All of Castle Black was connected underground by a maze3 of tunnels that the brothers called the wormways. It was dark and gloomy underneath4 the earth, so the wormways were little used in summer, but when the winter winds began to blow and the snows began to fall, the tunnels became the quickest way to move about the castle. The stewards6 were making use of them already. Jon saw candles burning in several wall niches7 as they made their way along the tunnel, their footsteps echoing ahead of them.
Bowen Marsh8 was waiting at a junction9 where four wormways met. With him he had Wick Whittlestick, tall and skinny as a spear. “These are the counts from three turns ago,” Marsh told Jon, offering him a thick sheaf of papers, “for comparison with our present stores. Shall we start with the granaries?”
They moved through the grey gloom beneath the earth. Each storeroom had a solid oaken door closed with an iron padlock as big as a supper plate. “Is pilferage10 a problem?” Jon asked.
“Not as yet,” said Bowen Marsh. “Once winter comes, though, your lordship might be wise to post guards down here.”
Wick Whittlestick wore the keys on a ring about his neck. They all looked alike to Jon, yet somehow Wick found the right one for every door. Once inside, he would take a fist-sized chunk11 of chalk from his pouch12 and mark each cask and sack and barrel as he counted them while Marsh compared the new count to the old.
In the granaries were oats and wheat and barley13, and barrels of coarse ground flour. In the root cellars strings14 of onions and garlic dangled15 from the rafters, and bags of carrots, parsnips, radishes, and white and yellow turnips16 filled the shelves. One storeroom held wheels of cheese so large it took two men to move them. In the next, casks of salt beef, salt pork, salt mutton, and salt cod17 were stacked ten feet high. Three hundred hams and three thousand long black sausages hung from ceiling beams below the smokehouse. In the spice locker19 they found peppercorns, cloves20, and cinnamon, mustard seeds, coriander, sage18 and clary sage and parsley, blocks of salt. Elsewhere were casks of apples and pears, dried peas, dried figs21, bags of walnuts22, bags of chestnuts23, bags of almonds, planks24 of dry smoked salmon25, clay jars packed with olives in oil and sealed with wax. One storeroom offered potted hare, haunch of deer in honey, pickled cabbage, pickled beets26, pickled onions, pickled eggs, and pickled herring.
As they moved from one vault27 to another, the wormways seemed to grow colder. Before long Jon could see their breath frosting in the lantern light. “We’re beneath the Wall.”
“And soon inside it,” said Marsh. “The meat won’t spoil in the cold. For long storage, it’s better than salting.”
The next door was made of rusty28 iron. Behind it was a flight of wooden steps. Dolorous Edd led the way with his lantern. Up top they found a tunnel as long as Winterfell’s great hall though no wider than the wormways. The walls were ice, bristling30 with iron hooks. From each hook hung a carcass: skinned deer and elk31, sides of beef, huge sows swinging from the ceiling, headless sheep and goats, even horse and bear. Hoarfrost covered everything.
As they did their count, Jon peeled the glove off his left hand and touched the nearest haunch of venison. He could feel his fingers sticking, and when he pulled them back he lost a bit of skin. His fingertips were numb32. What did you expect? There’s a mountain of ice above your head, more tons than even Bowen Marsh could count. Even so, the room felt colder than it should.
“It is worse than I feared, my lord,” Marsh announced when he was done. He sounded gloomier than Dolorous Edd.
Jon had just been thinking that all the meat in the world surrounded them. You know nothing, Jon Snow. “How so? This seems a deal of food to me.”
“It was a long summer. The harvests were bountiful, the lords generous. We had enough laid by to see us through three years of winter. Four, with a bit of scrimping. Now, though, if we must go on feeding all these king’s men and queen’s men and wildlings … Mole’s Town alone has a thousand useless mouths, and still they come. Three more turned up yesterday at the gates, a dozen the day before. It cannot go on. Settling them on the Gift, that’s well and good, but it is too late to plant crops. We’ll be down to turnips and pease porridge before the year is out. After that we’ll be drinking the blood of our own horses.”
“Yum,” declared Dolorous Edd. “Nothing beats a hot cup of horse blood on a cold night. I like mine with a pinch of cinnamon sprinkled on top.”
