บท 7: Part 6
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***
Jon Snow and Ramsay Bolton met in the morning.
- You've come to swear an oath of fealty to me? - Ramsay asked with a cheeky grin. - You can start now, and I'll let you go back to the Wall.
- I don't feel like it,' Snow replied, looking at Bolton's entourage. There's Little John Amber, whom the Lord Commander has long since pronounced a death sentence on. And here was Robett Glover, who was looking at Jon with a frown.
Sansa had also seen the Lord of the Dark Forest, and now she was looking at Glover with hatred, as if she were trying to burn a hole in him. Clay Cerwyn was not spared the same fate, as he looked away.
- Oh, my dearest wife,' Sansa shuddered at the sound of Ramsay's voice. - How good to see you. By the way, I'm still expecting you to be my heir.
- Only over my dead body,' the girl's eyes darkened with anger and her breath caught.
- Don't rush things, all in good time,' Ramsay promised her, and turned back to Jon. - What did you expect when you went to Glover? That he'd side with you after I helped him take Darkwood from the Ironborn? And Servin? Did you really think he'd help you? After what I did to his family, I own Clay outright.
- I thought he had more courage,' John replied. - I guess I was wrong.
- And that wasn't your only mistake,' Ramsey adjusted his cloak around his shoulders. - Your main mistake was in not honouring my demands and coming here. Yes, your army is almost equal to mine, but only in numbers. Your savages can't stand five minutes against my soldiers, and not even that Karstark creature can help you. When I am done with you, my soldiers will come to Karhold, kill everyone they meet there, and then strip Alice Karstark of her clothes and fuck her good. Harald, did you hear that?
Karstark was seething with anger, clenching his fists until they crunched, but he remained silent. The time was not yet ripe for the Bolton degenerate to answer for his every word.
- But today I am magnanimous,' Ramsay continued. - Kneel down, bow before me, give me back my wife, and I will accept your surrender.
- Our surrender? - John interjected. - You seem to have misunderstood, Snow. We're here to discuss your surrender.
- I'm Bolton,' Ramsay hissed, his face changing.
- Why should you be? - Jon wondered. - Were you born in lawful wedlock? No, you're as much a Bolton as I am a Stark. I mean, you're not.
- I became a Bolton by King Tommen's decree,' Ramsay lifted his chin, fury in his eyes.
- Another bastard,' Jon grinned, 'whose authority we do not recognise, nor his decrees. So you're Snow, though I hate that you bear the same surname as me. Now listen to my terms, now that I've heard yours. Surrender immediately, open the gates of Winterfell, and I'll let your soldiers return to the Dreadfort to await my further orders. Release Rickon and give me Jon Amber, and then a swift death by sword will await you.
Bolton's nostrils flared predatorily, his full lips tight, and it seemed that one more word and Ramsay would explode with anger. Amber did not look his best either. Meanwhile, John continued:
- If you don't surrender, I will smash your army, kill all your allies, and then I will take you,' John suddenly stepped forward, his voice vibrating strangely, literally digging into Bolton's ears. - You think you know all kinds of torture and abuse, but you don't. Compared to what I know, you know nothing, and such things would not occur to you even in your worst nightmare. When I'm done with you, which won't be for a long time, you'll be nothing but an ugly, bloody piece of meat, but you'll still be alive.
Ramsay was as pale as the snow around him, and the sight made Sansa smile vindictively. Jon straightened up in the saddle, and his voice became normal again:
- Well, and lastly, I will destroy the very memory of the Boltons. Your name will be erased from all books, from all chronicles, from the very memory of men, as if you never existed. I will erase you from history itself, and you will be forgotten. And when some traveller passes the ruins of Dreadfort and asks who that pile of stones belonged to, they'll say, 'The nameless creatures who crossed the Stark road.'
- A lot of empty words, nothing more,' Bolton muttered.
- A lot? Perhaps,' Jon agreed. - Empty? I don't think so. What do you say?
- What do I say? Tomorrow you'll be dead, just like your puppy brother and that whore you call sister. Tomorrow I will destroy you all and no one will dare to rise up against me again. Do you understand me?
- More than I do.
That night Jon gathered all his allies and advisors in the tent to discuss the coming battle. Sansa was there, and though she knew nothing of war, she knew Ramsay better than anyone.
- Tormund, are your men ready? - Jon asked.
- Ready,' the wildling nodded. - There weren't enough chains, swords, and spears for everyone, but we've armed most of them. Even Wun-Wun has something for them.
- Are they ready to take orders? - Ser Davos asked. - We're not going for a walk after all. The outcome of the battle may depend on the timely execution of commands.
- The Free Folk will do what is right,' Tormund assured them. - We know what is at stake.
- Good,' John nodded. - Lord Karstark, do I have your word?
- Our cavalry is ready for battle, our horses have been checked, and there are no lame or cold horses. The infantry are also ready as agreed, they will stand in the centre and will not move until ordered to do so.
- Sansa?
- Yes? A girl has stepped forward.
- You know Bolton better than any of us. What can you tell me?
