Chapter 255: Strategizing for Deepwood Motte
Though Deepwood Motte was made of wood, it did not fear ordinary fire. Cold permafrost was packed within the timber walls, and the exterior was covered in layers of moss that had grown for countless years; even if one managed to ignite it, the flames would struggle to spread.
Of course, such troubles... were trivial in the face of wildfire.
However, despite bringing several jars of wildfire from Queenscrown, Egger had no intention of relying solely on a fire attack to annihilate the enemy. Setting aside whether it was necessary when his forces outnumbered the foe ten to one, if he trekked a hundred miles into the heart of the Wolfswood only to hand the Northmen a pile of ash and ruins, it was hard to say whether he would receive gratitude or resentment.
His purpose in ordering the watchtower to be set ablaze was twofold: first, to sow fear and chaos among the enemy, causing them to panic; second, to bluff. When the enemy stood in the brightly lit areas illuminated by the flames and peered out from the castle, the "darkness under the lamp" effect would make it impossible for them to judge exactly how many attackers were coming.
While the wooden fortress was not particularly sturdy, the defenders always held the advantage in a siege. Furthermore, whether it was the Wildlings or the mountain clansmen, they were not skilled in—or rather, completely ignorant of—siege warfare. Charging in blindly without knowing the internal layout of Deepwood Motte could result in heavy casualties.
Egger hoped to flush the enemy out into the open, utilizing the terrain and traps to end the battle.
Watching the wooden tower rapidly erupt into a roaring inferno with the help of a single jar of wildfire—becoming a brilliant beacon in the darkness—the man of the Night's Watch knew the moment had arrived.
"Begin."
"Understood."
The order was rapidly cascaded down to the low-ranking officers. Suddenly, within the pitch-black Wolfswood surrounding Deepwood Motte, thousands of points of light emerged. Accompanied by the continuous blare of warhorns, the effect was chilling. Egger had borrowed every horn and torch House Umber could find in Last Hearth—quantities far exceeding actual needs. He sought to use this facade of deception to give the enemies inside the castle the illusion that the "main Northern host" had arrived.
As the low, droning notes of the warhorns combined with a mountain-shaking roar of "Winterfell!" swept in from all directions, the psychological objective of the besiegers was easily achieved.
Asha looked at the countless points of torchlight outside the walls and realized there was no hope of victory in this fight. "Crowl, go wake everyone. Muster in the outer ward!"
No one could sleep under such circumstances. The outer ward of Deepwood Motte was soon crowded with panicked men. The Ironborn following Asha donned their armor and gripped their weapons, gathering before their Queen.
"Do we fight the fire first, or prepare for battle?"
"To hell with the fire!" Asha spat at the subordinate who asked the foolish question, then climbed onto a barrel so everyone could see her. "The wolf pups are baring their teeth and running at us, intent on taking Ironborn lives. Shall we throw down our armor and beg for mercy?"
"No!" the first warrior cried, drawing his longsword. "No," others chimed in. "Never!" The response quickly rippled through the entire crowd.
Asha was satisfied with the rising morale. She brandished her short axe. "Even if death is unavoidable, we shall die shouting curses, with blades and axes in our hands!"
"That's right!"
"To the walls!"
The remaining Ironborn filed up the battlements, only to find that the enemy had not launched a blind assault. Instead, while emitting ragged roars, they held their torches and slowly closed in on the castle, seemingly intent on forming a complete encirclement. Through the dense foliage, it was impossible to see exactly how many were attacking, but there were at least thousands... No single house could muster such a force unless the main Northern host had broken through Moat Cailin and returned.
The Ironborn had been braced for a desperate fight to the death, but finding that the enemy wasn't planning to give them a quick end caused their blood to cool. They began to mutter and argue: "They intend to surround the Motte!"
"A ram has appeared outside the North Gate!"
"The wooden gates won't hold. Once they burst in... we can't handle this many."
"We can use the terrain inside the castle to keep fighting."
"Terrain inside the castle?" the first man cursed. "You pig-brained fool, the Young Wolf will surely put the Glovers at the front. Do you think you know the layout of Deepwood Motte better than they do?"
"We can hide in the fortress atop the hill."
"And be burned alive? If they can light the watchtower, they can light the whole castle!" Another turned to Asha. "My Queen, the sea is only five miles away, yet we are meant to hold this useless wooden piss-pot? If we die with dry feet in a fire, we won't even find the way to the Drowned God's watery halls!"
A third man agreed: "That's right! We are Ironborn. Even if we die, we should die with wet feet, listening to the sound of the waves behind us!"
"Captain! There are no enemies outside the South Gate yet. We can break out that way!"
No enemies outside the South Gate? Asha didn't believe it for a second. If Robb Stark was even half as good at command as the legends suggested, he would have split his forces to sweep the coastline, burning her longships or at least placing interceptors on every possible path of retreat to prevent her from boarding.
Asha knew that staying meant certain death, and breaking out likely meant walking into a trap. But the words of the last man firmed her resolve—she wanted to live, but if today was her day to die, she wanted to die with wet feet. "Well said. I've changed my mind. Give the gloomy forest and this damned wooden urinal back to the wolf pups. We won't hold the walls. Break out! Retreat to the ships!"
the hornblower sounded three consecutive short notes—the signal to return to the ships. The men on the walls poured down the steps to gather in the courtyard, making frantic preparations to break out. No one found the situation suspicious, or perhaps they noticed but had no time to think: the cries of "Winterfell!" had been ringing outside the walls for ages, yet not a single soul had attempted to scale the undefended battlements.
There weren't enough horses, so many had to travel on foot. Asha Greyjoy, however, mounted her chestnut mare and shouted to her men, "Open the South Gate!"
At the exact moment the South Gate swung open, the heavy thud of a ram hitting the North Gate echoed through the air. Asha drew a short-handled throwing axe from her shoulder strap and roared at her brothers from horseback: "Escape is impossible! Brothers, carve a path of blood! We are going home!"
"Home!"
"Long live Asha!"
The path outside the South Gate was empty, which only deepened her suspicion. But whatever awaited her ahead, the worst outcome was merely death. She squeezed her horse's flanks. "Move out!"
The men and horses galloped across the clearing and fields outside the gates; by the time they reached the forest opposite, their formation was ragged. Under the moonlight, the crops she had trampled during the initial siege were now a muddy mess due to neglect. Asha dispatched riders to scout ahead and bring up the rear, urging stragglers to keep moving and ensuring no one fell behind. Tall sentinel pines and gnarled old oaks surrounded them—Deepwood Motte was aptly named. The trees were tall, gloomy, and intimidatingly dense. Branches interlaced and swayed in the wind, creaking as they went; the highest treetops seemed to touch the moon.
The faster we get out, the better, Asha thought urgently. This was Northman territory; even the trees seemed to hate them from their wooden hearts. Every knot in the bark felt like an eye watching her, making her skin crawl.
The scout ahead soon returned: there were signs of people on the road ahead—almost certainly an ambush.
"Leave the road. Head west." This was as Asha expected. She calculated for a moment and had an idea. "The wolf pups surely think we'll head north toward the nearest coast. I bet every northern path has an ambush waiting. But if we can resist the urge to run straight back to the ships..."
Someone quickly caught her drift: "If we don't take the established paths and pick a direction at random, the wolf pups will never be able to block us—because even we won't know where we're going!"
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