Chapter 139: Hunting Wights
Amidst the neighing of horses, the barking of hounds, and a cacophony of chaotic noises, the rangers tasked with scouting and luring the wights galloped past the group in twos and threes. The other waiting Night's Watchmen scrambled onto their mounts, leaving many supplies behind in their haste. There was no time to retrieve them; urged on by the First Ranger, everyone dug their heels into their horses' flanks and, led by the hounds, thundered away across the snow along the predetermined route.
Ooooh—Ooooh—Ooooh... Ooooh!
The horn sounded again—four blasts, three long and one short. This meant a sentry had re-confirmed that only wights were in sight with no White Walkers present, signaling the brothers that the plan could proceed. However, the brave soul who blew the horn was perhaps too dedicated for his own good; he should have mounted his horse and retreated to safety before signaling a second time, but the dual pressures of terror and duty had clouded his judgment. The loud, clear horn calls unerringly drew the primary focus of the wights, and the rocky crag where he stood was quickly swarmed by the ghoulish creatures.
From his perch in the tree, Will watched the entire process of the young man's sacrifice. The sentry dropped his horn and leaped down from the giant rock, running toward the spot where his horse was tethered, only to find wights emerging from the trees ahead. He drew a short spear tipped with dragonglass from his belt and thrust it violently into the chest of a blocking wight. Upon pulling it back, he found the obsidian tip had shattered from the force of the blow. He cast aside the spear shaft and ran a few more paces before being tackled from the side by a wight direwolf—a creature with a massive abdominal wound and trailing entrails.
A single scream rang out, then abruptly cut to silence.
...
The poacher hid amidst the canopy, shivering violently as he gripped his obsidian dagger and hugged the trunk, not daring to make a sound. He admitted to himself that he was a coward; that day when Waymar Royce fought the White Walker to the death, he had hidden in a tree just like this until it was over. But at least that time, he had been following his commander's orders to stay aloft and keep watch; by a twist of fate, he had escaped and brought back Ser Waymar's shattered sword and news of the Others' appearance. His merit outweighed his fault; if anyone called him a deserter and tried to take his head, he would be the first to protest.
But what about the last time, when he led Benjen Stark's search party? The squad had encountered the enemies of mankind leading hundreds of wights. Despite holding a weapon specifically designed to kill the Others, he had been so paralyzed by fear that he stole a horse and fled. All along the way, he had clutched the obsidian dagger Egger gave him, but he hadn't thought of using it to slay the enemy; he had only prayed it would protect him and let him escape with his life.
The first heroic weapon to kill a White Walker in a thousand years was a bane to the enemies of man in Egger's hands, yet in his own, it had become a mere lucky charm. If the blade had its own consciousness, it would surely sigh to the heavens and end itself in shame. Not only that, but after fleeing back to Castle Black, he had lied. He deceived Lord Commander Mormont, claiming he had once again survived by hiding in a tree on lookout duty, only descending to find a horse once the brothers had died and marched off as wights. A deserter and a liar—such wretched conduct was something even he could no longer defend in his own heart.
After a long period of terrified waiting, Benjen Stark and his elite rangers had not returned; it seemed the entire party had perished. Thus, no one left in the world knew he was a deserter. A wretch whose spirit had been broken by the Others had become, in the eyes of his brothers, the lucky survivor who escaped the Others twice. Though he hadn't been promoted, wherever he went beyond the Wall, other Night's Watch soldiers felt safe just by being near him. When no officers were present, they even defaulted to his leadership. It was truly farcical.
The woodland floor below was swarming with wights. Ser Jaremy Rykker had said they had brought back a few too many, but this wasn't just a few—it was a literal horde. Over a hundred wights surged mindlessly beneath the poacher's feet at varying speeds, chasing after the retreating capture team. Aside from human wights and direwolves, there were even wight elk, wight bears, and a wight giant!
The wight giant's movements appeared significantly slower than the smaller wights, but its stride was enormous. It seemed slow but moved with deceptive speed, and its pursuit of the men was relentless. Step by step, the ground vibrated slightly as the behemoth approached the tree where Will was hiding. It stood over two men tall; if it possessed human-like agility, it could theoretically reach him with a jump.
The poacher closed his eyes and began to mutter a prayer for the gods' protection.
Though he knew in his heart: if the gods truly had eyes, they should be protecting a hero like Benjen Stark. Why would they care for a deserter like him?
CRASH—
The tree Will was hiding in was struck by the giant and shook violently. Snow from the canopy cascaded down onto the poacher, making him feel for a moment that his life had reached its end. But he gritted his teeth and clung to the trunk like a leech, refusing to let go even as the vibrating bark scraped the skin off his face.
If he was going to die, it would have to be after the tree fell!
The tremors eventually subsided into stillness. After a long while, Will cautiously opened his eyes and looked down, finding that the wights had gradually drifted away. The wight giant's body was still swaying unsteadily as it occasionally bumped into nearby trunks. It turned out this was a lame wight giant; its collision with his tree had been a complete accident!
