Chapter 4: The Crisis
"What?"
"What!"
Two voices rang out simultaneously—one laced with skepticism, the other filled with shock.
Young Lord Royce shot a strange look at Egger, who looked as if he'd seen a ghost. "Tell me exactly what you saw. Detail by detail, leave nothing out."
"The camp is two miles away, over a low ridge, right next to a stream," Will replied. "The fire is out, nothing but a heap of embers still smoking. The wildlings are just lying there, scattered all over without any pattern. I counted eight in total, roughly what we estimated, but I didn't see the children... No one was moving, including one up in a tree. I crept as close as I dared and watched for a long time. I saw no blood, but living men don't lie that still."
"Living men don't let their fire go out," Gared added. "The temperature has dropped sharply these last two days. Could they have been caught unprepared and frozen to death?"
"Maybe," Will shivered in coordination with the thought. "M'lord, what do we do now?"
"If you're cold, put on more clothes," young Royce let out a sharp breath. "The Wall was weeping when we left nine days ago. We've had some frost and the occasional flurry this past week, but it has certainly not been cold enough to freeze a camp of wildlings to death. Especially not when they have furs for warmth, a terrain that shields them from the wind, and a fire."
Listening to the discussion among his teammates, Egger felt a chill seep inch by inch into the very marrow of his bones. How could this be happening? A stampede of curses galloped through his mind as he silently cursed the entire Royce bloodline back eighteen generations.
Even with his fading memory, this scene was too vivid not to trigger a realization: he was facing the exact opening plot of the story. This damned Waymar Royce, on his very first patrol, had led his brothers straight into the White Walkers. The only difference this time was that there was one extra person—him!
"Since the wildlings are already dead," Gared frowned, speaking with growing unease, "let us head back."
"Do dead men frighten you?" Waymar turned back with a faint, mocking smile, delivering lines Egger felt he had heard before.
"Dead men aren't what's scary," Egger realized he could no longer remain a silent observer. This was now a matter of life and death. If he allowed Waymar Royce to lead them to the site of the massacre, they would run headlong into the White Walkers. He didn't believe for a second that adding himself to the original trio would be enough to handle horrors from thousands of years ago that had nearly wiped out humanity. "What I fear is whatever killed those wildlings."
"Whatever can kill a wildling can't necessarily kill a man of the Night's Watch," the young knight said confidently, though he looked slightly surprised. In his memory, Egger rarely voiced an opinion in public. "Besides, are you certain they're dead? Where is your proof?"
"Will might not be a warrior, but he isn't a liar. If he says he saw it, I believe him," Gared said grimly. "Our orders were to track the wildlings. We've done that. They won't be bothering anyone now..."
"Do you think the Lord Commander won't ask us the cause of death?" Waymar interrupted the veteran bluntly. "To horse. Lead me there."
Gared's face twisted in resentment, but he said nothing, turning toward his mount.
"I'm not going." Egger couldn't just go with the flow this time; this was the moment of truth. "Call me a coward if you like, a craven—I don't care. I'm terrified. For days, I've felt something horrific and malicious watching us from the shadows... The wildlings must have been killed by that thing. We are no match for it."
"I... I have that feeling too," Will, usually indecisive, stammered out his support for Egger now that someone had taken the lead.
"The light is fading." Gared looked at Egger with confusion. He could challenge the commander based on his veteran status, but where did this roommate of his—who rarely sought conflict—get the nerve to openly defy orders? "We could investigate tomorrow."
"Interesting. A Night's Watchman afraid of the dark?" Waymar's expression twisted slightly. He was used to Gared crossing him, but having all three soldiers stand against him for the first time triggered his stubborn streak. "My mind is made up. Now—mount up and head to the site immediately. I won't say it a third time."
"No." Egger sensed that no amount of silver-tongued persuasion would move the stubborn young knight. He made a desperate final stand, looking to Gared for support. Unfortunately, the veteran met his gaze with a puzzled look and shook his head slightly, signaling him not to cross the officer. "I have a powerful premonition. If we go there, there is a high probability I will die."
"I don't believe in your premonitions," Waymar narrowed his eyes. "If you refuse to go, then run. But leave your weapons and your horse behind. If you're confident you can make it back on foot, I won't stop you. Well? Go on."
Egger locked eyes with him, watching the knight's hand settle on the hilt of his sword. After a clash of wills, he finally bowed to reality.
To leave meant becoming a deserter, with no place left in Westeros to hide. Moreover, they were a hundred miles from the Wall. While Ranger training included wilderness survival, theory and practice were two different things. Even if beasts and White Walkers left him alone, hunger, cold, and getting lost would be enough to swallow a mere mortal like him. And to resist... even assuming Will and Gared stayed out of it, Egger—with his meager combat experience—was no match for a noble youth who, though younger, had been trained by family master-at-arms since childhood.
He had no choice. It seemed he would have to rely on the small preparation he'd made for his own survival.
"Mount up. You and Will take the lead." Waymar's breath hitched in relief at Egger's compliance, though he maintained a look of disdain. "Don't try anything clever. I'll be watching you the whole way."
...
The four of them set off. Will and Egger took the vanguard, both steering their horses forward with tense caution. A light snow had fallen the night before, and beneath the thin, soft layer lay stones, roots, and puddles that could easily trip a horse. Suppressing the terror in his heart, Egger gripped the reins with one hand while reaching into his pack with the other, finding and grasping the obsidian dagger he had gone to great lengths to obtain.
Obsidian—also known as dragonglass, or "frozen fire" in High Valyrian. It was essentially a natural glass formed by geological activity. In Egger's original world, it held no special properties, but he suspected that in this world where magic existed, the crystal interacted with some unknown energy, giving it unique capabilities.
The White Walkers had been gone for thousands of years, so this material, rumored to be their bane, was usually sold on the market as a common, low-grade gemstone. Because it was brittle and dark, it wasn't as popular as corundum gems like rubies; it wasn't precious, so it didn't fetch a high price, and few people traded in it.
Consequently, while obsidian wasn't expensive or rare, getting hold of it was surprisingly difficult. It had taken Egger a long time and several months' worth of stipends to have a fellow recruit—stationed at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea—buy it from an overseas merchant who traded with the Night's Watch.
When he first got it, it was just a raw chunk of ore the size of a forearm. Egger had spent weeks of his training breaks slowly chipping and grinding it into the rough shape of a dagger, wrapping the bottom half in cloth to keep as a protective talisman.
For a long time, because of this item, he couldn't even afford to buy an extra dish of food at meals, earning him plenty of ridicule from his brothers.
If this thing finally saved his life today, at least those days of nothing would have been worth it.
Every man must die, but some deaths are as heavy as a mountain, while others are as light as a feather. Egger wasn't a coward driven mad by fear, but he absolutely refused to die in an unnamed corner of the Far North, bearing a name given to him by a few peasants, murdered by something the rest of the world didn't even believe existed.
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