, sooner is best," she said, "With all the villages near the Wall emptying, the Crows will know something is happening and we must move soon."
"All the game animals are swimming around the Wall," Val agreed, "The Others are chasing them out of the North. When the cold comes, we will have nothing to eat. We go now."
Mance leaned forward onto his knees, and warmed his hands against the fire. "My Queen and her sister speak true, Canadian. The chieftains and their clans, the giants and the gods all demand action. We go now."
The LT gave a loud sigh and stood to his feet. Sergeant O'Neill and Corporal Zheng followed him onto theirs, as he raised his voice. "Gilly! Could you join us here please?"
There was some commotion as the Free Folk girl clamoured down a ladder, the attention of every stare on her as she moved, all the way from the front of the hall to the back. She gave a small smile as she passed Louis, which he returned as she made it alongside Zheng.
"Gilly of the Hall," the LT said, "On behalf of her Majesty, Elizabeth the Second, Queen of Canada, I thank you for your hospitality and use of this place. I now return it to you and your family. We will always remember your friendship. Please accept this token of our thanks." He gestured to the Sergeant, who began rummaging under his armour.
Louis wondered why the LT had made such a grand declaration, until he saw the Free Folk glancing at each other with some trepidation. Gilly and her family are friends of Canada, so attacking them is attacking us.
The Sergeant finally produced a brick of Cadbury's chocolate, which Gilly received with wide eyes. She knew what it was and held it close.
"Don't eat that all at once," Louis advised with a wink, "We'll see you on the other side of the Wall."
"T-thank you," Gilly said, her voice wavering, "We'll go."
The LT gave an approving nod to Louis, before issuing the orders. "Sayer, climb to the roof and recover our colours," he said, "We're leaving."
"Yessir."
Day three of the march.
Louis found himself at the absolute rear with O'Neill and Ygritte once again. Their job was keeping the stragglers from falling behind, and drilling the new units of pikemen and pikewives, all of them young men and women of the Laughing Tree tribe. Their pikes were tipped with bone spikes and torches, not metal blades. The other unit was guarding the civilians.
The LT and Zheng were scouting ahead, hopping from hill to hill in the crawler with the unicorn riders, watching for Crows or wights and never going out sight of the column on foot.
Each of the tribes kept to their own, but followed the order of march that the LT had laid out; Giantsbane in front, then the giants themselves, the Thenns and lastly the Laughing Tree tribe.
It was like herding cats, Louis decided. Getting the Free Folk warriors to march continuously was easy, they were physically fit, all of them. But getting them to do it in a way that would make them difficult to attack was hard. At least according to O'Neill.
Add on the weight of the pikes and they were not happy marchers. Lots of huffing and puffing. Only the threat of Crow cavalry or an attack by wights in numbers prevented them from tossing the long spears down and shivving the Sergeant. Louis thought they already wished they hadn't left their parents, who were joining Mance's force instead.
"Ah shit!" O'Neill half-shouted, "Not again!"
Louis raised his rifle in the direction of O'Neill's sector, searching for a target, but found none. Instead, the Sergeant was wiping the bottom of his boot on a nearby log. "Ah, sorry Sayer," he said, "Fecking unicorn shit again."
"You shouldn't complain about unicorns," Ygritte intoned gravely, "They don't like it, more so that there aren't many of them left."
Louis smiled. "I think the Sergeant doesn't care what some horses think."
The spearwife cocked an eyebrow. "Unicorns aren't horses. They're cousins to aurochs, it's said. Their twisted horn is actually two horns weaved together, if you look close."
O'Neill grumbled and resumed the march at a faster pace to keep up with the column. "Ygritte, while that is very interesting information, I really don't want to smell unicorn shit ever again. Forgive me if I don't care if there aren't many left."
The spearwife scowled. "You know nothing. Those unicorns ahead of us? They're the last north of the Wall. I know not if there are more south of it, but raiders don't speak of them except on the isles of the Skagosi."
"Well, I'm a soldier not a fecking zoologist," O'Neill retorted, "Now shut yer gob."
Louis suppressed a snort. The Sergeant's Irish accent grew stronger as he got more annoyed.
"I'll shut mine when you shut yours, sir," Ygritte replied, "And what the bugger is a zu-ol-gist?"
