Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

Chapter 343

Whether the Night King would be taken down by a single dagger, Kal did not know. He only knew that at present he had best find, as swiftly as possible, where the wildlings were gathered—or rather, find Mance Rayder.

The sudden descent of three White Walkers as a probing move left Kal somewhat unable to discern what design lay behind it.

In the original work, the Long Night was ever described as the Cold God, as A Song of Ice and Fire. In truth, it was but a contest of gods standing behind the curtain—a game lasting thousands, even tens of thousands of years.

As for the Night King, he was in fact described as nothing overly significant.

Yet in the television series, Game of Thrones set the Night King directly as the final foe.

Though they laid the groundwork for several seasons, in the end they themselves removed this foe—so full of presence and menace—with ease in the final season.

In any case, it was no more than that.

But for Kal, he would never so lightly decide who his enemy was.

He cared only for threats—then guarding against them, making the worst preparations and the most perfect ones.

Thus, the hundreds of thousands of wildlings beyond the Wall must be taken away by some means. Left here, they would serve no purpose save to strengthen the enemy.

The foe's probing had already come to his very face. If he did not take the initiative now, there would be no need to speak of initiative at all.

The White Walker captured by Kal was left directly to Erevi, along with the sedative.

In the hands of others this little thing would be a menace; in Erevi's hands, it was but a toy. He would let her toy with it for a time, and see whether she might produce some result.

"Your Grace, are we truly to head straight for the Frostfangs?"

Benjen came once more before Kal, speaking with some difficulty upon his face.

Kal cast him a glance and spread his hands. "Else what? Do you mean to pass the year's turn here?"

Benjen paid no heed to the King's jest, but continued his counsel in earnest.

"Mance Rayder has gathered all the wildling tribes beyond the Wall. His strength is greater than ever before. The Frostfangs must surely now be filled with his forces."

"Your Grace, if you mean to parley with him, I would advise that I go first as your envoy to the Frostfangs. Once I have gained his trust, I shall bring him here."

At these words, Kal's hand stilled. He turned and looked at him.

"So you would have me wait here, while you go to speak?"

"No—go to your death?"

"And if you die, I am to avenge you after?"

"Do you know, my uncle Stannis Baratheon still awaits me at Storm's End to dine? Lord Commander Benjen Stark, I do not believe I have so much time to waste here."

With that, Kal rose to his feet and brushed the snow from his hands.

"The enmity between the Night's Watch and the free folk has endured a thousand years. It is not a matter you may resolve simply because you wish it. They will never trust you. They trust only the weapons in their own hands, and the blood of their foes."

"That is also why I have brought only ten men of your Night's Watch with me."

"And you need not fear. I have met this King-Beyond-the-Wall once before. For the sake of that meeting, he must grant me at least a measure of regard."

"So there is one more thing I must remind you of: you look at them through tinted glass—yet are they not looking at us in the same way?"

"Only sincerity is the shortest path to understanding between people."

After speaking these meaningful words to Benjen, Kal turned and made his way down the mountain.

Halfway down, Erevi was waiting for him.

"If that Mance Rayder truly is as your subordinate says, what will you do then?"

Their conversation had not been hushed; Erevi had heard it clearly.

Faced with her question, Kal thought for a moment, then glanced at the powerful witch he had brought out from the game.

"If we cannot reach terms—if we cannot make them civilized men—then I shall have no choice but to make them civilized men."

"So the question is this: can you deal with tens of thousands at once? A hundred thousand? Even several hundred thousand?"

Kal knew he did not possess such strength, and so he turned his hope toward the dark elf witch.

At his wild fancy, the dark elf witch curled her lip. "A few hundred, even a few thousand—that would be no trouble."

"As for several hundred thousand, I have no means for that. In our world, perhaps—if one were to beseech divine magic—there might be such a chance."

Seeing that Erevi could not accomplish even what a chubby boy and a young lad had managed, Kal could not help but feel disappointed.

