CHAPTER 117
Ox Horn Mountain lay west of Sheephead Mountain, east of Torrhen's Square, and south of Cerwyn. The Kingsroad cut through its center, and the Northerners referred to its two halves as East Horn Mountain and West Horn Mountain.
East Horn Mountain bordered the Sheephead Mountain range, with a tributary of the White Knife flowing between the two. The terrain was steep and rugged, filled with exposed rock faces that almost merged vertically into the larger mountain range, creating an imposing natural barrier.
West Horn Mountain, however, was much gentler.
It stood alone upon the northern plains, rising only three to four hundred meters above the surrounding land. Dense stands of sentinel trees and ancient oaks covered its slopes, making it appear particularly gloomy beneath the bleak skies of late autumn.
Its long slopes and deep forests made it an ideal place for an ambush.
When Lord Wyman Manderly informed Garon that the Ironborn were advancing toward Ox Horn Mountain, Garon immediately realized he had to seize the northern entrance before they arrived.
Otherwise, once the Ironborn gained full control of Ox Horn Mountain, he would lose the last defensible terrain available to him.
At that point, he would either be forced to retreat all the way back to Winterfell or lure the Ironborn out into the open plains for a decisive battle.
Either option would come at a far greater cost.
Therefore, after parting ways with Lord Wyman, Garon wasted no time and pushed his army through two consecutive days of forced marching.
Finally, during the afternoon of the second day, he led his forces to a position roughly ten kilometers north of the entrance to Ox Horn Mountain.
Beneath the gloomy sky, sixty mounted scouts rode ahead under Garon's orders to investigate the northern entrance and determine whether the Ironborn had already arrived or established any hidden ambushes.
Before long, one of the scouts returned with a report.
Everything at the northern entrance appeared normal.
Garon breathed a slight sigh of relief, but his thoughts remained calm and cautious.
After considering the situation for a moment, he turned and looked at the Northern lords gathered behind him.
"Lord Hother, take three hundred men and secure the northern entrance."
"Remain vigilant."
Hother Umber, who rode among the Northern lords behind Garon, nodded without hesitation. He immediately galloped back to his contingent and led them toward the pass.
After spending the past several days together, the acting castellan of Last Hearth, a man roughly the same age as Maester Luwin, had come to recognize Garon's ability and leadership.
Naturally, he obeyed his commands without question.
Once Umber's men departed, Garon issued further orders and personally led the remainder of the army forward.
Three hours later, the entire host arrived at the northern entrance of Ox Horn Mountain.
Garon carefully surveyed the terrain.
The eastern side of the pass was covered in strange scale-like rock formations that made climbing nearly impossible.
West Horn Mountain, however, disappeared beneath a vast sea of dense forest, concealing whatever lay within.
"Mihawk, take your men and secure the high ground on the western slope. Remain alert at all times."
"Lord Hother, have your men fell trees and construct barriers. Seal the pass."
"Jon, send every scout rider we have. I want accurate information about the Ironborn's position and numbers."
"Everyone else, establish camp immediately."
Garon's expression remained stern as he calmly issued orders one after another.
The Northern host moved like a great beast awakening from slumber.
The heavy blows of axes striking timber, the shouts of laboring soldiers, and the uneasy whinnies of warhorses shattered the silence of the valley.
Crude yet deadly barricades rose across the roadway.
Archers occupied elevated positions.
Cold arrowheads pointed toward the Kingsroad leading to the southern entrance of Ox Horn Mountain.
Once the camp had begun taking shape, Garon personally led several men into West Horn Mountain to inspect the terrain in greater detail.
Meanwhile, cavalry scouts dispersed throughout the Kingsroad and the forests of West Horn Mountain according to his orders.
Among them, Shanks personally led a scouting party farther down the Kingsroad.
The group advanced for more than two hours without discovering anything unusual.
By then, darkness had begun creeping across the landscape.
"Lord Shanks, should we continue?"
One of the scouts finally asked.
Hearing the question, Shanks glanced toward the barely visible forests covering West Horn Mountain, feeling as though countless dangers lurked within the darkness.
"Our mission is to get as close to the Ironborn camp as possible and determine their numbers and movements."
"For the North, brothers, we'll go a little farther."
"Ride!"
Shanks cracked his reins and took the lead once more, galloping toward the southern entrance of Ox Horn Mountain.
The others voiced no complaints and silently followed.
The group continued onward.
The icy evening wind cut across Shanks' face like a blade.
He lowered his body against his horse's neck, trying to merge with the darkness bordering the Kingsroad.
The horses' hooves had been wrapped in thick cloth, producing only dull thuds against the hardened earth.
All around them there was only the sound of the wind.
Suddenly, Shanks' horse snorted uneasily and twitched its ears.
He immediately raised his hand.
The entire scouting party halted.
Every man listened carefully to the darkness.
Then, from somewhere ahead, faint metallic sounds drifted through the night.
A slight clinking.
A rustle.
Movement.
Shanks' eyes widened.
"No!"
"It's an ambush!"
"Retreat!"
He almost roared the words instinctively as he yanked hard on his reins.
Almost simultaneously, savage battle cries erupted from the western forests.
"Kill them!"
"Leave a few alive!"
"I'll question them myself!"
Within the forests covering the slopes of West Horn Mountain, Euron Crow's Eye sat astride his horse and stared down at the Northern scouts.
His dark eye burned with murderous intent.
The next moment, countless figures surged from the forest as though emerging from the earth itself.
Torches burst into life.
Their flames illuminated twisted faces, kraken banners, and gleaming weapons.
The Ironborn.
Their ambush line had been established astonishingly far north.
Throwing axes whistled through the darkness.
Shanks frantically spurred his horse forward.
Behind him he heard shouting, screaming, and the brutal clash of steel.
One scout's horse stumbled.
Both rider and mount were instantly swallowed by the charging Ironborn.
Another scout turned to fire an arrow but was struck in the back by a spinning axe and fell from his saddle without a sound.
"Lord, go!"
"We'll hold them off!"
"There are no cowards in the North!"
"Brothers, charge!"
Realizing that escape for everyone was impossible, the remaining dozen riders chose without hesitation to remain behind and buy time for Shanks.
Drawing their swords, they roared and charged directly into the Ironborn ranks.
Moments later, they disappeared beneath the tide of enemies.
Tears filled Shanks' eyes.
But he never looked back.
He struck his horse again, forcing it to greater speed.
Five mounted Ironborn pursued him relentlessly.
The shadow of death gripped his heart.
He dared not turn around and relied solely upon his familiarity with the terrain and the speed of his horse as he raced northward along the route he had traveled earlier.
The curses of the Ironborn and the thunder of pursuing hooves echoed behind him like a funeral bell.
After an unknown amount of time, the sounds gradually faded.
Perhaps the pursuers feared venturing too deeply into unfamiliar darkness.
Shanks' heart hammered against his ribs.
He finally slowed slightly and glanced behind him.
There was nothing.
Only endless darkness.
Only silence.
Of his entire scouting party, only he and his horse remained.
Grief and fear threatened to overwhelm him.
But Shanks clenched his teeth.
"Now is not the time to mourn."
"I have to bring this information back."
"Lord Garon must know."
"The Ironborn have arrived."
"And they're already moving toward our camp."
He dug his heels into his horse's flanks and continued racing northward through the darkness toward Garon's camp at the northern entrance of Ox Horn Mountain.