Danger receded, and silence returned to the world. However, the poacher still didn't dare climb down. The brave horn-blower was likely cold and dead, lying mangled on the ground, and there was no telling when he would rise to begin his second life. Will wanted to wait—to see if the other brothers could complete the mission and bring a horse back for him.
This place was still far from the Wall. He truly did not want to experience a second trek back on foot, relying solely on wilderness survival skills.
The Night's Watchmen had split into three groups retreating in different directions, which caused the pursuing wights to mindlessly split into three groups as well. Wights without an Other to command them were more brainless than the stupidest of beasts; they simply pursued and attacked anything that moved with extraordinary endurance and speed.
The only saving grace was that the running speed of most wights was, in the end, slower than that of a horse. This provided the capture team with the opportunity for maneuvering and clever tactics.
The lightest scouts, mounted on the best fast horses, rode between the three paths of the Night's Watch. Through scouting and command, they helped their brothers shake off most of the slower wights, fleeing and stopping intermittently until they finally lured the creatures near the trap.
"We want the dead men! The wolves and bears are too dangerous—kill them all!" Ser Jaremy Rykker shouted. "Maintain distance!"
"A giant!" a ranger cried out. "What do we do?"
"Shoot it dead! Unless you want to drag that thing to King's Landing to present to King Robert!"
"Dragonglass arrows aren't doing much! Two have hit it, but it's still moving!"
"Use fire! This big fellow will burn well!" the new First Ranger commanded. "Hurry, the trap is just ahead!"
How do you light a fire while on a galloping horse? Fortunately, some in the party had been ordered to keep lit torches ready. They rode close to one another; one man lit a specialized fire arrow held by another. Then the archers turned in their saddles, waiting for the flames to heat the iron tips to a glowing red before drawing their bows and loaming them at the wight giant.
The target was massive; even a poor marksman could hit it easily. The flames were extinguished by the rapid friction with the cold air, but the red-hot arrowheads quickly reignited the oil-soaked cloth wrapped around the shafts. Under the gaze of several Watchmen, the ragged beast-fur covering the wight giant went up in a sudden whoosh of flame.
...
They reached the trap. The rangers spurred their horses to accelerate, swiftly veering around it and leading the pursuing wights right over it.
The ground gave way. The fastest wights lost their footing and, with a roar like a collapsing building, plunged into the deep pit dug beforehand. The other wights following behind had no concept of avoiding obstacles or traps; they tumbled in one after another like dumplings into a pot, becoming turtles in a jar.
A cheer went up as the men reined in their horses.
The trap was three meters deep with nearly vertical walls; once the wights fell in, it was very difficult for them to climb out. The plan was a success. Now, the Night's Watchmen could stand on the edge and examine the prey in the pit like shoppers picking out poultry at a market, choosing the most suitable specimen to haul up and take back to the Wall.
The ideal was beautiful, but an accident occurred. The flames on the lame wight giant chasing them had spread across its entire body, turning it into a massive man of fire. Ordinarily, a wight would collapse quickly once engulfed in flames, but perhaps its massive size meant it contained more ice magic, granting it a stronger vitality. It staggered forward and actually plunged into the trap as well.
"Stop it!" Jaremy roared. "It'll burn all our prizes!"
The last few dragonglass arrows were fired at the wight giant—or perhaps fire giant was more appropriate—as if they cost nothing. But its momentum was too great, and it eventually dove headfirst into the pit, crushing several dense wights beneath it and spreading its flames.
"Get the nets, quick!" The First Ranger was frantic. According to scouts, the wildling vanguard was only a dozen miles to the northwest, and the army of the dead led by the Others was directly to the north. It wouldn't be easy to find another wave of wights without an Other leading them in a short time. If they failed this capture, they wouldn't get many more chances. "Save our prey!"
The surrounding Night's Watchmen leaped off their horses. One moment they were shooting wights, the next they were trying to rescue them. Some drew weapons to guard the perimeter, while others ran to the large net sacks prepared by the trap and cast them in.
Soon, a wight was snagged by a net. With a rhythmic shout, several men hauled the net up. Like pulling a radish from the mud, a wight with flickering flames on its body was dragged out. Two rangers lunged forward, beating the fire out with their heavy gloves. A third and fourth man rushed to help, throwing a bag over the still-writhing wight and pinning it firmly to the ground.
The last spark of vitality faded from the fire giant that had fallen into the pit, and it ceased moving. Perhaps the moisture in the wight's body evaporated while the fur and corpse oil remained, or perhaps fire was simply the ultimate bane of the wights. It and the other ignited wights quickly turned the trap into a flaming pit belching fierce fire, looking like an entrance to hell.
"Stay back from the pit! Pack up the prize and get it back to Castle Black!" Jaremy Rykker breathed a sigh of relief. "Squads One and Two are responsible for the escort—no stopping on the road! Squad Three, follow me back to see if any other brothers need rescue!"
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