The Sergeant rolled his eyes upwards to heaven, muttering to himself about not being an officer, insubordination and wondering what Duquesne saw in 'the eejit'. Ygritte heard him, but stayed quiet. A bad sign. Louis quickly joined her.
"Don't worry," he whispered, "He's not going to do anything to drive you away."
Her mouth untied, Ygritte smirked and punched Louis on the shoulder. "Aw, aren't you as sweet as summer honey. Trying to get under my furs, Louis Sayer?"
Embarrassed, Louis coughed and looked away, back towards the left of the ranger road where he was supposed to be keeping watch. "Just think you shouldn't worry about the LT is all."
She punched him again and began whistling a pretty tune. Some of the others ahead followed suit, the pace picking up as they marched along with it. By the time they stopped, even Louis had joined in.
"What was that?" O'Neill asked Ygritte when it was over with.
"Bold Bael," she replied, "About one of our kings, wandering the land. There's words to it, but everyone disagrees on what they are, but everyone knows the tune."
"Very nice," Louis said.
"Not very martial though," O'Neill said, "I've got a better song for this."
"Will the magic translate it?" Louis asked.
"We'll find out!" Ygritte said quickly, "Sing it, I want to hear a song from your land."
O'Neill let out a laugh. "This one is from where I was born, not Canada," he said, "But give this a try. It's called 'The Rising of the Moon'." He cleared his throat and began to sing in a thunderous tone and volume.
"And come tell me Sean O'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so
'Hush, mbuachaill, hush and listen,' and his cheeks were all aglow
'I bear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon!'"
"At the rising of the moon, at the rising of the moon
For the pikes must be together at the rising of the moon!"
The column slowed, heads turning to the rear to watch him.
"'And come tell me Sean O'Farrell, where the gathering is to be"
At the old spot by the river; quite well known to you and me'
'One more word for signal token; whistle out the marching tune'
With your pike upon your shoulder at the rising of the moon!"
"Out from many a mud wall cabin; eyes were watching through the night
Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed warning light
Murmurs rang along the valleys to the banshee's lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon!"
"All along that singing river that black mass of men was seen
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green
Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom! 'tis the rising of the moon!"
By the time O'Neill finished, the Free Folk had stopped marching to listen, resting their pikes on the ground. From what Louis could hear, the lyrics were being discussed. "I guess that answers the question," he said, "The magic does translate songs."
The Sergeant frowned and turned to Ygritte for confirmation.
"Aye, I understood it," she said, "Some words were strangely used, but... It's a fine song. I like the last verse best."
The part about death to traitors and freedom, Louis thought to himself, Of course she likes that part.
"It shouldn't have worked," O'Neill stated with certainty, "Our languages should be too different. And why would you bother making a translation magic that does songs? Seems a bit much to me."
Louis gave a thumbs up. "At least we have alternative careers if the soldier thing doesn't work out. Wait until they hear It's a Long Way to Tipperary."
The Sergeant narrowed his eyes. "Don't think I'm going to be singing for my soup any time soon, Private," he replied, before he raised his voice once more, "Column, resume march!"
After the sun began to move towards the mountains in the west was the march interrupted again. Low, fluffy clouds gathered above, and snow dumped down.
"The wargs report enemies to the rear," the LT declared by radio, "Six hundred plus X-Rays. Could be wights. Sergeant, Giantsbane's forces are already at camp, and the Thenns are not far behind. You can't reach us before contact. Stand to and prepare to receive the enemy. I have sent a runner to turn the Thenns around."
Louis stopped and turned around in a snap, trying to see the enemy through the flurry of snow. He saw nothing.
The Sergeant roared at the column to halt before he replied to the LT. "Copy. When is the crawler's ETA?"
There was a pause.
"The fuel trailer fell sideways in a rut, it was hidden under the snow. We can't disconnect it at the angle it's sitting at, the connector pin is jammed. Your orders are to hold until the Thenns get there, and keep holding until we can make it out there on foot."
Louis saw the Sergeant clench his jaw ever so slightly at the news, and fear began creeping up his own back like a poison spider. O'Neill had come to a conclusion, and it was not a good one.
"Copy," O'Neill said, before turning to Ygritte, who was hovering nearby, "Wrap up for the cold; wights are coming. Form hedgehog and ignite weapons."
