Chapter 40: The False Horn
After leaving the wildling camp, Saelen and his party retraced their steps. It took them more than two days to reach the foot of the Fist of the First Men, where Benjen and the others were already waiting.
"Uncle Benjen—did you find it?" Robb hurried forward to ask.
Benjen Stark nodded. He was about to speak when he noticed Val standing beside Saelen. His words halted, and he shot Robb a questioning look.
Robb understood at once. "Saelen has reached an agreement with the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder. But Mance insisted Jon remain as a hostage. So Saelen asked Val to come with us in exchange."
"I came of my own will," Val corrected coolly. "I am no one's hostage."
Saelen knew the next discussion wasn't meant for her ears. Turning to Dacey Mormont, he said, "Dacey, see that our… princess is kept safe."
Val frowned. "We are free folk, not wildlings. And I am no princess."
Dacey glanced at Robb; after he gave a subtle nod, she stepped forward. "Leave her to me. She'll not come to harm." She guided Val back toward the camp.
Only once they were out of earshot did Benjen step closer. From beneath his cloak, he produced a wrapped bundle and handed it to Saelen.
"We found something. See if this is the Horn of Winter."
Saelen unwrapped it.
Inside lay several dragonglass daggers, spearheads, and arrowheads—and a massive, ancient horn bound in bronze. It was cracked along its length, weathered by time. Even at a glance, it looked unusable.
Saelen remembered what the old texts had said: the true Horn of Winter was etched with ancient runes. He examined the surface carefully.
Nothing.
"No runes," Saelen said at last. "According to the chronicles, the real Horn bears ancient magical carvings. This has none. And it's broken besides."
"False?" Robb stepped forward, lifting the horn to inspect it himself.
Benjen frowned. They had spent half a day searching among the ring of stones, only to uncover a fake.
"If this one's false," Qhorin asked gravely, "where is the real one?"
Saelen spread his hands. "Who knows? We can only pray it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. If the free folk had it, they'd use it to force us to open the gates."
Robb finished the thought instinctively. "And if the White Walkers found it?"
Saelen's expression darkened. "Then we'd best pray the legends are lies. Otherwise… the North is doomed."
No one answered. The wind whistled over the stones, carrying with it a silence heavy as snowfall.
---
Castle Black
A low, drawn-out horn blast echoed across the Wall.
The sound rolled over the crumbling towers of Castle Black, stirring men from their uneasy rest. On the Kingsroad below, a long column approached—at its head flew the grey direwolf banner of House Stark.
"Winterfell's reinforcements!"
"Open the gates!"
Cries and curses rose from the black brothers as the massive gates groaned to life, heralding the arrival of the North.
The gates of Castle Black were opened long before the column arrived. Black-cloaked brothers stood in formation, welcoming the banners of Winterfell.
Inside the dim council chamber, Eddard Stark sat upon a long bench. His stern face revealed nothing. Beside him stood Jory Cassel, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont spoke first, shame written plainly across his features.
"My apologies, Lord Eddard. The Night's Watch has done everything in its power to search for Benjen and Robb's party. One of our rescue patrols has also vanished without a trace. They have not returned."
He exhaled heavily.
"We have already lost a number of rangers. I had intended to send more men beyond the Wall, but the lands near the Wall have grown… unsettled. Too few men would be unsafe. Too many—and the Wall would stand undefended."
Eddard understood the Watch's predicament. There was little blame to assign.
"When was the last word received from Robb's party?" he asked quietly.
Mormont turned to the maester beside him.
Maester Aemon considered before answering. "None, my lord. Since their departure, no message has returned. Only one soldier escaped and made it back… but the man has lost his wits. He cannot speak coherently."
"May I see him?" Eddard asked.
"Of course," Mormont replied. "Some of my men advised that we execute the deserter—but he is not a sworn brother of the Watch. By law, I have no authority over him. I will place him in your custody."
Soon after, a black brother led in the broken soldier.
His lamellar armor hung in tatters. His eyes were vacant, unfocused. His lips moved endlessly.
"Run… the White Walkers are coming…"
Mormont said quietly, "He served under Ser Saelen. A brave lad."
Eddard turned to Jory. "Take him. See if anything can be learned."
"Yes, my lord." Jory bowed and led the man away.
When they were alone again, Mormont spoke abruptly.
"Lord Eddard… do you believe in White Walkers?"
He did not wait for an answer.
"Beyond the Wall grows more dangerous by the day. First Benjen vanished. Then Qhorin Halfhand and fifty or sixty armed rangers disappeared as well. Fully equipped men. Even if they were outmatched by wildlings, some should have escaped. Yet only one returned."
"And more wildlings are slipping across the Wall. We have taken prisoners. From them we have learned troubling things."
"What did you learn?" Eddard asked, unease stirring within him.
Mormont's voice dropped.
"White Walkers have been sighted beyond the Wall. And the wildlings say that Mance Rayder gathers a great host—seeking refuge from the Walkers… and preparing to attack the Wall."
Maester Aemon added softly, "I have reviewed many ancient records of the Watch. Though damaged by time and neglect, they repeatedly reference the White Walkers. Fragmented accounts, yes—but all speak of the same dreadful beings."
White Walkers.
A child's tale told by old wet nurses… could it be true?
Eddard pushed aside the thought, though it lingered like a cold draft.
"Lord Commander," he said at last, "truth or rumor, we must confirm it. I will require experienced guides. In a few days, I shall personally lead a force beyond the Wall."
Mormont straightened. "Benjen and Qhorin are brothers of the Watch. It is our duty to find them. I will ride with you—one hundred rangers."
He spread a map across the table.
"Here—the Fist of the First Men. Ancient fortifications remain atop the hill. We could establish a temporary stronghold there. The ground is high, the sightlines wide."
His finger shifted.
"And here—Craster's Keep. A wildling settlement. Our rangers sometimes resupply there during patrols. We may find word of Benjen's movements."
Eddard stepped forward, studying the map carefully.
Then he nodded.