- You pissed him off in front of his allies today,' Sansa replied, 'hurt his pride. Ramsay won't forgive you for that. I'm sure he'll use Rickon against us tomorrow to provoke us and take revenge. Perhaps he'll pretend to let him go and kill our brother at the last moment. That sort of thing is very Ramsey.
- Anything else? - Davos asked.
- Yes,' Sansa nodded. - Ramsay is used to playing the victim, to stalling, which plays into his hands.
- So it takes one strong and powerful onslaught to keep him at bay,' said Karstark, 'so we have to attack his positions, and that means heavy casualties on our part. In fact, that's exactly what he wants.
- Under normal circumstances,' John countered, 'that would be the case, but this is a different situation.
Tormund grinned gloatingly, Karstark's face radiated malicious joy, and even Ser Davos allowed himself a smile. Only Sansa stared at the men, understanding nothing. At last she could not stand it:
- What on earth is going on?
The men laughed, and Ser Davos answered vaguely:
- Let's just say, Lady Sansa, we've prepared a surprise for you.
- Well, you surprised us with Baelish,' Jon explained to his sister, 'so we thought we'd do the same. You'll see for yourself tomorrow, don't worry, you'll love it.
When the council was over and everyone had gone, Jon and Sansa were alone in the tent. Jon wiped the sword gently with a dry cloth, wiping away stains and moisture, and though the Valyrian steel sword was not afraid of either, Snow was doing what years of training had instilled in him.
- We can't save Rickon, can we? - Sansa asked quietly, watching her brother.
With a heavy sigh, Jon put his sword aside and ran his hand over his face tiredly. After which he confessed:
- No. We probably can't.
- But we know Ramsay's using it, don't we?
- Yes,' Jon agreed, 'but that's why we're going to have to be incredibly patient. I'm sorry you have to hear this, Sansa, but Ramsay will kill Rickon in front of us.
- Jon!' Sansa jumped to her feet, but Snow was at her side in a moment and sat her back down.
- You know that you are,' Jon put his arm around his sister's shoulders and pulled her close. - You're going to have to be strong in this moment, because Ramsay's going to make us do the opposite.
- Do you want me to just stand by and watch?! - Sansa was outraged. - Watch our brother die?!
- You see, Ramsay's plan is already working,' Jon's words had an icy effect on the girl. - You're ready to act rashly, which means he's already increased his chances of victory.
Sansa closed her eyes and somehow collapsed in her brother's arms. Taking her in his arms, he carried her to the bed, laid her down, and sat down beside her:
- You need to sleep.
- I can't,' Sansa whispered.
- You can,' Jon answered just as quietly. - You're strong, you even caught Littlefinger,' Snow whispered, kissing his sister on the temple. - I promise you that if there's an opportunity to save Rickon, I'll take it, but I need to think of the army first. Without it, we're doomed. Now, you should get some sleep. We have a very important day tomorrow.
- Will you stay with me? - Sansa asked, squeezing her brother's hand.
- 'Of course,' Jon smiled, leaned close to her ear and said. - Gol Hah.
It was as if reality was covered in a fog, the sounds disappeared and only Jon's voice remained in the world:
- Sleep.
In that instant Sansa fell into a deep sleep. Covering her with a warm blanket, Jon called out to Ghost. The direwolf came noiselessly to Snow and lay at his feet, staring at his master with his red eyes. The two of them sat together until morning, guarding the girl's sleep.
***
The two armies lined up opposite each other, separated by a vast field that looked as if it had been cleared of snow by someone. In front of Ramsay's army there were several bonfires burning, made in the shape of the Boltons' skinned man, and the wind carried the smell of burnt flesh to Jon's army - Ramsay had indeed burned someone, and one could only sympathise with those unfortunates.
Seated on his horse, Jon looked at his warriors clutching swords, spears, and axes. A little further away stood the heavy cavalry of the Karstarks, whose horses snorted and bellowed, disturbed by the foul odour. For a moment, Snow even respected Ramsay, for Ruse Bolton's son had used everything he could against them. He had been a fearsome opponent, but now he had nothing but contempt for him. Besides, he had seen worse things than a mad butcher with delusions of grandeur.
But there was movement in the ranks of the enemy, and Ramsey emerged from the ranks, dragging someone on a rope. Jon could only guess how Sansa felt at that moment, but the Ghost had received strict orders not to leave the girl or let her go anywhere. Snow had no doubt that the direwolf would do exactly as he said, so his sister couldn't do anything stupid that they'd all regret.
- Here we go,' Jon said as the small figure was released from its restraints and sprinted across the field toward the army, the Stark banners flying overhead.
The first arrow struck close to the running boy, but it was a deliberate miss, for any experienced archer could have hit a target running in a straight line. The second arrow also missed, but from the other side, and there was no doubt that Ramsay would soon tire of this game. He must have realised by now that his provocation had failed, and that the true heir to Eddard Stark would soon be out of reach.
But Jon, or rather that part of his soul that had been inherited from Dovakin, had had enough of this game. Far from being a saint himself, he loathed such freaks, and now his patience was finally wearing thin. Jumping off his horse, Jon stared straight at Rickon and shouted:
- Wuld! Nah! Kest!