Ygritte, her eyes wide, immediately raised her voice and relayed the commands. Ryk, at the other end of the column, soon led the forward unit back to join them. Louis began putting on the layers of clothing again, just as the Sergeant had commanded, zipping up the camouflaged coat that had formerly belonged to Arran over the top of his red-grey Ranger one and dropping his snow-goggles over his eyes.
The Free Folk made a rough circle of warriors, around Louis, the Sergeant and the man holding their Laughing Tree banner, as they had been taught to do. The Sergeant grumbled at the speed and roughness of the formation coming together, but the warriors at least got the part about igniting their weapons right. The pikes came down, the torches attached to the ends were lit, and then they were raised again; ready to present a wall of fire and speartips to any wight that approached.
As they did, the snow cleared from the north, replaced by a cold wind. Wights walked the trail behind, hundreds of them a hundred metres away. "Just in time," Louis sighed, "We'll survive this."
"Don't think so, Private," O'Neill said quietly, "Look at the top of the hill behind. The one we walked around."
Louis looked. Four pairs of glowing blue eyes looked back at him, from atop white horses. Shit shit shit, he thought, White walkers, and four?!
"Yeah, I don't think six hundred was a good count," he said to O'Neill.
"No shit. Just our luck we put a warg on recon who can't count."
"What do we do?"
The Sergeant ignored Louis and reported the situation to the LT, but the answer was the same; hold out until reinforcements arrived. Running like hell to get a bigger group together was just too risky, according to the LT. Yet more wights appeared from around the hill; they were gathering now, not just running towards their prey. They have more control than I thought, Louis thought, stopping himself placing his finger on the trigger of his ranger-rifle.
O'Neill nudged him to get his attention. "Private, wake up. I asked you a question. Can you hit the White Walkers from here?"
Louis blinked, and looked back out towards the demons. He had to force himself to concentrate, like the things were trying to disrupt his thinking by some magic. You're just afraid, idiot. "Looks like 500 metres or so. I can hit one of them, no problem, but they'll just scatter and hide if they're smart."
O'Neill grit his teeth, something Louis could see only because the Sergeant's face was still uncovered so he could shout louder. The man's reply came in English next. "One isn't going to be good enough."
"No, it isn't," Louis agreed. The three remaining would easily command enough wights to kill the entire Laughing Tree tribe's fighting force.
"You'll need to get closer, Private. Much closer."
Louis felt the hair all over his body try to stand on end. "Sergeant?"
"You heard me, Private. If we don't disrupt their command and control of those dead men, we'll all be joining them. We will not hold out. The warriors here aren't soldiers yet, they'll crack. And if I leave, they'll crack even sooner. So it has to be you."
Frozen to the spot, Louis stared at the Sergeant. He knew what he was being ordered to do. The Sergeant sighed, and put his hand on his shoulder. "Leave by the back of the formation, get around them. Hit them hard." He produced the obsidian dagger from his pocket. "Take Ygritte, give her this, she'll watch your back."
The last part snapped Louis out of his statue moment. He took the dagger and glanced at it for a moment. "Ygritte? Why her?"
"Because she's the only person who's seen us stand up to a White Walker in person, so she'll not run at the sight of another one. You have your orders Private, move now!"
Unable to find an excuse to disagree or fault the O'Neill's logic, Louis gave his salute, his heart feeling like someone had clamped their fist around it. He turned and found Ygritte standing, barking orders at a group of warriors to stand closer together. He grabbed her and pulled her along.
"Let me go!" she shouted at him.
"We've got orders!" Louis shouted back.
"I don't understand what you're saying, you half-wit Canadian!"
Annoyed, Louis consciously turned on the magic translator again. "We're going to hunt the Walkers," he said, shoving the 'dragonglass' weapon into her hand, "Right now!"
Ygritte halted, not letting herself be pulled along any further. For a moment, Louis thought he would have to go alone, that she would refuse outright… but her eyes tracked towards his weapons, a second each on his ranger-rifle and the assault one that had belonged to Singh. That seemed to decide something for her, and she slapped his hand off her furs. "Aye," she said.
Whether it was the irrational annoyance at her refusal or her sudden confidence, Louis felt some of the burden release from his shoulders. Together, they shoved their way out of the circle. The warriors seemed confused, but the Sergeant's shouts and the threat of his weapon kept them in place. Ygritte seemed to know the area, and led the way up another hill to the side, which they could use to bypass the wights.