It was not that he truly meant to be so ruthless with the free folk beyond the Wall. What he had in mind was this: if Erevi were capable of it, then he would have little need to fear the Night King or the Cold God.

If the Cold God took offense, it could take the matter up with magic itself.

Kal was easy to speak with.

But alas, Erevi could not—and neither could Kal.

Even if ten thousand men stood before him unresisting, to be slain at his hand, it would still leave him utterly spent.

"Then it seems success is the only road left to us. If Mance Rayder truly refuses to show me regard, then I shall see how much regard he truly commands."

There were no outriders, no scouts.

Thus this so-called expeditionary force, led by Kal, strode openly across the wild plains beyond the Wall.

They crossed the Milkwater and came to the Gorge of the Wind.

The Milkwater was a river whose waters ran milky white, rising from a deep lake beneath a glacier. Jagged stones lined its banks, piled high like small hills.

Along the way, the scenery was of a different sort of beauty.

As for the Gorge of the Wind, it was indeed a long stretch of true gorge.

Long and winding, it at times curved around rolling mountains of wind and snow; at others, it narrowed into hidden passes where the sky could scarcely be seen.

Weeds forced their way up through the cracks in the stones, and here and there pale lichen clung—but Kal saw not a single blade of green grass.

The landscape here was yet more magnificent. One walked with care along the steep edges of the cliffs; sunlight would flash upon waterfalls sheathed in thin ice, casting a sight of rare beauty.

There were mountain meadows thick with autumn wildflowers, and blue ice-heart blossoms.

Bright crimson frostfire burned cold; russet-gold piper's reeds stood upright and unbending.

At the highest point of the gorge stood even a natural stone bridge, formed by a weathered grey arch of rock. Horses passed across it steady and sure.

On either side, there was nothing but the endless sky.

Eagles built their nests upon sheer cliffs and hunted within the gorge. As though tireless, they spread their strong blue-grey wings, circling and soaring, almost becoming one with the sky.

There were even shadowcats stalking rams—like drifting smoke slowly spilling from the belly of a mountain, lying in wait, watching, then springing to the kill.

Because the road had grown more difficult, by the time they had reached only halfway through, five days had already been spent. The great golden hound was nearly driven mad with play in this place.

Yet just when they were but two days' journey from leaving the Gorge of the Wind, JJ—who had long since run off until not even the shadow of him could be seen—suddenly emerged from nowhere.

"Woof… woof~"

JJ rose upon his hind legs and pawed at Kal, whining with bright-eyed excitement.

"It says it has found people ahead."

Erevi looked over with curiosity.

Kal stroked JJ's head and cast his gaze in the direction it indicated.

Sure enough, upon the distant rock face, a few faint black specks were moving.

"Mm. They have seen us as well."

"Likely scouts sent by Mance Rayder."

As he spoke, Kal patted JJ's head once more.

"Go and bring them back. All of them alive. Do it well, and tonight you shall have roast bear's meat."

JJ had only meant to claim credit—how could he not heed such words? His drool was near to spilling.

In the blink of an eye, a flash of gold, and the great hound vanished from sight.

"Find a place sheltered from the wind and make camp. We shall have guests soon."

Having set the dog to its task, Kal ordered that they encamp where they stood.

If there were men to be found in this place, then Mance Rayder could not be far. There was no need for haste.

Before Benjen, Robb, Qhorin Halfhand, and the others had even managed to raise a fire, the golden hound came bounding back before Kal—two wildlings clamped in its jaws, one slung across its back, three in all.

The sight left them all staring in astonishment, their view of the King's hound once again altered.

After piling the three before Kal, JJ stretched out his tongue, panting with unrestrained excitement.

Kal tossed him a prepared chunk of bear's meat and sent him off to play. Only then did he turn his gaze upon the three wildlings, who appeared battered and bruised, lying unconscious.

It was plain JJ had taken some effort not to kill them.

Yet what surprised Kal somewhat was that among the three there was a woman.

