A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

back yet.”
    â€œWe could do with fresh meat.” Mormont dug into a sack and offered his raven
a handful of corn. “You think I’m wrong to keep the rangers close?”
    â€œThat’s not for me to say, my lord.”
    â€œIt is if you’re asked.”
    â€œIf the rangers must stay in sight of the Fist, I don’t see how they can hope
to find my uncle,” Jon admitted.
    â€œThey can’t.” The raven pecked at the kernels in the Old Bear’s palm. “Two
hundred men or ten thousand, the country is too vast.” The corn gone, Mormont
turned his hand over.
    â€œYou would not give up the search?”
    â€œMaester Aemon thinks you clever.” Mormont moved the raven to his shoulder.
The bird tilted its head to one side, little eyes a-glitter.
    The answer was there. “Is it . . . it seems to me that it
might be easier for one man to find two hundred than for two hundred to find
one.”
    The raven gave a cackling scream, but the Old Bear smiled through the grey of
his beard. “This many men and horses leave a

trail even Aemon could follow. On this hill, our fires ought to be visible as
far off as the foothills of the Frostfangs. If Ben Stark is alive and free, he
will come to us, I have no doubt.”
    â€œYes,” said Jon, “but . . . what
if . . .”
    â€œ. . . he’s dead?” Mormont asked, not unkindly.
    Jon nodded, reluctantly.
    â€œDead,”
the raven said.
“Dead. Dead.”
    â€œHe may come to us anyway,” the Old Bear said. “As Othor did, and Jafer
Flowers. I dread that as much as you, Jon, but we must admit the
possibility.”
    â€œDead,”
his raven cawed, ruffling its wings. Its voice grew louder
and more shrill.
“Dead.”
    Mormont stroked the bird’s black feathers, and stifled a sudden yawn with the
back of his hand. “I will forsake supper, I believe. Rest will serve me
better. Wake me at first light.”
    â€œSleep well, my lord.” Jon gathered up the empty cups and stepped outside. He
heard distant laughter, the plaintive sound of pipes. A great blaze was
crackling in the center of the camp, and he could smell stew cooking. The Old
Bear might not be hungry, but Jon was. He drifted over toward the
fire.
    Dywen was holding forth, spoon in hand. “I know this wood as well as any man
alive, and I tell you, I wouldn’t care to ride through it alone tonight. Can’t
you smell it?”
    Grenn was staring at him with wide eyes, but Dolorous Edd said, “All I smell
is the shit of two hundred horses. And this stew. Which has a similar aroma,
now that I come to sniff it.”
    â€œI’ve got your
similar aroma
right here.” Hake patted his
dirk. Grumbling, he filled Jon’s bowl from the kettle.
    The stew was thick with barley, carrot, and onion, with here and there a ragged
shred of salt beef, softened in the cooking.
    â€œWhat is it you smell, Dywen?” asked Grenn.
    The forester sucked on his spoon a moment. He had taken out his teeth. His face
was leathery and wrinkled, his hands gnarled as old roots. “Seems to me like
it
smells . . . well
. . . cold.
”
    â€œYour head’s as wooden as your teeth,” Hake told him. “There’s no smell to
cold.”
    There is,
thought Jon, remembering the night in the Lord Commander’s
chambers.
It smells like death.
Suddenly he was not hungry anymore.
He gave his stew to Grenn, who looked in need of an extra supper to warm him
against the night.
    The wind was blowing briskly when he left. By morning, frost would cover the
ground, and the tent ropes would be stiff and frozen. A few fingers of spiced
wine sloshed in the bottom of the kettle. Jon fed fresh wood to the fire and
put the kettle over the flames to reheat. He flexed his fingers as he waited,
squeezing and spreading until the hand tingled. The first watch had taken up
their stations around the perimeter of the camp. Torches flickered all along
the ringwall. The night was moonless, but a thousand stars shone
overhead.
    A sound rose out of the darkness, faint and distant, but unmistakable: the
howling of wolves. Their voices rose and fell, a chilly song, and lonely. It
made the hairs rise along the back

of his neck. Across the fire, a pair of red eyes regarded him from the shadows.
The light of the flames made them