CHAPTER 129
The sound of hooves echoed across the frozen Kingsroad.
Garon and his companions pressed onward through the bitter cold, their horses kicking up powdery snow as they traveled.
Recently, the North had grown increasingly frigid.
Light snow fell every few days, covering forests, hills, and roads alike beneath a blanket of white.
Fortunately, the muddy Kingsroad had frozen solid.
What would normally have slowed an army now greatly increased the speed of travel.
A day later, Garon and his cavalry finally rendezvoused with the main Northern infantry force commanded by Hother Umber on an open snow-covered plain.
The Umber host stretched across the landscape like a long black serpent winding through the snow.
Their pace was slow but steady.
Yet the mood among the soldiers was noticeably different from what Garon expected.
There was no joy of victory.
No celebration.
Instead, exhaustion and unease hung over the army.
Garon immediately sensed that something was wrong.
After briefly introducing Meera and Jojen Reed to several trusted officers, he took Jon Snow with him and met Hother Umber and the other commanders near a hillside that offered shelter from the wind.
Several days had passed since they last met.
Hother Umber looked utterly exhausted.
The old lord had already reached an age where constant campaigning took a heavy toll upon the body.
The battles.
The forced marches.
The endless responsibilities of command.
All of it weighed heavily upon him.
Had House Umber not been so desperately short of experienced leaders, he would never have needed to personally lead troops through such a campaign.
Still, when he heard that Garon had successfully reclaimed Moat Cailin, genuine delight appeared on his weathered face.
"Lord Garon, you've arrived at the perfect time."
Hother shook snow from his beard.
His voice rumbled like distant thunder.
"After your departure, we received reports from House Dustin."
"Some of the scattered Ironborn have entrenched themselves among the ancient barrows of the First Men."
"Others fled west toward the Stony Shore."
He frowned.
"But we could not determine their exact numbers."
"And no one has seen Euron Crow's Eye."
Garon nodded.
That much was expected.
A man like Euron Greyjoy would never carelessly reveal his whereabouts.
"Any news from Torrhen's Square?"
The question caused Hother's expression to darken immediately.
"None."
"Not a single raven."
"Not a single rider."
His brow furrowed deeply.
"Torrhen's Square has gone silent."
"It is as though the place has been swallowed by the Others themselves."
Garon's eyes narrowed.
That was troubling.
By his calculations, Ser Lambert Tallhart should have reached Torrhen's Square by now.
Even if unforeseen delays occurred, some sort of report should have arrived.
Complete silence made no sense.
A possibility surfaced in his mind.
Could Euron have struck Torrhen's Square?
Could Lambert have been captured?
After all, anyone attempting to retreat from the eastern North toward the Stony Shore would almost inevitably pass near Tallhart lands.
Before Garon could think further, Hother continued.
"There is more."
"The Lady of Hornwood has sent word."
His expression grew serious.
"Some of the surviving Ironborn did not flee west."
"They moved into the hills near Hornwood lands."
"The area around the Sheephead Hills."
"They have been raiding villages."
"Burning homes."
"Killing smallfolk."
Before Hother could continue, Captain Daryn stepped forward.
"My lord."
His expression was earnest.
"Lady Donella requests that I return to Hornwood immediately."
"She fears for the safety of her lands."
"I ask permission to lead my men home."
Garon studied him thoughtfully.
The situation felt strange.
The main Ironborn army had already been destroyed.
Only scattered remnants remained.
Yet reports kept appearing from different locations.
The First Men barrows.
The Sheephead Hills.
The Stony Shore.
Where were all these raiders coming from?
Before he could voice the question, Ramsay Snow stepped forward.
A faint smile played across his lips.
"Lord Glover."
"Perhaps I can explain."
Garon's gaze immediately settled upon him.
"Oh?"
Ramsay smiled.
Despite House Bolton losing most of its strength during the campaign, he showed surprisingly little sorrow.
Instead, there was something almost amused in his expression.
"The Sheephead Hills have always been troublesome."
"The terrain is difficult."
"There are mountain clans, outlaws, poachers, and wild men scattered throughout the region."
"When winter approaches and food grows scarce, they raid nearby villages."
He did not need to say more.
Garon immediately understood.
"You believe these Ironborn remnants joined forces with local bandits and outlaws."
Ramsay spread his hands.
"Exactly."
"The Lady of Hornwood likely sees them all as one threat."
That explanation was reasonable.
Perhaps too reasonable.
Ramsay then added casually,
"Women tend to become alarmed over these things."
Captain Daryn's expression instantly darkened.
"Bastard."
His voice was cold.
"You should choose your words more carefully."