The world blurred before his eyes, his body lunged forward with monstrous speed, and within moments the boy was in Jon's arms, frightened half to death. He stared wildly at Snow with horrified eyes, to which he only said:
- Hold on to me as tightly as you can.
Jon turned towards his troops, clutching his brother's shoulders, and shouted again:
- Wuld! Nah! Kest!
The times when his throat needed rest after each Shout were long gone. And though now, for the first time in a long time, he felt the taste of blood in his mouth again, he was rewarded by the dumbfounded faces of the soldiers around him in the blink of an eye. They looked at him with unreadable stares, shock and amazement on their faces, but no one dared to ask him a single question.
- Take my brother to Sansa,' Jon ordered, and his voice made many of the men's ears ache. He saw no point in hiding his abilities any longer. The hour had come.
Turning round and drawing his sword from its sheath, Snow pointed it at the enemy lines and shouted:
- For the North!
He was answered by the furious roar of a thousand throats, the clash of shields and the clang of swords. The battle of the Bastards had begun.
The army took the first step, then the second, gradually gaining ground. The Carstark infantry, keeping their formation, moved forward swiftly, covered by wildlings on their left and the houses of the North on their right, whose numbers were insufficient to form separate large detachments.
The cavalry remained standing, awaiting orders.
Bolton's archers, standing behind the main force, were raising their bows, preparing to fire a volley, when the unthinkable happened. Robett Glover's troops suddenly struck the archers' left flank, crushing their ranks, and Servin's troops descended on the army reserve, massacring them. Bolton looked around, not realising what was happening. The enemy troops hadn't even reached his position yet, and he was already suffering his first casualties!
But then something unthinkable happened. A fierce shriek that made his ears ache washed over the battlefield:
- Yol! Toor! Shul!
And flames erupted, devouring the first ranks of the army, mostly made up of Amber soldiers. Many of the warriors engulfed in flames were thrown back at their comrades. The ground was scorched, the snow melted in the blink of an eye, and the men screamed and shouted as they burned alive. They tore off their clothes and rolled on the ground, where they lay dying in agony. Dumbfounded, Ramsay watched as Snow's army stopped a few dozen paces away, only to break from its position a moment later and begin to press down on the caught enemy with a mighty onslaught.
- Fus! Ro! Dah!
It seemed as if an invisible giant swung a monstrous club, throwing people in different directions, and they flew away as if they were made of straw, not flesh and blood. They fell to the ground in broken figures, many of them no longer breathing. It was no longer possible to understand what was going on around them; the whole plan had collapsed overnight.
At what moment the Carstark cavalry burst into their ranks, Ramsay did not notice; in fact, he did not care much about it. On the right flank, surrounded by wildlings, a giant laden with broad sheets of iron was rampaging. Waving a huge club, he was wreaking monstrous havoc among the soldiers. That the battle was lost was obvious, but the most offensive thing was that not even half an hour had passed since it had begun. The enemy had crushed him in one incomprehensibly powerful blow, used powers against him that no one had ever heard of.
- Dragon! - There was a desperate cry, and at first Ramsey could not believe his ears. - The dragon! Save yourselves!
The soldiers scattered in terror, revealing to Bolton a startling sight. Coming towards him was someone who looked only remotely like Jon Snow, shrouded in flickering flames that looked like the strangest armour the world had ever seen. His body was covered in armour that looked like bone, and on his head were two twisted horns that looked like dragon horns. Each blow of his sword shredded armour and armour like paper, leaving a bloody trail of Amber soldiers in its wake.
But then Jon Snow, flesh and blood, appeared before the soldiers, but after what they had seen, no one could think of attacking this demon who had come straight from the seventh circle of Hell.
Ramsey turned his horse and rode towards Winterfell, when a shout in an incomprehensible language came from behind him, the air grew cold, and Bolton found himself flying to the ground. Rolling on the frozen ground, Ramsay jumped to his feet and stared at his horse. Imprisoned in a block of ice, he fell on his side, and the Carstark soldiers were already running towards Bolton. The rest of Snow's troops were already running towards Bolton, slaughtering the wounded and looting without further ado.
- I told you to surrender peacefully,' Snow appeared out of nowhere and struck Ramsay in the jaw with all his might. No sooner had he fallen than he was grabbed and dragged back to Jon.
- Who are you, you bastard? - Bolton wheezed through battered teeth.
- Your worst nightmare,' Jon replied and turned to the soldiers. - Put him in chains and watch him day and night. He has much to answer for. He must not escape, even if it is to the other world.
With a loyal nod, the soldiers dragged the resisting Bolton away, and John looked round. He saw what he expected. Shock, disbelief, even horror on the faces of the Northerners who had followed him into battle and seen something quite indescribable. One could only wonder what they were thinking at that moment, what they were feeling. There was something impossible on the faces of the wildlings, and John was frightened at the thought of who the Free Folk thought he was now. He might have overdone the Screaming demonstration, but he couldn't hide his capabilities any longer.
The Nords must know that their leader was strong enough to lead them to victory, for only then would they follow him into battle against a far more fearsome and powerful enemy.
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