Chapter 226: Qiongen

The fire raged fiercely, the largest he had ever seen.

He could feel the fire's heat, but only on the side facing it, his chest. His chest grew hot, yet his back remained icy cold, right down to the marrow.

At the Shadow Tower, within three li of the Great Wall there was not a single tree; the pale, frost‑bitten ground set the tone. But farther off lay rolling hills, an ancient, unchanging forest. He did not know whether it was the Free Folk's homeland or a playground of some mysterious terror.

Beyond the Wall, it made him uneasy.

Countless people stood by the fire, silently watching the flames rise. Beside them stood Night's Watch brothers, forest clansmen, and Free Folk, as well as Lord Rodrik of Winterfell, Xiao Polo, Ma Ying, and other old friends from the Stark lands long unseen. They were not there to warm themselves, but to bid farewell to their comrades.

He did not see Ge Lan.

It was he who promptly delivered the crucial letter, informing Lord Rodrik that the Winterfell cavalry would hold back Mance Rayder's advance on the Shadow Tower, buying them enough time to deploy and hide, and thus they were able to easily defeat the enemy.

In the battle against the Free Folk, they won a total victory, capturing the nearly defenseless Mance Rayder alive, shattering and scattering the tribes he had gathered, and seizing their livestock.

Even the giants fled in disarray before their assault.

There were too many; they could not round them up for slaughter, and not far away lay the terrifying Black Forest. He did not know how many of the escaped Free Folk would survive the night, nor how many would die in the snow only to rise again…

The battle had no end, nor did the rout. Finally he could not bring himself to swing his sword—for the forest clansmen and Lord Rodrik's reinforcements would help him kill ten, a hundred times more than he spared. Yet no matter how hard those reinforcements fought, the number who escaped was still ten times greater than those they slew.

"Let them all go see the White Walkers!" Andrew Tars ran his fingers through his oily blond hair, hands on his hips, watching the wildlings scatter across the vast snowy plain.

Since Duan Zhang Kelin left, he has been assisting the Shadow Tower commander in his duties.

Too many people.

"I have never in my life faced a moment so hard to lower my sword." Those were Lord Rodrik's first words to Qiongen after the battle ended.

Winterfell had indeed sent cavalry to the Wall, and he had not expected eight hundred of them, more than half supplied by families other than the Starks—Manderly, Amber, Karstark, and those en route north, Konton, Mut, Harlen… It mattered not; to the mountain clansmen's eyes, this was all support from Winterfell.

His sister had not abandoned the Wall, nor did he have to surrender his warmth and light to Lord Norrey; more importantly, he had not cast away the warriors he had brought from the forest—not only had he kept them, but few of the dead or wounded were lost, and in this he could take pride.

After cleaning the battlefield and downing a glass of black beer at the canteen, he joined a few Night's Watch brothers in using the Shadow Tower's wonderful hot spring. The warmth enveloped him completely, and several times he nearly fell asleep in the water.

Too many new brothers and reinforcements had come to enjoy the spring; at last he could no longer keep a small cozy spot for himself, so he stepped out of the pool. The newly arrived Xiao Polo laughed as he handed him a towel.

"I thought the Night's Watch only bathed in icy water! Ha, what a treat!"

"Thank you." He thought, it was nice to see an old acquaintance here and feel especially close. "If you like the hot spring, you may as well now recite the Night's Watch oath with me; I believe Lord Rodrik will not stop you."

"I'm not worried about the lord. My Jasmine knows and will come hunting for you." He hehehed, "Do you still remember Jasmine?"

"Of course." Theon had once shown it off in front of him. But there was no need to tell him that.

He bade farewell to Xiao Polo and donned a fresh Night's Watch black cloak.

As he passed through the Shadow Tower's hall, two Night's Watch brothers were sharing a loaf of fresh‑baked bread; the scent reminded him of the bonfires burning beyond the Wall.

The Shadow Tower had no bunk for him, but he knew how the Night's Watch brothers usually spent the night. He curled up in a corner by the fireplace, hoping the fire would never die and that whoever tended it would not wake him.

His duty was done, the anxiety that had kept him awake all night had passed, and he deserved the hard‑won peace.

What else should he do?

Lord Dennis Mellister was the commander here, and the old lord was widely known as a gentle, just man—he was the best choice to liaise between Lord Rodrik and the mountain clans' officers; they would surely arrange matters for the captive Free Folk…

Free Folk.

This is a problem no Night's Watch superior or officer can avoid…… These problems are not his; he is merely an ordinary Night's Watchman, with no need to think about them.

He dare not think about it either.

He trusted Lord Mellister's wisdom and his fairness. His age was sufficient, his experience rich, his insight broad; he would surely make the most thorough decision.

He was exhausted.

He felt that following Commander Mormont out of the castle had already drained his lifetime of energy. In just a few short months he had seen everything no mortal ever had, repeatedly rolled back from the brink of death, and moreover experienced…

Ygritte was dead.

He closed his eyes, hoping to shut it all out and return to calm, but chaotic scenes flooded in one after another, and the more he shut his eyes the wearier he felt.

He reopened his eyes.

Snow fell from the branches, scattering before it hit the ground, dusting the white surface, while the woods echoed with the lonely cries of birds.

The cold wind blew, whimpering.

He felt pain and hunger. He perched on a branch, head drawn in, staring at the fallen corpse below, wondering whether to drop down and tear off a couple bites.

No, one bite would be enough.

Soon a crow flew over. A hateful bird. It turned its eyes away, looking elsewhere.

The crows tore at the skin; one lightly pecked at the eyelid, pulled out the eye—black and white, stuck together, still bleeding.

Several crows began to squabble. The remaining crows hopped onto the corpse's face, trying to find another.

Fool. He only has one eye.

The cold wind blew, and the crows instantly jumped away.

He felt as if frozen, wanting to spread his wings, but then forgetting in the next instant.

Ripples rolled and spread through the woods, and he felt he could see. Then color burst in the dark gloom; he followed the light upward, and a deep blue flickered in the corpse's hollow eye sockets, fixed on him.

He jerked awake.

Tonight is a feast for the White Walkers, he thought, not knowing how many more would take place.

He brushed aside these hateful scenes, hoping Sam would arrive safely and soon.

Someone had added firewood to the hearth, making it burn brighter, and the number of people gathered in the hall kept growing. He felt he was beginning to sweat.

Yes, this is merely a small castle, far smaller than Black Castle, let alone Longnight Fort. There is no room here to lodge such a great number of reinforcements.

"Qiongenxueno," he heard someone call his name, the name seeming to hold magic, as all the other soldiers in the hall turned their gazes toward him, "Lord Mellister summons you to the council."

He rose cautiously, looking at the black‑clad brother before him. A short beard covered his whole face, giving him a sturdy impression, and his voice was the same.

"What is it?" he asked, puzzled.

"When Lord Mellister gave me the order, he didn't kindly tell me," he said, slipping carefully past a few soldiers, "Come with me, Lord Snow."