The Lord Steward5 paid him no mind. “There will be sickness too,” he went on, “bleeding gums and loose teeth. Maester Aemon used to say that lime juice and fresh meat would remedy that, but our limes were gone a year ago and we do not have enough fodder33 to keep herds34 afoot for fresh meat. We should butcher all but a few breeding pairs. It’s past time. In winters past, food could be brought up the kingsroad from the south, but with the war … it is still autumn, I know, but I would advise we go on winter rations35 nonetheless, if it please my lord.”
The men will love that. “If we must. We’ll cut each man’s portion by a quarter.” If my brothers are complaining of me now, what will they say when they’re eating snow and acorn36 paste?
“That will help, my lord.” The Lord Steward’s tone made it plain that he did not think that it would help enough.
Dolorous Edd said, “Now I understand why King Stannis let the wildlings through the Wall. He means for us to eat them.”
Jon had to smile. “It will not come to that.”
“Oh, good,” said Edd. “They look a stringy lot, and my teeth are not as sharp as when I was younger.”
“If we had sufficient coin, we could buy food from the south and bring it in by ship,” the Lord Steward said.
We could, thought Jon, if we had the gold, and someone willing to sell us food. Both of those were lacking. Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn’s sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark37’s bastard38. As a boy, he often felt as if the lady grudged39 him every bite.
“We can always hunt if need be,” Wick Whittlestick put in. “There’s still game in the woods.”
“And wildlings, and darker things,” said Marsh. “I would not send out hunters, my lord. I would not.”
No. You would close our gates forever and seal them up with stone and ice. Half of Castle Black agreed with the Lord Steward’s views, he knew. The other half heaped scorn on them. “Seal our gates and plant your fat black arses on the Wall, aye, and the free folk’ll come swarming40 o’er the Bridge o’ Skulls42 or through some gate you thought you’d sealed five hundred years ago,” the old forester Dywen had declared loudly over supper, two nights past. “We don’t have the men to watch a hundred leagues o’ Wall. Tormund Giantsbutt and the bloody43 Weeper knows it too. Ever see a duck frozen in a pond, with his feet in the ice? It works the same for crows.” Most rangers44 echoed Dywen, whilst the stewards and builders inclined toward Bowen Marsh.
But that was a quandary45 for another day. Here and now, the problem was food. “We cannot leave King Stannis and his men to starve, even if we wished to,” Jon said. “If need be, he could simply take all this at swordpoint. We do not have the men to stop them. The wildlings must be fed as well.”
“How, my lord?” asked Bowen Marsh.
Would that I knew. “We will find a way.”
By the time they returned to the surface, the shadows of the afternoon were growing long. Clouds streaked46 the sky like tattered47 banners, grey and white and torn. The yard outside the armory48 was empty, but inside Jon found the king’s squire49 awaiting him. Devan was a skinny lad of some twelve years, brown of hair and eye. They found him frozen by the forge, hardly daring to move as Ghost sniffed50 him up and down. “He won’t hurt you,” Jon said, but the boy flinched51 at the sound of his voice, and that sudden motion made the direwolf bare his teeth. “No!” Jon said. “Ghost, leave him be. Away.” The wolf slunk back to his ox bone, silence on four feet.
Devan looked as pale as Ghost, his face damp with perspiration52. “M-my lord. His Grace c-commands your presence.” The boy was clad in Baratheon gold and black, with the flaming heart of a queen’s man sewn above his own.
“You mean requests,” said Dolorous Edd. “His Grace requests the presence of the lord commander. That’s how I’d say it.”
“Leave it be, Edd.” Jon was in no mood for such squabbles.
“Sir Richard and Ser Justin have returned,” said Devan. “Will you come, my lord?”
The wrong-way rangers. Massey and Horpe had ridden south, not north. Whatever they had learned did not concern the Night’s Watch, but Jon was curious all the same. “If it would please His Grace.” He followed the young squire back across the yard. Ghost padded after them until Jon said, “No. Stay!” Instead the direwolf ran off.