They were half way up the front slope, the snow making it difficult, when the wights charged, gargling and screeching. Whatever force had coordinated them to wait was released, and the attack came in blobs of running corpses.
Louis was suddenly glad he wasn't down with the others, as the things threw themselves on the pikes and turned themselves into un-living pyres on the torches. Tracers ripped through them here and there, burning a line through the massed bodies where they threatened to break the formation.
"…we are heavily engaged," O'Neill said over the comms, cracks from his rifle joining his voice on the line, "Where are the Thenns, sir?"
"En route," the LT replied, "The unicorn riders are mounting up to come to you. Stand to."
"Copy."
"Move, move!" Ygritte urged Louis, "If the Others notice us up here, they'll send wights!"
The trail led into the forest, Louis noticing Ygritte muttered to herself the whole way, her head moving side to side as she scanned every tree for the enemy. No wights popped out to ambush them, though it got darker with every passing minute.
Passing between the two hills was the most dangerous part, as stray wights still crawled or hobbled by towards the fight. Needing to distract himself from the danger just ahead, Louis decided to do something practical. He changed the magazines of his weapons as they waited for the way to clear; both rifles would now fire the tracer rounds that burned the undead and crippled White Walkers, exclusively.
"Ready?" he asked Ygritte.
"No," the spearwife admitted, "Wish Michael Duquesne and the others were here. Your crawler too."
"If only."
Every instinct telling him to run like hell away, Louis stepped out of the treeline and into the clearing between the two hills. The crunch of fur boots in the freshly frozen snow behind told him that Ygritte was following. They made it to cover on the other side, and began moving as quickly but quietly as possible towards their prey across the long rise.
The White Walkers came into view at about a hundred metres, their gazes still fixed on the fierce battle below, their ears still attuned to Sergeant O'Neill's shooting. The white horses they were sitting on were not actually white, but were dead and covered in frost, their own large eyes glowing the same blue as the human wights.
Cold sweat dampening the inner layer of his clothes, Louis' heart began pumping harder, so he felt it all over his body and loudly in his ears. Nausea swept over him, forcing him to bite it down as hard as he could. Not taking any chances, he selected his bolt action rifle for the job. They had only used the smaller calibre assault rifles against the demons before. Maybe the bigger bullets will do more damage, he hoped, Maybe the tracers will burn longer inside the things too.
"When I shoot, they're going to move back into the trees," he whispered to Ygritte, "We'll follow them, and hunt them down. We need to hit as many as we can, so their wights drop and stop killing our friends. If one gets close, you need to use the dagger. Got it?"
Ygritte raised the obsidian up to indicate agreement, but her hand shook as she did so. She'd do the job, but she wasn't happy about it.
With every second counting, Louis lay down and brought his bolt action ranger rifle to his cheek and aimed. His first target was the one that seemed to be the leader, the thing's position being a little further forward than the others, an ice-sword leaning against its shoulder where the rest had theirs sheathed.
The heartbeat in his ears got louder as he lay down and zeroed in on the target. His nausea threatened to rise up his throat. His mouth dried up. His legs threatened to shake. His bladder threatened to empty. It took everything he had to do his duty.
If I don't do this, I'm dead anyway, he kept repeating in his head, If I don't do this, I'm dead anyway.
"Sayer here," Louis reported by radio, not hearing his own words, "Commencing attack."
He squeezed the trigger, and his rifle thundered, recoiling back into his shoulder. The tracer bullet left the barrel and shot straight into the target, exactly where he wanted it. The back of the White Walker's neck shattered like glass, splinters flying off into the air. The weight of its head suddenly unsupported, it fell clean off the rest of the neck and down into the snow. The decapitated body fell the other way off the wighted horse, disintegrating as it did so.
Louis looked on in shock. The larger bullets hit them way harder, his mind told him, And taking their heads off kills them. The White Walkers were in shock too; their mouths had dropped open and they looked towards their leader's corpse as it shattered further into a pile of cracked ice. But it didn't take long for a guttural shout and a pointed finger to redirect their attention towards him.
The physical symptoms of fear edging towards overwhelming him, Louis worked the bolt of his rifle to chamber another bullet and took aim again. The Walkers kicked their horses into moving, into what he thought was a charge directly at him. Ygritte saying something in his ear, Louis shot again. This time the bullet went wide; his second target had veered off.
