The King of Winters

Chapter - 79

Bedwyck set to his duty about at once, getting ready for the long and hard climb up. He was a short man, only a hair and half over five feet, Bedwyck was probably the shortest man in the Night's Watch. For that reason the brothers of the Night's Watch had called him Giant for the stature of the man. While the short ranger, Bedwyck, scrambled up the thick trunk of the weirwood, the others joined up and searched about the village.

Two men went through each house, to make certain nothing was missed. Jaehaerys was paired with Ser Gwayne. They chose the first house and walked towards it. "Bad enough when the dead come walking," the knight said to Jaehaerys as they crossed the village, "now the Old Bear wants them talking as well? Can you believe all of which is happening here, my prince? The stories of the wet nurses, they are just a reality in this part of the world. Maybe not the snarks or grumpkins but there are beings worse than them."

Jaehaerys had to stoop to pass through the low door. Within he found a packed dirt floor. There were no furnishings, no sign that people had lived here but for some ashes beneath the smoke hole in the roof. "What a dismal place to live," he said.

"Looks like the place where the dead live," said Ser Gwayne looking around the house. "Do you think that is why the Wildlings deserted the village?" A nest of dry straw bedding filled one corner of the room. A puff of dust took to air as the knight took a seat on it. "I don't like the smell of this place, my prince. We should leave this village as soon as possible."

"How do you know that?"

"I could feel it in my heart." Ser Gwayne put his had on his chest. "If the people who lived here found it not safe to be here anymore, then we should leave as well."

The house felt as though it had been empty for some time. Kneeling, he searched through the straw with his hands to see if anything had been concealed beneath, then made a round of the walls. It did not take very long. "There's nothing here."

Nothing was what he had expected; Whitetree was the fourth village they had passed, and it had been the same in all of them. The people were gone, vanished with their scant possessions and whatever animals they may have had. None of the villages showed any signs of having been attacked. They were simply . . . empty. "Could they have indeed been chased off by the dead?" Jaehaerys asked.

"There is nothing worse I can imagine," suggested Ser Gwayne Gaunt. "There is nothing worse than watching dead men walk, my prince. If they could creep past the Wall to get to us, imagine what horrors these wildlings who lives so far up North could have witnessed."

Jaehaerys could only have to imagine the bright blue eyes sparkling in the dark to know the truth about his words. Just the memory of the evil being sent a shiver down his spine. If only Viserion was with him now, he wouldn't worry as much about it as he did now.

When they came out of the house, two of the hounds were sniffing around the door as they reemerged. Other dogs ranged through the village. Chett, the former care taker of Maester Aemon and the now kennel keeper of Caste Black was cursing his dogs loudly, his voice thick with the anger he never seemed to put aside. The light filtering through the red leaves of the weirwood made the boils on his face look even more inflamed than usual. When he saw the prince his eyes narrowed; there was no love lost between them.

The other houses had yielded no wisdom. "Gone," cried Mormont's raven, flapping up into the weirwood to perch above them. "Gone, gone, gone."

"There were wildlings at Whitetree only a year ago." Thoren Smallwood looked more a lord than Mormont did, clad in Ser Jaremy Rykker's gleaming black mail and embossed breastplate. His heavy cloak was richly trimmed with sable, and clasped with the crossed hammers of the Rykkers, wrought in silver. Ser Jaremy's cloak, once . . . but the wight had claimed Ser Jaremy, and the Night's Watch wasted nothing.