In the King’s Tower, Jon was stripped of his weapons and admitted to the royal presence. The solar was hot and crowded. Stannis and his captains were gathered over the map of the north. The wrong-way rangers were amongst them. Sigorn was there as well, the young Magnar of Thenn, clad in a leather hauberk sewn with bronze scales. Rattleshirt sat scratching at the manacle on his wrist with a cracked yellow fingernail. Brown stubble covered his sunken cheeks and receding53 chin, and strands54 of dirty hair hung across his eyes. “Here he comes,” he said when he saw Jon, “the brave boy who slew55 Mance Rayder when he was caged and bound.” The big square-cut gem56 that adorned57 his iron cuff58 glimmered59 redly. “Do you like my ruby60, Snow? A token o’ love from Lady Red.”
Jon ignored him and took a knee. “Your Grace,” announced the squire Devan, “I’ve brought Lord Snow.”
“I can see that. Lord Commander. You know my knights61 and captains, I believe.”
“I have that honor.” He had made it a point to learn all he could of the men around the king. Queen’s men, all. It struck Jon as odd that there were no king’s men about the king, but that seemed to be the way of it. The king’s men had incurred63 Stannis’s ire on Dragonstone if the talk Jon heard was true.
“There is wine. Or water boiled with lemons.”
“Thank you, but no.”
“As you wish. I have a gift for you, Lord Snow.” The king waved a hand at Rattleshirt. “Him.”
Lady Melisandre smiled. “You did say you wanted men, Lord Snow. I believe our Lord of Bones still qualifies.”
Jon was aghast. “Your Grace, this man cannot be trusted. If I keep him here, someone will slit64 his throat for him. If I send him ranging, he’ll just go back over to the wildlings.”
“Not me. I’m done with those bloody fools.” Rattleshirt tapped the ruby on his wrist. “Ask your red witch, bastard.”
Melisandre spoke65 softly in a strange tongue. The ruby at her throat throbbed66 slowly, and Jon saw that the smaller stone on Rattleshirt’s wrist was brightening and darkening as well. “So long as he wears the gem he is bound to me, blood and soul,” the red priestess said. “This man will serve you faithfully. The flames do not lie, Lord Snow.”
Perhaps not, Jon thought, but you do.
“I’ll range for you, bastard,” Rattleshirt declared. “I’ll give you sage counsel or sing you pretty songs, as you prefer. I’ll even fight for you. Just don’t ask me to wear your cloak.”
You are not worthy67 of one, Jon thought, but he held his tongue. No good would come of squabbling before the king.
King Stannis said, “Lord Snow, tell me of Mors Umber.”
The Night’s Watch takes no part, Jon thought, but another voice within him said, Words are not swords. “The elder of the Greatjon’s uncles. Crowfood, they call him. A crow once took him for dead and pecked out his eye. He caught the bird in his fist and bit its head off. When Mors was young he was a fearsome fighter. His sons died on the Trident, his wife in childbed. His only daughter was carried off by wildlings thirty years ago.”
“That’s why he wants the head,” said Harwood Fell.
“Can this man Mors be trusted?” asked Stannis.
Has Mors Umber bent68 the knee? “Your Grace should have him swear an oath before his heart tree.”
Godry the Giantslayer guffawed70. “I had forgotten that you northmen worship trees.”
“What sort of god lets himself be pissed upon by dogs?” asked Farring’s crony Clayton Suggs.
Jon chose to ignore them. “Your Grace, might I know if the Umbers have declared for you?”
“Half of them, and only if I meet this Crowfood’s price,” said Stannis, in an irritated tone. “He wants Mance Rayder’s skull41 for a drinking cup, and he wants a pardon for his brother, who has ridden south to join Bolton. Whoresbane, he’s called.”
Ser Godry was amused by that as well. “What names these northmen have! Did this one bite the head off some whore?”
Jon regarded him coolly. “You might say so. A whore who tried to rob him, fifty years ago in Oldtown.” Odd as it might seem, old Hoarfrost Umber had once believed his youngest son had the makings of a maester. Mors loved to boast about the crow who took his eye, but Hother’s tale was only told in whispers … most like because the whore he’d disemboweled had been a man. “Have other lords declared for Bolton too?”
The red priestess slid closer to the king. “I saw a town with wooden walls and wooden streets, filled with men. Banners flew above its walls: a moose, a battle-axe, three pine trees, longaxes crossed beneath a crown, a horse’s head with fiery71 eyes.”
