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"If Gared said it was the cold . . ." Will began. |
"Have you drawn any watches this past week, Will?" |
"Yes, m'lord." There never was a week when he did not draw a dozen bloody watches. What was the |
man driving at? |
"And how did you find the Wall?" |
"Weeping," Will said, frowning. He saw it clear enough, now that the lordling had pointed it out. "They |
couldn't have froze. Not if the Wall was weeping. It wasn't cold enough." |
Royce nodded. "Bright lad. We've had a few light frosts this past week, and a quick flurry of snow now |
and then, but surely no cold fierce enough to kill eight grown men. Men clad in fur and leather, let me |
remind you, with shelter near at hand, and the means of making fire." The knight's smile was cocksure. |
"Will, lead us there. I would see these dead men for myself." |
And then there was nothing to be done for it. The order had been given, and honor bound them to obey. |
Will went in front, his shaggy little garron picking the way carefully through the undergrowth. A light |
snow had fallen the night before, and there were stones and roots and hidden sinks lying just under its |
crust, waiting for the careless and the unwary. Ser Waymar Royce came next, his great black destrier |
snorting impatiently. The warhorse was the wrong mount for ranging, but try and tell that to the lordling. |
Gared brought up the rear. The old man-at-arms muttered to himself as he rode. |
Twilight deepened. The cloudless sky turned a deep purple, the color of an old bruise, then faded to |
black. The stars began to come out. A half-moon rose. Will was grateful for the light. |
"We can make a better pace than this, surely," Royce said when the moon was full risen. |
"Not with this horse," Will said. Fear had made him insolent. "Perhaps my lord would care to take the |
lead?" |
Ser Waymar Royce did not deign to reply. |
Somewhere off in the wood a wolf howled. |
Will pulled his garron over beneath an ancient gnarled ironwood and dismounted. |
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"Why are you stopping?" Ser Waymar asked. |
"Best go the rest of the way on foot, m'lord. It's just over that ridge." |
Royce paused a moment, staring off into the distance, his face reflective. A cold wind whispered through |
the trees. His great sable cloak stirred behind like something half-alive. |
"There's something wrong here," Gared muttered. |
The young knight gave him a disdainful smile. "Is there?" |
"Can't you feel it?" Gared asked. "Listen to the darkness." |
Will could feel it. Four years in the Night's Watch, and he had never been so afraid. What was it? |
"Wind. Trees rustling. A wolf. Which sound is it that unmans you so, Gared?" When Gared did not |
answer, Royce slid gracefully from his saddle. He tied the destrier securely to a low-hanging limb, well |
away from the other horses, and drew his longsword from its sheath. Jewels glittered in its hilt, and the |
moonlight ran down the shining steel. It was a splendid weapon, castle-forged, and new-made from the |
look of it. Will doubted it had ever been swung in anger. |
"The trees press close here," Will warned. "That sword will tangle you up, m1ord. Better a knife." |
"If I need instruction, I will ask for it," the young lord said. "Gared, stay here. Guard the horses." |
Gared dismounted. "We need a fire. I'll see to it." |
"How big a fool are you, old man? If there are enemies in this wood, a fire is the last thing we want." |
"There's some enemies a fire will keep away," Gared said. "Bears and direwolves and ... and other |
things . . ." |
Ser Waymar's mouth became a hard line. "No fire." |
Gared's hood shadowed his face, but Will could see the hard glitter in his eyes as he stared at the knight. |
For a moment he was afraid the older man would go for his sword. It was a short, ugly thing, its grip |
discolored by sweat, its edge nicked from hard use, but Will would not have given an iron bob for the |
lordling's life if Gared pulled it from its scabbard. |
Finally Gared looked down. "No fire," he muttered, low under his breath. |
Royce took it for acquiescence and turned away. "Lead on," he said to Will. |
Will threaded their way through a thicket, then started up the slope to the low ridge where he had found |
his vantage point under a sentinel tree. Under the thin crust of snow, the ground was damp and muddy, |
slick footing, with rocks and hidden roots to trip you up. Will made no sound as he climbed. Behind him, |
he heard the soft metallic slither of the lordling's ringmail, the rustle of leaves, and muttered curses as |
reaching branches grabbed at his longsword and tugged on his splendid sable cloak. |
The great sentinel was right there at the top of the ridge, where Will had known it would be, its lowest |
branches a bare foot off the ground. Will slid in underneath, flat on his belly in the snow and the mud, and |
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looked down on the empty clearing below. |
His heart stopped in his chest. For a moment he dared not breathe. Moonlight shone down on the |
clearing, the ashes of the firepit, the snow-covered lean-to, the great rock, the little half-frozen stream. |
Everything was just as it had been a few hours ago. |
They were gone. All the bodies were gone. |
"Gods!" he heard behind him. A sword slashed at a branch as Ser Waymar Royce gained the ridge. He |
stood there beside the sentinel, longsword in hand, his cloak billowing behind him as the wind came up, |
outlined nobly against the stars for all to see. |
"Get down!" Will whispered urgently. "Something's wrong." |
Royce did not move. He looked down at the empty clearing and laughed. "Your dead men seem to have |
moved camp, Will." |
Will's voice abandoned him. He groped for words that did not come. It was not possible. His eyes |
swept back and forth over the abandoned campsite, stopped on the axe. A huge double-bladed |
battle-axe, still lying where he had seen it last, untouched. A valuable weapon . . . |
"On your feet, Will," Ser Waymar commanded. "There's no one here. I won't have you hiding under a |
bush." |
Reluctantly, Will obeyed. |
Ser Waymar looked him over with open disapproval. "I am not going back to Castle Black a failure on |
my first ranging. We will find these men." He glanced around. "Up the tree. Be quick about it. Look for a |
fire." |
Will turned away, wordless. There was no use to argue. The wind was moving. It cut right through him. |
He went to the tree, a vaulting grey-green sentinel, and began to climb. Soon his hands were sticky with |
sap, and he was lost among the needles. Fear filled his gut like a meal he could not digest. He whispered |
a prayer to the nameless gods of the wood, and slipped his dirk free of its sheath. He put it between his |
teeth to keep both hands free for climbing. The taste of cold iron in his mouth gave him comfort. |
Down below, the lordling called out suddenly, "Who goes there?" Will heard uncertainty in the challenge. |
He stopped climbing; he listened; he watched. |
The woods gave answer: the rustle of leaves, the icy rush of the stream, a distant hoot of a snow owl. |
The Others made no sound. |
Will saw movement from the corner of his eye. Pale shapes gliding through the wood. He turned his |
head, glimpsed a white shadow in the darkness. Then it was gone. Branches stirred gently in the wind, |
scratching at one another with wooden fingers. Will opened his mouth to call down a warning, and the |
words seemed to freeze in his throat. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had only been a bird, a reflection |
on the snow, some trick of the moonlight. What had he seen, after all? |
"Will, where are you?" Ser Waymar called up. "Can you see anything?" He was turning in a slow circle, |
suddenly wary, his sword in hand. He must have felt them, as Will felt them. There was nothing to see. |
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