The King of Winters

Chapter 51

Tom Sevenstrings strummed his harp. "We'll hold the castle," he said. "The bastard will rush and break his host against the walls. And our Archer here will make them bleed every time they come near." 

Anguy strummed the string of his longbow. "I might have found some decent archers in Lord Hornwood's host." He was as skinny as his longbow if not quite as tall and Edric was yet to see a better marksman than Anguy. He doubted if would ever see one though. Red-haired and freckled, he wore a studded brigantine, high boots, fingerless leather gloves, and a quiver on his back. His arrows were fletched with grey goose feathers, and six of them stood in the ground before him, like a little fence against the wall. "We might take a good number down if we had the light." 

"You will," Tom said and went to singing again. "I'll steal a sweet kiss with the point of my blade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho."

"What do you think the Wanderer will do after this?" Anguy asked.

"I think he'll go for Winterfell," Lem said. 

"Not before the dragon," Tom sang the words as if they were parts of the song. 

"The dragon will be a problem, I tell you," Lem said. 

"Not unlike anything we have seen before," said Anguy. "We'll have Thoros and the Lightning lord with us." 

Edric wondered if the red priest could take down the dragon. He could, maybe, after all he brings dead men to life. If Thoros could bring that dragon down they'll have an easy time capturing Winterfell. 

"Let's just think about what's at hand now, shall we?" Tom glanced toward the Bolton camp. "The bastard has done things bad if not worse as the Targaryens. He killed Old Pate just because the man wouldn't move his wagon quickly."

Edric had known Old Pate. The old man had been a good friend of their brotherhood ever since he knew him. 

"I buried Old Pate myself," Tom continued, "right there under that sentinal beside his house he very much loved to sit under." He drew a sad sound from his harp. "We've buried many a good man this past year, and I mean to stop Bolton's bastard before the dragon."

"Patience, Tom," Edric told him. "Besides if Ramsay Snow ever shows up I believe Anguy here will fill him with arrows before he could even draw his sword." 

The archer's hand moved quicker than Edric would have believed. His shaft went hissing past his head within an inch of his ear and buried itself in the wooden rail behind him. "It'll only take one," Anguy said as the arrow thrummed behind her like a bee.

Tom chuckled and went back to his song again. "I'll make her my love and we'll rest in the shade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho." As dusk began to settle over the world, the song swelled louder with every word.

As the sun moved, the shadow of the guard tower moved as well, gradually lengthening, a blackk arm reaching out for Edric Dayne. By the time the sun touched the wall, he was in its grasp. 

It was when the warhorn sounded. Harooooooh... The sound split through Tom's song. 

The Hornwood men on the castle walls blew their own horns, calling up the men for battle. 

"Shit," Lem said and donned his helm. 

Anguy picked up his arrows and secured them in his quiver. Tom dropped down from the tower already with his axe in hand. There was a little commotion down in the yard and a murmur amongst the men. 

"Prepare to defend the castle," Edric shouted to them.  

Lord Halys came forth dressed in mail and a tunic displaying his sigil over the mail. "Prepare to fight," he told his men. "The bastard of Bolton is coming to take our lands, our castle, our freedom. Nothing good is going to happen with him inside our walls. Fight with me and throw him away."