“Hornwood, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Ryswell, and Dustin,” supplied Ser Clayton Suggs. “Traitors, all. Lapdogs of the Lannisters.”
“The Ryswells and Dustins are tied to House Bolton by marriage,” Jon informed him. “These others have lost their lords in the fighting. I do not know who leads them now. Crowfood is no lapdog, though. Your Grace would do well to accept his terms.”
Stannis ground his teeth. “He informs me that Umber will not fight Umber, for any cause.”
Jon was not surprised. “If it comes to swords, see where Hother’s banner flies and put Mors on the other end of the line.”
The Giantslayer disagreed. “You would make His Grace look weak. I say, show our strength. Burn Last Hearth72 to the ground and ride to war with Crowfood’s head mounted on a spear, as a lesson to the next lord who presumes to offer half his homage73.”
“A fine plan if what you want is every hand in the north raised against you. Half is more than none. The Umbers have no love for the Boltons. If Whoresbane has joined the Bastard, it can only be because the Lannisters hold the Greatjon captive.”
“That is his pretext74, not his reason,” declared Ser Godry. “If the nephew dies in chains, these uncles can claim his lands and lordship for themselves.”
“The Greatjon has sons and daughters both. In the north the children of a man’s body still come before his uncles, ser.”
“Unless they die. Dead children come last everywhere.”
“Suggest that in the hearing of Mors Umber, Ser Godry, and you will learn more of death than you might wish.”
“I have slain75 a giant, boy. Why should I fear some flea-ridden northman who paints one on his shield?”
“The giant was running away. Mors won’t be.”
The big knight62 flushed. “You have a bold tongue in the king’s solar, boy. In the yard you sang a different song.”
“Oh, leave off, Godry,” said Ser Justin Massey, a loose-limbed, fleshy knight with a ready smile and a mop of flaxen hair. Massey had been one of the wrong-way rangers. “We all know what a big giant sword you have, I’m sure. No need for you to wave it in our faces yet again.”
“The only thing waving here is your tongue, Massey.”
“Be quiet,” Stannis snapped. “Lord Snow, attend me. I have lingered here in the hopes that the wildlings would be fool enough to mount another attack upon the Wall. As they will not oblige me, it is time I dealt with my other foes76.”
“I see.” Jon’s tone was wary77. What does he want of me? “I have no love for Lord Bolton or his son, but the Night’s Watch cannot take up arms against them. Our vows78 prohibit—”
“I know all about your vows. Spare me your rectitude, Lord Snow, I have strength enough without you. I have a mind to march against the Dreadfort.” When he saw the shock on Jon’s face, he smiled. “Does that surprise you? Good. What surprises one Snow may yet surprise another. The Bastard of Bolton has gone south, taking Hother Umber with him. On that Mors Umber and Arnolf Karstark are agreed. That can only mean a strike at Moat Cailin, to open the way for his lord father to return to the north. The bastard must think I am too busy with the wildlings to trouble him. Well and good. The boy has shown me his throat. I mean to rip it out. Roose Bolton may regain79 the north, but when he does he will find that his castle, herds, and harvest all belong to me. If I take the Dreadfort unawares—”
“You won’t,” Jon blurted80.
It was as if he whacked81 a wasps’ nest with a stick. One of the queen’s men laughed, one spat82, one muttered a curse, and the rest all tried to talk at once. “The boy has milkwater in his veins,” said Ser Godry the Giantslayer. And Lord Sweet huffed, “The craven sees an outlaw84 behind every blade of grass.”
Stannis raised a hand for silence. “Explain your meaning.”
Where to begin? Jon moved to the map. Candles had been placed at its corners to keep the hide from rolling up. A finger of warm wax was puddling out across the Bay of Seals, slow as a glacier85. “To reach the Dreadfort, Your Grace must travel down the kingsroad past the Last River, turn south by east and cross the Lonely Hills.” He pointed86. “Those are Umber lands, where they know every tree and every rock. The kingsroad runs along their western marches for a hundred leagues. Mors will cut your host to pieces unless you meet his terms and win him to your cause.”