She was short, thin as skin over bone, yet with a round face; her nose was flat, and from ill-fitting clothes a pair of small hands were visible.

Yet none of that was of much account. What drew the eye most was her head of fiery red hair, matted and tangled into a wild mass, giving off a foul smell.

'It seems I have met another "old acquaintance".'

Looking at the woman before him, Kal stroked his chin, then thought of a certain bastard he had left behind at Highgarden.

With a sharp snap of his fingers, a green light of healing wreathed the woman with the fiery red hair.

The striking bruises and swelling upon her face slowly faded. Her eyes fluttered once, then opened.

For a brief instant her gaze was vacant. The next moment, clarity returned—she rolled to her feet and reached at once for her weapon.

But her hand grasped at nothing. Kal's command to JJ had been only to bring them back alive.

Ygritte, clutching at empty air, now fully came to herself.

Seeing the hundred men gathered round, she wisely abandoned the thought of resistance.

"I had thought to see a more splendid show."

Kal sat upon a stone, propping his chin upon one hand as he watched Ygritte, while with the other he gestured for Dacey to lower her sword.

"I know you. 'Kissed by fire.' Your name is Ygritte, is it not?"

Though his words were framed as a question, his tone was certain.

Ygritte grew tense.

These men did not wear the black cloaks of the Night's Watch. There were a few in black among them, yet they were but a small part of the company.

Stranger still, the man before her—who seemed highest in station, and both too strong and too handsome by far—knew her name.

And there was the great hound that had intercepted and defeated them.

All before her exceeded Ygritte's imagining. She wondered whether she had failed to wake from sleep that morning.

"Who are you? You are not crows, yet you ride with crows."

"And you—how do you know me?"

Crouched beside her still-unconscious companions, Ygritte looked upon Kal and the others with wary eyes.

Seeing such discourtesy from the wildling, Dacey stepped forward.

"Before you stands the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, of all the realm—"

"That will do. The Iron Throne in King's Landing cannot seat so many titles."

Seeing Dacey about to recite the long string of styles once more, Kal hastened to stop her.

What use were such words to wildlings?

So he spoke plainly.

"I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms in the south."

"You are kneelers?"

"And you… you just said you are the king of these kneelers?"

Poor Ygritte had never imagined that those before her held such standing—and that this young man with deep blue eyes was their king.

Seeing how blunt she was, Kal spread his hands.

"They rarely kneel to me. I do not much like men kneeling before me. Whenever they do, it always gives me the feeling that I have already died."

"So we are not quite as you think—people without the least bit of freedom. Though… the smallfolk perhaps truly are."

Kal spoke plainly, without concealment.

Ygritte had not expected that the man who called himself king would say such things. For a moment, she did not know what to say.

She pointed at Kal, then looked around at the others.

"You… then what are you doing here? This is not your land. Do not tell us you mean to invade!"

As if struck by the thought, Ygritte's brows rose, her face stern as she demanded an answer.

"No grain grows from these stones. What would I want with this place?"

"As for why I have come—why, to save you, of course."

Kal truly could not grasp her thinking. He bent and picked up a stone from the ground, tossing it toward Ygritte.

She looked at the stone as it rolled to her feet, and at the self-proclaimed king before her. The wariness in her heart deepened; she did not believe a word of his claim.

"And you say that is not invasion?"

"With only this handful of men? I tell you, it would not suffice. We could drown all of you in spit alone!"

Seeing the girl flare up like powder to flame, Kal lost patience.

"Then I suppose you have much spit."

"That is enough. I have no patience left. Ygritte—tell me where Mance Rayder is. I have business with him."

"I would sooner die than tell you!"

…

At the end of the Gorge of the Wind, a long V-shaped valley lay below. At its far end stood a glacier thousands of feet high. Beneath its wall of ice lay a magnificent lake, its deep blue waters like a sapphire, reflecting the gleam of the surrounding snow-crowned peaks.

Ygritte stretched out her reddened hand and pointed ahead.

"He is there."

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