The other riders redirected their mounts in a sharp swing to the right too, into the trees. They know they can't win with a direct attack over open ground, Louis thought, But it's not over. A quick glance to the fight down the trail told all that needed to be; the wights were still fighting, their masters had not really run away. They had just changed tactics.
But it was also true that his ranger rifle was lethal to them, if Louis hit them in just the right spot; the neck, collar or lower jaw. And he knew he was good enough to make his mark. The heart beating in his ears was no longer a countdown to death, it was the beat of a war drum. The shaking of his limbs was replaced by a numb strength. The nausea left him. Without conscious thought, or so it seemed, Louis stood up again and ran into the trees to find the enemy.
It did not take long.
The Walkers came silently even at a gallop or a sprint, using the trees to cover their approach. Louis watched and waited. The battlefield could've been ripped from anywhere in Canada's northern forests, and that was where he was taught to shoot, move and fight.
The three demons had split up to split his fire.
The first tried to go wide, relying on the speed of its horse, a mount that did not need to breath and probably never tired. But the mount was also a big target and a wight at the same time. Louis aimed not at the rider but at the horse, sending a tracer buzzing through the air and into its frozen flesh at the neck.
Flame engulfed the dead animal's skin, burning and crackling as it released a foul smell and acrid smoke. The rider shook its shoulders wildly in pain, mouth pouring out a sound like an iceberg smashing into a rocky shore, steam pouring from every orifice and mixing with the smoke. The burning horse tumbled sideways and pinned its rider.
As the Walker attempted to pull its leg from under it, Louis sent the next bullet downrange at the stationary target, neatly decapitating it, its body melting rather than disintegrating.
Beginning to feel like he might survive, he cycled the weapon once more and sought the next demon to kill. His bravado was dampened when he began to feel the cold even through his coats. It's close. Fearing he might be ridden down, Louis pulled Ygritte quickly behind a log, his eyes moving everywhere to find the demon.
It soon revealed itself, its armour changing colour like a chameleon as it stepped around the nearest upright tree. The thing swung its icy sword at Ygritte, the nearest of them to it, but it had emerged too early. Rolling out of the way, she brandished her dagger and jumped out of reach. Louis watched in horror as the Walker moved towards her, always keeping her between it and him. She swiped left and right, causing it to flinch, while the sword made passes to catch her, unsuccessfully.
The dragonglass. It fears the obsidian more than my rifle. Knowing he could exploit this, Louis waited until Ygritte bounced out of his line of fire.
It wasn't easy, because Ygritte wanted the kill herself. As the Walker brought down his sword in a stroke that would've cut the spearwife in two, Louis finally banished the cold with a bullet that entered the creature's collar. The base of its neck shattered at once, causing neck and head both to snap clear off the body to the frost on the ground. Ygritte jumped on the thing as it fell to the ground, bringing the dragonglass into the dying demon again and again for good measure, her gloves covered in the frost of the last of its magic.
Another one bites the dust, Louis' mind laughed, stupidly. It didn't laugh when the tree trunk he was beside shuddered with an impact; a glowing arrow of magic ice sticking out of it. Ygritte and Louis dove to the snow, just in time to avoid another shaft that flew through where she had been perched on the chunks of ice that had previously been a demon.
Peeking around the wood, Louis could see that the last White Walker had a bow. It was made of white weirwood, bleeding red sap all over the creature's hands, like the touch of the demon hurt the living being it was made from. Instead of drawing arrows from a bag or quiver, the thing summoned them from the ice and snow around it in a flurry of could only be magic.
A fever committing him to the fight against all rationality, Louis was not impressed with the magical display. He crawled around the tree trunk, presenting the smallest possible target profile as he had been trained to do. He lay his rifle's sights over the target once again. He knew if he did not hurry, it would be too late. Not looking impressed either, the demon drew back the bowstring to loose.
They shot at one another simultaneously.
The rifle struck faster than the bow did, the velocity of its projectile far greater. Whether the zero of the rifle's scope had been affected by the fall to the ground or if the rush to get a shot off resulted in a poor aim, it didn't matter. The bullet went low, shattering the demon's arm at the elbow, steam bursting from the cracks in its ice-skin at the entry wound.
The arrow's reply arrived late but still struck hard. Louis could do nothing but watch the last half-second of its flight as it came closer and closer. It struck him in the face. His vision in his left eye went red for a tiny moment and then black, as pain screamed along the side of his cheek and around his eye socket.