“Very well. Let us say I do that.”
“That will bring you to the Dreadfort,” said Jon, “but unless your host can outmarch a raven83 or a line of beacon87 fires, the castle will know of your approach. It will be an easy thing for Ramsay Bolton to cut off your retreat and leave you far from the Wall, without food or refuge, surrounded by your foes.”
“Only if he abandons his siege of Moat Cailin.”
“Moat Cailin will fall before you ever reach the Dreadfort. Once Lord Roose has joined his strength to Ramsay’s, they will have you outnumbered five to one.”
“My brother won battles at worse odds89.”
“You assume Moat Cailin will fall quickly, Snow,” objected Justin Massey, “but the ironmen are doughty90 fighters, and I’ve heard it said that the Moat has never been taken.”
“From the south. A small garrison91 in Moat Cailin can play havoc92 with any army coming up the causeway, but the ruins are vulnerable from the north and east.” Jon turned back to Stannis. “Sire, this is a bold stroke, but the risk—” The Night’s Watch takes no part. Baratheon or Bolton should be the same to me. “If Roose Bolton should catch you beneath his walls with his main strength, it will be the end for all of you.”
“Risk is part of war,” declared Ser Richard Horpe, a lean knight with a ravaged93 face whose quilted doublet showed three death’s-head moths94 on a field of ash and bone. “Every battle is a gamble, Snow. The man who does nothing also takes a risk.”
“There are risks and risks, Ser Richard. This one … it is too much, too soon, too far away. I know the Dreadfort. It is a strong castle, all of stone, with thick walls and massive towers. With winter coming you will find it well provisioned. Centuries ago, House Bolton rose up against the King in the North, and Harlon Stark laid siege to the Dreadfort. It took him two years to starve them out. To have any hope of taking the castle, Your Grace would need siege engines, towers, battering95 rams88 …”
“Siege towers can be raised if need be,” Stannis said. “Trees can be felled for rams if rams are required. Arnolf Karstark writes that fewer than fifty men remain at the Dreadfort, half of them servants. A strong castle weakly held is weak.”
“Fifty men inside a castle are worth five hundred outside.”
“That depends upon the men,” said Richard Horpe. “These will be greybeards and green boys, the men this bastard did not deem fit for battle. Our own men were blooded and tested on the Blackwater, and they are led by knights.”
“You saw how we went through the wildlings.” Ser Justin pushed back a lock of flaxen hair. “The Karstarks have sworn to join us at the Dreadfort, and we will have our wildlings as well. Three hundred men of fighting age. Lord Harwood made a count as they were passing through the gate. Their women fight as well.”
Stannis gave him a sour look. “Not for me, ser. I want no widows wailing97 in my wake. The women will remain here, with the old, the wounded, and the children. They will serve as hostages for the loyalty98 of their husbands and fathers. The wildling men will form my van. The Magnar will command them, with their own chiefs as serjeants. First, though, we must needs arm them.”
He means to plunder99 our armory, Jon realized. Food and clothing, land and castles, now weapons. He draws me in deeper every day. Words might not be swords, but swords were swords. “I could find three hundred spears,” he said, reluctantly. “Helms as well, if you’ll take them old and dinted and red with rust29.”
“Armor?” asked the Magnar. “Plate? Mail?”
“When Donal Noye died we lost our armorer.” The rest Jon left unspoken. Give the wildlings mail and they’ll be twice as great a danger to the realm.
“Boiled leather will suffice,” said Ser Godry. “Once we’ve tasted battle, the survivors100 can loot the dead.”
The few who live that long. If Stannis placed the free folk in the van, most would perish quickly. “Drinking from Mance Rayder’s skull may give Mors Umber pleasure, but seeing wildlings cross his lands will not. The free folk have been raiding the Umbers since the Dawn of Days, crossing the Bay of Seals for gold and sheep and women. One of those carried off was Crowfood’s daughter. Your Grace, leave the wildlings here. Taking them will only serve to turn my lord father’s bannermen against you.”
“Your father’s bannermen seem to have no liking101 for my cause in any case. I must assume they see me as … what was it that you called me, Lord Snow? Another doomed102 pretender?” Stannis stared at the map. For a long moment the only sound was the king grinding his teeth. “Leave me. All of you. Lord Snow, remain.”
