A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Commander Mormont would see you at once. I’ll show you
to his tent.”
    Qhorin swung down from his saddle. “My men are hungry, and our horses
require tending.”
    â€œThey’ll all be seen to.”
    The ranger gave his horse into the care of one of his men and followed. “You
are Jon Snow. You have your father’s look.”
    â€œDid you know him, my lord?”
    â€œI am no lordling. Only a brother of the Night’s Watch. I knew Lord Eddard,
yes. And his father before him.”
    Jon had to hurry his steps to keep up with Qhorin’s long strides. “Lord
Rickard died before I was born.”
    â€œHe was a friend to the Watch.” Qhorin glanced behind. “It is said that a
direwolf runs with you.”
    â€œGhost should be back by dawn. He hunts at night.”
    They found Dolorous Edd frying a rasher of bacon and boiling a dozen eggs in a
kettle over the Old Bear’s cookfire. Mormont sat in his wood-and-leather camp
chair. “I had begun to fear for you. Did you meet with trouble?”
    â€œWe met with Alfyn Crowkiller. Mance had sent him to scout along the Wall, and
we chanced on him returning.” Qhorin removed his helm. “Alfyn will trouble
the realm no longer, but some of his company escaped us. We hunted down as many
as we could, but it may be that a few will win back to the
mountains.”
    â€œAnd the cost?”
    â€œFour brothers dead. A dozen wounded. A third as many as the foe. And we took
captives. One died quickly from his wounds, but the other lived long enough to
be questioned.”
    â€œBest talk of this inside. Jon will fetch you a horn of ale. Or would
you prefer hot spiced wine?”
    â€œBoiled water will suffice. An egg and a bite of bacon.”
    â€œAs you wish.” Mormont lifted the flap of the tent and Qhorin Halfhand
stooped and stepped through.
    Edd stood over the kettle swishing the eggs about with a spoon. “I envy those
eggs,” he said. “I could do with a bit of boiling about now. If the kettle
were larger, I might jump in. Though I would sooner it were wine than water.
There are worse ways to die than warm and drunk. I knew a brother drowned
himself in wine once. It was a poor vintage, though, and his corpse did not
improve it.”
    â€œYou
drank
the wine?”
    â€œIt’s an awful thing to find a brother dead. You’d have need of a drink as
well, Lord Snow.” Edd stirred the kettle and added a pinch more
nutmeg.
    Restless, Jon squatted by the fire and poked at it with a stick. He could hear
the Old Bear’s voice inside the tent, punctuated by the raven’s squawks and
Qhorin Halfhand’s quieter tones, but he could not make out the words.
Alfyn Crowkiller dead, that’s good.
He was one of the bloodiest of
the wildling raiders, taking his name from the black brothers he’d slain.
So why does Qhorin sound so grave, after such a victory?
    Jon had hoped that the arrival of men from the Shadow Tower would lift the
spirits in the camp. Only last night, he was coming back through the dark from
a piss when he heard five or six

men talking in low voices around the embers of a fire. When he heard Chett
muttering that it was past time they turned back, Jon stopped to listen. “It’s
an old man’s folly, this ranging,” he heard. “We’ll find nothing but our
graves in them mountains.”
    â€œThere’s giants in the Frostfangs, and wargs, and worse things,” said Lark
the Sisterman.
    â€œI’ll not be going there, I promise you.”
    â€œThe Old Bear’s not like to give you a choice.”
    â€œMight be we won’t give him one,” said Chett.
    Just then one of the dogs had raised his head and growled, and he had to move
away quickly, before he was seen.
I was not meant to hear that,
he
thought. He considered taking the tale to Mormont, but he could not bring
himself to inform on his brothers, even brothers such as Chett and the
Sisterman.
It was just empty talk,
he told himself.
They are
cold and afraid; we all are.
It was hard waiting here, perched on the
stony summit above the forest, wondering what the morrow might bring.
The
unseen enemy is always the most fearsome.
    Jon slid his new dagger from its sheath and studied the flames as they played
against the shiny black glass. He had fashioned the wooden hilt himself, and
wound hempen twine around it to make a grip.