Words flooding into his ear over the comms meant nothing to him. Terror crushed every scrap of will Louis had left to fight, he curled up in pain and reached for the wound, while Ygritte grabbed him, shouting and trying to see for herself. Their gloved hands interfered with one another for what seemed like an age to Louis.
Eventually, he found no arrow-shaft sticking out of his head. The pain throbbed on, but subsided a little at his touch. He discovered his eye still intact, but had to blink away the blood, though his vision remained red with it. Thank you, God, he prayed, Thank you. His panic stopped abruptly, and he felt foolish for having fallen to it so far. The arrow had glanced off his cheekbone, the blades of its head cutting his skin deeply before it passed by him. The Walker shot before he could be sure of the kill too, he realised.
Louis' hearing returned too, and Ygritte's shouts were intelligible to him once more. "Wights! Wights are coming!"
The logical part of his brain clicked on again, and informed him that his own attack had been far from lethal. The creature was still commanding its wights, so the tracer had passed through the Walker's body entirely. That needed seeing to.
The will to seek the enemy flared up again and burned hotter than before, forcing Louis' jaw closed so tight it hurt as he recovered his weapon and stood up. "Follow me," he growled through his teeth at an astonished Ygritte, stepping on the tree and hopping forward towards the demon. He did not even look for the coming wights, though he could hear their movement like a wind over grass.
By the time Louis could see the Walker again, it had picked up its shattered arm and looked like it was attempting to re-attach it. Not about to let that happen, he cycled the bolt of his weapon once more and shot the thing's leg off, sending a shower of flying ice scattering all around. The demon sprawled on the ground, still clutching its detached arm. Steam poured from its lower wound, its glowing eyes rolling up into its head in pain. From behind, a loud and brief rumbling told that the wights under its command felt the pain too.
Triumphant, Louis approached at a run, sliding to a halt on the snow beside it and lowering the barrel of its weapon at its head. Light glowed and water bubbled off the thing's leg wound, where the tracer round had deposited its magnesium. Its glowing blue irises returned and looked up at him, defiant. Louis' teeth almost chattered from the anger rising from his throat. You don't even acknowledge you're beaten, do you? Do you?!
"I don't know if you can understand me, but listen up. I'm Louis Sayer, a Métis of Yellowknife, a Canadian Ranger. That's who killed you, you icy fuck. Tell your friends when you get back to Hell."
The demon spoke in reply, pushing itself up to a sitting position and giving off sounds like someone crushing ice cubes. Louis delivered his retort from the muzzle of his rifle. In a flash, the bullet cored out the middle of the thing's head. Whatever magic held it together was dispelled. Its body, remaining limbs, its strange armour and its weapon broke in a spider's web of cracks.
It grew quiet. Very quiet. With only his heartbeat and breathing audible, Louis looked this way and that, searching for wights or a White Walker coming to seek revenge. Taking his lead, Ygritte did the same. They saw nothing. The piles of long dead men, women and children about fifty yards away remained still, the wights no longer under the spell of the demon.
That hit Louis like a kick to the chest. All of his energy drained from him, his rifle feeling twice as heavy as it did before. Slowly, he slumped first to his ass and then onto his back, staring up at the darkening clouds above and breathing deeply. It's over, it's finally over. I won. How did I win?
"What's wrong?" Ygritte said, kneeling down beside him, "Did it hit you somewhere? Is your head swimming about like a fish?" She peered into his eyes and patted down his body, looking for another wound until he brushed her hands away.
"I'm okay. Fear really is the mind killer, is all."
"Wha-?"
"The little death that brings total obliteration."
"Oh gods, you've lost your mind."
Louis laughed and then coughed, forcing him to pull his canteen flask from under his coats to his mouth. The drink of water tasted like the best thing that had ever passed his lips in his short life. He poured some more over his wound and the eye nearby to wash it. "Of course I've lost my mind, I've been kidnapped from my home by magic and forced to fight demons. It's the end of the world, baby."
Ygritte pulled down her face covering, revealing a frown. Louis laughed again, and waved it off. "Never mind. Help me up." He offered his arm to her, and she pulled, eventually getting him upright again. He wobbled for a moment, but stayed on his feet. His fingers went to his radio.
"Sergeant, this is Sayer," he said, "Enemy eliminated, returning to your position."