The brusque dismissal did not sit well with Justin Massey, but he had no choice but to smile and withdraw. Horpe followed him out, after giving Jon a measured look. Clayton Suggs drained his cup dry and muttered something to Harwood Fell that made the younger man laugh. Boy was part of it. Suggs was an upjumped hedge knight, as crude as he was strong. The last man to take his leave was Rattleshirt. At the door, he gave Jon a mocking bow, grinning through a mouthful of brown and broken teeth.
All of you did not seem to include Lady Melisandre. The king’s red shadow. Stannis called to Devan for more lemon water. When his cup was filled the king drank, and said, “Horpe and Massey aspire103 to your father’s seat. Massey wants the wildling princess too. He once served my brother Robert as squire and acquired his appetite for female flesh. Horpe will take Val to wife if I command it, but it is battle he lusts104 for. As a squire he dreamed of a white cloak, but Cersei Lannister spoke against him and Robert passed him over. Perhaps rightly. Ser Richard is too fond of killing105. Which would you have as Lord of Winterfell, Snow? The smiler or the slayer69?”
Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”
“I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim.” The king set the cup aside. “You could bring the north to me. Your father’s bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend106 your folly107, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden108 of the North.”
How many times will he make me say it? “My sword is sworn to the Night’s Watch.”
Stannis looked disgusted. “Your father was a stubborn man as well. Honor, he called it. Well, honor has its costs, as Lord Eddard learned to his sorrow. If it gives you any solace109, Horpe and Massey are doomed to disappointment. I am more inclined to bestow110 Winterfell upon Arnolf Karstark. A good northman.”
“A northman.” Better a Karstark than a Bolton or a Greyjoy, Jon told himself, but the thought gave him little solace. “The Karstarks abandoned my brother amongst his enemies.”
“After your brother took off Lord Rickard’s head. Arnolf was a thousand leagues away. He has Stark blood in him. The blood of Winterfell.”
“No more than half the other Houses of the north.”
“Those other Houses have not declared for me.”
“Arnolf Karstark is an old man with a crooked111 back, and even in his youth he was never the fighter Lord Rickard was. The rigors112 of the campaign may well kill him.”
“He has heirs,” Stannis snapped. “Two sons, six grandsons, some daughters. If Robert had fathered trueborn sons, many who are dead might still be living.”
“Your Grace would do better with Mors Crowfood.”
“The Dreadfort will be the proof of that.”
“Then you mean to go ahead with this attack?”
“Despite the counsel of the great Lord Snow? Aye. Horpe and Massey may be ambitious, but they are not wrong. I dare not sit idle whilst Roose Bolton’s star waxes and mine wanes113. I must strike and show the north that I am still a man to fear.”
“The merman of Manderly was not amongst those banners Lady Melisandre saw in her fires,” Jon said. “If you had White Harbor and Lord Wyman’s knights …”
“If is a word for fools. We have had no word from Davos. It may be he never reached White Harbor. Arnolf Karstark writes that the storms have been fierce upon the narrow sea. Be that as it may. I have no time to grieve, nor wait upon the whims114 of Lord Too-Fat. I must consider White Harbor lost to me. Without a son of Winterfell to stand beside me, I can only hope to win the north by battle. That requires stealing a leaf from my brother’s book. Not that Robert ever read one. I must deal my foes a mortal blow before they know that I am on them.”
Jon realized that his words were wasted. Stannis would take the Dreadfort or die in the attempt. The Night’s Watch takes no part, a voice said, but another replied, Stannis fights for the realm, the ironmen for thralls115 and plunder. “Your Grace, I know where you might find more men. Give me the wildlings, and I will gladly tell you where and how.”
“I gave you Rattleshirt. Be content with him.”
“I want them all.”
“Some of your own Sworn Brothers would have me believe that you are half a wildling yourself. Is it true?”
“To you they are only arrow fodder. I can make better use of them upon the Wall. Give them to me to do with as I will, and I’ll show you where to find your victory … and men as well.”
Stannis rubbed the back of his neck. “You haggle116 like a crone with a codfish, Lord Snow. Did Ned Stark father you on some fishwife? How many men?”