Then he deliberately emphasized the next sentence.
"You are not a Bolton yet."
The insult landed precisely where intended.
Ramsay's expression stiffened.
For a brief moment, genuine anger flashed across his face.
Then, just as quickly, it vanished.
A strange smile returned.
Ignoring Daryn completely, Ramsay turned back toward Garon.
"My lord."
"Perhaps there is a solution."
He gestured toward the north.
"The bandits in the Sheephead Hills threaten Hornwood lands today."
"Tomorrow they may threaten the Dreadfort."
He sighed dramatically.
"House Bolton has suffered terrible losses."
"Following the main army toward the barrows will accomplish little."
"Instead, allow me to join forces with Captain Daryn."
"We can clear the hills."
"We eliminate the Ironborn."
"We eliminate the bandits."
"We protect the North."
Several nearby commanders exchanged surprised glances.
Even Captain Daryn looked suspicious.
Only moments earlier Ramsay had been mocking Hornwood's concerns.
Now he was volunteering assistance.
Something clearly felt wrong.
Garon quietly observed Ramsay.
Almost immediately, he saw through the proposal.
Withdraw from the main army?
No.
That was only part of it.
Another thought surfaced.
Hornwood.
A memory from another timeline appeared in Garon's mind.
Ramsay Bolton.
Lady Donella Hornwood.
A forced marriage.
A stolen inheritance.
A slow death.
The smile on Ramsay's face suddenly made perfect sense.
He's targeting Hornwood.
Just as before.
He wants access to Lady Donella.
He wants control of House Hornwood.
Garon's thoughts raced.
Should he stop him?
Or should he use the situation?
The more he considered it, the clearer the answer became.
This was an opportunity.
If Ramsay truly attempted to seize Hornwood through force or manipulation, Garon would possess the perfect excuse to intervene.
He could strengthen Lawrence Snow's claim.
He could weaken House Bolton.
And if Ramsay crossed the line too far...
He could remove him permanently.
A faint smile appeared on Garon's face.
The sight immediately made Ramsay uneasy.
Did he figure it out?
Before Ramsay could speculate further, Garon spoke.
"Captain Daryn's concerns are understandable."
"Lord Ramsay's proposal is also commendable."
The statement surprised everyone present.
Then Garon continued.
"Clearing the Sheephead Hills requires manpower."
"Hornwood has suffered losses."
"Captain Daryn alone may not be sufficient."
He paused thoughtfully.
Then nodded.
"Since Lord Ramsay is willing to assist, let us proceed accordingly."
He glanced toward both men.
"Combined, House Bolton and Hornwood can field approximately six hundred men."
"That is more than enough to restore order."
"At the very least, it will ensure the security of Hornwood lands."
Then his voice became firm.
"Captain Daryn."
"Lord Ramsay."
"I order you to combine your forces."
"Proceed immediately to the Sheephead Hills."
"Destroy the Ironborn."
"Destroy the bandits."
"Restore order."
"Protect the smallfolk."
He deliberately emphasized the words combine your forces.
The command would not belong solely to Ramsay.
Captain Daryn would possess equal authority.
At least for now, that would place some limits upon Ramsay's ambitions.
The two men exchanged glances.
Each clearly had his own thoughts.
Nevertheless, both accepted the order.
Garon then turned toward Hother Umber.
A smile appeared on his face.
"Lord Umber."
"You have served the North tirelessly."
"You are no longer a young man."
"The remaining tasks are little more than cleanup operations."
"There is no need for you to continue marching personally."
Hother raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
Garon continued.
"While retaking Moat Cailin, I encountered members of House Reed."
He gestured toward Meera and Jojen.
"They are traveling to Winterfell."
"I would ask that you escort them there with three hundred men."
The old Umber considered the suggestion.
Truthfully, exhaustion weighed heavily upon him.
After a moment, he nodded.
"Very well."
Then he asked,
"And what of you, Lord Garon?"
Garon's gaze shifted westward.
Beyond the snow-covered horizon lay the ancient lands of the First Men.
Barrows.
Ruins.
And scattered Ironborn survivors.
"I will take the remaining thousand men."
"We will sweep through the barrowlands and continue toward Torrhen's Square."
His eyes hardened.
"The Ironborn will not be allowed to regroup."
"They will not become another threat to the North."
No one voiced any objection.
The plan was sound.
Garon raised a hand.
"Then carry out your orders."
The commanders immediately dispersed.
Soon the Northern host divided into three separate columns.
One marched toward the Sheephead Hills.
One turned toward Winterfell.
And one advanced westward beneath Garon's command toward the barrowlands and Torrhen's Square.