“Two thousand. Perhaps three.”
“Three thousand? What manner of men are these?”
“Proud. Poor. Prickly where their honor is concerned but fierce fighters.”
“This had best not be some bastard’s trick. Will I trade three hundred fighters for three thousand? Aye, I will. I am not an utter fool. If I leave the girl with you as well, do I have your word that you will keep our princess closely?”
She is not a princess. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“Do I need to make you swear an oath before a tree?”
“No.” Was that a jape? With Stannis, it was hard to tell.
“Done, then. Now, where are these men?”
“You’ll find them here.” Jon spread his burned hand across the map, west of the kingsroad and south of the Gift.
“Those mountains?” Stannis grew suspicious. “I see no castles marked there. No roads, no towns, no villages.”
“The map is not the land, my father often said. Men have lived in the high valleys and mountain meadows for thousands of years, ruled by their clan117 chiefs. Petty lords, you would call them, though they do not use such titles amongst themselves. Clan champions fight with huge two-handed greatswords, while the common men sling118 stones and batter96 one another with staffs of mountain ash. A quarrelsome folk, it must be said. When they are not fighting one another, they tend their herds, fish the Bay of Ice, and breed the hardiest119 mounts you’ll ever ride.”
“And they will fight for me, you believe?”
“If you ask them.”
“Why should I beg for what is owed me?”
“Ask, I said, not beg.” Jon pulled back his hand. “It is no good sending messages. Your Grace will need to go to them yourself. Eat their bread and salt, drink their ale, listen to their pipers, praise the beauty of their daughters and the courage of their sons, and you’ll have their swords. The clans120 have not seen a king since Torrhen Stark bent his knee. Your coming does them honor. Command them to fight for you, and they will look at one another and say, ‘Who is this man? He is no king of mine.’ ”
“How many clans are you speaking of?”
“Two score, small and large. Flint, Wull, Norrey, Liddle … win Old Flint and Big Bucket, the rest will follow.”
“Big Bucket?”
“The Wull. He has the biggest belly121 in the mountains, and the most men. The Wulls fish the Bay of Ice and warn their little ones that ironmen will carry them off if they don’t behave. To reach them Your Grace must pass through the Norrey’s lands, however. They live the nearest to the Gift and have always been good friends to the Watch. I could give you guides.”
“Could?” Stannis missed little. “Or will?”
“Will. You’ll need them. And some sure-footed garrons too. The paths up there are little more than goat tracks.”
“Goat tracks?” The king’s eyes narrowed. “I speak of moving swiftly, and you waste my time with goat tracks?”
“When the Young Dragon conquered Dorne, he used a goat track to bypass the Dornish watchtowers on the Boneway.”
“I know that tale as well, but Daeron made too much of it in that vainglorious122 book of his. Ships won that war, not goat tracks. Oakenfist broke the Planky Town and swept halfway123 up the Greenblood whilst the main Dornish strength was engaged in the Prince’s Pass.” Stannis drummed his fingers on the map. “These mountain lords will not hinder my passage?”
“Only with feasts. Each will try to outdo the others with his hospitality. My lord father said he never ate half so well as when visiting the clans.”
“For three thousand men, I suppose I can endure some pipes and porridge,” the king said, though his tone begrudged124 even that.
Jon turned to Melisandre. “My lady, fair warning. The old gods are strong in those mountains. The clansmen will not suffer insults to their heart trees.”
That seemed to amuse her. “Have no fear, Jon Snow, I will not trouble your mountain savages125 and their dark gods. My place is here with you and your brave brothers.”
That was the last thing Jon Snow would have wanted, but before he could object, the king said, “Where would you have me lead these stalwarts if not against the Dreadfort?”
Jon glanced down at the map. “Deepwood Motte.” He tapped it with a finger. “If Bolton means to fight the ironmen, so must you. Deepwood is a motte-and-bailey castle in the midst of thick forest, easy to creep up on unawares. A wooden castle, defended by an earthen dike126 and a palisade of logs. The going will be slower through the mountains, admittedly, but up there your host can move unseen, to emerge almost at the gates of Deepwood.”
Stannis rubbed his jaw127. “When Balon Greyjoy rose the first time, I beat the ironmen at sea, where they are fiercest. On land, taken unawares … aye. I have won a victory over the wildlings and their King-Beyond-the-Wall. If I can smash the ironmen as well, the north will know it has a king again.”
And I will have a thousand wildlings, thought Jon, and no way to feed even half that number.
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1
dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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2
squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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3
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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4
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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5
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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stewards
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| （轮船、飞机等的）乘务员( steward的名词复数 )； （俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的）管理员； （大型活动的）组织者； （私人家中的）管家 | |
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7
niches
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| 壁龛( niche的名词复数 )； 合适的位置[工作等]； （产品的）商机； 生态位（一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位） | |
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8
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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9
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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10
pilferage
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| n.行窃，偷盗；v.偷窃 | |
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11
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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12
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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13
barley
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| n.大麦，大麦粒 | |
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14
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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15
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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16
turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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17
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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18
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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19
locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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20
cloves
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| n.丁香（热带树木的干花，形似小钉子，用作调味品，尤用作甜食的香料）( clove的名词复数 )；蒜瓣(a garlic ~|a ~of garlic) | |
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21
figs
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| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
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22
walnuts
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| 胡桃（树）( walnut的名词复数 )； 胡桃木 | |
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23
chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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24
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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25
salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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26
beets
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| 甜菜( beet的名词复数 )； 甜菜根； （因愤怒、难堪或觉得热而）脸红 | |
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27
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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28
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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29
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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30
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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31
elk
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| n.麋鹿 | |
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32
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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33
fodder
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| n.草料；炮灰 | |
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34
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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35
rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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36
acorn
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| n.橡实，橡子 | |
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37
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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38
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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39
grudged
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| 怀恨（grudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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40
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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41
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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42
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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43
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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44
rangers
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| 护林者( ranger的名词复数 )； 突击队员 | |
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45
quandary
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| n.困惑，进迟两难之境 | |
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46
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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47
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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48
armory
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| n.纹章，兵工厂，军械库 | |
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49
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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50
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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51
flinched
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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53
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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54
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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55
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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56
gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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57
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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58
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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59
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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61
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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62
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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63
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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64
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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65
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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66
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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67
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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68
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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69
slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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70
guffawed
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| v.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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72
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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73
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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74
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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75
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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76
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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77
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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78
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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79
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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80
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
whacked
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| a.精疲力尽的 | |
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82
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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83
raven
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| n.渡鸟，乌鸦；adj.乌亮的 | |
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84
outlaw
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| n.歹徒，亡命之徒；vt.宣布…为不合法 | |
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85
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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86
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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87
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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88
rams
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| n.公羊( ram的名词复数 )；(R-)白羊（星）座；夯；攻城槌v.夯实（土等）( ram的第三人称单数 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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89
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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90
doughty
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| adj.勇猛的，坚强的 | |
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91
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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92
havoc
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| n.大破坏，浩劫，大混乱，大杂乱 | |
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ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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94
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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95
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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96
batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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97
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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98
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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99
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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100
survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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101
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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102
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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103
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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104
lusts
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| 贪求（lust的第三人称单数形式） | |
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105
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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106
amend
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| vt.修改，修订，改进；n.[pl.]赔罪，赔偿 | |
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107
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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108
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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109
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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110
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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111
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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112
rigors
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| 严格( rigor的名词复数 )； 严酷； 严密； （由惊吓或中毒等导致的身体）僵直 | |
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113
wanes
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| v.衰落( wane的第三人称单数 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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114
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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115
thralls
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| n.奴隶( thrall的名词复数 )；奴役；奴隶制；奴隶般受支配的人 | |
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116
haggle
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| vi.讨价还价，争论不休 | |
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117
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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118
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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119
hardiest
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| 能吃苦耐劳的，坚强的( hardy的最高级 )； （植物等）耐寒的 | |
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120
clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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121
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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122
vainglorious
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| adj.自负的；夸大的 | |
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123
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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124
begrudged
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| 嫉妒( begrudge的过去式和过去分词 )； 勉强做； 不乐意地付出； 吝惜 | |
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125
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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126
dike
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| n.堤，沟；v.开沟排水 | |
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127
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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